The Leader And The Damned

Chapter Twenty-Three

'We establish a battle headquarters! Its sole objective – to track down the two fugitives! I shall take personal command..'

Bormann, clad in his normal uniform, his trousers thrust inside jackboots, his squarish face flushed, stopped in mid-sentence as the Fuhrer made a gesture of disagreement.

'Really, Bormann,' Hitler commented mildly and with some amusement, 'we are not fighting Zhukov and his Soviet divisions. Not here, anyway. We are talking about two people.'

It was a muddle and the Reichsleiter had caused it. What should have been a military conference had been side-tracked by Bormann bringing up the problem of Lindsay and inviting the wrong people to attend the meeting. Eight men were seated in the huge living room with the famous picture window at Berghof.

Keitel and Jodl sat side by side on a sofa, scarcely bothering to conceal their annoyance. The other four were Colonel Jaeger with his deputy, Schmidt; the Gestapo representative, Gruber; and Gustav Hartmann of the Abwehr.

'I understand, mein Fuhrer,' Bormann agreed hastily.

He leaned back in his chair and crossed his short, stocky legs as the phone began ringing shrilly. Bormann practically leaped on the phone and pressed the receiver to his ear.

'Yes, Mayr, this is Bormann. You have caught them?'

There was a pause while he listened and Hartmann, watching his expression, felt certain he knew what had happened. He was also dying to light his pipe but there could be no smoking in Hitler's presence. Still, Bormann's face was a picture…

'Mayr, this is impossible,' Bormann protested. 'I made no call to you about any Lindsay rendezvous with an Allied agent. What's going on here? Why didn't you check back? Wait a minute..'

He cupped a pudgy hand over the speaker and stared at the seated men. 'Someone here at the Berghof impersonated me when they called Mayr.' His gaze rested on Keitel and Jodl.

Keitel, his chin perched on the point of his baton, looked into the distance as though Bormann did not exist. Jodl folded his arms and regarded the Reichsleiter with a saturnine expression. The atmosphere was tense. Bormann continued the call.

'Listen, Mayr!' he exploded. 'You say someone pretending to be me told you about this rendezvous, that you acted on the information, that Lindsay did turn up – so presumably you have now got him… All right, go on..'

The other men in the room remained silent. The Fuhrer studied his fingernails with a bored expression. Hartmann kept his face blank, enjoying the whole incident.

'This morning, you say…' Bormann sounded incredulous. 'Wait a minute,' he repeated. He stared at the others. 'There has been a massacre outside the Frauenkirche, soldiers killed.'

' Give me the phone! ' Hitler snapped.

His passive manner changed in one of his unpredictable switches of mood. He stood very erect, the phone pressed to his ear.

'The Fuhrer speaking. This is taking too long. Tell me in a few words what happened..'

Hitler listened intently, occasionally acknowledging what was being said to him with a simple 'Yes' or 'No'. This was another myth about the Fuhrer, Hartmann reflected as he reached for his pipe and put it in his mouth without lighting it. The myth that Hitler could never listen. When he was intrigued by a subject, the Fuhrer was one of the world's most attentive listeners.

'Do what you can, Mayr,' the Fuhrer said eventually. 'Spread a massive dragnet as you suggest. The Englishman must not leave Germany. I prefer he should be taken alive. Report regularly to Bormann about your progress. Do your best, Mayr.'

He put down the phone and began pacing the wide spaces of the room in an agitated manner, hands clasped behind his back. It was several minutes before he spoke.

'There has been a terrible accident. Christa, Lundt, my favourite secretary, has been shot dead.'

'By the Englishman, Lindsay. Bormann jumped in.

'No!' Hitler glanced at him with a look of contempt. 'I would greatly appreciate it if you could keep quiet until I have finished speaking. And you may be interested to hear Christa was shot by a member of the SS..'

Hartmann looked at Colonel Jaeger and actually saw the blood drain from his face at the news. One by one, the Fuhrer was using the event to unnerve almost everyone present. He stopped in front of Gruber who started to rise to his feet.

'Sit down!' Hitler snapped. 'Apparently on the basis of information received a trap was laid this morning. The Gestapo were conspicuous by their absence. They don't seem to know what is going on even in Munich…'

He turned on his heels and stared down at Hartmann. The Abwehr officer stared back, his unlit pipe clenched between his teeth. Hitler's mood changed again with the same startling abruptness and he addressed Hartmann in a calm manner.

'Did the Abwehr have any knowledge of this – something to do with a rendezvous in the centre of Munich?'

