Day of Judgment. Jack Higgins
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to explain.’ And then he smiled. ‘But perhaps I could show you.’
He brought an old wheelchair, a robe to put about her shoulders, and took her out and along the stone-flagged corridor into the courtyard, pausing only to push open the gnarled oaken door on the far side.
It was like plunging into cool water, a tiny, simple chapel with no seating at all. Whitewashed walls, a wooden statue of St Francis, the plainest of altars with an iron crucifix, a small rose-coloured window through which the evening light sprayed colour into the room.
‘For me,’ Konrad said, ‘there is joy in simply being here, for in this place I am aware of all my faults and weaknesses with utmost clarity. Here it is that I see myself as I truly am and here also that I am most aware of God’s infinite compassion and love. And that, Fräulein, gives me joy in life.’
She sat, staring up at that rosy window and made her decision. ‘Have you ever heard of the League of the Resurrection?’
‘Why do you ask?’
‘Have you and your friends ever assisted with its work?’
‘We are an enclosed order,’ he said gravely. ‘The contemplative life is what we seek.’
‘But you know of the work of Father Sean Conlin?’
‘I do.’
‘And approve?’
‘Yes.’
She swung to face him. ‘He’s up there now in Schloss Neustadt. Dachau all over again and it’s all my fault.’
It was cold with the bedroom window open, but her face was hot, burning as from a fever again, and the evening breeze eased it a little. She stirred restlessly in the chair and the door opened and Konrad entered with a glass.
‘Cognac,’ he said. ‘Drink it down. It will make you feel better.’ He pulled a chair forward. ‘Now tell me more about this American professor, Van Buren.’
‘I first met him in Dresden about eighteen months ago. I was just finishing my medical studies and he was lecturing on para-psychology, a fringe interest of his. He made a point of visiting my father. Said he’d always admired his work. They became good friends.
He even obtained a medical appointment for me in his own department at the Institute of Psychological Research. A wonderful opportunity – or so I thought at the time.’
‘You didn’t like working there?’
‘Not really. Harry Van Buren is a remarkable man – certainly the most brilliant intellect I’ve ever been exposed to. But it seems to me he has one fatal flaw. He’s obsessed with his subject to such a degree that human beings become of secondary importance. At the Institute I saw him turn people around, change them completely. Oh yes, there were the psychotics where it was a good thing – a miracle, if you like. But the others …’
Konrad said gently, ‘So – he betrayed you?’
‘My father was ill – terminal cancer of the lung. They took him into hospital several weeks ago – I’m not certain of the exact date. They told me that the medical superintendent wanted to see me. When they took me to his office, I found Harry and a Colonel Klein from State Security.’
‘What happened then?’
‘Colonel Klein told me that the radio-therapy treatment needed to keep my father alive was costly and the equipment needed elsewhere. It was usual medical policy to allow such cases to run their own course. If I did as I was told, they might be able to make an exception.’
‘Which was to entice Conlin over the border for them?’
She nodded. ‘Harry explained why it was necessary in the finest detail. It was as if he was trying to persuade me. How Father Conlin could be made to stand up before the world and say exactly what he had been told. Harry said it was necessary because Conlin was an enemy of the State. That he and his organization had been engaged in espionage.’
‘And you believed him?’
‘My only thought was for my father.’
‘Honestly put.’
She carried on. ‘Harry calls his technique thought reform. And it works. He’ll have Father Conlin denying everything he’s ever believed in before he’s through.’
There was a long pause, then Konrad said, ‘And what is it you would have me do, Fräulein?’
‘When they sent me across, they used a man called Schmidt in East Berlin who specializes in such matters. Klein said they allowed him to operate because it suited their purposes. Sometimes they put agents across to the other side in the guise of refugees. That sort of thing.’
‘Which makes sense. And they had you followed?’
‘Oh yes. An SSD operative, not that he lasted very long. The man who handled the actual crossing was an Englishman – a Major Vaughan. He and his partner have an undertaker’s establishment in Rehdenstrasse in the West Zone. Julius Meyer & Co.’
‘You think he can help?’
‘Perhaps. He was the only one who could see I was lying. Isn’t that a strange thing?’
She broke down then, harsh sobs racking her body. Konrad rested a hand on her shoulder briefly, turned and went out. He paused for a moment, a slight frown on his face, then went to the far end of the corridor and opened a door which gave access to the
farmyard at the rear of the main building. There was a monotonous jangle of cowbells as the small dairy herd was shepherded in from the water-meadow by Brother Urban, a frail old man with white hair who wore a sack across his shoulders.
Brother Konrad opened the main door to the cow byres for him. ‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘what time does Franz deliver the milk to the inn in the morning?’
‘Seven-thirty is the usual time, I believe, Brother,’ the old man replied.
‘And Berg, from the Schloss? What time does he collect his milk? Do you know?’
‘He’s usually waiting at the inn when Franz gets there.’
‘Good.’ Brother Konrad nodded. ‘When you see Franz, tell him that in the morning I will take the milk.’
Strange how cheerful he felt. He slapped the rear cow on its bony rump and they all tried to squeeze through the entrance into the byre together, bells clanking.
* * *
In the bedroom, Margaret Campbell stood at the open window awkwardly, all her weight on one leg as she leaned across the sill to cool her burning face. It was almost dark and yet it was still possible to discern the darker mass of Schloss Neustadt against the evening sky.
There was a light up there, gleaming faintly from one window after another as if someone was moving along a corridor. It was suddenly extinguished. She thought of Conlin alone up there in the darkness and was afraid.
The car which Klein had placed at Van Buren’s disposal was a Mercedes staff car of the war years. It was in excellent condition, a pleasure to handle, and he enjoyed the hour and a half’s run from Berlin in spite of the poor visibility towards evening.
It gave him time to think about the task ahead, and in any case he liked being alone like this. But then, he always had. An onlooker instead of a participant. In that way one could see things more clearly. Sum up
the strength of the opposition, which, in this case, meant Conlin.
It was almost completely dark when he reached Neustadt. There were lights at the windows in the village, but the Schloss was in complete darkness. He drove up the narrow approach road, negotiating the sharp bends with care as it climbed the hill. There was a sentry standing in the mouth of the entrance tunnel out of the rain.
Van Buren held his identity card out of the window. ‘Captain Süssmann is expecting me.’