The Sins of the Father

'Not wine, you idiot,' said Muller. 'I want some brandy.' Giles smiled, and filled his glass with burgundy.

Muller had failed to trap him.

Loud, convivial chatter continued as Giles carried a humidor around the table and invited the guests to select a cigar. The young lieutenant was now resting his head on the table, and Giles thought he detected a snore.

When the commandant rose a second time, to drink the health of the Fuhrer, Giles poured Muller some more red wine. He raised his glass, clicked his heels together and gave a Nazi salute. A toast to Frederick the Great followed, and this time Giles made sure Muller's glass had been topped up long before he rose.

At five minutes to midnight, Giles checked that every glass was full. When the clock on the wall began to chime, fifteen officers cried almost in unison, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, and then broke into 'Deutschland, Deutschland uber alles', slapping each other on the back as they welcomed in the New Year.

It was some time before they resumed their places. The commandant remained standing and tapped his glass with a spoon. Everyone fell silent in anticipation of his annual speech.

He began by thanking his colleagues for their loyalty and dedication during a difficult year. He then spoke for some time about the destiny of the Fatherland. Giles remembered that Schabacker had been the local mayor before he took over as commandant of the camp. He ended by declaring that he hoped the right side would have won the war by this time next year. Giles wanted to scream, Hear, Hear! in any language, but Muller swung round to see if the colonel's words had evoked any reaction. Giles stared blankly ahead, as if he hadn't understood a word. He had passed another of Muller's tests.

23

IT WAS A FEW MINUTES after 1.00 a.m. when the first guest rose to leave. 'I'm on duty at six in the morning, colonel,' he explained. This was greeted with mock applause, as the officer bowed low and left without another word.

Several other guests departed during the next hour, but Giles knew he couldn't consider executing his own well-rehearsed exit while Muller was still on the premises. He became a little anxious when the waitresses started to clear away the coffee cups, a sign that their evening was coming to an end and he might be ordered back to the camp. Giles kept himself busy, continuing to serve those officers who didn't seem in any hurry to leave.

Muller finally rose as the last waitress left the room and bade goodnight to his colleagues, but not before clicking his heels and giving his comrades another Nazi salute. Giles and Terry had agreed that their plan couldn't be put into motion until at least fifteen minutes after Muller had departed and they had checked that his car was no longer in its usual place.

Giles refilled the glasses of the six officers who remained seated around the table. They were all close friends of the commandant. Two of them had been at school with him, another three had served on the town council, and only the camp adjutant was a more recent acquaintance; information Giles had picked up during the past few months.

It must have been about twenty past two when the commandant beckoned Giles over. 'It's been a long day,' he said in English. 'Go and join your friend in the kitchen, and take a bottle of wine with you.'

'Thank you, sir,' said Giles, placing a bottle of brandy and a decanter of port in the centre of the table.

The last words he heard the commandant say before he left were to the adjutant, who was seated on his right. 'When we've finally won this war, Franz, I intend to offer that man a job. I can't imagine he'll want to return to England while a Swastika flies over Buckingham Palace.'

Giles removed the only bottle of wine still on the sideboard, left the room and closed the door quietly behind him. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his body, and was well aware that the next fifteen minutes would decide their fate. He took the back stairs down to the kitchen where he found Terry chatting to the chef, a half-empty bottle of cooking sherry by his side.

'Happy New Year, chef,' said Terry as he rose from his chair. 'Got to dash, otherwise I'll be late for breakfast in Zurich.'

Giles tried to keep a straight face as the chef just about raised a hand in acknowledgement.

They ran up the stairs, the only two sober people in the building. Giles passed the bottle of wine to Terry and said, 'Two minutes, no more.'

Terry walked down the corridor and slipped out of the back door. Giles withdrew into the shadows at the top of the stairs, just as an officer came out of the dining room and headed for the lavatory.

Moments later, the back door reopened and a head appeared. Giles waved furiously at Terry and pointed to the lavatory. Terry ran over to join him in the shadows, just before the officer emerged to make his way unsteadily back to the dining room. Once the door had closed behind him, Giles asked, 'How's our tame German, corporal?'

'Half asleep. I gave him the bottle of wine and warned him we could be at least another hour.'

'Do you think he understood?'

'I don't think he cared.'

'Good enough. Your turn to act as lookout,' said Giles as he stepped back out into the corridor. He clenched his fists to stop his hands trembling, and was just about to open the cloakroom door when he thought he heard a voice coming from inside. He froze, put his ear to the door and listened. It only took him a moment to realize who it must be. For the first time, he broke Jenkins's golden rule and charged back down the corridor to rejoin Terry in the shadows at the top of the stairs.

'What's the problem?'

Giles put a finger up to his lips, as the cloakroom door opened and out stepped Major Muller, doing up his fly buttons. Once he'd pulled on his greatcoat, he glanced up and down the corridor to make sure no one had spotted him, then slipped through the front door and out into the night.

'Which girl?' asked Giles.

'Probably Greta. I've had her a couple of times, but never in the cloakroom.'

'Isn't that fraternizing?' whispered Giles.

'Only if you're an officer,' said Terry.

They only had to wait for a few moments before the door opened again and Greta appeared, looking a little flushed. She walked calmly out of the front door without bothering to check if anyone had seen her.

'Second attempt,' said Giles, who moved swiftly back down the corridor, opened the cloakroom door and disappeared inside just as another officer came out of the dining room.

Don't turn right, don't turn right, Terry begged silently. The officer turned left and headed for the lavatory. Terry prayed for the longest pee in history. He began counting the seconds, but then the cloakroom door opened and out stepped the commandant in all but name. Get back inside, Terry waved frantically. Giles ducked back into the cloakroom and pulled the door closed.

When the adjutant reappeared, Terry feared he would go to the cloakroom to collect his cap and coat, and find Giles dressed as the commandant, in which case the game would be up before it had even begun. Terry followed each step, fearing the worst, but the adjutant stopped at the dining room door, opened it and disappeared inside. Once the door had closed, Terry bolted down the corridor and opened the cloakroom door to find Giles dressed in a greatcoat, scarf, gloves and peaked cap and carrying a baton, beads of sweat on his forehead.

'Let's get out of here before one of us has a heart attack,' said Terry.

Terry and Giles left the building even more quickly than Muller or Greta had.