'That bloody colonel commanding this column needs shooting,' Jaeger commented savagely to Schmidt. 'Yugoslavia isn't France, it isn't even Russia. To understand this theatre of war you go back to Wellington and the Peninsular War – the Spanish guerrillas. He's going to lead us straight into an ambush.'
'At least you persuaded him to position the mortar teams at the rear of the column,' Schmidt replied.
'Only by waving the Fuhrer's signed order,' Jaeger growled. 'Look at the terrain – the way he's crammed everything together. We should be spread out in well- separated sections…'
They were well south of Zagreb and dusk was beginning to descend on all sides like a sinister, cloud.
The armoured column – comprising tanks, mobile guns and motorized infantry was entering a narrow, winding defile. On both sides rose precipitous heights. Jaeger frowned and raised the field-glasses looped from his neck to focus on a rampart of huge boulders which lay strewn along the brink of the right-hand ridge.
They were travelling as passengers in a half-track, the last vehicle in the straggled column. Immediately ahead of them crawled two canvas-sided trucks carrying the mortar teams. It was very silent apart from the purr of slow-moving engines and Jaeger sat as rigid as a statue, his twin lenses studying the boulder rampart poised far above them.
'There's something funny about those damned rocks,' he told Schmidt. 'Here, you take a look.'
'What am I looking for?' Schmidt asked as he peered through the glasses.
'The slightest sign of movement up there. That's a geological oddity – that line of boulders. There are too many of them. They're too evenly spaced. They're all perched just on the brink. That crazy fool, Schrenk, should have sent a patrol up there before he entered the defile. According to this map the defile is over four kilometres long. Don't like it…'
They had attached themselves to the column because it was the only way to get deep into Yugoslavia. Jaeger hoped for Partisan prisoners, men he could question as to the whereabouts of Lindsay and the girl he had come to refer to as the Baroness.
Schrenk's column was undertaking a punitive expedition. He was searching for the phantom Amazon Brigade. An informant had told him the Brigade had passed along this route only a few hours earlier. Jaeger had made himself unpopular by being sceptical, almost contemptuous.
'This informant,' he had demanded,.. he is a local?'
'A Serb,' Schrenk had replied. 'Greedy for gold. Always before he has proved reliable.'
`So he is trustworthy forever?'
Schrenk had stormed off and the two colonels had not met again since the column moved off seven hours earlier. At intervals a courier had driven back along the column on his motorcycle with 'evidence' that they were on the right track. A discarded pair of woman's coarse pantaloons; a Partisan cap complete with the red star badge and a small tuft of feminine hair attached.
'Very convenient,' had been Jaeger's only comment.
'I still think this would be a good time to make a break for it,' Reader repeated to Lindsay. 'It will be dark in no time. There's no one guarding that hidden gulch I found.'
Lindsay looked carefully round the hilltop. On surface appearances Reader was right. Dusk was falling suddenly, the way it did in this part of the world. There was growing activity among the Partisans who, under Heljec's prodding, were gathering behind the rampart of boulders.
They were now armed with thick wooden poles which they seemed to be prepared to use as levers. The ends of the poles were being rammed under the line of boulders perched on the brink of the drop above the gorge where earlier the Amazon Brigade had marched.
'Well?' snapped Reader impatiently, 'do we make a run for it or can't you tear yourself away from that Paco?'
'I'm just not too partial to committing suicide. You're not familiar with these peasants, as you call them, Sergeant. They can hide in a cleft in the ground, merge against the background of a rock cluster. They're everywhere but you don't see them – until too late.'
'I think it's Paco…'
'Think what you like,' replied Lindsay calmly, refusing to be provoked. 'Heljec will certainly know about that so-called hidden gulch of yours. The first warning you'll get that I'm right will be a knife between the shoulder-blades…'
'Have it your own way – we've lost our chance now, anyway. We have company…'
Through the purple gloaming which was becoming denser by the minute, Lindsay saw Paco approaching. She was accompanied by Milic who carried a German machine-pistol at the ready.
