Day of Judgment

‘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.’

The Vopo examined the card by torchlight and nodded. ‘Straight on to the main courtyard. I’ll telephone through and tell them you’re on your way.’

Van Buren drove on, along the dark tunnel. There was a barrier at the far end, another sentry who examined his identity card again before raising the pole and allowing him through. Security was thorough enough, or so it seemed.

He drove across the inner courtyard and braked to a halt at the foot of a row of wide stone steps rising to a massive wooden door

which stood open. A small group of Vopos waited to greet him. Two privates holding lanterns, a sergeant and a young man whose uniform carried a captain’s tabs.

The captain saluted as Van Buren got out of the car. ‘A pleasure to meet you, Herr Professor. Hans Süssmann.’ He nodded to the sergeant, a large, brutal-looking man. ‘Becker.’

Van Buren looked up at the dark bulk of the Schloss. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘The place has its own power plant from the days when it was an army group headquarters. The dynamo is giving trouble. Nothing serious. There are a couple of electricians working on it now.’

Van Buren took out a leather case and selected a cigarette. Süssmann offered him a light. The American said, ‘You’ve had your orders from Colonel Klein? You understand the situation here?’

‘Perfectly.’

‘How many men have you got?’

‘Twenty. All hand picked.’

‘Good. Let’s go in.’

The entrance hall was impressive, a marble staircase lifting into the darkness above. A silver candelabrum stood on the table in the centre with half a dozen lighted candles in it. A short, stocky man stood there. His dark beard was flecked with grey, his hair tangled, and the elbows of his old tweed jacket were crudely patched.

‘This is Berg,’ Süssmann said. ‘The caretaker. The place hasn’t been occupied for any official purpose since the war.’

Van Buren said to Berg, ‘We spoke on the telephone earlier. You’ve done as I said?’

‘Yes, Herr Professor.’

‘Good – I’ll see Conlin now.’

Süssmann nodded to Berg, who picked up the candelabrum and led the way up the marble stairs. As they followed. Van Buren said, ‘What’s the situation in the village?’

‘Population, one hundred and fifty-three – agricultural workers in the main. The local innkeeper is the mayor – George Ehrlich. He’s Berg’s brother-in-law. There has never been any trouble here – not from anyone. Oh, there