Prussian Blue

SIXTY-EIGHT

I drove west out of Berchtesgaden toward the suburb of Stanggass. The new Reichs Chancellery stood at the end of the Urbanweg, off Staatsstrasse, a three-story Alpine-style building about the size of an aircraft hangar, with a red-shingled roof, a parade ground, and a flagpole. It was after two a.m., but important-looking cars were still coming and going and the lights in several high windows were burning; smoke billowed from several squarish chimneys and somewhere a dog was barking. It seemed as if the whole area was now on Hitler time, and that until he decided to go to bed, nobody else would, either, even down here at the Chancellery, which was almost eight kilometers away from Obersalzberg and the Berghof.

I found Gerdy Troost standing inside the main entrance in an arched doorway as big as a U-Bahn tunnel. Above the doorway was a large red eagle holding a wreath that displayed a swastika. She was wrapped in a thick white fur that must have troubled the tenderhearted, animal-loving Hitler, and smoking a cigarette that would have troubled him even more. On her head was a white beret and over her arm a cream-colored ostrich leather handbag. Being that I am a shallow sort of fellow who always appreciated the scent of expensive perfume and the sight of a perfectly straight stocking seam, the fashionably groomed Gerdy reminded me strongly of why I was keen to return to Berlin.

We went and sat in my car to get out of the cutting east wind and to talk for a few moments in private and, for no good reason I could think of, other than my most recent brush with death in the Schlossberg Caves, I kissed her almost as soon as my car door was shut. Gerdy tasted of white wine, lipstick, and the cigarette that was still burning between the fingers of her white-gloved hand. She felt slight in my arms, like a child, and almost breakable, and I had to remind myself that it had taken a lot of strength and courage to do what she was doing, that this was a woman who—by her own account anyway—had contradicted Hitler, and that wasn’t something you did without pause for thought. The thin and very bony back I could feel against the palm of my hand must have been made of iron.

“You’re full of surprises, do you know that?” she said. “I certainly wasn’t expecting that, Gunther.”

“Neither was I. I think the absence of any SS guards on duty here probably went to my head. Either that or I’m just pleased to see you again.”

“You’re just nervous,” she said. “It’s not every day you enter a conspiracy to bring down the second-most powerful man in Germany. And not that I’m complaining, mind. But it’s been a while since anyone held me like that.”

“I’m not surprised, given the company you keep and the place where you sleep.”

“You don’t know the half of it. I had to sneak out the back door and collect my own car from the garage. But the Leader’s full of plans tonight, which makes him very exhausting. Of course, he doesn’t get up until midday, so it’s all right for him. But everyone else at the Berghof is now operating on half as much sleep as before.”

I almost felt sorry for them.

“Did you catch your murderer?” she asked.

In view of Colonel Rattenhuber’s warning I thought it best I didn’t tell her too much about what had gone down in Homburg; even at this late stage when we were about to present the evidence of Martin Bormann’s corruption in Obersalzberg to his brother, Albert, I thought the less she knew about what had happened, the better. So I just nodded and changed the subject quickly. “When the Leader was talking about his plans, did he say anything about Poland?”

“Only that the British and the French have failed to secure an alliance with the Soviet Union against Germany, and that if he could, he would form one himself, with the Russians against the Poles. So that doesn’t look good for peace, does it?”

“Stalin would never make an alliance with Hitler,” I said.

“That’s what people probably said about Sparta’s deal with the Persian emperor Darius.” Gerdy took a long puff of her cigarette and then tossed it out the window.

“I don’t know. Was Darius planning to betray the Poles, too?”

“Everyone hates the Poles,” she averred. “Don’t they?”

“I don’t hate them. At least no more than I hate anyone else. I agree, that’s not saying much. Not these days.”

“Don’t you want Danzig back?”

“Not particularly. It wasn’t mine to begin with. Besides, that’s not the real issue here. The real issue is that Hitler just wants a real issue to make trouble, so he can expand our borders to include the rest of Europe. It’s what Germany always wants. Hitler. The Kaiser. There’s not much difference. It’s the same old chestnut.”

“I can see we’re not going to agree about that, anyway.”

“Probably not.”

“So. Are you ready to do this?”

