The Leader And The Damned

Chapter Fourteen

Karl Gruber of the Gestapo was short, plump, pallid – like a man who rarely enjoys fresh air, who spends most of his life cooped up inside offices. As he walked across the compound towards Bormann's quarters he wore the regulation belted leather raincoat, the soft hat pulled well down over his broad forehead.

Behind a curtained window Bormann watched him coming without any enthusiasm. Anyone connected with Himmler was his enemy. And he had taken an intense dislike to this new intruder from his personal appearance. Hands thrust inside his coat pockets, Gruber's lizard-like eyes swept over the compound, cataloguing data for his report.

The location of the various buildings inside the cantonment was familiar – he had earlier studied and memorized a map of the layout of the place before leaving the Prinz Albrechtstrasse in Berlin. Arriving at the door he was taken by surprise when it opened suddenly and Martin Bormann stood in the entrance.

'Yes?' Bormann demanded.

'Gestapo. Karl Gruber at your service.

'Come inside! Shut the door behind you!'

Bormann led the way into his office, walked behind his desk, sat down and indicated a hard-backed chair chosen for its extreme discomfort. Gruber sat down carefully, as though unsure whether it would bear his weight. His small eyes shifted to left and right, noting the furnishings as he produced a folder with a sheet of paper inside. A careful man, Gruber – careful to observe all the formalities in the holy of holies.

'My identification, Reichsleiter,' he said in a hoarse voice. 'The separate document is my authority to check all aspects of security at the Wolf's Lair..'

'I can read for myself,' Bormann interjected. 'You'll have to be careful not to get in the way…' He paused maliciously, holding back the information which would throw the Gestapo officer off balance – and Gruber walked into the trap.

'I shall maintain a low profile,' Gruber assured him. 'I am, of course, here by order of the Fuhrer

'God in Heaven, I know that! I myself despatched the command to Berlin which brought you here.' Bormann stared hard at Gruber who had completed his shifty examination of the room, an action which had not escaped its occupant. Bormann threw the papers back across the desk and launched his bombshell.

'The Abwehr got here first. Major Hartmann has already spent some time checking the same problem

– security…'

' The Abwehr! '

'That's what I said. Anything wrong with your hearing?'

It gave Bormann satisfaction to watch the consternation on this fat pig's face, but that satisfaction was marred by his anxiety. Martin Bormann had found himself in an impossible position when the plane from Smolensk crashed. So far he had manoeuvred with a considerable degree of success. The problem was caused by what occurred before the Fuhrer boarded his plane for Russia.

Intuitively Hitler had sensed the presence of a traitor inside the Wolf's Lair. What had eluded him was the source of this treason.

'Bormann,' he had said at one o'clock in the middle of the night after ending a military conference, 'there is a Soviet spy who is operating behind my shoulder – I know he is there. We must launch a full-scale check on security at once.'

'The perimeter defences should be strengthened?' Bormann had suggested. He got no further.

'He is here all the time!' Hitler had thundered. 'He is one of us – some swine who is passing to the Red Army our fresh dispositions as I issue instructions! You do understand me! He must be found, this bloody swine – and strung up. No one is to be exempt from the investigation. No one!'

'I understand,' had replied Bormann, who did not. He was swiftly enlightened.

'Find the top Abwehr officer in the whole Reich. The one with the best record. Draft a document – which I shall sign – giving him full powers to locate the traitor. No one – no one – is to be immune from this investigation! If he wants to cross-examine Keitel he may!'

Hitler had hammered his clenched fist on a table. Then he turned to look at his deputy, suddenly relaxing and smiling. Bormann responded quickly.

'It shall be done, mein Fuhrer…'

'And you, my dear Bormann, must allow yourself to be questioned if necessary. A show of favouritism could bring on you the dislike of the others..'

'Understood!'

'I have not finished!' Hitler's mood changed again. 'You will further request Berlin to send a top Gestapo officer to conduct his own investigation at the same time – and with the same total powers..

The Abwehr and the Gestapo were sworn enemies. The two representatives from the different organizations would compete ferociously to be the first to identify any Soviet spy. It was a typical ploy of Hitler's to exploit rival organizations and individuals to gain results.

