Chosen of the Valkyries

Chapter Twenty-One

Berlin, Germany Prime

18 September 1985

Horst wrapped his greatcoat around his body as he walked slowly down the darkened street, wishing he could wear a hood. A chilly breeze was coming from the east, sending shivers down his spine, but he needed to be recognised. The cell had picked an excellent spot for their meeting, he had to admit. A watcher lurking near one of the warehouses would be able to recognise Horst – and ensure he was on his own – long before Horst saw him. He’d worked through a dozen possible ways to have a police observer nearby – Gudrun’s father had had quite a few good ideas – but none of them had been workable. The merest hint that he wasn’t alone would be enough to get him killed.

He glanced up as he heard the sound of aircraft engines buzzing over the city, wondering if they were friendly or very hostile. Berlin had been bombed several times, the bombers dropping their bombs seemingly at random. Horst had never served in South Africa – or on any campaign, if he were forced to tell the truth – but some of his friends had insisted that the Waffen-SS’s pilots could drop their bombs with startling precision. If that were true, the bombers had definitely been bombing at random, more to frighten the civilians than for any actual military value. They hadn’t struck any targets within half a mile of the Reichstag.

And they might even hit their own people, he thought, feeling a flicker of grim amusement. I doubt the pilots know there’s an SS cell beneath them.

He waited, ready to seek cover, but no bombs fell. The sound of aircraft engines slowly faded into the darkness. Horst allowed himself a moment of relief, then kept walking slowly towards his destination. The warehouses had long-since been stripped of anything useful, the guards and workers relocated elsewhere. There were quite a few homeless Berliners squatting in them, according to the police, but no one really cared. They weren’t causing trouble – and, in any case, there was nowhere else to put them. He kept a sharp eye out for trouble as he kept moving, knowing that the crime rate had also skyrocketed in the less-pleasant parts of Berlin. The omnipresent fear of the police and the SS was gone.

And now people know they can change the world, he thought, as he reached the location and checked his watch. He was two minutes early. Who knows what will happen the next time the government becomes unpopular?

He pushed the thought aside as he leaned against the building and waited, feeling unseen eyes watching him from the shadows. Covertly, he checked around, but saw nothing. It didn’t really surprise him. An experienced SS observer wouldn’t let himself be seen, in any case, nor would they bother with any games. If they suspected his loyalties, he would probably have been picked off by a sniper as he walked down the road. Unless, of course, they thought he could be manipulated.

My life was much simpler before the uprising, he thought. Back then, I thought I knew how the world worked.

“Horst,” a quiet voice said.

Horst tensed, then turned to see Schwarzkopf emerging from the shadows. The SS handler looked like a homeless man, smoking a homemade cigarette and wearing a tattered outfit that was too large for him. If Horst’s experience was any guide, he’d be wearing something else underneath, something that would pass without comment anywhere in Berlin. Dump the clothes, lose the cigarette and comb his hair… he’d look very different. It wasn’t a very clever disguise, but it didn’t have to be. All it had to do was work.

“I came, as ordered,” Horst said. He didn’t like Schwarzkopf’s surprising stealth. He’d always assumed that the handler was nothing more than a bureaucrat. But then, he’d presumably been a field agent himself before he’d been promoted. “I am at your disposal.”

“Of course,” Schwarzkopf said. Horst couldn’t tell if he was being mildly sarcastic or stating a fact. “I have a great many questions for you.”

Horst inclined his head, then waited.

“I have heard that the Americans have been reaching out to the provisional government,” Schwarzkopf said, bluntly. “Is that true?”

“I haven’t heard of any American contacts,” Horst said. “But I am not allowed to attend the council meetings.”

It was only half true. He didn’t attend meetings, but Gudrun told him everything. And yet, he hadn’t mentioned it to anyone else – and nor would any of the other councillors. The American contacts had to remain a secret. And yet… was Schwarzkopf fishing… or was someone playing both sides of the field? There were several councillors who might be able to switch sides – again – if they made themselves useful to Karl Holliston. They might be passing information to the east.

“I see,” Schwarzkopf said. “And you heard nothing through pillow talk?”

Horst felt his cheeks turn red. “We don’t talk about the war when we are in bed,” he said, trying not to sound embarrassed. If Schwarzkopf suspected he had actual feelings for Gudrun, he’d be in deep shit. “We spend most of it trying to forget the war.”

“Pump her, gently,” Schwarzkopf ordered. “We need to know precisely what is going on.”

“Jawohl,” Horst said. What did Schwarzkopf know? There was no way, short of catching and interrogating the traitor, to find out. “But if I ask too bluntly, Mein Herr, she may suspect something.”

“It is natural for a man to want to know what his woman is doing, is it not?” Schwarzkopf asked. He snorted, rudely. “Use your best judgement, but get us some answers.”

“Jawohl,” Horst said, again.

