and his colleague knelt down and began stripping the bloodstained Nazi uniforms off the corpses.
"There's a problem," interrupted the captain, all eyes riveted upon him.
"I speak German, they speak German, but you don't, Cons-Op."
"I don't intend to play bridge or have a drink with anybody."
"But say we're stopped, these aren't the only clowns on guard here, take my word for it, dark or not."
"A moment, please," said Number Two.
"Monsieur Lat'am, can you say the word "Halsweh'?"
"Sure, halls-fay."
"Try again, Cons-Op," said Dietz, nodding approvingly at the Frenchmen.
"That's terrific, guys.. .. Halsweh, go on."
"Halls-way," mumbled Latham.
"Good enough," said the commando.
"If anyone stops us, I'll talk. If they specifically address you, you cough, strain your voice, hold your throat, and scratch out the word "Halsweh," got it?"
"What the hell have I got?"
"It is German for sore throat,
Monsieur. The pollen season, you know. Many people come down with sore throats and wet eyes."
"Thanks, Two, if I need a doctor, I'll call you."
"Enough. Put on the clothes."
Four minutes later, Latham and Dietz were reasonable facsimiles of the neo-Nazi patrols, bulges, bloodstains, and all. Neither would fool anyone in a harsh glare of light, but in shadows and quasi darkness both could get away with the ruse. Discarding the German semiautomatic weapons, they replaced them with their own silenced equipment, switching to single-shot action in case a situation called for a lone kill, not rapid fire.
"One of you get Witkowski," ordered Drew.
"Caw once like a bird and watch out or a grappling hook will crash down on your neck.
He's not a happy camper."
"I'll go," said Dietz, starting out of the cabana.
"No, you won't," said Latham, stopping the commando.
"He sees that uniform, he might blow your head off. You go, Number One.
You and he talked a lot during our session this afternoon; he'll,know you."
"Oui, monsieur."
Ninety-six seconds later, the imposing figure of Colonel Stanley Witkowski entered the cabana.
"I see you've been occupied," he said, glancing down at the two stripped corpses.
"What are those silly costumes for?"
"We're going hunting, Stosh, and you're going to stay with our French buddies here. They'll be on our rear flank, and our lives will depend on the three of you."
"What are you going to do?"
"Start looking, what else?"
"I thought you might screw it up without specific references," said Witkowski, yanking a large folded piece of paper out of his jacket and, rather obscenely, unfolding it and placing it over the back of one of the corpses. He switched on his blue pencil light;
it was a reduced diagram of the Eagle's Nest chateau.
"I had our Deputy Cloche make this for me in Paris. At least, you won't be hunting blind."
"You son of a bitch, Stanley!" Drew looked gratefully at Witkowski, "you had to one-up me again. All those put-together pages came down to this. How did you figure?"
"You're good, chlopak, but you're behind the times. You need a little help from the old mastodons, that's all."
"Thanks, Stosh. Where do we start, give me a clue?"
"The optimum would be to take a hostage and learn whatever you can. You need more than two-year-old plans on a piece of paper."
Latham reached under the black Nazi shirt and pulled out his radio.
"Karin?" he whispered, pressing the transmission button.
"Where are you?" answered De Vries.
"We're inside."
"We know that," the lieutenant broke in, "we watched that little exercise our new recruits pulled off. You still around the pool?"
"Yes."
"What do you need?" asked Karin.
"We want to take a prisoner and ask some questions. Any warm bodies in sight?"
"Not in the open," said Anthony, "but that kitchen's got two or three inside; they keep passing by the rear window. It looks pretty busy, kind of strange for this hour."
"Berchtesgaden," said Witkowski, his voice low and hollow.
"What?" said Dietz as he and the others looked at the colonel.
"It's a replication of Hitler's Berchtesgaden, where the Oberfribrer studs and their multiple mistresses romped night and day, not knowing that Hitler had their rooms wired, listening for traitors."
"How do you know that?" asked Drew.
"Testimony from the Nuremberg trials. That kitchen won't close down; the party boys need a break now and then and they're always hungry."
"Out," said Latham into the radio and replacing it under his shirt.
"Okay, fellas, how do we pull someone out of there?"
"It has to be me," replied Dietz, turning on his penlight and studying the plans of the chateau.
"Whoever they are in there, they're either German or French. You don't speak German and your French is barely understandable, and the others are dressed wrong.. .. There's a door here on the