The Leader And The Damned

Chapter Fifteen

'It is madness! I begged the Fuhrer to let me send guards to escort him at a discreet distance. He insisted on taking this walk alone in the forest with the Englishman!'

Martin Bormann could not keep still as he paced round Christa Lundt's hut. She sat stiffly on the chair nearest the door into the compound. It would be her escape route if the Reichsleiter attempted to engage her in sexual intercourse. Bormann continued his tirade.

'The Fuhrer's only protection is his dog, Blondi..' Sweating profusely, he paused and threw out one hand in a gesture of frustration. 'What do you think is going on out there in the forest?'

'The Fuhrer is delivering a monologue. The Wing Commander is listening. Nothing more alarming, I'm sure..'

Fifteen minutes earlier she had witnessed an extraordinary scene. Lindsay had been sitting on the sofa while they talked about the worsening atmosphere of tension as Hartmann and Gruber pursued their separate investigations.

The door had been thrown open and the Fuhrer stood motionless, his dog on a leash. Wearing his military great-coat and peaked cap, he had stared hard at them while Lindsay and Christa stood up. He then spoke abruptly.

'Get your coat on, Wing Commander. We must talk. We will walk in the forest where no one can overhear us..'

Stunned, Lindsay had donned his own coat and Russian-style fur hat, provided by Guensche, who seemed to have taken the Englishman under his protection. He followed the Fuhrer across the compound and through the first checkpoint.

Now they had passed through the three checkpoints. They strolled alongside each other across the broad track between the minefields in the depths of the snowbound pine forest. The cold was raw, damp and penetrating. The dense silence of the weird desolation closed round them as the Fuhrer talked.

'You say there is a peace party in London but they cannot overthrow Churchill yet. Is London crazy? What would happen should I fail in my great mission in the East? The Communist hordes would sweep across Europe. Great Britain and America would be confronted by an implacable enemy whose only purpose would be to destroy them. They would never again live in peace – even if the Soviets were compelled for a few years to accept some division of Europe, you would still never have freedom from fear – the fear that sooner or later the barbaric Communist Asiatics would grow so strong they would overwhelm you. Then a new Dark Age would descend on Europe. America would be isolated. It would be only a matter of time before the Communist plague swept east into China and Japan. I alone stand between the West and barbarism..'

'There are people in high places in London – and Washington – who see this,' Lindsay replied, his face turned to catch every flicker of expression on his companion's face, every intonation of the flow of words which tumbled out like a torrent.

'Then why, in the name of God, do they not act…?'

'As yet,' Lindsay interjected firmly, 'they do not have the power. A great German victory in the East would help…"

'That is coming! I tell you, that is coming!!' Hitler's voice rose and was not muffled even by the drifting fog. 'Wait only for the summer!!! The summer of '43 will turn the hinge of history.' His voice and manner changed abruptly. He spoke quietly, amiably. 'The Duke of Dunkeith, your uncle, sent you to me as an emissary of this peace party? I knew it intuitively as soon as I heard of your arrival.'

Hitler had answered his own question. Lindsay was learning rapidly. Volunteer as little as possible. The German leader had his own ideas and required only confirmation. So far, Lindsay had found him remarkably well-informed. Tugging at the leash to control the dog, the Fuhrer continued.

'I have definite peace proposals for you to present to Churchill and your other friends. In return for cessation of all hostilities between us I will withdraw all German troops from France, Belgium, Holland – the whole of occupied Western Europe. Then you leave me to finish off Stalin and his hideous creed. The Americans cannot operate without British help and the use of your island base..'

'Churchill himself might be interested in such proposals,' the Englishman replied. 'He himself is beginning to worry about just how far the Red Army might penetrate Europe..

'The proposals must be worked out in full detail. I will leave that to Ribbentrop. It's time he did something to earn his keep,' the Fuhrer commented sardonically. 'It's a pity Lord Halifax was sent off to Washington as Ambassador,' Hitler ruminated. 'He was one of the leaders, of the peace faction. Is that not so?'

'And to think,' Lindsay replied cautiously, 'that when Chamberlain was forced to resign, he first offered the premiership to this same Halifax. If you had had him to deal with after Dunkirk..'

'Britain and Germany would have joined hands as equal partners in the crusade against Bolshevism. Moscow would no longer exist. My only reason for attacking France was to clear my rear before the great campaign against Stalin. And no one seems to understand why I acted as I did..'