He sighed, inwardly. If Schwarzkopf was only guessing – or had only second or third-hand hints – he would be able to lie. But if Schwarzkopf knew more than he admitted, a lie could prove fatal. Unless, of course, he was able to convince Schwarzkopf that Gudrun had lied to him. And yet, even that would be too much for the man to swallow. He’d suspect that Horst was losing his touch, if he didn’t already suspect it. Horst had fumbled the ball once already, as far as Schwarzkopf was concerned.

“Now,” Schwarzkopf said. “What other developments have there been?”

“More and more refugees are pouring into Berlin,” Horst said. “The provisional government has been trying to shift them westwards, but there’s a shortage of food and drink, as well as towns and cities willing to take refugees. I think the council is considering drastic measures, yet they’re worried about triggering off another civil war.”

“A civil war within the civil war,” Schwarzkopf said. He smirked, openly. “That’s the price one pays for not having a strong government.”

Horst was tempted to agree. Western cities weren’t so keen on suddenly finding themselves responsible for hundreds of thousands of refugees, even if they were fellow Germans. And the provisional government didn’t have the naked power to compel them to support the refugees. It didn’t help that the military was trying desperately to shift forces eastwards, making it harder to control the growing refugee problem. He doubted it would end well.

“Quite,” he said, flatly.

He paused. “Is there any other way I can be of assistance?”

“Not as yet,” Schwarzkopf said. “We just want your intelligence from the Reichstag.”

“I obey, Mein Herr,” Horst said.

He had to fight to keep his face under control. There were over a hundred servants in the Reichstag, not counting the guards or personnel assistants. One of them – perhaps more than one – was reporting to the SS, but who? An extensive, if covert background investigation had turned up nothing suspicious. But then, he would have been disappointed in the SS if it had.

And now we have a second traitor, someone very highly placed, he thought. And it has to be one of the older councillors.

He considered it briefly. Gudrun and Schulze were obviously out – Voss too, given that the Field Marshal was in an excellent position to seize control of the city and surrender before he could be lynched. But after that… Kruger was unlikely, Horst had to admit, but all of the others had to be considered suspects. And they all had thousands of others under their control. Investigating them all was going to be a nightmare.

“There is a mirror in your bedroom,” Schwarzkopf said, suddenly. “Isn’t there?”

“Yes, Mein Herr,” Horst said. “It hangs on my wall.”

The question made him smile. He wondered if Schwarzkopf had ever sneaked into the Reichstag himself, then dismissed the thought as absurd. Dreary tradecraft might be tedious – nothing like the books depicting heroic SS operatives – but it kept its practitioners alive. He doubted that Schwarzkopf would take the risk, even if he had the nerve. Unless Schwarzkopf wasn’t the highest-ranking SS officer still in Berlin…

And we have at least one female commando out there, he reminded himself. She is very likely to be extremely dangerous.

“We want you to keep track of your girlfriend’s schedule,” Schwarzkopf said. “Write down her plan for the day, then place the papers behind the mirror. They will be collected.”

“The schedule is rarely set in stone,” Horst said. He was careful not to mention that it had been his idea. If Gudrun refused to allow herself to be surrounded by armed guards, she could at least keep her movements unpredictable. “I don’t always know where we are going.”

“Then you will do your best to find out,” Schwarzkopf said. He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with menacing light. “I don’t think I have to remind you that you are already in disgrace. This whole disaster could have been nipped in the bud if you’d done your job.”

And if you knew just how true that actually was, Horst thought, you’d have killed me by now.

“You are required to prove your loyalty to the Reich,” Schwarzkopf continued. “And if that means leading your girlfriend into a trap, that is what you will do.”

He leaned back, then shrugged. “Remain here for ten minutes,” he ordered. “And then slip back to her bed.”

Horst fought down the temptation to punch Schwarzkopf – or shoot him in the back – as the SS officer turned and strode into the darkness. Another aircraft buzzed over Berlin, the sound moving from east to west… a bomber then, Horst decided, or a recon plane. But then, who would bother sending a recon plane over in darkness? Unless someone was parachuting men into the city… it was certainly possible.

He forced himself to remain calm as he waited, keeping an eye on his watch. There was no way to be sure if someone was watching him or not, but he could feel unseen eyes keeping an eye on him. And there was no shortage of cover. A sniper could be lurking nearby, watching him through a scope; he’d be ready to shoot Horst if he left a minute early. Or it could just be a bluff, his own imagination doing the rest.

No way to be sure, he told himself. Perhaps, in hindsight, he should have joined the Waffen-SS instead. It wouldn’t have been hard to flub the tests he’d been given when he first applied to join. And the bastard knows it.

Gudrun rubbed her tired eyes as she looked at Horst. “We have another spy?”

“Probably,” Horst said. “Schwarzkopf asked about American contacts.”

Volker Schulze looked doubtful. “They might have noticed the American visiting the Reichstag,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean we’ve made a deal with them.”

“There’s no way to be sure,” Horst said. “But if there is a very high-ranking spy…”

Gudrun fought down the urge to curse, wishing that she was alone. Volker Schulze was bad enough, but her father – sitting next to her – was a silent reminder of propriety. God alone knew what he’d say if she gave Horst a hug, let alone a kiss. She almost giggled at the thought. Technically, she outranked him… and yet she was still his daughter. Who knew which of them was really in charge?

