32

Spangler hobbled down the hospital steps and climbed into the waiting limousine. The evening drive to the hunting preserve was uninterrupted by gate checks.

Cogan was busy on the field phones as Spangler climbed to the observation post along the ridge. Kittermaster stood with raised binoculars farther up the path, directing combat photographers in their documentation.

“Sorry I couldn’t drop in on you,” he said as Spangler reached him, “but the medics say there’s nothing wrong with you. Meantime, as you can see, we’ve been kind of busy. Here, have a look for yourself.”

Spangler took the field glasses, and focused. The lights of Auschwitz and Birkenau glowed in the forest below. Red-helmeted sentries paced the complexes, others leaned over their machine guns in the guard towers, still others patrolled the outside fences. A locomotive chugged and whistled and slowly backed its twelve cars onto the first siding at Birkenau.

“What do you think?” Kittermaster asked proudly.

“That I’d like to go back and get some sleep,” Spangler said, lowering the glasses.

“And miss all the fun and fireworks? We got a great big dress rehearsal just beginning. Not that we’re using planes tonight. The jump comes tomorrow. Even so, you’ll see quite a sight.”

“I’m not well, I need rest. I have to get back.”

“Not a chance. I need your opinions, adviser.”

“Get Julian’s opinions.”

“Oh, you mean good old Julie. Haven’t you heard, Julie isn’t with us any more? He sort of misplayed his hand. Nope, Julie’s probably landing in D. C. this very minute. So you see, it’s important you stick by—I’ve elected you his replacement. How does it feel to have all those spies under your command?”

“Find someone else.”

“It’s un-American to turn down a promotion.”

“Find somebody else. Now will someone drive me back? I’m tired.”

“The medics said you need plenty of exercise. I wouldn’t think of going against the doctors’ orders. Why not just watch a little? It should be a hell of a show.”

Spangler heard shouting. He glanced along the ridge. Cogan was barking orders into a walkie-talkie.

“Beautiful,” Kittermaster chuckled from behind his binoculars, “absolutely beautiful. Those Rangers sure have class—not a patrol to be seen.”

Spangler raised his glasses. All the exterior red-helmeted guard patrols had vanished. Powder flashes caught his eye. The white lights of Birkenau went off. A moment later the camp was illuminated by red bulbs.

“They’re in darkness,” Kittermaster said proudly. “The red lights mean darkness—thought of it myself.”

Spangler shifted his glasses to the tree line beyond Birkenau. Waves of blue-helmeted paratroopers rushed from the forest toward the exterior fence.

“Okay, I’ve watched,” Spangler said, putting down the binoculars. “Now can I get some sleep?”

“But the fun is just beginning.”

“Tell me about it tomorrow.”

“Don’t you want to see how they identify Tolan and Jean-Claude?”

“I know.”

“The hell you do.”

“Once you take the camp, the prisoners will be brought out, lined up and moved past inspection posts until Tolan and Jean-Claude are found.”

“Who told you?”

“Nobody. It fits, that’s all. And it won’t work.” Spangler walked off, suddenly looking healthier, as if pessimism were a restorative.