Hitler was speechless at the thought. They continued walking in silence for several minutes. In places the track was thick with moss and spongy to the tread – as though they moved on the edge of a swamp. The smell of damp, moisture-laden pines filled their nostrils.

They were about to turn back to return to the compound. Hitler had started speaking again when the sound of the rifle crack came. Lindsay saw the bullet embed itself in a tree trunk well to the right of the track. Snow fell to the ground. Hitler was on his left. The Englishman spoke quickly.

'Fuhrer, please return with all speed to the Wolf's Lair. I will try and locate the assassin..'

'The bloody cowardly swine! They can't even shoot straight..'

Hitler turned on his heel and walked back the way they had come, shoulders erect like a marionette, not varying his pace. Lindsay waited five minutes after the silhouette of the Fuhrer vanished, standing motionless, listening. Hitler thought he had survived yet a further attempt on his life. Lindsay knew better. The bullet had been aimed at himself. It had shot past well clear of the German leader.

Arriving back at the first checkpoint he was put under arrest. 'For complicity in the attempted assassination of the Fuhrer..'

Christa Lundt approached the but where Lindsay was confined. An SS guard with a machine-pistol moved in front of the door as she held the tray of covered dishes.

'No admittance. Herr Gruber…'

She stared straight at the SS man, her manner cold and contemptuous. Her voice was sharp and cutting.

'This is his lunch. By order of the Fuhrer! You want to find yourself on the Eastern front? You have five seconds to get out of my way..'

The guard hesitated. Indecision was written all over his face. Christa began to turn away. The SS man moved swiftly to one side, so shaken by her reference to Russia he forgot to check the contents of the tray. She indicated that he should open the door.

'You have the manners of a pig,' she commented. 'Close the damn thing behind me..'

Lindsay was stretched out on the sofa, reading a newspaper. He jumped up and cleared a table for her to put down the tray. She sat down on the sofa, her voice low.

'Start eating while it's still hot. Now, what's all this nonsense about your trying to kill the Fuhrer?'

'That Gestapo bastard.' Lindsay lifted off the covers. Veal with potatoes. He was famished. He ate and talked between mouthfuls. 'Gruber alleges he searched my but while I was away in the forest. He produced a set of photographic copies of the latest military directives. Says he found them hidden. Underneath the mattress in the bedroom here. What a brilliant hiding-place!'

'The latest directives? I could disprove that. You'd need access to a copying device…'

'That isn't all. This veal is good..' Lindsay forked more into his mouth. Always eat at every opportunity. Number One instruction in the Ryder Street training manual. 'Gruber alleges I led the Fuhrer into a trap, an assassination attempt..'

'The Fuhrer doubts that,' Christa interjected. 'Gruber wanted to fly you straight back to his place in Berlin. The Fuhrer said "No". The furthest he'd allow Gruber to go was to confine you to your but until the incident has been investigated.'

'That's something.' Lindsay wiped his mouth with the napkin she had brought and looked at her. 'You'd better know – Gruber is trying to tie the two of us into this thing together. He's sent a teleprinter message to Berlin for your complete file.'

'Oh, my God!'

The blood had drained from Christa's face. She wrapped the slender fingers of one hand round the wrist of the other – as though clutching an invisible manacle. Lindsay, still cautious, watched her while he poured coffee from a metal pot. When he spoke his tone was casual.

'Is there something incriminating in that file?'

'Gruber could make it incriminating.' Suddenly she recovered her self-possession. 'It records people I have known in the past, people who have come under suspicion since I was last vetted. My ex-fiance, Kurt, especially He was despatched to the Eastern front. No one knew he was my fiance – only that he was a close friend.'

'Suspected members of the underground? Kurt, too?'

She nodded. Her calm was almost unnerving. 'Now you know why I might need an escape route. I was last vetted ages ago..'

'The situation here is complicated,' Lindsay remarked. 'Complex situations can be exploited. What do you know about Gustav Hartmann? There is something odd about the Abwehr man. As an ally he may be persuaded to neutralize Gruber – the Gestapo detest the Abwehr and the feeling is reciprocated. Also, Hartmann is much cleverer.

'I still do not see how you can get Hartmann to help us.' She sounded irritated, frustrated. Christa Lundt was either one of the world's great actresses, or was telling the truth. 'In any case,' she continued with concern, 'you are in a bad position yourself…'

'As the Fuhrer would say in a difficult situation, it is time for a little luck to come to our aid…'

She was back again in less than an hour, closing the door carefully, then looking round the room and gesturing a question with both hands as she scanned the other closed doors.