Maybe we should get married, she thought. But getting married would cause more problems than it would solve.

It wasn’t a pleasant thought. She’d contemplated it when her period had been a few days late and she’d feared the worst, but it would cause too many headaches. Ironically, getting pregnant before the uprising wouldn’t have been a serious problem – even if her parents had exploded with rage – but now it would be disastrous. She wouldn’t be taken seriously by the remaining councillors.

She pushed the thought aside and leaned forward. “If we do have a very high-ranking spy,” she mused, “would he have to be a councillor?”

“No,” her father said. “One of their trusted aides might be the real spy.”

“They’re not supposed to discuss such matters,” Schulze said, flatly.

“They do,” Horst said. “A single boastful fool could cause us all sorts of headaches, if one of his aides is a spy.”

He sighed. “But someone on the council might think they could buy their own safety through helping the other side,” he added. “They’d be ahead whoever came out on top.”

“At least they’d be alive,” Gudrun muttered. She’d talked about such matters with Horst, after all. “And they might even be in a position of power.”

“But we don’t even know there is a spy,” Schulze said. “The SS might just have gotten lucky.”

“That’s possible,” Horst said. He paused. “And there’s another possibility. They may be trying to test me, Herr Chancellor. It may not have occurred to them that there might have been actual contacts with America.”

Schulze scowled. “So what do we do?”

“We keep telling them that you know nothing about any such contacts,” Gudrun’s father said, bluntly. “If they think there have been contacts, it’s still a believable answer. And if this is nothing more than a fishing trip… well, nothing is betrayed. There’s no reasonable excuse for you to be in possession of such knowledge.”

Horst nodded.

“But we have to catch the spy in the Reichstag,” her father continued. “And we have to track down the cell before it does something drastic.”

Schulze nodded. “Any ideas?”

“The Easterners have been dropping bombs on us,” Gudrun’s father said. “It shouldn’t be hard to make it clear to the staff that anyone who leaves the Reichstag should sign out of the building, like we do in the police station. There was enough chaos, wasn’t there, the first time everyone had to run into the bunkers? We can use that as an excuse to build a list of who goes in and out of the building.”

Gudrun nodded, seeing the sense of it. “Most of them live in the Reichstag,” she said, feeling a flicker of pride. Her father might be strict, but he was no fool. “Anyone who leaves might be the spy.”

“Or a spy,” Horst said. “If I was in their shoes, Gudrun, I’d want more than one.”

“Brilliant,” Schulze said, sarcastically. “There might be more than one – or two – in the building.”

“It’s a start,” Gudrun’s father said. “Once we know who leaves regularly, we can start shadowing them.”

“They may be trained to avoid pursuit,” Horst pointed out.

“And if they were trying to avoid us,” Gudrun’s father said, “we’d know who we were looking for.”

Gudrun sighed. “Why can’t everything be simple these days?”

Horst smiled at her. “Life is rarely simple,” he said.

“Make it happen,” Schulze ordered. “But don’t try to investigate the councillors.”

Gudrun nodded in sympathy. She was the only councillor without a staff – and a small army of subordinates. Investigating the others would spark off discontent, if not paranoia. A man like Voss, far too used to watching his back for the SS knife, might see advantage in striking first, if he believed his life to be under threat. Or Kruger… fearful that he might be blamed for the economic nightmare gripping the Reich. Or…

Just one of them betraying us would be a nightmare, she thought. Even if we found absolute proof, and we might, bringing them to justice would be impossible.

“As you wish,” her father said. He looked at Horst. “You are not to share Gudrun’s schedule with them.”

Horst didn’t argue. “I’m planning to give them false information, then explain that the schedule kept changing on short notice,” he said. “Which is what happens…”

“Too risky,” her father insisted.

“If I don’t give them something, they will suspect me,” Horst said. “And if that happens, they will pull in their horns and disappear – right up until the moment they attack.”

Gudrun held up a hand. “I don’t mind the risk…”

“You should,” her father growled. “Last time, when you were arrested, they didn’t know who you were. This time… they will.”

Gudrun shuddered, despite herself. She’d been stripped naked and locked in a cell for hours, exposed to the gaze of every passing male guard. And yet, that was tenderness incarnate compared to what they’d do now they knew who she was. She’d be lucky if she was only hung from meat hooks, after being tortured to death. The SS might normally hesitate to kill girls of good breeding, but in her case they’d probably make an exception.

“If there’s a chance to lure them out on our terms,” she said, “we should take it.”

“But not at the risk of your life,” Horst said. “It’s too dangerous.”

Her father nodded in agreement. “I forbid it,” he said. “Your life is already in too much danger.”

“So is Kurt’s,” Gudrun snapped.

“Kurt is a young man,” her father said. His voice softened. “I don’t want to see you dead.”

Gudrun scowled, but said nothing.