The Hunt

Willie Vierhaus hurried up the steps of the Brown House and down the long marble hallway to the Führer’s office. Every Tuesday morning at precisely 11:45 A.M., Vierhaus reported to Hitler to provide him with party gossip and other news of interest. The meeting always lasted twelve to fifteen minutes, until Hitler went to lunch.

When he entered the anteroom, Hitler’s secretary held her finger to her lips, her brow furrowed and troubled. Hitler’s voice, high-pitched and furious, echoed through the paneled doors.

“I don’t want to hear that, you understand? Not one more word. That’s hogwash, hogwash! You are a stupid man, Plausen. I thought you were a smart man but you are stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Get out. You are relieved of your duties. Pack up your things and get out.”

“Yes, mein Führer. Heil Hitler.”

“Out!”

The door flew open and Plausen, a tiny mouse of a man who worked in the procurement office, rushed past, his face as white as chalk. From inside his office, Hitler saw Vierhaus waiting and waved him in.

Vierhaus entered and raised his arm in a salute. “Heil Hitler.” Hitler waved a half-hearted salute in return but his mood changed immediately. Hitler’s mood always improved when Vierhaus arrived. He adored intrigue and gossip and Willie Vierhaus provided him with both.

“So, Willie, what is the news? Brighten my day. So far it has been dismal. A morning dealing with idiots like He waved vaguely toward the door.

“I am sorry, mein Führer.”

“Tell me some juicy news, eh.” He smiled fleetingly in expectation.

“Well, sir, you know General Romsdorf?”

“Third Division. Of course, of course.”

“His wife Fredie is having an affair with a dancer in the Berlin Ballet Company.”

“A ballet dancer!” Hitler cried out, clasping his hands together and pressing them to his lips.

‘Ja. Not even a featured dancer. He is on the chorus.”

Hitler stifled a giggle. Then his face grew serious.

“That could present a problem. Romsdorf has a very important post.”

“Yes, mein Führer.”

“Not to mention that Romsdorf is extremely proud of his manliness.” Hitler stifled another giggle.

“Yes, mein Führer.”

“In fact,” and he giggled out loud, “he fancies himself somewhat of a ladies’ man.”

Vierhaus felt comfortable enough to laugh along with Hitler.

“Poor old Romsdorf,” said Hitler. “I pity the poor dancer. When our general finds out, the young man will be off to Dachau. Any other news?”

“A rather dull week, I’m afraid. There are the usual rumors about Röhm. He is becoming more of an embarrassment. Outrageous stories about his preference for young boys. He seems to be more brazen about it than ever. And I hear he is drinking more heavily than usual.”

“He has always been a drunk and a queer,” snapped Hitler. Ernst Röhm was more than an embarrassment, he represented a deep, personal hurt to Hitler. He had brought his friend from the Beer Hall Putsch days back from South America and made him head of the brownshirts, one of the most powerful posts in Germany, giving him carte blanche to deal with the Reds and the Jews. But Röhm wanted more. Now he was actually challenging Hitler’s authority and talking about running for president of Germany, a traitorous affront to his mentor.

“The problem is Vierhaus began.

“The problem is, the SA has six hundred thousand members!” Hitler roared, his voice rising to a near scream. He snapped his head angrily, took a deep breath, and began pacing. When he spoke again his voice was almost a whisper.

“The only way I can deal with this problem is with my own personal guards, Willie, but it will be another year before the Schutzstaffel has the proper strength for that.” He waved his hand again. “I know, I know. Another year and he grows that much stronger.” He stopped pacing and leaned toward Vierhaus, his eyes narrowing. “We cannot destroy the SA until my SS is stronger than they are. And that is the only way to deal with Röhm and his bullies. Destroy them.”

“Yes, mein Führer.”

“But thank you for telling me. I must keep up with his

his perversions.” His expression changed radically again, becoming more relaxed. He had said what he had to say about the SA.

“So,” he said pleasantly. “I understand it was your man in the American Embassy who turned in Reinhardt.”

“Yes, mein Führer. A porter. A Judenhascher, actually, but very reliable.”

“Heinrich is a little put out,” Hitler said, strolling around his desk, his hands clasped behind his back. “He would like to take credit for the whole affair. It annoys him that you have these Judenhaschers and special agents working For you.”

