Free To Catch a King by Jack Higgins Page A

into the corridor and along to the main guardroom, where he telephoned through to the Charite hospital to find out how the survivors of the debacle at the Garden Room were doing.
    When he returned to the cell, Hannah was standing in the center of the room, quite naked, her hands folded in front of her. Her clothes were laid out neatly on the bed.
    The purpose of such an exercise, the use of male interrogators, was part of a psychologically devised procedure designed to induce feelings of guilt and shame in the victim and to increase the alienation syndrome. Hannah, however, showed no emotion and simply stared at the wall.
    “We've struck gold, Obergruppenführer,” Berg told him. “I found this in the top of one of her stockings.”
    Heydrich unfolded the copy of the Windsor report. “Excellent. Now we're really getting somewhere.” He tapped her gently on the face with the folded report. “Didn't know what I was talking about, eh? I've just been in touch with the hospital and you know what they told me? A third man, the one of the critical list, has just died.” He grabbed her hair savagely and swung her head from side to side. “Bitch—that's murder three times over.”
    But she felt no pain—no pain at all. It was as if this were happening to someone else—as if she were standing outside looking in.
    “Your uncle—where did he go?”
    Her voice seemed to come from a great distance away like a faint echo. “I don't know.”
    Heydrich pushed her away. “Get your clothes on,” he said harshly.
    Berg said in a low voice, “She's still in shock. I've seen it often enough before with people like her. They live with the thought of it for years—being caught, I mean. When it comes, they try to reject the fact. Pretend it isn't happening. It's a kind of withdrawal.”
    “Then we'll have to shake her out of it, won't we? You go and see how they're getting on with the Neumann woman. I'll be along in a moment.”
    Berg went out and Heydrich stood there watching as she dressed slowly and methodically, still with that strange vacant look on her face. She really did have an excellent body, he told himself. As she sat down to pull on her stockings, he felt the excitement rise in him.
    Himmler was in uniform for once when Schellenberg went into his office. The Reichsführer glanced up. “So—I did you a service by removing you from further active participation in the Winter affair.”
    “So it would appear, Reichsführer.”
    “In normal circumstances, you would almost certainly have been in charge of the special action group which went to the Garden Room. Whoever was will be severely disciplined. A deplorable business.”
    “I must agree.”
    “Three dead. Two wounded. A surprising young woman. You were obviously wrong about her.”
    Schellenberg gave him the reply he was seeking. “I'm afraid so, Reichsführer.”
    Himmler said, “A little humiliation is good for the soul on occasion, but I didn't bring you here to discuss that. I have selected the two Gestapo men I wish to accompany you to Lisbon as your bodyguards.”
    He spoke briefly on the internal telephone. A moment later the door opened and two men entered. They were large and powerfully built and wore rather nondescript gray suits of conventional cut. One was bald and the other wore glasses. Schellenberg recognized the type instantly, for all the Reich security services were full of them. Ex-police officers, more used to moving among criminals than anything else.
    “Sturmbannführer Kleiber,” Himmler said and the one in the glasses clicked his heels. “And Sturmscharführer Sindermann. General Schellenberg, you know.”
    “A pleasure, Brigadeführer.” Kleiber didn't bother to put out his hand.
    “I have already explained the purpose of your visit to Lisbon to Major Kleiber,” Himmler said. “In fact, I have specially selected him for this task, as he does speak Portuguese. He was stationed at our Embassy in Lisbon with the security staff for