Free To Catch a King by Jack Higgins Page B

three years before the war. His local knowledge will be most useful to your purposes.”
    “I'm sure it will be,” Schellenberg said.
    “And now I suggest you show Major Kleiber the Führer order under which you are acting so that he knows exactly where he stands.”
    Schellenberg produced it from his wallet and passed it to Kleiber. The major read it, face expressionless, showed it to Sindermann, then handed it back.
    “So you see, gentlemen. Any order you receive from General Schellenberg is an order from the Führer himself.”
    “Understood, Reichsführer.”
    “Excellent.” Himmler smiled up at Schellenberg. “No need for you to stay. I'm sure you have your desk to clear before leaving. Arrangements to make.”
    Schellenberg withdrew, aware that it was simply a polite way of getting rid of him so that Himmler could give Kleiber his special orders. Not that it mattered, for he could well imagine what they must be.
    “Are you a religious man, Kleiber?”
    “Not really, Reichsführer.”
    “General Schellenberg is. He had a strict Catholic upbringing. People like that tend to a rather moralistic attitude which can cloud their judgment on occasion. They see people as being more important than causes—that sort of thing.”
    “I see, Reichsführer.”
    “I wonder if you do? In this Winter affair, as I have explained to you, the General seems more concerned with the young woman involved than with the damage her uncle's activities have caused to the Reich. To be blunt, Kleiber, General Schellenberg is a most excellent officer. In the field of counterespionage there is probably no one in Europe to excel him. However, it seems to me that on occasion he lacks a certain conviction, and I'm not entirely happy about his attitude to the Windsor business.”
    “I see, Reichsführer.”
    “There are times, Kleiber, when one must be prepared to go for the throat if necessary. I'm relying on you to see that Schellenberg does. As your Reichsführer I have a right to demand your unquestioning loyalty in this.”
    “You have it, Reichsführer, I swear it,” Kleiber said.
    There was a knock at the door, and Heydrich entered, a smile of triumph on his face. He put the copy of the Windsor report on the desk in front of Himmler.
    “Hidden in her stocking.”
    Himmler examined the document. “So, Schellenberg was wrong about her?” He looked up at Kleiber. “You see what I mean?”
    Heydrich opened the door of the cell and moved in. She was sitting on the edge of the bed again, fully clothed. He said, “All right. On your feet. Follow me.” She hesitated, and he lost patience, grabbing her by the arm, and pulling her out through the door. He pushed her along the white-painted corridor. It was quiet enough and seemed to stretch into infinity, and then she became aware of a dull rhythmic slapping, strangely remote as if it came from a long way away. Heydrich paused outside a cell door and slid back a metal gate. He pushed Hannah's face against it so that she had to look inside. Irene Neumann, her dress ripped to the waist, was sprawled across a bench while a couple of heavily muscled SS men beat her systematically across back and buttocks with rubber truncheons. The woman arched in agony. Berg stood watching.
    Hannah came back to life then, the horror of it like a blow in the face. “You see?” Heydrich said. “All she has to do is tell us the truth about the Windsor affair. Answer a few questions about your uncle. It would appear she prefers to die.”
    He pushed Hannah's face against the metal gate again, and she struggled to free herself. “No, let her go! Make them stop.”
    “All right, you answer my questions for her.”
    “No—I don't know anything.”
    “We'll see, shall we?” He opened the door and said to Berg, “Hold it.” He turned to Hannah. “Now—each time you fail to answer, we start again. So you see, you will be the instrument of her pain.”
    She was terrified now, and it showed clearly in her