'Heljec insists you both come over and watch.' There was a note of disapproval in her voice. 'And could Sergeant Reader please hand over his sten to Milic for the moment? Heljec has ordered him to confiscate the weapon no matter what means he has to use. Humour him, for God's sake – for my sake…'
'Give him the sten,' said Lindsay, standing up. 'I'll give him a burst…'
'Don't be a bigger bloody fool than you have to. Look behind us. We're surrounded. I warned you about men rising up out of the ground.'
'Christ Almighty…!'
A screen of a dozen or so Partisans stood silently, barely a few feet behind them. They carried a motley collection of guns, all aimed point-blank at Reader. The weapons were even more eloquent than their silence. With a curse, Reader handed the sten to Milic.
'Now you come with us very quietly. Heljec wishes you both to witness a demonstration of Partisan fighting…'
She led the way, and Lindsay walked beside her, towards where the main body of Partisans crouched behind their improvised wall of boulders. It was only as they came close that Lindsay saw Hartmann. He had been on the verge of asking Paco what had happened to the German.
Hartmann stood as erect as he could, turning his head to look at Lindsay. His wrists were bound behind his back. Again his eyes seemed to attempt to convey some message to the Englishman.
'Is that really necessary?' snapped Lindsay.
'Keep your voice down,' she hissed. 'It was done on the direct orders of Heljec. A German armoured column is approaching the gorge below. That is why the Amazon Brigade marched through it so openly earlier. It is a trap and the Germans are falling into it. Look down – not too close!' she warned.
The mutter of many slow-moving engines drifted up from the depths of the gorge. Peering over the edge, Lindsay saw the head-of the toy-like column snaking its way along the twisting defile. There was just enough light to see that this was an expedition in force.
Armoured cars and motorcyclists preceded the convoy. Behind came the tanks, nose to tail, their gun barrels swivelled to one side or the other at maximum elevation. Even to Lindsay's non-military eye this powerful cavalcade seemed useless, they would never be able to elevate the barrels to anything like the angle required to bombard the heights on which Heljec had placed his men.
And now he understood all the effort which had gone into shifting the boulders to the brink, the reason for the thick poles like pine trunks the Partisans had dug beneath the rocks and which they manned like giant levers, two or three Partisans to a pole.
Doubtless the German commander had taken a gamble – because it was established military lore that in this part of the world the Wehrmacht never moved at night. He was hoping to slip through under the cover of dusk – to break out into the open plain beyond which Lindsay had seen earlier to the south.
It was military madness. It would be a massacre.
Hartmann, compelled by Heljec to watch the destruction of his countrymen, stood close to Lindsay now with Paco between them. The Abwehr officer leaned forward to take a closer look into the abyss. He took a furtive step forward -and Paco ground her booted heel hard on the German's foot.
'You want to die early, you maniac?' she whispered.
'What happened?' murmured Lindsay.
'Your German is a brave man. He was trying to kick a stone over the edge. He could have caused a gravel slide – warning the column down there. It is, of course, doomed…'
There was no hint of excitement, of triumph in her voice – only an infinite weariness at the thought of the imminent catastrophe and bloodshed.
Soundless as a cat, Heljec ran along the line of men holding the levers. Gentle as a cat, he touched each team leader's elbow as he passed. He was signalling them to launch the attack.
Only one truckload of infantry, the two trucks containing the mortar teams, and the half-track bringing up the rear remained outside the gorge. Within a minute they would have joined their companions. inside the defile.
Jaeger had taken back his field-glasses from Schmidt and stared up like a man obsessed, the eyepieces screwed hard against his flesh. The caterpillar tracks ground forward under them. For a split second Jaeger thought fatigue was affecting his vision.