'We are quite alone,' Lindsay told her.

'Then I have the most marvellous news!' Throwing caution to the winds she ran forward and sat close to him on the sofa. Clasping both his hands, she moved her face close to him. 'The Fuhrer has just taken one of his lightning decisions. Everyone, including Bormann, was astounded. He does that – to keep even those closest to him off balance, and for security reasons. Ian, we are all to leave immediately for Obersalzberg! Hitler is temporarily moving his headquarters to the Berghof!'

'How soon is immediately?' Lindsay asked. 'Within two hours! There is a railway siding… 'I've seen it…'

'The train is already there. Oh, Ian, it is so luxurious! And you are to come with us. The Fuhrer regards you as his one possible link with the peace party in England. A little luck – that is what you said we needed!'

As they sat together on the sofa the relationship between them was becoming highly charged. Their tremendous relief at the prospect of leaving the Wolf's Lair was releasing their inhibitions. Lindsay made an effort to keep his mind on practical problems.

'When will your file arrive from Berlin?'

'Tomorrow at the earliest. The girl in charge of records is a friend of mine. She will delay it as long as possible – here..'

'When is the earliest that file could reach the Berghof?'

'Five days after we leave the Wolf's Lair. And Gruber is coming with us.' The enthusiasm left her voice. It was, after all, only a short-lived reprieve, Lindsay reflected. He was half-convinced now that Christa was genuine – a link with the anti-Nazi faction.

'I suggest you don't worry,' was as far as he dare go.

She still held his hands. She leaned forward slowly and her lips brushed his own, lightly at first. Then her arms were round him and she pressed her mouth hungrily against his, her well-formed breasts firm against his chest. Slowly, with surprising strength, she bent her back down on to the sofa, pulling him with her. The tempo of the embrace quickened. His left hand located the buttons down the side of her skirt and unfastened them deftly. 'Yes, yes, yes!' she gasped. She held on to him fiercely – as though he were her only contact with safety. Lindsay ended it.

'Any moment someone can walk in on us…'

After she had gone he opened the carton of cigarettes she gave him as a parting gift. He thought about a dozen things as he lit one, marshalling his thoughts into some sort of order.

The Berghof… by train. That meant their ultimate destination was probably Salzburg – from there a motorcade to the mountainous retreat. Salzburg! On the main line to Munich…

Munich! The agreed rendezvous with the mysterious Paco – who had the power to get him across the frontier into Switzerland. All he had to do was to exploit the rivalry between the Gestapo and the Abwehr to hold them both in check. Mere child's play! Like bloody hell. Lindsay's mind churned as he packed the case Christa had brought him.

At least he had discovered answers to the two questions Ryder Street was concerned about. But what had shaken him was his recent walk in the pine forest. He had the overwhelming impression the Fuhrer was acting out a part – that of the Fuhrer.

On the surface Hitler was Hitler, the man he had conversed with at length in Berlin before the war. But every movement of his hands, his way of walking, his changes of expression – all had a certain exaggeration. Like an actor overplaying. Lindsay was trying to absorb a major shock. He was convinced he had been in the presence of a double, a doppelganger…

Still half in a mental trance, he snapped the catches shut on his case. When someone rapped on the outer door he nearly jumped out of his shoes.

'Who is it?' he called out.

'Hartmann..'

'You may come in..'

Lindsay's voice and manner were arrogant and confident, anything but that of a prisoner suspected of God knew exactly what. The grey-eyed German came in, closed the door and looked at the suitcase.

'You are ready for the long journey, I see..'

'Just how long? And what route do we take, for God's sake – to get from the swamps of East Prussia to the Alps of Bavaria?'

'That is classified information. I wish I knew why you made this hazardous trip. No one really knows, I'm sure. Yet..'

'That is not classified information,' Lindsay responded while the Abwehr officer perched himself on the sofa. 'I came solely to establish links between the Fuhrer and certain powerful elements in Great Britain who foresee Russia as the real enemy…'

The German crossed his legs, took out his pipe and lit it, tamping the tobacco with his index finger. His eyes never left the Englishman's face as he took his time replying. Lindsay sensed he was in the company of one of the most experienced interrogators in the Third Reich.

'And who are these powerful elements you speak of?' he eventually enquired:

'That is classified information also. Ask the Fuhrer

Keep the replies short. Don't elaborate – above all don't get drawn into the trap of conversing freely with Hartmann. On the surface the German seemed a kindly man, more like an intelligent civil servant than a member of one of the most ambiguous organizations in Hitler's Germany.

