silver plate in his head. The rest are reservists, mostly in their fifties or cripples.'
He closed the last file. Bormann leaned back in his chair, fingertips together. It was quiet now except for the faintest rumblings far above them as the Russian artillery continued to pound Berlin.
'Listen to that,' Bormann said. 'Closer by the hour. Do you ever wonder what comes after?'
'Reichsleiter?' Rattenhuber looked faintly alarmed.
'One has plans, of course, but sometimes things go wrong, Willi. Some unexpected snag that turns the whole thing on its head. In such an eventuality, one needs what I believe the Americans term an "ace-in-the-hole".'
'The prominenti, Reichsleiter? But are they important enough?'
'Who knows, Willi? Excellent bargaining counters in an emergency, no more than that. Madame Chevalier and Gaillard are almost national institutions and Madame de Beauville's connections embrace some of the most influential families in France. The English love a lord at the best of times, doubly so when he's related to the King himself.'
'And Canning?'
'The Americans are notoriously sentimental about their heroes.'
He sat there, staring into space for a moment.
'So what do we do with them?' Rattenhuber said. 'What does the Reichsleiter have in mind?'
'Oh, I'll think of something, Willi,' Bormann smiled. 'I think you may depend on it.'
4
And at Schloss Arlberg on the River Inn, 450 miles south from Berlin and fifty-five miles north-west of Innsbruck, Lieutenant-Colonel Justin Birr, 15th Earl of Dundrum, leaned from the narrow window at the top of the north tower and peered down into the darkness of the garden, eighty feet below.
He could feel the plaited rope stir beneath his hands, and behind him in the gloom Paul Gaillard said, 'Is he there?'
'No, not yet.' A moment later the rope slackened, there was a sudden flash of light below, then darkness again. 'That's it,' Birr said. 'Now me, if I can get through this damned window. Hamilton certainly can pick them.'
He stood on a stool, turned to support himself on Gaillard's shoulders and eased his legs into space. He stayed there for a moment, hands on the rope. 'Sure you won't change your mind, Paul?'
'My dear Justin, I wouldn't get halfway down before my arms gave out.'
'All right,' Birr said. 'You know what to do. When I get down, or perhaps I should say if I do, we'll give you a flash. You haul the rope up, stick it in that cubbyhole under the floorboards then get to hell out of it.'
'You may rely on me.'
'I know. Give my regards to the ladies.'
'Bon chance, my friend.'
Birr let himself slide and was suddenly alone in the darkness, swaying slightly in the wind, his hands slipping from knot to knot. Home-made rope and eighty feet to the garden. I must be mad.
It was raining slightly, not a single star to be seen anywhere and already his arms were beginning to ache. He let himself slide faster, his feet banging against the wall, scratching his knuckles, at one point twirling round madly in circles. Quite suddenly, the rope parted.
My God, that's it! he thought, clamping his jaws together in the moment of death to stop himself from crying out, then hit the ground after falling no more than ten feet and rolled over in wet grass, winded.
There was a hand at his elbow, helping him to his feet. 'You all right?' Canning said.
'I think so.' Birr flexed his arms. 'A damn close thing, Hamilton, but then it usually is when you're around.'
'We aim to please.' Canning flashed his torch upwards briefly. 'Okay, let's get moving. The entrance to the sewer I told you about is in the lily pond on the lower terrace.'
They moved down through the darkness cautiously, negotiated a flight of steps and skirted the fountain at the bottom. The ornamental lily pond was on the other side of a short stretch of lawn. There was a wall at the rear of it, water gushing from the mouth of a bronze lion's head, rattling into the pool below. Birr had seen it often enough on exercise. 'Okay,