As Bormann waited for Gruber's reaction to his insulting question he remembered his own dilemma when the plane from Smolensk exploded and the fate of the whole Nazi regime lay in Bormann's hands. Should he – among his other major decisions – send signals to Berlin cancelling the investigations?

In the end he had done nothing. The last thing he wanted was any suspicion aroused in the capital that something was wrong at the Wolf's Lair. And the conspiratorial Bormann had realized it could be an advantage to throw the whole headquarters into turmoil. The investigators would provide the perfect distraction to prevent anyone studying the substitute Fuhrer too closely. A man worried about his own position has no time for independent thought.

'I would have preferred,' Karl Gruber replied cautiously, 'to have known about the Abwehr before I came..'

'You imagine the Fuhrer gives a damn about your preferences?' Bormann sneered. 'When you have completed your findings you report direct to me – not to Berlin. Now you may go!'

Gruber received the order with relief. The heating was turned up high inside the but and he was sweating profusely. To show the necessary respect he had removed his hat but he was still sitting clad in his heavy leather overcoat. The belt felt tight round his ample stomach and he thought he could smell his sweat-soaked socks.

Standing upright, he gave the Nazi salute, retrieved his hat and went out into the raw damp cold of the compound.

'Herr Gruber, it is quite impossible to permit you to enter the precincts of the Signals Office. I have my instructions..'

The SS officer barring Gruber's way was polite but firm. He was also tall and looked down on the short, bulky Gestapo official in a patronizing manner. Gruber's pale face coloured and he was in a state of cold fury.

'I have my authority here. Stand aside before I have you put under arrest..

'I have been informed by the highest authority of your powers,' the SS officer replied loftily. 'They do not include access to the Signals Office. As to your placing me under arrest, I fear it is the other way round. If you take one step more forward I shall be compelled to place you under arrest…'

The SS officer glanced across the compound and Gruber swivelled to follow the direction of his gaze. The doorway to the but he had just left was open. Framed in the doorway stood the compact figure of Martin Bormann. Was it Gruber's imagination or could he see a bleak smile on the Reichsleiter's face?

He walked away, full of rage. You report direct to me – not to Berlin. So Bormann had said – and so Bormann had acted to ensure Gruber was isolated inside the Wolf's Lair. Someone would pay for his humiliation.

Mentally he went over the list of names compiled in his notebook before leaving Berlin – the list of personnel in this benighted swampland..Christa Lundt, secretary to. the Fuhrer. Yes, he would start there. He would give her hell…'

'Ah, Karl Gruber. Welcome to the seats of the Mighty.'

The Gestapo man swung round, his expression dark. Even though the ground was covered with crusted snow he had heard no one coming and that disturbed him. His temper was not improved when he saw who was addressing him.

'Hartmann! And how long have you been creeping around here, may I ask?'

'Long enough to give me a head start, Karl.' The Abwehr officer watched him as he stood and lit his pipe. 'You look unhappy. Won't they give you access to the teleprinter?'

'There is something wrong here, don't you sense it?' suggested Gruber, switching tack, trying to draw out his opponent.

'It's the mist which clings to the forest,' Hartmann responded amiably. 'Creates a depressing atmosphere and makes you imagine the end of the world is nigh..'

'You think we are losing the war?' Gruber interjected cunningly. Just one phrase – one defeatist- sounding phrase – from Hartmann and he would have him.

'You said that – I didn't..'

'Really, we two should cooperate, combine our forces – and share the credit when we have completed our mission.'

Gruber was switching tack again, hoping to milk any information Hartmann might have obtained by his earlier arrival. Because he was the best – Hartmann. Gruber, no fool, was only too conscious of the calibre of this quiet, grey-eyed man.

'I gather we have to work independently.' Hartmann sounded regretful. 'Bad luck with the signals people…'

He turned on his heel and walked away. His final remark left Gruber in a storming rage – as it was intended to. A man in a fury commits tactical errors. With his hand on the canteen door, Hartmann glanced over his shoulder. The Gestapo officer was entering Fraulein Lundt's hut.

'What the hell do you think you're doing…' God! You're hurting. Stop it..'