'This nonsense about your being involved in an assassination attempt.. Hartmann paused, giving the Englishman time to make some comment. Lindsay remained silent, lighting another cigarette from the pack supplied by Christa.

'You appear to be on good terms with Christa Lundt,' Hartmann remarked, switching the topic without warning.

'She's curious about me because I'm British, I suppose…'

'She has also become very attached to you since your arrival. I have found out she kept very much to herself before that.'

'If you say so.'

Hartmann stood up and smiled. 'We are fencing. I gain the strongest impression you have been trained to resist any form of interrogation…'

'Wouldn't you be wary if you had people like Gruber prowling about?' Lindsay flashed back. 'Not that I equate you with the Gestapo…' It was the Englishman's turn to study the other man's reaction. Hartmann paused in the act of knocking out his pipe in an ashtray, looking up at Lindsay from beneath his bushy eyebrows. Some kind of message passed between them, something unfathomable.

'We will talk some more at the Berghof,' Hartmann said, straightening up and adjusting the belt of his trench coat. 'You knew the Fuhrer before the war?'

'We met in Berlin..'

'As an outsider, you sense something peculiar about the atmosphere at the Wolf's Lair?'

'Since you arrived, yes! And Gruber..'

'A mood of distrust, people looking over their shoulders at men they have known for years – as though treason stalks the compounds very close to the top?'

'You would know more about that than me…' 'Would I?'

On the verge of leaving, Hartmann turned, his hand on the handle of the outer door. His expression had become stern and he stood very erect as he stared at the Englishman while he spoke rapidly.

'Would I!' he repeated. 'Wing Commander, you are nobody's fool. I have only arrived here for the first time in my life. You have been here over two weeks! The Fuhrer has what we call in Germany fingertip-feeling – the ability to sense something wrong before he has located the source of his unease. I, also, in all modesty, am credited with something of the same ability. Is it really the possible presence of a Soviet spy?' He walked a few paces closer to Lindsay. 'Or is it something quite different I sense – without knowing what I detect? Your plane took you to the Berghof before you were flown here. What is it you have noticed? Help me, Wing Commander. I can be a useful ally.

'I haven't the least idea what you're talking about,' Lindsay replied without hesitation.

'Very well! But I warn you – we will talk again…'

The Fuhrer's train, curiously called Amerika, travelled at high speed. The icy blast from an open window -or door – funnelled down the corridor as Lindsay peered into the distance and saw the vague silhouette of a slim figure at the end of the coach. He began running. The silhouette looked like Christa.

They were somewhere in the mountains – many hours from Rastenburg in East Prussia. It was nearly midnight. Because of the wartime blackout the corridor was feebly lit by overhead blue lamps which cast a ghostly glow. All the compartments he passed had the blinds drawn. The occupants were sleeping.

Lindsay had been unable to sleep and so he had seen the familiar figure of a girl slip past his window on the corridor side. Opening the door quietly, he had closed it again. There had been something furtive about the girl's movements which had aroused his curiosity. Now he was alarmed.

The cold chilled his face. There was a feel of snow in the icy air. He suspected they were crossing Czechoslovakia, maybe the Tatra Mountains. The deserted corridor remained empty – except for the silhouette. And it was the door at the end of the coach which was open…

Christa Lundt was framed in the doorway, one hand clutching a rail, the other holding the door back against the train. She was so absorbed in gazing into the night she never saw him coming. The sight of her poised there scared him.

He reached her. She saw him. She took a step into oblivion. He grabbed her upper arm, hauled her back and threw her to the other side of the coach. Reaching out, he grasped the heavy door, swung it inwards and shut. Confined between the lavatory and the end of the coach she was now pressing down the handle of the door opposite. He grabbed her again roughly, with both hands.

'Christa! You stupid little fool! Are you trying to kill yourself…?'

'Ian!' She 'trembled with relief. 'I thought you were Hartmann. I have to leave the train – before Gruber receives details of that file from Berlin. There are guards at every stop. Only while the train is between stations can I get away..'

'Inside here…' He opened the lavatory door. 'Guards patrol the corridors at intervals. Bit cramped, but it will have to do.' He closed and locked the door. Beneath them the heavy wheels of the train beat out a steady, hypnotic tattoo. He perched her on the closed lid and by the glow from the blue light brushed flakes of snow from her coat and hat.

