Mr. Calder & Mr. Behrens Read Online Free Page A

you.”
    In an ante-room in the headquarters building, Mr. Behrens was subjected to a polite but extremely thorough and professional search. A small pair of folding nail-scissors was removed from him, with apologies, and he was conducted to a further room. This was crowded with high-ranking officers of the Army and Air Force, most of whom he had never seen before. They were standing about in groups talking softly.
    “You must be nervous,” said Mailler.
    “I’ll try not to be,” said Mr. Behrens.
    Thirty minutes later a stout major opened the far door and beckoned to Mailler, who laid one hand on Mr. Behrens’ arm and propelled him forward.
    A man of middle height and thick build, wearing a grey uniform jacket and black riding breeches, was standing behind a table looking down at the maps on it. There were other men in the room too, but Mr. Behrens had eyes only for one. The flat-tipped nose and porcine nostrils with the spout of black hair below them; the grey face and pouches of grey skin below the eyes; the eyes black and very small, tiny windows into the furnace inside.
    The revulsion was so strong in him that Mr. Behrens felt his mouth dry up. Hitler lifted his lips in a brief smile.
    “He is speechless. No harm in that. In the Reich, deeds come before words.”
    He half turned, and one of the staff officers handed him an open box. Hitler took out the small gun-metal cross, leaned forward across the table and pinned it to Mr. Behrens’ coat.
    Mr. Behrens had the presence of mind to throw up his arm in a Nazi salute. The next moment he was outside in the ante-room and Mailler was shaking him by the hand.
    “A remarkable privilege,” he said, “that he should pin it on you with his own hand.” The medal was slightly askew. “You must never move it.”
    “It shall stay just where it is,” said Mr. Behrens fervently, “until I finally take this uniform off.”
    Later he was able to examine his award more closely. It was the Dresdner Kreuz with crossed palm leaves. The inscription underneath said “For Arduous and Faithful Service in the Cause of Right and Progress.”
     
    The convoy drove slowly out towards Airfield North. The Fuehrer’s car, flying his personal standard, lay second in line behind the leading vehicle, which was crammed with guards, and a protective screen of motor cyclists. Third in line came SS General Pohl; behind him General Busche, with his personal staff officers, Major Nachtigal and Captain Heimroth; then a second car load of SS, and a sixth car carrying Colonel Mulbach, Major Mendel and Mr. Behrens. A seventh car, full of guards, brought up the rear.
    Mr. Behrens was not happy. Mulbach was sitting in front beside the SS driver and Behrens could see nothing but the colonel’s bull-neck and massive shoulders. Major Mendel was in the back, beside him. Mendel had not spoken a word since the drive started. He looked a most unreliable conspirator. He was white and sweating, breathing quickly and unable to control his hands. “Good God,” thought Mr. Behrens. “Why did we have to choose a man like this? A child could see that he’s up to no good. He’ll fall flat on his face before he gets halfway to the aeroplane.”
    A thought struck him. Had Major Mendel, not trusting himself to do it unobtrusively on the airfield under the eyes of the guards, already set the fuse, and was he now afraid that some unexpected delay might keep them hanging about for an hour before take-off? It would certainly account for his nervousness.
    Mr. Behrens bent his head to look at the satchel which stood on the floor between them. It was then that the full shock hit him. It was not the satchel he had prepared.
    It was very like it but it was not the same. He had worked on it too long to be deceived. The stitching was different and the colour was a shade lighter.
    As he thought wildly, turning over various permutations of treachery in his mind, the car swung to the right, over a dry ditch and on to the