Christa Lundt, clad in only a dressing gown open down the front, stared up at Gruber who was twisting her arm viciously. He had thrown her down on to the sofa after marching inside the but without knocking. She had been about to take a shower and had snapped at him the moment he entered.

'Address your betters respectfully,' Gruber rasped as he gave her arm a further twist behind her back. 'You are the cow who attends all the Fuhrer's military conferences. Is that not so? Answer me! '

'Yes,' she gasped. One moment life had been normal – now this fat slug with the shrewd, lecherous eyes was staring at the open gap in her gown. She felt humiliated. Her breasts heaved as she winced with pain and the small eyes continued gazing at them with deep interest.

'So,' Gruber continued, still holding her helpless, 'what do you do with your notebook after you have typed out the signals and handed them in for encodement and transmission..?'

'It's kept locked in a drawer..'

'Which locked drawer? Where do you keep the key? Can anyone else read your shorthand.?'

'I don't know…'

'I think that's the wrong approach.' The voice came from behind Gruber. He swung round, released his grip on Christa, his stubby hand moving towards the gun under his armpit. The hand froze in mid-air. Hartmann stood facing him, pipe clenched in his mouth, his greatcoat unbuttoned.

'That's better,' the Abwehr man observed mildly. 'I'd have put a bullet through you before your fingers touched the butt..'

'You threaten an officer of the Gestapo?'

'I thought you were threatening me.' The same calm tone. 'And I have a witness..' Hartmann turned to Christa Lundt who had crossed her arms, closing the opened gown and massaging her arm which was badly bruised. 'We have an appointment, as you know, Fraulein.' His eyes conveyed a message. 'First, perhaps you'd like to retire and put on some clothes.'

He waited until the girl had left the room, closing the bedroom door. The mildness of manner changed.

He stepped close to the Gestapo officer, his tone low and grim.

'You stupid little toad..'

'How did you get in here? What is all this crap about you have an appointment?' croaked Gruber.

The outer door leading to the compound was shut. Hartmann had opened the door, slipped inside and closed it again without making a sound. Gruber was livid at the interruption, shaken by Hartmann's incredible ability to move like a ghost.

'The first question – I entered the same way you did. The second question – Fraulein Lundt and I have an appointment so I can begin my interrogation. Your methods are quite stupid – you scare her so her answers are likely to be confused. Beating people with a rubber truncheon may be your only normal resource – but it won't work here..'

'I shall report you to the Reichsleiter for interference in my duties.

'Supposing I report you for attempted rape..'

'A charge which I shall certainly corroborate,' called out Christa from the bedroom doorway. She had dressed hastily in a blouse and skirt and was finishing combing her long black hair. 'You caught him in the act, is that not so, Major Hartmann? The Fuhrer is most considerate to his staff, so what is the outcome likely to be?'

Hartmann possessed a splendid sense of timing. He knew exactly when to say nothing, when silence alone can break a man's nerve. Gruber's expression was a study in many emotions. He glanced from the Abwehr man to the girl with tilted head and contemptuous eyes and back again to Hartmann.

'You both know this is ridiculous,' he blustered. 'I was merely trying to shake some sense into her..

'When she was naked except for her dressing gown? A moment ago I hear her turn off a shower – which she was obviously about to take when you burst in on her. I find her pinned down on a sofa with you leaning over her…' Hartmann shrugged. 'For the moment I will record the events I witnessed, ask Fraulein Lundt to sign as a witness, and keep the report on file. Do I make myself very clear?'

Gruber picked up his hat from the table where he had tossed it on entering the hut. Hartmann noticed his hand was moist, that he had beads of sweat on his forehead. He left the building without another word, closing the door quietly. Christa came across the room.

'I am indeed in your debt, Major. Thank you seems a feeble reaction to what you saved me from. He is a lecherous brute..'

'No gratitude, please.. Hartmann raised a gloved hand which held the pipe he had courteously removed from his mouth as soon as Gruber had departed. 'But it is true that I must ask you a few questions. Do you feel up to it? If it is of any consolation to your dignity I start with you, then go on to the others – including Bormann, Keitel and Jodl.

'I will tell you anything you wish to know. Now would be a good time. But first, some coffee?'

