"It's a long story," said Ma Barker.

"It'll be a b.l.o.o.d.y short one if you don't get rid of her," snapped the little man. "She's with the Freikorps. I saw her and her friend just yesterday, riding round in one of their limousines."

Ace felt the cold steel of Ma Barker's knife at her throat.

9: THE RAID.

Sitting next to the driver of the Freikorps lorry, Lieutenant Hemmings checked the magazine of his Luger. He slammed the magazine back into the b.u.t.t of the automatic, remembering the way the girl had humiliated him in the General's office. Hemmings smiled with s.a.d.i.s.tic pleasure. To the gang of Freikorps thugs in the lorry this was just another routine raid, but to Hemmings it was sweet revenge.

His little chess game had paid off, and he was about to make the winning move. Soon the girl would be in his hands, for good this time. Once the girl talked he would have the Doctor as well.

Hemmings noticed a spot on his lapel and dabbed it with a moistened finger. The finger came away pink. The spot was blood - Ace's blood.

He licked the end of his finger and smiled.

Pop turned to Ma Barker. "How did you come to bring her here?"

"She was on the release truck with me." Ma Barker touched Ace's swollen lip. "The bruise is genuine enough, and so's the blood."

Pop shook his head. "Proves nothing. Any good spy'd take a punch or two to be more convincing."

"The old beaten-up prisoner trick," said Ma Barker. "And I fell for it."

The little man darted to the door and peered through the gla.s.s panel.

"She's a plant all right! I'd slit her throat right now if I were you. You'll need to dispose of the body before they get here."

There was something strangely familiar about his scurrying, mouse-like movements, and suddenly Ace realized where she'd seen him before.

"Hang on a minute - I'm not the one who's working with the Freikorps. You are." Ignoring the knife, she turned indignantly to Ma Barker. "This is the man who turned us in - me and the Doctor. He overheard us talking in one of those pavilions and shopped us for the sake of the reward."

There was total conviction in Ace's voice and it was quite clear she was telling the truth. Ma Barker's knife was still at Ace's throat - but suddenly the revolver in Pop's hand was covering the mousy little man.

"Well, Arnie?" said Pop gently.

The little man looked from Ma to Pop, licking suddenly dry lips. "All right, what if I did?" he said defiantly. He turned appealingly to Pop. "Look, you know the position I'm in. I keep in with the Freikorps and the Occupation Authorities - so I can let you know what's going on. Warn you about raids, things like that - the way I did just now."

Pop didn't say anything. Neither did Ma Barker.

The little man swallowed and went on. "So, if I'm going to keep in with them I have to give them something from time to time. Bits of useless information, reports on what you're not gonna do. It all helps to tie them up watching the wrong targets. And if somebody's a real traitor, and a danger to you - well, maybe I plant a bit of evidence and inform on 'em." He looked expectantly at his audience.

"True enough ducky," said Ma Barker. "But it all 'as to be cleared with us, dunnit? Every sc.r.a.p of info you give 'em, every poor soul you turn in - we're supposed to know about it first. Now, I don't recall giving the okay on shopping this young lady and her mate. Do you, Pop?"

"No, I don't, Ma." The muzzle of the huge revolver was still trained steadily on the little man.

"So I used my initiative," said Arnie.

Pop shook his head. "Initiative can be dangerous, Arnie. Can't it, Ma?"

"Too true," said Ma. "You start shopping people freelance like, you might get a taste for it."

"You might start thinking about me and Ma," said Pop. "Thinking how much you could tell 'em about us, and how well they'd pay for it."

Arnie looked so terrified that Ace almost felt sorry for him. "Lissen," he said desperately. "I heard these two shooting their mouths off at the Festival, danger to themselves and everyone else. I knew they were strangers so I thought.

"So you thought about the nice big reward," said Ace. "Don't you realize we came here to help you?"

"Help us - you?" said Arnie. Again he turned in appeal to Ma Barker and Pop. "That funny little bloke who was with her - he wasn't scared a bit when they pulled him in. He just sort of took charge of everything. Soon after that, he's riding around in a Freikorps limo, with a Freikorps driver -and she was with him!"

Now everyone was looking at Ace.

"All right, that bit's true," said Ace. The knife moved closer to her throat.

"But I can explain," she said hastily.

"It'll need to be good, ducky," said Ma Barker.

Ace looked at Pop. "You know that bloke who had the nasty accident, by the river when we first arrived? Well, the Doctor and I reached him, after you but before the guards. Before he died he gave the Doctor a black leather folder with a gold swastika badge inside. It said he was some kind of inspector . . . only in German."

"ReichsinspektorGeneral," said Pop softly. "Hitler's personal investigator.

Go anywhere, see anyone, do anything, no questions asked. We caught a big one all right."

"Right," said Ace. "Well, when we got nicked the Doctor used that badge, convinced them he was this Reichsthingummy."

"He'd never get away with it," said Pop.

"You don't know the Doctor," said Ace. "He's got the cheek of the devil - sometimes I think he is the devil."

"You don't mean it actually worked?" asked Ma Barker.

Ace nodded. "Believe me, it worked like a charm. We're both staying at Freikorps HQ -with the whole Freikorps jumping whenever the Doctor opens his mouth."

It was Ma Barker who pointed out the apparent flaw in her story. "If you and your mate are so well in with the Freikorps - how come you ended up with me on that truck?"

Ace groaned. What was that about weaving tangled webs? "We're supposed to be making some mysterious investigation into the British resistance movement, right? So the Doctor spun them a yarn about how I was being forced to help trap you so I could use it as a cover to find you and help you. I know it sounds daft, but it makes a sort of sense if you work it out."