A giant boulder was wobbling. Rocking back and forth. Then the whole rampart began to tremble as though shaking under growing vibrations of an earthquake. A gap appeared on the skyline, still faintly visible. The giant had plunged down…
It struck an outcrop, ricocheted with all its massive weight across the gorge to hammer the opposite slope, bounced back in mid-air and then fell vertically. It landed smack on the top of the open turret of a tank. The commander was pounded to a jelly as the boulder collapsed the turret and concertinaed the chassis.
The squashed metal pile halted all the column behind it. More boulders hammered down, falling with tremendous velocity and landing on trucks full of men.
The screaming started. Agonizing, wailing screaming which went on and on and on. The night was filled with the cries of men mutilated, terrified, confused. The banshee-like wailing was the worst.
'Halt! Stop the bloody truck!'
Jaeger reacted instantly. Leaping from the half- track he ran to the lead truck carrying mortar teams, jumped on the running-board and yelled at the startled driver who jammed on his brakes and nearly threw Jaeger to the ground.
One other man had kept his head. Curiously it was the courier on the motorcycle who earlier had brought to Jaeger 'evidence' from Schrenk of the earlier passage of the Amazon Brigade. In his anxiety to reach Jaeger he threw overboard a stringent order subject to immediate court-martial. He drove with his headlight full on. Standing up in the stationary half-track, his machine-pistol cocked, Schmidt watched the approaching headlamp weaving with great skill in and out among the rocks scattered over the lower slopes. What the hell message was he bringing?
'Colonel Jaeger…' The courier had skidded his machine to a halt and was gasping to regain his breath. 'You are now the senior officer… Colonel Schrenk is dead…'
'Get your breath back, man…'
'I'm all right, sir…'
'Take this instruction as a direct order to be obeyed without question by every officer in the column. Abandon all vehicles. The tanks – everything. Only portable weapons to be taken. You understand?'
'Perfectly, sir…'
'The surviving troops are to take up positions on the eastern slope – the eastern. Understood?'
'Yes, sir…'
'I will have any man who does not obey my next order shot. Under no circumstances are they to open fire on the enemy. Please repeat my instructions..
In the distance they could hear the boulders falling, a clang of rock against metal. Desultory fire. Jaeger stood calmly and patiently as the courier repeated the orders almost word for word.
'Get going,' said Jaeger. 'And good luck…'
'I don't understand… began Schmidt who had jumped down beside the Colonel as the motorcyclist drove off, headlamp blazing.
'Neither will the enemy,' Jaeger replied grimly. 'Now, let's organize our own nasty little surprise for those swine on the heights.'
He ordered the mortar teams out of their trucks with all their equipment. They were to spread out. They were to take up position on the eastern slope opposite the heights where the Partisans were emplaced. Still limping slightly, he followed the mortar teams, moving with astonishing agility over the rough terrain.
'No firing until I give the order… aim for just behind the wall of boulders up there… take your time…'
This is the Jaeger I've always know, Schmidt thought as he followed his chief. Decisive, controlled, won't be rushed even when all hell is breaking loose.
All hell had broken loose. Because of Schrenk's stupidity the element of surprise was complete. The boulders continued tumbling down, rock clanged on metal as they hit the vehicles. And now grenades were tossed from the heights like exploding rain. There was the killing crackle of shrapnel.
But under Jaeger's command what had almost become a disorganized column fleeing in terrified chaos was taking, up the designated positions. Jaeger waited until every mortar was emplaced to his satisfaction, then gave the order.
'Fire a ranging shot.'
On the hilltop Paco had borrowed a pair of night- glasses from Milic. She had focused them on the vague outline of the German column. Men sweated as they heaved at the poles to lever more boulders over the edge. Hartmann, still with wrists bound, stood next to her. His guards had abandoned him as they lobbed grenades into the black gulf.
On the other side she was flanked by Lindsay who glanced round and saw Reader close behind, his face oddly expressionless. As Paco continued staring through her glasses the darkness was illuminated by blue moonlight. A flare fired by the Germans hovered. Paco stared hard through the twin lenses.