"That would be most acceptable…'

Hartmann removed his greatcoat and cap while she was making the coffee out of sight. A less clever man than Hartmann would have refused the coffee and begun his interrogation at once – before Lundt had time to recover her poise. Hartmann preferred people to be at their ease – and his plan had worked far beyond what he had hoped for. I am, indeed, in your debt…'

Earlier outside in the compound Hartmann had manipulated the conversation with Gruber to trigger off his well-known savage temper. The Abwehr man had seen Christa Lundt going inside her but – had seen Gruber glance in that direction – and had guessed who was probably the Gestapo man's first target.

It was in the nature of a man like Gruber to bully all those he considered his inferiors, especially women. As Hartmann had hoped, the Gestapo officer had gone straight to Christa Lundt's but in a wild rage detonated by Hartmann's final remark. Things had gone further than the Abwehr man anticipated – owing to a pure chance coincidence that Christa was about to take a shower. Now, for the time being, he had Gruber in an arm-lock.

But more important, he had attracted Christa's sympathy and cooperation. Things could not have worked out better from his point of view.

'Is the coffee right for you?' Christa asked a few minutes later.

'Excellent! I think I shall apply for your transfer to my office in Berlin. Your job? Coffee-maker!'

To show her confidence in him she had sat down on the sofa beside him. He took out his pencil and a notebook. They were the tools of her profession so they were hardly likely to inhibit her.

'Very efficient, Major!' she said mischievously.

'First question? Ready?' He paused and smiled, then lit up his pipe after obtaining her permission. His gentle eyes watched her closely as he threw his shaft.

'What is your impression of this Wing Commander Lindsay who says he flew to the Berghof solely to meet the Fuhrer?'

It was not the reply she gave he noted; it was the wary look which came into her hitherto friendly eyes.

'Jodl, the situation here ever since the Fuhrer returned from Smolensk has become intolerable! Intolerable! Did you hear me?'

Field Marshal Keitel was striding round his colleague's office, unable to keep still. The foxy-faced Jodl had observed something was wrong from the moment, unannounced, Keitel had stormed into his quarters.

For one thing the Field Marshal's face was flushed with annoyance. For another he kept revolving his baton in his hands and now he threw his cap on a table with a violent gesture.

Jodl, of a calmer temperament, watching his visitor closely, chose his words with care. You always assumed that every word you spoke, even in confidence, would be repeated by Keitel to the Fuhrer if it suited his book.

'Have you isolated the cause?' he enquired.

'Isn't it obvious! We have two obnoxious outsiders poking their noses into everything that is going on..

'You are referring to Hartmann of the Abwehr and Gruber of the Gestapo?'

Always ask questions. Never make statements. Never express an opinion. It was a lesson Jodl had learned long ago.

'Who else?' Keitel blazed. 'I have just had that supercilious bastard, Hartmann, subjecting me to a cross-examination. Me! Chief of the Oberkommando!'

Supercilious? Jodl suppressed a smile. Hartmann – he had already sensed – was by far the cleverer, the more dangerous of the two interrogators. Clearly he had employed the tactic of exploiting Keitel's weakest point – his vanity and consciousness of his rank.

'You protested?' asked Jodl, still cautious. You could never tell with Keitel. He sometimes suspected the Field Marshal of simulating a posture of arrogance and limited intelligence.

'How could I protest?' Keitel raged. 'His authority derives direct from the Fuhrer himself. I suppose Gruber will turn up next. A fat slug!'

'It is not often that these men get the chance to grill those way above them in rank,' Jodl remarked shrewdly. 'They will make the most of it, submit their reports, and go away. We shall not hear from them again..'

'All this nonsense about a Soviet spy inside the Wolf's Lair

'The Fuhrer carries a great burden…

'I never mentioned the Fuhrer.

Keitel retrieved his cap, gripped his baton more firmly, glared at Jodl and walked out, slamming the door. Jodl's face had remained expressionless at the reference to a Soviet spy. Now he sat slowly tapping the fingers of his right hand like a man tapping out a Morse signal.

What Keitel said was true. The atmosphere within the claustrophobic confines of the Wolf's Lair was tense. It was bad enough to live in this unhealthy climate – there were marshes as well as lakes nearby in the dense enshrouding pine forests. The God-awful, insidious, creeping mist slipping between the trees depressed you. And now they had spy fever!

