"It's for you," she said to Martineau. "Major Necker."
He took the receiver from her. "Vogel here."
"Good morning," Necker greeted him. "I'm sure it will come as no surprise to you to know that Field Marshal Rommel arrives at the airport in just over half-an-hour."
Martineau, concealing his astonishment, said, "I see."
"Naturally, you'll wish to greet him. I'll see you at the airport."
Martineau put the phone down slowly as Sarah and Gallagher came in from the garden. "What is it, Harry?" Sarah demanded. "You look awful."
"I should," he said. "I think the roof just fell in on me."
At the Silver-tide, Muller was hurriedly changing into uniform in the bathroom next to his office. He heard the outside door open and Kleist called, "Are you there, Herr Captain? You wanted us."
"Yes, come in," Muller called.
He went into the office buttoning his tunic, picked up his belt with the bolstered Mauser and fastened it quickly.
"Something up?" Kleist asked. He looked terrible. The bruising around the eyes had deepened, and the plaster they had taped across his nose at the hospital didn't improve things.
"You could say that. IVe just heard Rommel's flying in on what looks like a snap inspection. I'll have to get up to the airport now. You can drive me, Ernst," he told Greiser.
"What about me?" Kleist asked.
"With a face like that? I don't want you within a mile of Rommel. Better take a couple of days off, Willi. Just keep out of the way." He turned to Greiser. "Let's get moving."
After they had gone, Kleist went to the cupboard where the captain kept his drink, took out a bottle of cognac and poured a large one into a glass. He swallowed it in one quick gulp and went into the bathroom and examined himself in the mirror. He looked awful and his face hurt. It was all that damned Irishman's fault.
He poured himself another cognac and said softly, "My turn will come, you swine, and when it does..." He toasted himself in the mirror and emptied his glass.
As the Citroen moved past the harbor and turned along the esplanade, Greiser said, "By the way, that call I had booked to my brother in Stuttgart last night."
"What did he have to say?"
"He didn't. He was on leave. Due back today on the night shift. I'll speak to him then."
"Not that it matters all that much now," Muller said. "Nothing very mysterious about friend Vogel any longer. He obviously came here in advance of the field marshal, that's all."
"But what does Rommel want?" Greiser asked.
"If you consider the beach fortifications, strongpoints and batteries for the entire French coast south from Dieppe, exactly half are in these islands alone," Muller told him. "Perhaps, with the invasion coming, he thought it was time to see what he was getting for his money." He glanced at his watch. "But never mind that now. Just put your foot down hard. WeVe only got about ten minutes."
At the airport, Martineau paused briefly to have his pass checked by the sentry. As he was in uniform, it was the merest formality. Several cars were parked outside the main entrance, drivers standing by them, obviously the official party. The big black Austin limousine in front carried the military commander's pennant.
Martineau parked the Kubelwagen behind Muller's Citroen. Greiser was at the wheel, the only driver in civilian clothes. Martineau ignored him and went inside the airport building. There were uniforms everywhere, mainly Luftwaffe. He felt a sense of detachment as he walked on through, no fear at all. He would have to do the best he could with the cards fate had dealt him.
Necker and a party of officers, Muller among them, were waiting on the apron outside, a Luftwaffe guard drawn up. The major came across, a slightly nervous smile on his face, followed by Muller. "They'll be here in a few minutes." He offered a cigarette from a silver case. "A tremendous shock for us all, the field marshal coming in out of the blue like this, but not to you, I think."
Martineau saw it all then. They thought there was some connection between his own unexplained presence in the island and Rommel's unexpected visit. "Really? I can't imagine what you mean, my dear Necker."
Necker glanced at Muller in exasperation. It was obvious that neither of them believed him, which was fine and suited his situation perfectly. He walked a few yards away and stood, hands behind his back, examining the airport. There were seven blister hangars, obviously constructed by the Luftwaffe. The doors to one of them stood open revealing the three engines and distinctive corrugated metal fuselage of a JU52, the Junkers transport plane that was the workhorse of the German Army. There was no sign of any other aircraft.
"He still persists in playing the man of mystery," Necker said to Muller out of the side of his mouth.
Martineau rejoined them. "The Luftwaffe doesnt seem to have much to offer."
"Unfortunately not. The enemy has an overwhelming superiority in the air in this region."
Martineau nodded toward the far blister hangar. "What's the JU52 doing there?"
"That's the mail plane. He makes the run once a week, just the pilot and a crewman. Always under cover of darkness. They came in last night."
"And fly out again?"
"Tomorrow night."
There was the sound of an airplane engine in the distance. As they turned, the Storch came in across St. Ouen's Bay and made a perfect landing. Konrad Hofer put a hand on Baum's for a moment in reassurance as the pilot, Oberleutnant Sorsa, taxied toward the waiting officers. Baum turned to nod briefly at Hofer, then adjusted the brim of his cap and tightened his gloves. Showtime, Heini, he told himself, so let's give a performance.
Sorsa lifted the door and Hofer got out, then turned to help Baum, who unbuttoned his old leather coat revealing the Blue Max and the Knight's Cross at his throat. Felix Necker advanced to meet him and gave him a punctilious military salute, one soldier to another. "Field Marshal. A great honor."
Baum negligently touched the peak of his cap with his field marshal's baton. "You are?"
"Felix Necker, sir. I'm temporarily in command. Colonel Heine has gone to Guernsey for the weekend. A conference with General von Schmettow."
"Yes, I know about that."
"If only we'd been aware that you were coming," Necker went on.
"Well, you weren't. Konrad Hofer, my aide. Now then, who have we here?"