'My God, it looks like Jaeger at the end of the defile…'
'You're imagining things,' Lindsay replied. 'I think we should get well back…'
It was Hartmann who had spoken to Lindsay. He made a gesture with his head towards the hilltop which was well clear of the edge of the precipice.
'Hartmann wants us to get out of this,' Lindsay told Paco. 'I think he may have a bloody good reason for…'
'I heard him.'
'Then for Christ's sake do something about it.' 'I've seen more than enough for one night,' she said.
Paco took Hartmann firmly by one arm and helped him to move at a gentle jog-trot up the hill slope. Lindsay followed and Reader brought up the rear. No attempt was made to detain them. The Partisans were totally preoccupied with what was going on below them. Heljec seemed to be in a state of euphoria, urging his men on.
The brilliant blue flare was still lighting up the night when the first ranging mortar bomb landed. It hit one of the large rocks.
'Now wait for what's coming,' said Hartmann as he continued his jog-trot while Paco supported his balance. 'Especially if that is Jaeger down there…'
One moment it seemed to be a massacre of the Germans trapped in the gorge, a leisurely process of annihilation. Then that first bomb landed. It took Jaeger's team seconds to adjust the angles of trajectory to a fractionally higher elevation.
A veteran fighter, Heljec had been perplexed despite his jubilation. He expressed his puzzlement to Milk.
'No opposition at all. It is strange…'
'We caught them with their pants down…'
'But no rifle fire even – not a single shot. What was that?'
That was Jaeger's ranging shot. By a miracle the men closest to the detonation escaped unscathed. The force of the explosion burst out back across the gorge. The flare sputtered, fizzled out. All activity along the precipice temporarily ceased while the Partisans adjusted to the sudden darkness which enveloped. them. Then Jaeger's response began in earnest.
From below the SS Colonel heard, but could not see, the distant thump of the bombs exploding. He estimated they would be landing a hundred metres beyond the brink. His estimate was correct. The startled Partisans ran into the barrage they had hoped to flee from.
On the hilltop Paco looked back and saw Heljec's men falling, throwing up their arms as they plunged down onto the hard ground. It was ideal mortar territory: the hilltop was coated with half-buried rocks which increased the killing power of the bombs a hundredfold. Instant detonation created maximum _ blast. Shrapnel like knife-blades hurtling with tremendous velocity cut them to pieces.
It was Hartmann who called out the warning. 'We're not moving fast enough – he'll use a creeping barrage…'
"This is bloody stupid!' Paco snapped. 'Stop a second…'
Taking a knife from her belt she sliced through the rope binding the German's wrists. Something fell heavily close to Lindsay. It was Milic's rotund, Falstaffian figure, the back of his head shattered. He was still clutching the sten gun. Reader bent down, tore the weapon from the lifeless hands and the spare magazines protruding from his jacket pocket.
'Hurry, for God's sake!' called out Hartmann over his shoulder.
They began running. Hartmann seemed to have taken over from Paco as leader of the group. The irony of the situation flashed through Lindsay's mind – an Abwehr officer guiding them into a less dangerous zone – from an attack unleashed by another German in the gorge below.
At that moment Jaeger was giving an order to his mortar teams which he had divided into two sections. He was leap-frogging them up the lower slope – so that one waiting section was always a hundred metres higher up than the other, its weapons elevated to fire the bombs a greater distance.
'Second team! Open fire…!'
The firing team fed bombs into the squat, sinister barrels – spread out over half a kilometre. It was all guesswork on Jaeger's part. It had to be, since he couldn't see what the hell was happening on the hilltop. He took encouragement from the fact that no more of the remaining rocks were being levered over the ridge which seemed deserted.
He would have been even more encouraged had he been able to view the hilltop. Five, minutes earlier Heljec held the upper hand and the destruction of the entire column seemed inevitable. Now it was hell and chaos on the hilltop as the disorganized and bewildered Partisans ran on into the next barrage.
'If the shits had any sense they'd run back to the precipice,' Reader gasped out to Lindsay as he ran alongside him.