'Not a word, mein Fuhrer. Otherwise you would have been the first to hear…'

Which was not, strictly speaking, necessarily true – but the opportunity to score over Gestapo and SS was too good to overlook. He watched as the Fuhrer nodded – as though to say that is exactly what I would have expected. Hitler made a dismissive gesture.

'Deal with it in any way you like, Bormann. I leave the whole sorry business in your hands. Make sure flowers and condolences are sent from me on my behalf to Christa's relatives. I am going to my room to rest.'

It became a battle royal after Keitel and Jodl followed Hitler out of the room – with two organizations fighting for supremacy in the struggle to hunt down the Englishman. Gestapo and SS – Gruber and Jaeger – confronted each other while Hartmann sat listening.

It was a typical ploy of Bormann's – learned from the Fuhrer – to set different power groups competing against each other. Bormann laid down the ground rules by phoning Mayr again to issue fresh instructions.

`Mayr, the Englishman, Wing Commander Lindsay, is a spy and is to be shot at the first sighting.

Understood? By order of the Fuhrer!'

He slammed down the phone and Hartmann almost expected him to give the Nazi salute. He made one of his rare interventions.

'Reichsleiter, that order is wrong. Hitler himself told Mayr, "I prefer he should be taken alive.'

'That was earlier,' Bormann snapped. 'Later, when he became aware of what had happened he specifically told me to deal with it in any way I liked. You, also, are involved. You interrogated Lindsay, you know the man. From now on you will devote all your waking hours to locating this English spy. You will pursue him – to the ends of the earth if need be..'

'Then I'll need a lot of money,' Hartmann said quickly.

'Unlimited funds will be placed at your disposal. Gruber, what measures do you propose we take?'

'Seal off the entire city of Munich. All exits must be closed.'

'That is not enough,' Jaeger interrupted. He unfolded a map of Bavaria on the table and stabbed at it with his finger. 'Where is Lindsay likely to head for? That is the key to the whole operation and I believe I know the answer.'

'Well?' Bormann demanded.

'Switzerland! We must flood the area between Munich and the Swiss frontier with troops. All trains to that area must carry special plain-clothes inspection teams. It requires concentration of our forces. Road-blocks must be set up on, every route leading to the Swiss border. All airfields must be discreetly guarded – discreetly since we are setting up a whole series of traps.'

'Why bother about airfields?' Gruber enquired.

Jaeger looked at him with a hint of contempt. 'Have you forgotten Lindsay is a Wing Commander? That he was originally flown to the Wolf's Lair from the Berghof in a Junkers 52? He may have spent his time observing how the plane is operated…'

'I see what you mean,' Gruber mumbled and subsided.

Sitting quietly, puffing his pipe, Hartmann had to admire the SS colonel's energy and organizing ability. A successful criminal lawyer in peacetime, Hartmann placed great value on evidence. He asked a question.

'You are banking everything on the logic that Lindsay has to be heading for Switzerland?'

'Well, is it not logical?' Jaeger turned on him aggressively. 'I have put myself – as I always did at the front – inside the mind of the enemy. You have a comment?'

'I prefer to listen to your meticulous planning,' Hartmann replied ambiguously.

'In any case,' Bormann broke in, 'you are a strictly one-man show, Hartmann. We rely on you to contact via Berlin the Abwehr agents inside Switzerland. Any information you obtain should be passed to Colonel Jaeger.'

'Tell me, Bormann, precisely what happened in Munich this morning? You used the word "massacre”.'

'Mayr botched the operation. As to what happened..'

Hartmann listened intently as Bormann recalled in detail his phone conversation. Colonel Jaeger was already on the line to Mayr. in Munich firing off a series of orders. Hartmann frowned as Bormann came to the end of his story, an expression which irked the Reichsleiter.

'What is the matter now, Hartmann?'

'I find it disturbing. This rescue of the Englishman was planned brilliantly – like a military operation. The road-sweeper who hurled grenades and smoke bombs at our troops – a masterly touch.'

'You call it that!' snapped Bormann. ' A number of our men were killed.'

'Furthermore,' Hartmann continued, 'we have no descriptions of this three-man group who snatched Lindsay from under the noses of our elaborate trap. The leader sounds to be the man who wore the Astrakhan hat and coat. No description. Then there was the road-sweeper and the uniformed chauffeur who drove the Mercedes – again, no descriptions. How the hell did they get hold of a Mercedes?'

'Obviously they stole it!' interjected Gruber who was feeling he was being ignored.

'Possibly, Gruber,' Hartmann agreed amiably. 'Now, the Gestapo spends vast sums and has I don't know how many men on its staff. So tell me, what information have you about an underground group operating in the Munich area?'