"You're saying you're acting as a double agent," said Pop.

"That's right," said Ace. "That's it exactly."

"I don't like double agents," said Pop. "They get confused, forget which side they're really on."

"Like Arnie here," said Ma.

Pop said, "What do you reckon, Ma? Seems to me there's not much to choose between "em. Either we let them both go. . . "

"Or we kill "em both," said Ma cheerfully.

"Might be safer," said Pop.

"Better safe than sorry," said Ma. "Pity though. She seems like a nice kid really."

The knife was back at Ace's throat.

Pop covered the little man with his revolver. "Well, I shall miss you, Arnie, old chap," he said, with one of his sudden lapses into posh vowels. "No hard feelings, eh?"

There was the sudden roar of lorry engines from outside. Through the grimy gla.s.s Ace could just about make out the shapes of several lorries and of armed men jumping down.

"It's too late for all of us now," said Arnie bitterly. "I told you there was something going on round here. It's a raid!"

A megaphone-amplified voice blared at them from outside.

"This is a Field Unit of the British Freikorps. The area is surrounded. Do not move from where you are. Do not attempt to escape or you will be shot."

Hemmings jumped down from the lorry and watched the Freikorps unit swing into action. It was an operation they had carried out many times before. Already men were racing round to the back of the caf, while others were making their way to the tops of nearby buildings to cover the roof.

Hemmings' sergeant, a burly man with a bruised face, ran up and saluted.

"Target secure, sir."

"Carry on."

The sergeant nodded to a corporal who ran to the cafe door and kicked it open, covering those inside with his Sten gun. Hemmings strolled inside. A peaceful and innocent scene met his eyes. A girl and a man sitting together at a table quietly drinking tea. A fat old woman wiping the counter, and a tall old man slicing a greasy-looking chunk of corned beef.

"Fancy a cuppa char and a wad, sir?" said the old woman cheerfully. "It's only the ersatz corned beef, but you can put plenty of mustard on it. That's ersatz as well, of course. . ."

"Papers!" said the corporal, cutting through the flow of words.

"Don't bother," drawled Hemmings. "These ladies and gentlemen will be accompanying us back to HQ. Wait outside, will you, corporal? Oh, and send in my sergeant."

The corporal saluted and left.

Hemmings looked round the caf. "Well, well, well! What a happy reunion!

And here's another old friend."

The sergeant with the bruised face came into the room and saluted. "That's the girl, sir," he said, pointing to Ace. "She joined up with the old woman there as soon as we left the release truck. I said I was going off to look for a drink. Then I hung about out of sight and followed them here."

"Well done, Sergeant. Write out your deposition back at HQ."

"Sir!" The Sergeant gave the Hitler salute and left.

Hemmings looked triumphantly at the girl, but she was still defiant.

"Well, well," said Ace. "The old beaten-up prisoner trick and I fell for it!"

She gave him a scornful look. "I don't know what you think you're up to. . ."

"Then let me tell you," interrupted Hemmings. "I put you on a truck with someone suspected of resistance activities - and I put one of my men on board as well. He sees you make contact with the suspect and accompany her to her - lair, shall we say? There I find you consorting with a number of other suspicious characters. We've had our suspicions of Ma Barker for a very long time - and her friend here's been on our wanted list for many years." He nodded to the old man behind the counter. "A pleasure to meet you at last, Major Popplewell. You were one of Colonel Gubbins" stalwarts, I believe? You've had a long run, but it's over now."

"Dunno what you mean, Guv," said the old man stolidly.

The girl still wouldn't give up. "Listen, you pompous twit, I'm supposed to contact the resistance. That was the whole point of this morning's charade.

And it worked, too - I was on the way to gaining their trust till you turned up."

"Ah, but there's the cunning of it," said Hemmings almost admiringly. "You were making contact with the resistance under cover of making contact with the resistance. The cla.s.sic double bluff. Brilliant!"

"Rubbish! You've no proof."

"I shall have all the proof I need soon after we get back to HQ - signed confessions from all of you."

"I wouldn't bank on it, ducks," said Ma Barker.

"Oh, everybody confesses - eventually." Hemmings looked round the little group. Three of the faces were hard and determined. He turned his attention to the fourth. "Besides, even if you three hold out, there's always Mr. Arnold. In return for a promise of immunity, he'll sign a confession implicating the lot of you. Then I shoot you and close the file."

Everyone looked at Arnold, but he wouldn't look back. Hemmings smiled. It was quite clear they all realized he was right. Arnold would say anything to save his skin.

The girl made a last desperate effort. "Look, you know who the Doctor really is.

"I know what he is. That funny little man of yours is a fake. I know it. I feel it in my guts."

"What guts?" said the girl contemptuously.

Hemmings smiled happily, feeling the familiar warm glow.. "You really do ask for it, don't you? What are you, some kind of m.a.s.o.c.h.i.s.t? Don't worry, I can provide all the pain you need." He drew back his fist.

Ace stood poised, ready to duck - and to retaliate with a kick that would ruin Hemmings" elegant pose for quite some time. She had decided, quite calmly, that her best chance was to provoke him into killing her. Then she heard a voice from the doorway.

"Any chance of a cup of tea and a currant bun?"

It was the Doctor, looking fittingly sinister in his black leather coat, black hat and monocle. The effect was only slightly spoiled by the red-handled umbrella, which seemed to add a note of unsuitable frivolity.

"Splendid!" said Hemmings happily. "A clean sweep."

"Ah, but who is the sweeper, and who the swept?" said the Doctor mysteriously. "How does the poet put it?

If the Red Slayer thinks he slays Or if he thinks that he be slain He knows not well the subtle ways I touch and pa.s.s and touch again...