'We have to get to the edge of the hill and down the other side,' Hartmann shouted. 'Any bomb coming that far will fall into the other gorge…'
Paco ran alongside the German, careful not to trip. There might never be time to get to her feet again. She could hear the hateful hiss and rattle of the shrapnel close by… a big enough piece could decapitate a man – or a woman. The barrage was horribly close, seemed to be scraping their heels. They were too late…'
Hartmann grabbed Paco by the forearm, slowed her down. They had reached the far side of the hill where it plunged down into another gorge. He saw a narrow steep gulch descending like the start of a stream bed. He pulled her with him, feet slithering on a gravelly surface. The dried-up stream bed zigzagged between more boulders.
They came to an overhang of rock protruding far out, providing a natural roof. Panting for breath, Hartmann paused, let go of Paco and looked back and up. Lindsay was close behind. At his heels Reader followed, waving the sten as he staggered on the uneven surface.
'Get your breath back here…' Hartmann said.
'We're safe here from the mortar bombs. Sit down on that rock…'
Paco was trembling. He sat on another rock himself, took out a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his forehead. Lindsay, silent and withdrawn, had perched on another rock while Reader sagged against the rear wall.
'In a minute we'll have to get moving and fast,' Hartmann told them. 'Is there a way round into this gorge from the other one?' he asked Paco.
'Yes. This hill is like a lozenge,' she explained, 'cut off from the rest of the countryside by roads. Where the Germans came in there's a fork…'
'So, from the point where you saw Jaeger he could backtrack, take the other fork – and he'd be coming along the gorge below which we have to cross to escape?'
'You're right,' Paco said, studying Hartmann. 'Except that I can't believe Jaeger has caught up with us, that the Germans will think of such a manoeuvre. They must be in a terrible mess.'
'If it's Jaeger he'll think of it, and he'll come,' Hartmann said firmly.
Lindsay was in a state of semi-shock. Locked into the cockpit of a Spitfire was one thing. But this was his first experience of real ground warfare. Illogically, he cursed his own slowness, the fact that it was Hartmann who had saved Paco was something he deeply resented.
Reaching automatically for a cigarette, his hand touched the hard outline of the diary in his pocket. That was all – was everything – which counted. He must get the information back to London. It was a hollow reflex thought. At that moment, watching Paco, he didn't really care what happened next.
The surviving Partisans had reached the edge of the hill and were fleeing into the gorge below down other gulches. Between the steady thump of the mortar bombs – like a martial drumbeat – Hartmann could hear on both sides the slither of fleeing feet, the slide of stones. He stood up.
'We must get moving – before they trap us…'
It was weird, thought Lindsay. Hartmann seemed to have taken command of their little group quite naturally. Even Paco was accepting his leadership. And poor Milic was dead, a man with only half a head. Milic who had – speaking not a word of German – travelled all the way to Munich as part of Paco's rescue team. A hand grabbed him by the shoulder and shook him roughly.
'Have you gone into a bloody trance? The others are half way down to the gorge…'
Reader, of course. Always Reader.
'I'm handing over command to you, Schmidt.' Jaeger gave the order as he stood in the back of the half- track studying a local map with the aid of a shaded torch. 'There's a fork barely a kilometre behind us. Remember? We took the right-hand turning. According to this map the left-hand one leads round the far side of this mountain. I'm going to trap the whole of this bloody Partisan group…'
'You'll get there in time?'
'That's why I've assembled this mobile force…'
Jaeger had achieved the apparently impossible twice over. He had – by cunning use of the mortar teams – converted potential destruction of the column into disaster for the Partisans. Now he had conjured up his mobile force – the half-track armed with a swivel-mounted machine-gun and a team of six motorcycles with side-cars – the side-cars each carrying a man armed with a machine-pistol and grenades.
The half-track was crammed with infantry also armed with machine-pistols and grenades. This, Jaeger was convinced, would be close-range – maybe hand-to-hand – fighting. As the first group of two motorcycles and side-cars headed back for the fork he gave final instructions to Schmidt.