“I think so. But you were right, of course. I am nervous.”

“You should be. What we’re doing is not to be done lightly.”

“You don’t hear me whistling.”

“We’re about to walk in that building and give Albert Bormann the most dangerous weapon there is. Knowledge.”

“I know.” But still I hesitated. The Chancellery looked like it was recent, so, changing the subject again, I said, “Is that one of your late husband’s buildings, or Speer’s?”

“Neither. Alois Degano designed this place. In common with Speer, he has only one design in his head. If you asked him to redesign the Reichstag it would probably look like this.”

I smiled. I always enjoyed hearing Gerdy’s scathingly candid opinions of her colleagues’ abilities.

“Having said all that, this is probably the most important building in Germany,” she added. “Much more important than any building in Berlin, although it may not look like it. You’re looking at the place where all of the Leader’s executive orders are put into action. If Nazism has an administrative center, this is it.”

“Hard to believe,” I said.

“Berlin’s just for show. Big speeches and parades. Increasingly, this is the place where things get done.”

“That’s depressing. Speaking as a Berliner, that is.”

“Hitler has no love for our capital.”

I wanted to tell her that Berlin had no great love for the Leader, but after giving her my thoughts on Danzig I thought it best to reserve my opinion in this matter at least; without Gerdy Troost I hadn’t a prayer of even seeing Albert Bormann.

“Did you bring the ledgers?” she asked.

“In my briefcase.”

“Now, let me tell you what’s important, which is how to deal with Albert. He’s a modest, cultured sort of man, and a strict Lutheran. He’s meeting us because he trusts me and because I vouched for your honesty. I told him that you’re not in Heydrich’s pocket. That you’re old-school Kripo for whom justice still means something. Honesty and integrity count high with Albert. Very probably he’s checked you out himself. Albert’s not without his own resources. So, then; he hates his older brother, Martin, but that hatred certainly won’t extend to allowing you to speak badly of him without hard evidence. Martin exercises no such restraint in talking about Albert, however. Albert is everything that Martin is not. And yet they are noticeably brothers. Jekyll and Hyde, you might say. Martin calls Albert the Leader’s valet, or sometimes, ‘the man who holds Hitler’s coat.’ He’s even spread some rumors that Albert’s Hungarian-born wife is a Jew. It’s strange. When they’re together you would think they don’t even see each other. If Albert made a joke the only person not laughing would be Martin, and vice versa.”

“What does Hitler have to say about that?”

“Nothing. Hitler encourages rivalries. He believes it makes people try harder to gain his favor. And he’s right. Speer is the living embodiment of what constantly trying to please Hitler can do to a man. Hitler relies on Martin but he trusts and admires Albert. So don’t forget: Albert loves the Leader. Just like me.”

“Why do Martin and Albert hate each other?”

“I don’t know. But the curious thing is not why they hate each other—brothers are often this way—but why Martin hasn’t tried to get rid of Albert. No, not even to have him posted elsewhere. It’s almost as if Albert is holding something incriminating on Martin. Something that guarantees his place here in Berchtesgaden. Anyone else would have been sent away by now.”

“It’s all one big happy family, right enough.”

“Here, Gunther. Kiss me again, for courage. I liked it the first time. More than I thought I would.”

I leaned across the front seat and kissed Gerdy fondly on the cheek. Both of us knew that it wasn’t going to come to anything but sometimes those are the sweetest kisses of all. There was another reason I kissed her, too, and probably why she let me. Whatever she said about Albert Bormann, he was still Martin’s brother. Maybe they did hate each other; then again, maybe they’d made things up, the way people do when they’re blood relations. Stranger things have happened. Then, after she’d fixed her makeup in the rearview mirror and wiped my face with her breast-pocket handkerchief, we got out of the car and hurried toward the main entrance, where the eagle looked as if it was going to come alive, drop the swastika, and make a grab for Gerdy’s white fur coat, like something in a fairy tale. It certainly felt like we were walking into real danger. But a hungry eagle was probably the least hazardous thing we were likely to encounter in Stanggass. Albert Bormann may have hated his brother but he was an SS general who loved Adolf Hitler and that made him very dangerous indeed.