“Did he complain, mein Führer?”

“No, no, no, no, of course not,” Hitler answered, waving off the suggestion. “Heinrich is no fool. He knows it was my idea to set up your little unit.”

Actually Vierhaus had come to Hitler with the idea for an elite unit within the SS but all of Hitler’s close associates were accustomed to having the Führer take credit for good ideas. Hitler had treated the suggestion as a joke at first but finally he had given Vierhaus a small budget and permission to train five men. Vierhaus had managed, by conscripting stool pigeons and menial workers, to expand his unit to twenty-five or thirty.

He had begun the practice of using Germans of mixed blood, usually an eighth or sixteenth Jewish, as agents, promising them freedom from persecution as long as they were effective. Known as Judenhascher, Jewhunters, they were frequently used to gather information on other Jews, often spending weeks poring over family records, looking for a great-grandmother or second cousin who might have a trace of Jewish blood. Vierhaus turned the reports over to Himmler’s SS and the files of information grew thicker every day, waiting for Himmler to put them to whatever dark use his mind might contrive.

Hitler laughed and slapped his hand on the table.

“You know what I like about you, Willie? You are a practical man. So, tell me more. Were you there when they interrogated Reinhardt?”

Vierhaus nodded.

“What did he tell us? What about the Black Lily?”

“He claimed he never heard of it.”

The phone rang and Hitler whirled and snatched it off the hook. “No, no, no!” he yelled and slammed it back down. He spun back toward Vierhaus.

“He’s a liar!” Hitler bellowed, his face turning red. His fist slammed down on the table. “Of course he knows about it! He helped start it!” He composed himself, taking a deep breath, then he began tapping his cheek with his forefinger. “It is important to crush these organizations quickly, Willie. These fanatics. Fanaticism is contagious. I want that to be your first priority. Break them. Break the Black Lily.”

“Isn’t that the job of the Gestapo, mein Führer?”

Hitler waved his hand frenetically in front of his face, shaking his head as he spoke. “Goring has other things to worry about. Do not concern yourself with politics.”

“Yes, mein Führer. Reinhardt also told me something else interesting. The American I told you about, Keegan?”

“The Ire?”

“Irish-American. Apparently the deputy ambassador, Wallingford, tried to borrow Keegan’s plane for Reinhardt’s escape and Keegan refused.”

“Ah, perhaps your instincts about him are correct.”

“I made it my business to have a talk with Keegan early this morning. He is quite the cynic and I get the definite feeling that he is unhappy with things in America. He particularly distrusts bankers and businessmen, says they were the only winners in the war.”

“True, quite true,” Hitler said, his head bobbing in agreement. “What did you have in mind for Keegan?”

“I am not sure. He is very rich and quite independent.

Knows everybody—in the embassies, the military, government people, most of the royal families here and in England. A man like that, if he is sympathetic with your vision, mein Führer, could have many uses. He knows court secrets—who might be vulnerable to blackmail: homosexuals, bankrupts, influential people whose taste exceeds their bank account.”

“I agree. Just be careful dealing with him,” said Hitler. “Never trust Americans. Too idealistic.”

“Yes, mein Führer.’

“What of Siebenundzwanzig?”

“His training goes very well. Ludwig reports that he is an excellent student. He learns quickly. Incidentally, I am trying something—it is a bit devious.”

“Of course,” Hitler leered. “What else would I expect from you?”

“I have introduced another student in the training course with Swan. Swan is not aware of this, of course, but the man will be his replacement if there should be an accident or if he gets caught. Swan thinks the new man is training for a totally different assignment. It is a good opportunity to compare them.”

“I needn’t tell you to be cautious in dealing with Twenty- seven,” Hitler said, his face hardening into stern lines again. “He is a great catch but we could lose him if he becomes disillusioned—or if he thinks we do not have complete faith in him.”

“I will keep that in mind, mein Führer. I am going down to visit the camp in person.”

“Very good. I will be anxious to hear your report. Have you worked out the details of the operation?”

“I’ll be ready when he is.”

“Excellent. I’m proud of you, Willie.”

“Thank you, mein Führer.”

“And, Willie, don’t forget,” He held up a single finger. “The Black Lily.”

“Yes, mein Führer. Hell Hitler.”

“Heil Hitler.