She was wearing leather, knee-length boots, a fur coat and a Russian-style fur hat. Warmth from the radiators in the adjoining compartment had percolated into the lavatory and the snow he had brushed on to the floor was already beginning to melt.

– 'Now,' he demanded, 'what were you really up to? Attempting to commit suicide I'd have thought – with the train moving at this speed..

'It was moving quite slowly when I reached the door and opened it,' she said bitterly. 'Then it suddenly speeded up. When you arrived I was sure it was Hartmann so I decided to risk jumping – it would come to the same thing soon..'

Lindsay studied the fine bone structure of her face, the defiant tilt of her head as she stared up at him. This was the girl he had made love to. And what she said was borne out by the facts, he remembered now.

The train had been moving very slowly when she passed his window, climbing a steep gradient. He had been standing up sliding open his compartment door, when the speed had unexpectedly increased. The train had reached the gradient summit and the track had changed to a downgrade angle. She appeared to read. his thoughts as she continued watching him.

'I just got the door open when the damned thing picked up speed. If I'd jumped at once I might have managed it – I'm pretty athletic…'

'I found that out not long ago,' he interjected.

'I'm serious,' she snapped. 'But you know how it is – you're not sure, so you hesitate. At least I did. By then the train was going very fast. I was hoping it would slow down again. We're close to the Austrian border – and since my language is German…'

'You're crazy – you do know that? The temperature outside must be sub-zero. You'd do better to wait until we reach the Berghof. How long do you reckon you've got before that file lands up in Gruber's greasy paws?'

'Three days' minimum… if they rushed it through.'

'Then we have to be on our way in less than three days..'

Lindsay prayed. He watched her like a scientist studying a slide under a microscope. He had said it, revealing himself to her. If there was one chance in a hundred he was wrong – that she had been playing him on the end of a string for Gruber – then he had only one option. To throttle her until she was dead. Then throw her corpse from the train while it continued through this isolated corner of Europe.

Lindsay was aware his palms were sweating. They would slip when he tried to get a grip on her slim, lovely neck. He would have to bang the back of her skull against the vertical water-pipe just behind where she sat. Oh God…'

'You mean I was right about you all the time? You can provide me with an…'

Tears of relief, wonderment, exhaustion? Lindsay had no idea – but tears welled in her eyes and then she gritted her teeth as she felt under her coat, found a handkerchief and cleaned herself up. It could still be an act…'

'Why do you have to use an escape route?' he demanded harshly. 'I need the truth – no more play ing with words. The honest-to-God bloody truth…'

'They could link me to the anti-Nazi underground. Kurt was suspect. So they sent him to Russia. But no one knew. She was talking in short gasps, still apparently in shock, watching him closely. It was extraordinary, Lindsay reflected, the way women gripped by some powerful emotion could still – presumably with another part of their mind – check the effect they were having on a man. Doubtful about her sincerity again, he probed deeper.

'You say you belong to the anti-Nazi underground..'

'I went over after Kurt's death. Not that I've done much so far..'

'Just what have you done? Which underground? Communist?'

She looked startled, frightened. 'Christ, no! I'm talking of General Beck's people – the military. Occasionally Beck manages to send one of his people to the Wolf's Lair. They always ask for details of the security system..'

'You could be a Soviet spy,' he hammered.

'God! You're a Nazi. You're going to hand me over..'

'Shut up a minute while I think. No one is handing you over to anyone.'

Lindsay was faced with the most difficult decision of his life. He could trust her. She could be very useful in helping him to escape from Germany. But two on the run more than doubled the dangers. Once he committed himself he'd feel responsible for her. There would be no turning back.

And Lindsay was a loner. Instinctively he shied away from sharing any tricky situation with another man – or woman. You could never tell how they would Goddamn react at the moment of crisis – and there would be moments of crisis, maybe involving killing, he reminded himself grimly.

'Do you know the rail route from Salzburg?'

Still cautious, he phrased the question carefully. She nodded.

'To Vienna? I know it well,' she said. 'And the other way back to Munich. I lived there before the war. Once we go up to the Berghof we'll never escape..'

'We could steal transport,' he suggested.

'It wouldn't work – too many checkpoints. They'd know the road we were using once the alarm was raised – and it would be raised before we got clear. One phone call to a checkpoint we hadn't yet passed..'

'It has to be Salzburg then?'

'It has to be Salzburg. That's our last chance..'