Gruber, now he was the centre of attention, looked uncomfortable. Bormann stared at him. Jaeger had just finished his phone call to Mayr and also stood watching.

'There are so many rumours we have to check. It is wartime…' he rambled.

'Gruber!' Bormann's voice dripped sarcasm. 'I could have told you myself it is wartime. We all labour under that same handicap but we still do our duty.'

'A specific group, I mean, Gruber,' Hartmann persisted gently. 'They could be saboteurs – in which case you may have discovered explosives. They could be spies – in which case your signals section may have detected unauthorized radio transmissions. They could be subversives – in which case you may have found anti-Nazi propaganda. Well?'

Even Bormann felt a grudging admiration for the way the Abwehr officer was spearing Gruber to the wall. Gruber sucked in a deep breath, his palms moist with sweat as he replied.

'We know of no such group,' he snapped. 'Obviously these assassins came into the city from a long distance, rescued the Englishman and departed..'

' Obviously! ' roared Jaeger. 'How could they be sure when Lindsay would escape? He has been inside Germany for some time – and most of that time he was at the Wolf's Lair! Clearly these men have been waiting inside Munich for him to make his break – and the Gestapo hadn't an idea they existed! Criminal incompetence!'

'I shall report that slander to Reichsfuhrer Himmler, blazed Gruber. 'Your remark verges on treason.

'So!' Jaeger made a contemptuous gesture. 'While you enjoy a cosy chat with Himmler I will devote my energies to tracking down not only the Englishman – but also we will scoop up in our net this trio of subversives and spies who have been operating under your nose!'

Only Hartmann observed the smug satisfaction on Bormann's face. Divide and neutralize the power of all potential rivals. He sat motionless as Gruber and Jaeger glared at each other and Bormann intervened, his tone of voice now reasonable and soothing.

'I do agree that Colonel Jaeger's plan for sealing off the Swiss border sounds reasonable. On the other hand, I am sure with all the resources at its disposal the Gestapo has a major contribution to make. This meeting is adjourned.'

The three men walked out of the room, leaving Hartmann alone. Standing up, he crouched over the large-scale map Jaeger had spread on the table. A solitary man, Hartmann had developed the habit of murmuring to himself to clear his mind.

'The last thing anyone would expect would be for Lindsay and his rescuers to move from Munich to Salzburg… After all, Lindsay has just left Salzburg… It depends on how good their intelligence is..'

He used his pipe stem to trace the route from Munich to Salzburg and let it continue on. The next destination was Vienna.

'Now, Wing Commander Lindsay, you are safe – you fit the description we have been given,' Paco told him. They had also exchanged the quaint password Browne had provided in London.

'And if I hadn't?' Lindsay enquired.

'I would have 'strangled you. It is quieter and saves bullets.'

The man who had acted as chauffeur gave this morale-raising reply. Paco, who seemed to command the group, turned on him.

'You will not talk like that again to our guest. He is a very important man. The nephew of a British duke.

Half an hour had passed since Lindsay was bundled into the Mercedes and taken on the mad drive through Munich which ended inside a garage. A concealed door inside a cupboard at the back of the garage led to a staircase which they had descended to a basement – a large room with two double-tiered bunks against separate walls.

Once the concealed door had been closed – it was made of sheet steel faced with heavy wood so no amount of tapping inside the garage would have produced a hollow sound – Paco introduced her companions.

'This,' she said, indicating the hard-faced `chauffeur', 'is Bora. He speaks good English. Shake hands, Bora…'

He was as tall as Lindsay, about thirty years old, his eyes were hostile and the Englishman instantly disliked him. Fortunately he had the foresight to stiffen his hand because Bora had a grip like a wrestler's and exerted full pressure.

`Do behave, Bora,' Paco said softly. 'I saw that. 'Bora is the name of a strong dry wind which blows up the Adriatic,' Lindsay observed.

'Now you know why we gave him that code-name.' She turned to the second man – maybe forty years old with a weather-beaten face and a humorous glint in his shrewd eyes. 'This is Milic. He also speaks English, but do not expect perfection.'

'Milic is most pleased to meet the Englishman… the girl bulleted by the Nazi was very close friend?'

'He means, Paco interjected in her direct manner, 'were you in love with her. Were you?'

'No,' Lindsay said tersely.

'But I think she was in love with you,' Paco continued. She had a soft, appealing voice which contrasted strangely with her poise, the erect way she held herself. Her slow-moving, wary eyes watched him closely.

'It was a tragedy,' Lindsay replied.

