D-Notice by Bill Walker (big ebook reader txt) 📗

heading on the road toward them. Rainer whirled back to the sergeant. “Go!” he said, slamming his fist on the dash.

The sergeant grimaced, slapped the gearshift into first, then popped the clutch; the little Kübelwagen lurched forward, its Porsche engine racing. The car nosed over the rise and plunged down the road at breakneck speed, its metal frame shrieking and clattering in protest as it jounced and joggled over rocks and deep ruts in the muddy track. Thorley gripped the edges of his seat, every muscle in his body tensed, his jaw aching from the effort.

Rainer swiveled to face Thorley his face contorted as he shouted over the engine noise. “The Maybach is a fast car on city streets. However, it can’t hope to match our agility. With any luck it will break an axle or rip out its sump.” He smiled then, the thought apparently pleasing him.

The rain had stopped some minutes before, and the clouds boiled overhead, pushed eastward by a brisk wind that made Thorley shiver.

The rest of the drive back to the airstrip was made in silence, except for the occasional curses from the sergeant as he negotiated the rocky ground. Always there was the Maybach behind them, tailing them at a distance that varied from one to two miles, moving steadily and inexorably. Rainer’s previous confidence drained away. Müller, it seemed, would not be deterred.

As the airstrip came into view over the last rise, the weather-beaten sergeant, his cheroot long since chewed into oblivion, began leaning on the horn. It sounded like a goose with a head cold: loud and obnoxious. “This’ll wake the bastards up!” the sergeant laughed, his voice a guttural growl.

Rainer’s expression remained grim, while Thorley let himself smile in spite of their dire situation. He couldn’t help admiring a man who laughed adversity in the face. He scanned the road behind them, but the rise in the landscape blocked his view. Ahead, he saw the Heinkel’s engines spewing blue-colored smoke, the propellers beginning to turn. They quickly picked up speed, and the mighty roar of the two Jumo engines was reduced to a high-pitched buzz. Still, the sound made his heart race, knowing that his salvation lay a scant quarter mile distant.

The sergeant brought the Kübelwagen to a sliding stop yards from the plane and all three hopped out. The sergeant drew a P38 from a holster and thumbed off the safety.

Rainer shook his head. “Put it away, Axel.”

The sergeant looked crestfallen, but obeyed the order, his jaw grinding angrily. Thorley felt the same. From what little he knew of the SS, they deserved to be hung, drawn and quartered, much less shot. Rainer motioned for him to move to the plane.

“This is goodbye, my friend,” he said, offering his hand. Thorley took it and smiled warmly. “I think you now realize what’s at stake here. Churchill and the others must be shown that they cannot trust the Russian Bear.”

“I’ll do what I can, but I can’t guarantee my government will believe your people had nothing to do with this.”

“This will convince them,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a roll of Leica film. He dropped it into Thorley’s outstretched palm. It felt surprisingly heavy and warm to the touch.

“Perhaps.... But even if they do, they’ll never deal with any of you, as long as Hitler is in power. You know that.”

Rainer fixed him with a burning gaze. “Those of us within Der Weisse Adler do not hold with ‘Der Führer’s’ policies. To have attacked in the east is madness.”

“But if he had not done that, he would have invaded England.”

Rainer looked guilty. “Yes, it is a nasty business. Take the film, show them. We are willing to negotiate, anything to—”

“They are coming,” the sergeant interjected.

Rainer and Thorley turned and spotted the Maybach racing toward them, spurts of mud streaming out behind it. Rainer reached inside his tunic and pulled out a buff-colored envelope and thrust it into Thorley’s hands. He leaned forward and began shouting over the engine noise. “These are the names of those within Der Weisse Adler. Put it in a safe place. If we are not successful, then the world must know the truth. Good luck, my friend. The fate of millions rests with you.”

Thorley nodded and started to speak, but Rainer silenced him. “Go. Now!” he said, pushing Thorley toward the Heinkel.

The Maybach staff car was closer now, and Thorley could now see the SS pennant—two silver lightning bolts laid against a field of black—flying from the antenna. He turned and dashed for the plane.

The instant his feet cleared the rim of the hatch, the Major slammed it shut and the Heinkel’s engines throttled up to a full-throated roar. In moments they were airborne, heading back to Lisbon. Settling back into his seat, Thorley felt his pockets for the film and the documents, then remembered the badge. He took it out once more and held it in his hands, the dim light inside the plane casting tiny shadows across it. If nothing else, Thorley mused, this and the names of Rainer’s co-conspirators would be his insurance that his government would do the right thing. Not surprisingly, Thorley had a sneaking suspicion that he would need it.

Friedrich Rainer watched the Heinkel disappear into the cloud bank and felt a great weight lifting from his shoulders. They were not alone anymore. Der Weisse Adler could now carry out their mission with the sure knowledge that there would be others working toward the same goal. As Major White had said, he couldn’t be sure that those in charge of Britain’s government would heed the warning, or would aid them directly.