Jodl had noticed the change in personal relationships since the arrival of Hartmann and Gruber. Mistrust was in the air like the drifting grey mist. Conversations were forced and tentative. Jodl was convinced that Hartmann – the clever one – was deliberately creating this mood to put the spy under intolerable pressure…'

Intolerable? How odd that word had popped into his head. It was the same word Keitel had used twice when he had arrived, ranting at the Hartmann grilling. Jodl checked his watch. Time for the midday conference.

He stood up, put on his cap, straightened his jacket, checked his appearance in a wall mirror. The cap was at the normal jaunty angle. Always present the same impression – the Fuhrer disliked departures in others. And today, Jodl suspected, would see a new disposition of the troops on the Eastern front.

It was the evening of the day when Keitel had visited Jodl. In the depths of the pine forest amid the swirling mist a figure was crouched over the 'hide'.

The logs concealing the entrance had been removed, revealing the high-powered transceiver. With the aid of a masked torch – night had fallen and there was no moon – the expert fingers completed tapping out the signal which had been preceded by the word 'Wagner'. This indicated that the signal concerned Army dispositions. 'Olga' would have indicated a signal concerning Luftwaffe movements.

The crouched figure, seen as little more than a ghost in the mist-bound night, checked the dial of an illuminated wristwatch and waited. There was rarely a signal in the opposite direction – originating in Switzerland and beamed to East Prussia. But if there should be one, it would be transmitted from Lucerne in the next two minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds passed – an endless-seeming pause. A hand reached out to switch off. The machine began to talk…

RAHS. The call-sign from Lucy. A message was coming tonight. The torch was tucked under an arm, a notebook and pencil held at the ready for the series of dots and dashes in code. The signal was brief.

The operator switched off the machine, replaced the logs, stood up, grasped a branch and shook snow down to cover all traces of disturbance.

Walking some distance along a track, his feet crackling ice, the operator stopped again by a large tree trunk, reached inside a hole and withdrew a code book protected by a waterproof sachet. Crouching down, the operator used the torch to decode the signal, replaced the code book inside its hiding-place and was lost in the mist. The signal was a death warrant.

Liquidate the Englishman…

In his apartment in faraway Lucerne, Rudolf Roessler blinked as he sat in front of the cupboard concealing his transceiver. He had the impression it was misty. He closed the flap, sealing off the machine and turned in his chair as he heard someone behind him.,

'Oh, it is you, Anna..'

'And who else would it be?' the tall brisk woman asked with a reassuring smile. 'Here is some coffee. And your glasses are steamed up. Give them to me..'

'He stood up, closed the door of the cupboard, holding a piece of paper in his hand as he followed her into the living room. Still in a daze, he sat down at a baize-covered table and sipped his coffee while Anna vigorously cleaned the spectacles.

'I still marvel at the information Woodpecker sends. Who can he be?' he wondered.

'Far better that we never know his identity – and fortunately we never will know. Here are your glasses – and why are you all sweaty? The night is cold.'

'Moscow sent me a message for Woodpecker. I transmitted it to him after receiving his latest data on the movement of the German Army – which I later re-transmitted to Cossack. The signal for Woodpecker from Cossack is in an unknown code – so I have no idea what I was sending..'

Anna frowned. This new development worried her but she must try not to show it. 'This is the first time we have had a signal from Moscow. We thought all the transmissions would be in the opposite direction from Woodpecker to Moscow..'

'Provision was made for it when we were in Berlin,' Roessler reminded her. 'Call-signs were agreed and so on. But it violates our arrangement with Swiss Military Intelligence. We gave them to understand it would be one-way traffic, so what do I do about this new signal? The Swiss may not like it..'

'You mean we should not pass on the message from Cossack to the Bureau Ha?'

'What would you do?' he asked, his manner that of an uncertain spaniel dog.

'Forget it,' she decided. 'Say nothing to the Bureau Ha '

'What would I do without you, Anna?'

'Worry all day long!'

'Where are you going?'

'To phone the Bureau Ha asking them to send a courier for the signal from Woodpecker.' She made a gesture of dismissal "before picking up the phone. 'I suggest you are out of the way when the courier arrives. Go get your beauty sleep!'

