The Pale House (53 page)

The window was open, and a cold wind slapped at his face and collar with the frenzy of an injured bird. The skylight was angled in such a way that he could see down the roof and look along a strip of the opposite sidewalk. To one side he saw the end of the street where the
panzerfunkwagen
was parked with its square antenna mounted in the upright position, the machine gun in the turret making an angled line at the sky. To the other side there was nothing, only an empty cross street. On the roofs as far as he could see nothing moved, and the sky was empty but for hanging black threads, birds and scavengers that rode the high winds.

He frowned at the sky.

Something was not right.

R
einhardt stubbed his cigarette out on the window frame. As he turned, he caught sight of motion, down the road where there had been nothing. He craned his neck out and saw trucks pull to a stop, men in uniforms piling out. He was not sure, but from here, they looked like SS troopers, and he knew a company of them had been left as part of the rear guard. A quick glance back at the
panzerfunkwagen
, and he pulled his head back into the room as the door burst open, and Partisans poured in.

The newcomers were all excitement, a raucous blare of information.
stood and listened, then straightened, and then he and
and Simo were looking at him, and Simo was striding across the room.

“Did you betray us?” He gripped Reinhardt's coat, pulled him close.
“Did you betray us?!”

“No! What are you talking about?”

“Germans in the streets. And UstaÅ¡e. All coming here. How would they know we are here?”

“I don't know!” protested Reinhardt.

“
Izlazite svi!
” snapped
.

The room exploded into motion at his order, Reinhardt watching maps coming down, weapons gathered up, last messages passed over the radio and telephones, and then the Partisans were pouring out of the room, out the door, down the ladder, out the windows on the opposite side to the street. Simo peered out the skylight, looking both ways, and when he ducked back in his face was grim.

“They are everywhere down there,” he said, and his eyes flicked at Reinhardt.

“I had nothing to do with it,” Reinhardt repeated. “Anyway, they do not know what you look like, do they?”

“No. But they might know what
you
look like,” said
, ducking his head through the strap of an MP 40. “So this is good-bye, Captain. And thank you.” He paused, then offered his hand. “Be safe, Reinhardt.”

“I will go with the captain,” said
.
and Simo just nodded, and then they were moving. Simo handed
Reinhardt's pistol, and he was following
out the window, and the space was empty, suddenly.

“Back the way we came,” said
. She handed Reinhardt back his pistol, and she was moving, as if she wished to preempt any word she and Reinhardt might have shared. She started down the ladder, Neven darting in front of her. Back down, back through the tunnels, the walls now echoing to shouts, orders, the stamp of feet and, once, a burst of gunfire and a woman's scream. At the hidden door,
paused, listening. She turned to Reinhardt, her eyes wide, and Reinhardt heard it as well, the clatter of feet behind them, and
and Simo pushed into the small space with them.