Necker introduced the officers, starting with Martineau. "Standartenfuhrer Vogel, who I think you may know."
"No," Martineau said. "I have never had the pleasure of meeting the field marshal before."
Rommel's dislike was plain for everyone to see. He passed on, greeting Muller and the other officers and then inspecting the guard of honor. Afterward, he simply took off, walking toward the nearest flak gun, everyone trailing after him. He spoke to the gun crew, then cut across the grass to a hangar where Luftwaffe ground crew waited rigidly at attention.
Finally he turned and walked back toward the airport buildings, looking up at the sky. "Fine weather. Will it stay like this?"
"The forecast is good, Herr Field Marshal," Necker told him.
"Excellent. I want to see everything. You understand? I'll be returning tomorrow, probably in the evening, so we'll need a suitable billet for tonight. However, that can wait until later."
"The officers of the Luftwaffe mess have had a light luncheon prepared, Heir Field Marshal. It would be a great honor if you would consent to join them."
"Certainly, Major, but afterward, work. IVe a lot to see. So, where do we go?"
The officers' mess was upstairs in what had been the restaurant before the war. There was a buffet of salad, roast chicken and tinned ham, served rather self-consciously by young Luftwaffe boys in white coats acting as waiters. The officers hung eagerly on the field marshal's every word, conscious of their proximity to greatness. Baum, a glass of champagne in his hand, was more than enjoying himself. It was as if he were somewhere else looking in, observing. One thing was certain. He was good.
"We were surprised that you chose to fly in during daylight hours, Herr Field Marshal," Necker said.
"And with no fighter escort," Muller added.
"IVe always believed in doing the unexpected thing,"
Baum told them. "And you must remember we had Ober-leutnant Sorsa as pilot, one of our gallant Finnish comrades. He normally flies a JU88S night fighter and has thirty-eight Lancasters to his credit, which explains his Knight's Cross." Sorsa, a small, vital man of twenty-five with very fair hair, looked suitably modest, and Baum carried on, "I must also tell you that we flew across the sea so low that we were in more danger from the waves than anything the RAF might have come up with."
There was a general laugh and he excused himself and went off to the toilet followed by Hofer.
Martineau had been standing against the wall, observing everything and drinking very little. Muller approached. "A remarkable man."
"Oh, yes." Martineau nodded. "One of the few real heroes of the war. And how is your Inspector Kleist?"
"A stupid man," Martineau observed. "But then, I think you know that. More champagne?"
In the toilet, Baum checked himself in the mirror and said to Hofer, "How am I doing?"
"Superbly." Hofer was exhilarated. "There are times when I really think it's the old man himself talking."
"Good." Baum combed his hair and adjusted the cheek pads. "What about the SS colonel. I didn't expect that."
"Vogel?" Hofer was serious for a moment. "I was talking to Necker about him. He just turned up in the island yesterday, backed by a special pass signed by Himmler and the Ftihrer himself. So far he's given no information as to why he's here."
"I don't know," Baum said. "Those bastards always make me feel funny. You're certain his presence here has nothing to do with us?"
"How could it be? Army Group B Headquarters only released the news that you were in Jersey an hour ago. So, no need to panic, and back to the fray."
Necker said, "If you wouldn't mind coming into the CO's office, Field Marshal. General von Schmettow is on the line from Guernsey." Baum sat carelessly on the edge of the desk and took the receiver offered to him. "My dear von Schmettow, it's been a long time." General von Schmettow said, "An unexpected honor for my entire command. Heine is quite shocked and wishes to return at once." "Tell him if he does, it's the firing squad for him," Baum said good-humoredly. "Young Necker can show me around just as well. A fine officer. No, this suits me perfectly." "Do you intend to visit Guernsey?" "Not this time. I return to France tomorrow." "May we expect you at some future date?" The line was crackling now.
"Of course, and before long, I promise you. Best wishes." Baum put down the receiver and turned to Necker. "To work. Coastal defenses, that's what I wish to see, so let's get started."
In the garden at de Ville Place Sarah sat on the wall looking out over the bay and Guido leaned beside her, smoking a cigarette. "Sarah," he said in English. "It's as if I have to get to know you all over again." He shook his head. "Whoever told you that you could pass yourself off as a French tart was gravely mistaken. I knew there was something wrong with you from the start."
"And Harry? Did you think there was something wrong about him?"
"No. He worries me, that one. He plays Vogel too well." "1 know." She shivered. "I wonder how he's getting on?" "He'll be fine. The last person I'd ever worry about. You like him, don't you?"
"Yes," she said. "You could put it that way." Before they could take the conversation an¯ further, Helen and Gallagher crossed the grass to join Jiem. "What are you two up to?" Helen demanded. "Nothing much." Sarah told her. "We were wondering how Harry was getting on."
"The devil looks after his own," Gallagher said. "He can take care of himself, that one. More important at the moment is a decision on what to do with Kelso. I think we should move him from the chamber to my cottage."
Guido nodded. "That makes sense. Much easier to take him from there down to the harbor once 1 get Savary sorted out."
"Do you really think it has a chance of working?" Sarah demanded.
"Fake papers as a French seaman. The General and I can fix that up between us," Guido told her.
"We'll bandage his face. Say he was in the water after the attack on the convoy and sustained burns," Gallagher said. "We'll move Kelso late tonight." He smiled reassuringly and put an arm around Sarah. "It's going to work. Believe me."
Martineau joined on the end of the cavalcade of cars as it left the airport and took the road through St. Peter's. Rommel fascinated him, so did the idea of being so close to one of the greatest soldiers the war had produced, the commander of the Westwall himself. The man dedicated to smashing the Allies on the beaches where they landed.