'Get the men out of the death-trap they should never have been led into. Forget the transport, abandon the tanks. Save the men! They're to move – well spread- out – fast until they break out into the plain beyond. Regroup there and I'll rejoin you when I can.'
'Good luck, Chief.'
'Luck doesn't come into it,' Jaeger shouted as the half-track turned through a hundred and eighty degrees prior to moving back to the fork. 'It's fire-power, mobility and getting there..
Before he turned to face the way they were going, Schmidt was already kicking the starter of a borrowed motorcycle ready for his swift journey along the column to issue the order. Evacuate!
Something very peculiar happened. At the time it made no sense to Lindsay, no sense at all. They had stumbled after Hartmann to the bottom of the serpentine gulch. The road along the gorge was little more than a rock-strewn track. Lindsay suspected it was a tumbling torrent in winter.
They had crossed the road as a rearguard: the more experienced Partisans were already on the far side, scrambling up another steep slope. They could hear the German motorcycles and side-cars coming. They could see them coming as they roared forward with headlamps blazing
Paco waited until they were several hundred metres above the road. They had reached a rock ledge at the mouth of a shadowed cave when, from underneath her jacket, she produced a Luger pistol and pointed it at Hartmann.
'If you make any attempt to signal our whereabouts to your compatriots I'll shoot you…'
'Shoot me!'
Hartmann began shaking with laughter. Lindsay thought the Abwehr officer's nerve had broken, that the strain had proved too much. The German extended a hand towards the pistol, suddenly stern.
'Who do you think got you off that hilltop? Who realized what was coming? Who just – but only just – saved you from the bombardment? Give me that gun immediately.'
He grasped the barrel, gently pulling it from Paco's grasp. He took hold of it by the butt and with a quick movement placed the end of the muzzle against Reader's skull.
'Hand over the sten to Lindsay. You've got three seconds and I've started counting… two…'
Reader surrendered the sten. The two men stared at each other. Hartmann gestured into the recesses of the cave. Reader shrugged, walked slowly into the shadows. Hartmann gestured again, this time to Lindsay.
'Go after him. Keep an eye' on him. You have the sten…'
'Why?' asked Paco.
'Maybe because his enemy is down there. We shall survive only if we hide. There is more than the motorcyclists…'
For the first time since they had started their brutal, aching climb Paco heard another, more sinister sound approaching above the erratic roar of the oncoming motorcycles. The power and the grind of rumbling caterpillars A tank? A half-track?
There was something macabre, almost comic, about the antics of the motorcycles. They kept dashing backwards and forwards like frantic ants, never in one place for more than a second. Darting over a short distance, screeching round on their wheels, skidding, driving back the way they had just come. Then repeating the same process. And all the time the sound of the rumbling caterpillar tracks came closer.
'Get back from the edge,' Hartmann commanded.
He grabbed her forearm and hauled her closer to the mouth of the cave as he spoke. Just in time. The soldiers riding in the side-cars began scouring the lower slopes with a ferocious barrage of machine pistol fire. They had, spotted the fleeing Partisans on the higher slopes.
A man screamed, screamed as the Germans had screamed in the other gorge. The sombre thought crossed Lindsay's mind that the sounds had been the same. A body, arms and legs cartwheeling, fell through the air beyond the cave to land on the rocks a few hundred metres below.
The rattle of machine-pistol fire continued. Random shooting across the whole slope. The hail of fire became insistent. But this was only the hors d'oeuvres. Colonel Jaeger, remembering the other gorge, was about to serve up the main course.
On the same day it was very quiet and the street was deserted as the little, middle-aged man with glasses locked the outer door of the offices of Vita Nova Verlag in Lucerne. To clear up a backlog he had been working late and now he crossed the street to the tram stop and waited patiently.
The weather was chilly and damp and he wore his overcoat and soft hat as he checked his watch and peered along the street in the direction the tram would appear. The quiet, the lack of pedestrians was deceptive.
