CHAPTER NINE
While ensign Withell was recovering from his night with Räder and Molly had just decided to go and find out why he didn't answer the 'phone, the American was moving through the Wednesday afternoon crowd at the "Warner". It was during the interval that the Cobra noticed Scotty's seat had been taken. Using some opera-glasses he carefully studied the back of Hauptsturmführer Gotha.
From his seat at the front of the balcony he had a perfect view of the crowd below in which to check if the man had company or not. After some five minutes Gotha got up and walked towards the gents. Quickly, the Cobra followed. He recognised the man easily in the crowded room.
He was having a splash. The Cobra lined up behind one of the urinals. Out of the corner of his eye he saw that Gotha had finished and was queuing up at the wash basin. A younger man casually moved next to him. Intuitively, the Cobra sensed that they knew each other. He made a clear imprint of their faces in his mind. He watched the two men walk together in the gangway for a few seconds as they returned to their seats. The row behind his original seat, next to Scotty's, was not fully occupied and the Cobra decided to keep an eye on Gotha from nearby. It was a full two hours before Gotha left, during which time the Cobra changed places twice. He was not surprised when Gotha was joined by the other man shortly after leaving the theatre.
The American followed the two men.
After a short walk they got into an armoured car, parked near Green Park tube station. The Cobra followed the security vehicle from a considerable distance until it vanished under 15 Cromwell Road. A short time after he walked past the house and checked the name and writing on the gate. It read: H. Grundig, Security Car Hire."
In the house at that moment a young girl was being dragged down to the cellar but her screaming could not be heard outside. When Molly entered the inner vault she kicked wildly at Räder the moment she realised what had been done to Scotty, now strapped face down on the operating table without his clothes. Räder grabbed her hair at the back, with one hand gripping it firmly at the roots and pulling her head down at the same time. She felt the strength in him and realised at once how helpless she was against this handsome brute. It was obvious Räder enjoyed wrestling with the weeping young virgin and it was not long before he had touched her intimately. When he tore off her dress and panties with a few forceful moves she realised he would go to the extreme. It was then that she noticed the leather belt that hung casually from one of the chairs. The next instant she felt it burn into her quivering flesh. She had torn herself away from him and was now cowering in a corner, vainly attempting to cover her silken nudeness as the belt began to descend systematically on to her virgin flesh. Only then, did she realise the strokes were not quite hard.
Suddenly, she fell on to one side, finding herself at the man's boots. She turned over to avoid more strokes on the burning tissues and was now lying on her belly, trying to wriggle away from the strokes. The belt began to descend on to her back and buttocks but the strokes were surprisingly mild. Then, as she was wriggling her burning bottom in front of the SS-man, she realised she was getting wet.
"I thought you would like that, you British cunt!" Räder shouted as he started to undress.
The Cobra rang Scotty's number at 8pm but, as he had expected, the 'phone was not answered. He looked up 'Grundig' in the directory and decided to pull a fast one. The number he dialled was Kensington 5648.
As soon as the receiver was lifted, he said: "Herr Grundig, bitte?"
The man at the other end said: "Yes...," but the short hesitation did not pass unnoticed. The Cobra repeated the question, pretending the connection had not been made. Then he said, "Verdammt noch mal!"
"If you are in a call-box, you must press button A," the man at the other end said irritably.
After hearing the German accent, the Cobra replaced the receiver.
He would ring the same number again half an hour later which would be nine o'clock that Wednesday night.
"I understand you have a security-car for hire," the man said. Menke cursed. He wished he hadn't picked up the 'phone. "We are fully booked until the end of the month," he said curtly.
"I'm willing to pay three times your usual rate if I can have the car for one hour at ten-thirty tonight," the man said. "I need it for a single consignment between my home and my firm near Baker Street."
"I said we were fully booked," Menke said, intending to end the conversation right there.
"Your address was given to my by the Metropolitan Police. They said they had never seen you operate."
It was a gamble but it struck home.
Menke hesitated.
"We have a car requisitioned, since matters of State are partly involved, but we would probably keep it for a much longer period then."
