"Wait your turn like everyone else," came the voice on the other side.
"Open the door--police emergency."
The man opened the door a few seconds later, buttoning his fly. Roach looked inside to make sure Rudolf was not there. Dammit! He threw open the door to the connecting passage and entered the next carriage. Like the other, it was dark and smoky and hopelessly crammed with passengers. It would be impossible for him to find Rudolf now without turning over the train carriage by carriage, compartment by compartment.
He thought, How did he vanish so quickly?
He hurried back to the first carriage and found the ticket collector, an old man with steel-rimmed spectacles and a clubfoot. Roach withdrew the surveillance photograph of Rudolf and stuck it in front of the ticket collector's face.
"Have you seen this man?"
"Short chap?"
"Yes," Roach said, his spirits sinking lower, thinking, Dammit! Dammit!
"He jumped off the train as we pulled out of Euston. Lucky he didn't break his bloody leg."
"Christ! Why didn't you say something?" He realized how ridiculous the remark must have sounded. He forced himself to speak more calmly. "Where does this train make its first stop?"
"Watford."
"When?"
"About a half hour."
"Too long. I have to get off this train now."
Roach reached up, grabbed the emergency-brake cord, and pulled. The train immediately slowed, as the brakes were applied, and began to stop.
The old ticket collector looked up at Roach, eyes blinking rapidly behind the spectacles, and said, "You're not a normal police officer, are you?"
Roach said nothing as the train drew to a halt. He threw open the door, dropped down to the edge of the track, and disappeared into the darkness.
Neumann paid off the taxi a short distance from the Pope warehouse and walked the rest of the way. He switched his Mauser from the waistband of his trousers to the front pocket of his reefer coat and then turned up his collar against the driving rain. The first act had gone smoothly. The deception on the train had worked exactly as he had hoped. Neumann was certain he was not followed after leaving Euston Station. That meant one thing: Mackintosh, the man who had tailed him onto the train, was almost certainly still on it and heading out of London bound for Liverpool. The watcher was not an idiot. Eventually he would realize Neumann had not returned to his compartment, and he would begin a search. He might ask questions. Neumann's escape had not gone unseen; the ticket collector had spotted him jumping from the train. When the watcher realized Neumann was no longer on the train, he would get off at the next stop and telephone his superiors in London. Neumann realized he had a very limited window of opportunity. He had to move quickly.
The warehouse was dark and appeared deserted. Neumann rang the bell and waited. There was no response. He rang the bell again and this time could hear the sound of footsteps on the other side. The door was opened a moment later by a black-haired giant in a leather coat.
"What do you want?"
"I'd like to see Mr. Pope, please," Neumann said politely. "I need a few items, and I was told this was very definitely the place to come."
"Mr. Pope is gone and we're out of business, so piss off."
The giant started to close the door. Neumann put his foot in the way.
"I'm sorry. It's really rather urgent. Perhaps you could help."
The giant looked at Neumann, a puzzled look on his face. He seemed to be trying to reconcile the public school accent with the reefer coat and bandaged face. "I suppose you didn't hear me the first time," he said. "We're out of business. Shut down." He grabbed Neumann's shoulder. "Now, fuck off."
Neumann punched the giant in the Adam's apple, then pulled out his Mauser and shot him in the foot. The man collapsed on the floor, alternately howling in pain and gasping for breath. Neumann stepped inside and closed the gate. The warehouse was just the way Catherine described it: vans, cars, motorbikes, stacks of black-market food, and several jerry cans of petrol.
Neumann leaned down and said, "If you make a move, I'll shoot you again and it won't be in the foot. Do you understand?"
The giant grunted.
Neumann selected a black van, opened the door, and started the motor. He grabbed two jerry cans of petrol and put them in the back of the van. On second thought, it was a very long drive. He took two more and put them in the back too. He climbed inside the van, drove it to the front of the warehouse, then got out and hauled open the main door.
Before leaving, he knelt beside the wounded man and said, "If I were you, I'd get straight to a hospital."
The man looked at Neumann, more confused than ever. "Who the hell are you, mate?"
Neumann smiled, knowing the truth would sound so absurd the man would never believe it.
"I'm a German spy on the run from MI-Five."
"Yeah--and I'm Adolf bloody Hitler."
Neumann climbed in the van and sped away.