'There he is,' a man concealed in a shop doorway remarked to his companion, another ordinary-looking civilian. 'Every day he follows the same routine, the same route home. Even if he is late today. He must be crazy.'
'He never varies the route? You are sure of that?' the taller man asked sharply.
'We have watched him for a week now. He gives no sign of being a professional…'
'You are sure that is Rudolf Roessler? A man like that could have a double. We all have a double. Did I tell you once…'
'His tram is coming.' The first hint of excitement appeared in the voice of the smaller man. 'Be ready. The other teams are in position?'
'Of course.'
The tram rumbled wearily towards the stop. It had started to rain, a gentle, wetting drizzle like a sea-mist drifting in off the lake. Roessler absent-mindedly fastened the top button of his coat, a pointless action since in a moment he would be inside the tram. It stopped, its sides gleaming with globules of moisture, and Roessler climbed aboard. As was his habit he chose a seat at the back. A woman hurried aboard and sat beside him, much to the annoyance of Roessler who preferred to be alone. He glanced furtively sideways. 'Anna…!'
'Shush! Keep your voice down. You are being followed. You see those two men sitting in the seat near the exit door, the ones who came aboard at your stop…'
Roessler was bewildered. First the unprecedented appearance of his wife who had never before met him on his way home. Now this absurdly melodramatic story… To get his bearings he performed an everyday action, taking off his rain-smeared glasses to clean them. He was going to use the corner of his handkerchief when his wife took them from him.
'Give them to me. You'll smear them, make them worse…'
Without his glasses the world was a blur. He stared at the vague silhouettes of the backs of the two men. He had not even noticed them boarding the tram. His wife had taken a tissue from her handbag to clean the glasses.
'What is happening?' he asked. 'I don't understand – we are in Switzerland. We are safe…'
'We thought we were safe,' Anna corrected him.
She handed back the glasses. With a sense of relief he put them on and the world came back into focus. Droplets of rain ran down the windows of the tram. He followed one droplet as it zigzagged an irregular course. He was frightened.
'What are you talking about?' he asked. 'You said earlier I was being followed. By whom?'
His coat smelt of damp wool. He should have brought a raincoat instead. But earlier in the day…
'I don't know,' Anna replied, keeping her voice low. 'The first thing I noticed several days ago was the men following you to work in the morning. I was watching from behind the net curtains as you went off to catch your tram. Two men had been standing on the opposite pavement, apparently talking to each other. It was raining heavily. Neither had an umbrella and they were getting soaked. It seemed odd…'
'You're imagining all this,' he muttered.
'Wait till I've finished! Then tell me I'm imagining it. I went on watching. You crossed the street and you were no more than one hundred metres away when they began to follow you. As you disappeared round a corner they broke into a trot to catch up…'
'The same men as those sitting in that seat?'
He was beginning to believe her. Ever since they had fled from Germany before the war, he had felt secure once they crossed the Swiss border. He didn't want to believe her.
'Not the same men. A different pair…'
'There you are!' He relaxed, sagged against the back of the seat. 'It's all a coincidence. I told you it was your imagination…'
'Men are watching our apartment by day and night…'
Oh, God! They sat there as the tram stopped, the doors opened, people got off, a man got on, the doors closed, they were off again. The two men Anna had pointed out remained in their seat, exchanging not a word. Roessler glanced up at the angled mirror to help passengers board and alight. One of the men in the seat was staring at him. Roessler looked away. It was becoming a nightmare.
'We're there,' said Anna. 'Get off as though. nothing is wrong. Don't look at the men. Don't trip on the steps…'
They had reached the suburb of Wesemlin where they rented the small apartment they had taken in 1933. Anna is so strong, he thought. She walked to the exit with a firm tread, paused for him to catch her up, then stepped down into the street. On the pavement, in the reflection from his freshly-cleaned glasses, he saw the two men hurry down the steps seconds before the automatic doors closed. It was one of the worst moments of his life.