Heroes, David Hagberg [me reader .txt] 📗

had been dead for hours. His body was locked in rigor mortis.

Someone shouted something from below, and Schey nearly jumped out of his skin, bringing the Luger up as he spun around.

There was a crash of metal, and then everything was quiet.

Deathly still.

He glanced back at the body. The lieutenant’s Luger was still in its holster. He had not suspected he would die. He had not been prepared.

Schey turned again, paused at the head of the stairs to the lower level, and then started down. Only a very small amount of light filtered down from the open doorway on the street level, but it rapidly became evident that light was coming up from the tunnel as well.

At the bottom he flattened himself against the wall and just eased to the corner.

The tunnel was empty, but from the direction of the laboratory he could definitely see lights, and he could hear the faint hum of an electric subway car in idle. Evidently the underground electrical service had not been interrupted.

He stepped away from the stairwell and hurried through the shadows near the tunnel’s curving walls to the access walkway that led a few hundred feet to the old car maintenance area. In the distance, down the track, he could see the back of a subway car.

There seemed to be a lot of activity down there. But what the hell was it? _

Tightening his grip on his Luger, Schey made his way along the walkway, crouched over and keeping close to the wall. At the far end of the walkway, four steps led down to the level of the * siding on which the cars could be run into the maintenance hall. |

Schey stopped just within the shadows of the tunnel. Most of the cyclotron had already been dismantled, and the parts were being loaded aboard four subway cars connected together on the main track. [

File cabinets and large cases apparently containing blueprints were being stacked at the edge of the tracks by the scientists, while other men loaded the things aboard the cars.

There was an air of feverish activity in the great hall. Most of the lights had been turned off, and no one was doing any loud _

talking. The only noises were the shuffling of feet echoing in the chamber and an occasional knock as a metal case or part was dropped too heavily.

Some of the men loading gear aboard the train were wearing some son of uniform. In the dim light he could not recognize it.

But something chilly played at the back of his spine.

Standing off to one side of the massive concrete base on which the cyclotron’s heavy magnets had rested, was a knot of half a dozen men. One of them was in the odd uniform, while the others were civilians. One of them he thought he recognized as the scientist who had done most of his recent debriefing and who had asked Schey to pass on his message to Hitler.

All of them seemed extremely nervous. Even from where Schey hid, he could see that they kept looking around as if they expected someone to be coming at any moment.

But the uniforms … what the hell was going on here?

Schey debated going back up to the street and commandeering some of the SS or even the Wehrmacht soldiers and bringing them back down here. But he decided against it. The scientists were damned near finished. They’d be leaving very soon.

The scientist Schey remembered only as Bertrand stepped aside, giving Schey a clear frontal view of the man in the brown uniform. He wore several medals on his chest. A red star adorned his hat.

He was Russian! The others in uniform were Russian! Here, in the heart of Berlin! These were the atomic secrets Schey had brought back from the States. The scientists had sold out to the Russians.

Without thinking further, his brain numb, Schey stepped away from the protection of the walkway tunnel, raised his Luger with both hands, squeezed off a shot, then a second and a third. The Russian officer fell backwards, his arms flailing. Schey’s scientist stumbled and went down, and everyone else in the room scattered.

A bullet ricocheted off the concrete wall just above Schey’s head, but still he fired at the scientists and the soldiers by the train.

“Traitors!” he shouted.

Something like a very large fist slammed into his chest just below his collar bone, driving him backward against the rail and nearly flipping him over onto the tracks four feet below.

Other shots were fired, chips of concrete flying, bullets whining off down the tunnel.

Schey felt terribly weak and sick to his stomach, but he managed to regain his balance and he turned and hurried down the tunnel.

At the far end, he turned and fired two shots down the walkway, then pulled himself up the stairs.

Marlene. He could only think of Marlene now. He needed help.

The sun shone on the sparkling water, while across Algeciras Bay the great rock pile of Gibraltar stood as a mighty stalwart against the Atlantic. Canaris had stopped his car and gotten out so that he could enjoy the view. Somehow, though, he could not seem to find a way to get back into the car. It was maddening.

He could see Dona Marielle Alicia at her little house behind the church. He could almost reach out and touch her. He could see the tears in her lovely eyes. Her lips were moist. She was calling to him.

Canaris awoke. He was drenched in sweat. It was early morning.

The sun was just coming up, and he felt stiff and old and very used-up.

He sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a moment, in an effort to recapture his dream. But it had already begun to fade, and by the time he sat up and swung his thin legs over the edge of his narrow cot, he had already forgotten exactly what it was he had dreamed about. —

He got up and splashed some water on his face, then combed his