The Eagle has Flown by Jack Higgins Read Free Book Online Page B

when Devlin slid on the stool next to him and ordered a beer.
     
     
'Mr Frear, isn't it?' He nodded to the barman. 'Jose here tells me you're in the port business.'
     
     
'That's right,' Frear said jovially. 'Been exporting it to England for years, my firm.'
     
     
'Never been my taste,' Devlin told him. 'Now if it was Irish whiskey you were talking about...'
     
     
'Can't help you there, I'm afraid.' Frear laughed again. 'I say, old man, do you realize you're wearing a Guards Brigade tie?'
     
     
'Is that a fact? Fancy you knowing that.' Devlin smiled amiably. 'And me buying it from a stall in the flea market only last week.'
     
     
He slid off the stool and Frear said, 'Aren't you going to give us a tune?'
     
     
'Oh, that comes later.' Devlin moved to the door and grinned. 'Major,' he added, and was gone.
     
     
The Flamingo was a shabby little bar and restaurant. Berger was forced to leave things to Eggar who spoke the language fluently. At first they drew a blank. Yes, Devlin had worked there for a while, but he'd left three days ago. And then a woman who had come in to sell flowers to the customers overheard their conversation and intervened. The Irishman was working another establishment she called at, the Lights of Lisbon, only he was employed not as a waiter but as a pianist in the bar. Eggar tipped her and they moved outside.
     
     
'Do you know the place?' Berger said.
     
     
'Oh yes, quite well. Also in the old quarter. I should warn you, the customers tend to the rougher side. Rather common round here.'
     
     
The scum of this life never give me a problem,' Berger said. 'Now show me the way.'
     
     
The high walls of the Castelo de Sao Jorge lifted above them as they worked their way through a maze of narrow alleys and then, as they came into a small square in front of a church, Devlin emerged from an alley and crossed the cobbles before them towards a cafe.
     
     
'My God, it's him,' Eggar muttered. 'Exactly like his photo.'
     
     
'Of course it is, you fool,' Berger said. 'Is this the Lights of Lisbon?'
     
     
'No, Major, another cafe. One of the most notorious in Alfama. Gypsies, bullfighters, criminals.'
     
     
'A good job we're armed then. When we go in, have your pistol in your right pocket and your hand on it.'
     
     
'But General Schellenberg gave us express instructions to...'
     
     
'Don't argue. I've no intention of losing this man now. Do as I say and follow me,' and Berger led the way towards the cafe where they could hear guitar music.
     
     
Inside, the place was light and airy in spite of the fact that dusk was falling. The bar top was marble, bottles ranged against an old-fahioned mirror behind it. The walls were whitewashed and covered with bullfighting posters. The bartender, squat and ugly with one white eye, wore an apron and soiled shirt and sat at a high stool reading a newspaper. Four other men played poker at another table, swarthy, fierce-looking gypsies. A younger man leaned against the wall and fingered a guitar.
     
     
The rest of the place was empty except for Devlin who sat at a table against the far wall reading a small book, a glass of beer at his hand. The door creaked open and Berger stepped in, Eggar at his back. The guitarist stopped playing, and all conversation died as Berger stood just inside the door, death come to visit them. Berger moved past the men who were playing cards. Eggar went closer as well, standing to the left.
     
     
Devlin glanced up, smiling amiably and picked up the glass of beer in his left hand. 'Liam Devlin?' Berger asked.
     
     
'And who might you be?'
     
     
'I am SturmbannFuhrer Horst Berger of the Gestapo.'
     
     
'Jesus and why didn't they send the Devil? I'm on reasonable terms there.'
     
     
'You're smaller than I thought you'd be,' Berger told him. 'I'm not impressed.'
     
     
Devlin smiled again. 'I get that all the time, son.'
     
     
'I must ask you to come with us.'
     
     
'And me only halfway through my book. The