Snow was falling on the walls of the Kremlin. At two o'clock in the morning there was a hushed atmosphere inside the ancient citadel. Laventri Beria was busily polishing his pince-nez while he waited for the closed door at the end of the gloomy room to open. Beside him, General Zhukov, resplendent in uniform, stood and fidgeted irritably.

'Good evening, gentlemen. Or should it be good morning? It is after midnight and another eventful day lies before us. Let us not waste it..'

The speaker, Stalin, emerged from the shadows. It was a habit of the Generalissimo, Beria had observed, to sidle up to people unexpectedly. The small Georgian with the withered left arm and crafty eyes held another of those blasted pieces of paper in his right hand. A Woodpecker signal, Beria guessed. He hated networks over which he had no control.

`Your opinion of the contents, General,' Stalin requested. 'It again concerns the alleged German order of battle..'

Beria maintained an expressionless face, blinking behind his pince-nez. Let Zhukov be the target. Stalin was in one of his most dangerous moods. Soft- spoken, a cat-and-mouse approach. Zhukov read the signal and spoke his mind as always.

'This agent knows what he is talking about. The details of the German Army dispositions coincide exactly with my picture of the whole front. The other vital information about reserves is likely to be equally accurate. On the basis of this, I propose an attack before the thaw – we will catch them by surprise..'

'You guarantee a great victory?' Stalin queried, pulling at his moustache as he glanced sideways at the Soviet general.

'In war there can be no guarantees..'

'Then we wait a little longer – until we are certain of Woodpecker, certain he is not being manipulated..

'It would help me if I knew who in hell this Woodpecker is,' Zhukov burst out. 'And how many years will it take for us to be certain…?'

Beria held his breath. He was careful to look at neither man. Within sixty seconds Stalin might well order the arrest of Zhukov. There was a loaded pause, a pause punctuated by the slow tick of a two hundred-year-old long-case clock standing against the wall.

'I suggest you return to military headquarters,' Stalin remarked eventually with no emotion in his voice. 'And no attacks to be launched yet. Defensive measures only, as previously agreed.'

He waited until Zhukov had left the room and then invited his police chief to join him at the nearby table. Sitting down, he took out his pipe, lit it with great deliberation, and all the time his eyes studied Beria, who clasped the moist palms of his hands out of sight in his lap.

'One day, Beria, we shall have to cut these generals down to size. In the meantime we need them – to win the war. Increase the surveillance on Zhukov…'

In London at Ryder Street Colonel Browne pretended to be thinking aloud to get the reaction of his assistant. Whelby was locking away some files prior to venturing out into the night.

'There are people who wonder whether we should seek an accommodation with the Germans…'

Browne paused. 'By the way, did you get any encouragement along these lines from the other side when you visited Madrid recently?'

'None whatsoever,' Whelby lied promptly.

'Just an idle thought…' Browne trailed off and nodded curtly as Whelby bade him goodnight with a hint of urgency.

It so happened that Whelby had a prearranged meeting with Savitsky for that evening. An agent always likes to have something to report. Whelby elevated Browne's chance remark into a decision of British policy.

'It appears Lindsay is a peace emissary of Churchill's, he said during their brief meeting. 'Browne tested out my reaction to the idea not two hours ago.

Arriving back at the Soviet Embassy, Savitsky again encoded the signal to Cossack personally and took it to the basement cipher room at Kensington Palace Gardens. Three hours later the decoded signal was read by Stalin, who 'consulted' Beria for the second time that night.

'The situation at Hitler's headquarters is getting confused,' Stalin commented as his henchmen read the message.

'Confused?' Beria queried.

'Confused,' emphasized Stalin 'In the same place we have Woodpecker – who. may prove to be our most valuable agent of the war. Then we have this Englishman – another trained spy, I suspect. I think he is pro-Nazi. Supposing that with his experience he detects Woodpecker? That must be prevented at all costs.'

'I agree,' Beria said loftily. 'There is an obvious solution..'

'We send Woodpecker a signal..'

Which is how the message to Woodpecker via Lucy came to be sent.

Liquidate the Englishman. He has Monday rendezvous with Allied agent at Frauenkirche…