"What's the address and how do I get there?!" Menke asked.
The Cobra explained.
Menke turned to the right just after Baker Street, as the man had said, then he turned left again. He noticed that the alley was very dark. It was a foggy night and cold. There were no lights at all and the fog seemed to be getting thicker and thicker.
Menke turned on the headlights but they were not much help. After some hundred yards he nearly hit a black wall where the narrow street made a sharp turn to the right. Just in time, he swung the van to turn with the narrow road. Around the corner the street narrowed even more.
On each side he could see tall, black walls.
Menke cursed.
He realised at once that the van was stuck. He must have missed the cul-de-sac sign at the entrance. Now he would have to manoeuvre the van out backwards.
He switched the engine off and wondered how he could have got himself into such a stupid position.
He got out of the van.
His eyes were adapting to the darkness now but there was still the fog. He walked towards the back of the van.
The Cobra saw the German silhouetted between the van and the wall as he walked towards the back end of the car.
When Menke heard the whistle of the descending club it was too late.
He slumped forward quite gently, hitting the ground with a soft thud.
After Menke had opened his eyes, it took him a while to recognise the world around him. He thought there must be a mistake.
He must be having a nightmare.
The large room was lit by a single candle but the motionless figures around him were clearly lit. He had never been to Madam Tussaud's before, and it took him a while to realise that the grim figures in the room were statues. Even so, it didn't make sense. After long minutes of feverish thinking, Menke saw one of the statues move. It was the statue of a man seated behind a table on which a candle was placed.
It had moved the candle.
Menke closed his eyes.
There had never been any certified insanity in his family, as far as he knew. Yet there could be no doubt that he himself was now halluci-nating.
He tried to organise his mind.
If the man was moving, he could not be a statue. If he was not a statue he must be an ordinary man. If he was an ordinary man he could talk. And if he could talk, he was his only link with his present reality.
Hans Menke would ask where he was.
It was only then he became consciously aware of the plaster on his mouth and the fact that he was strapped rigidly to a wooden structure.
Menke could only move his eyeballs.
"In about two minutes this rope will burn through."
The statue had spoken.
Menke opened his eyes again.
Automatically he looked at the candle and noticed that the flame was under a rope. The rope was tied to the table at one end. Menke followed the rope, which led upwards to a structure above him.
It was then that Menke noticed the guillotine above his head.
Once more Menke closed his eyes.
The first shock of finding himself in the middle of an hallucination was as nothing compared with what he went through now. From mere horror, the world around him had changed into the closest Menke had ever been to death.
He felt his blood pounding in his temples, his face was congesting. The walls were closing in on him. Menke realised his memory was becoming completely disorganised.
The chronological order was disappearing out of the sequence of experiences which had finally created the personality of Hans Menke. This personality was now going to disintegrate.
There was only one way to prevent this.
Logic...
Logic was independent of memory.
It was his first intelligent thought.
Then he began to apply it: If he was hallucinating there was no physical danger. If he was not hallucinating there would be a purpose. If there was purpose he would find out. So the answer was: just wait.
Thus Menke decided to wait. He felt the pounding in his bursting head decrease.
It was then that a voice said: "After I remove the plaster from your mouth you will not scream. You will tell me, as quick as you can, everything you can remember of the last forty-eight hours. More specifically about the British ensign and the project he is working on. You have my solemn word that as soon as I'm satisfied I will remove this candle."
Menke never thought he could speak so rapidly. As he went on and on he tried to lift his head in a strange, reflexive attempt to get a better view of the candle and the burning rope. Finally he began to scream.
His eyes popped outwards from their sockets and his tongue touched his chin.
The last thing he noticed was the burning end of the rope that suddenly flashed through the darkness above him, like a comet in space.
Taurig, the Bendlerstraße-man, the Cobra thought. So he was up against him. Only four of them here. Taurig waiting for him when he got through. In charge and fully committed to his destruction.
The toughest then.
Very well, he would make sure his London emissaries would be well looked after.
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