'There is so often one who loves, one who is loved – I think your writer, Somerset Maugham, said something like that.' She changed the subject abruptly. 'I will tell you a little about myself.'

Paco – it was a code-name – was twenty-seven years old. She had been born of an English mother and a Serbian father, a professor of languages at Belgrade University. Educated at the Godolphin, an English boarding-school, she had gone on to a Swiss finishing-school and then returned to Yugoslavia. She was fluent in English, German and Serbo-Croat.

'When Hitler bombed Belgrade both my parents were killed. In one night I became an orphan. No need for sympathy, Wing Commander – it has happened to so many in England also. I joined the Partisans. In Yugoslavia it is almost as common for a woman to carry a gun as a man. And my German is useful – it allows me to operate inside the Third Reich.

'You must have contact with London,' Lindsay suggested.

'There is a limit to what you need to know,' Paco said brusquely. 'But a little information about the people your life now depends on – and equally whose lives may depend on you at a critical time – will help us to work as a team. You know, Wing Commander, I have to point out you are a novice at this dangerous game..'

'I did escape from the Berghof,' Lindsay snapped. 'True.' Her greenish eyes surveyed him. 'I do find that a most promising omen for the future.' She became stern again. 'Bora. He has killed many Germans and trusts no one. His wife was killed in the bombing the same night as my parents died. But I think he found his natural vocation as a fighter. You would not believe it – he was a furniture-maker, carving fine chairs..'

'You find that amusing, Paco?' Bora, who had been cleaning the machine-pistol, leaned forward, his manner aggressive.

'I find it strange – you use your skilled hands to build complex explosive devices. Once you created, now you destroy..'

'It is the war.'

The girl was not in the least disturbed by Bora's attitude. As she lit a cigarette, Lindsay was struck by the serenity which never seemed to desert her. She stroked her blonde hair, gazing at the- third member of- her group.

'Now Milic here…' Her tone of voice became more affectionate '.. he was a stone-mason who once worked in the quarries. He has no idea what has happened to his wife and two children. They were on holiday in Zagreb when the war came. He is very strong – and very controlled. You follow me?'

'I think so,' Lindsay replied; not looking at Bora.

'So now,' Paco went on, 'we have to move very quickly – to take you out of Germany before the highly-efficient Nazi apparatus has time to get organized. No later than tonight.'

'That's quick,' Lindsay commented.

'I just hope it is quick enough. You may stay here. Milic and I have to go out to see what is happening before we escort you to safety…'

'May I ask where is safety?'

'Switzerland.'

Colonel Jaeger stood with his hands on his hips surveying the scene inside the main station at Munich. A cold wind was blowing, sending pieces of paper scuttering along the rail tracks, chilling everyone. Jaeger was glad of his fur-lined military greatcoat and his deputy, Schmidt, who had just joined him, clapped his gloved hands together.

'All the barricades to Switzerland are manned,' Schmidt informed his chief. 'There is the usual desperate shortage of personnel but they will not slip through by road.'

'Nor by train,' Jaeger affirmed. 'Every train to Switzerland is carrying a special team. They have the Englishman's description, orders to check the papers of all passengers irrespective of that description. We may scoop up other interesting fish in our net…'

He paused and Schmidt followed his gaze. A tall, blonde-haired girl in her late twenties had just been stopped by one of Jaeger's patrols. She wore an expensive leather coat and a fetching black fur cap perched on the top of her head. She glanced across, her eyes met Jaeger's, then she resumed her conversation with the two soldiers.

'She's a beauty,' Jaeger said appreciatively. 'Maybe the lady could do with a little help.'.

He left Schmidt who smiled cynically. The Colonel was noted for his keen eye for attractive women. As Jaeger approached, the two soldiers stiffened to attention and saluted.

'What seems to be the trouble?' Jaeger enquired affably.

'These men are harassing me.,.' Paco turned her eyes and held Jaeger's in a long look. 'I am the Baroness Werther, the niece of General Speidel..

'I think you can leave this to me…' Jaeger dismissed his men with a curt gesture, his eyes still on Paco as he returned their salute. 'They are looking for an English spy,' he explained, 'so they sometimes show excessive zeal.'

'I look to you like a spy, Colonel?' asked Paco.

'Of course not, Baroness.' Jaeger bowed. The girl really had an instantaneous effect on him and Jaeger regarded himself as something of a connoisseur of the fair sex. Of course, all this Aryan propaganda was claptrap, but the sceptical Colonel began to wonder whether there was a point to it as he continued to stare at this vision.

'Since you have military connections,' he suggested, 'could you possibly join me for lunch so I may, express my regrets in a practical way at the inconvenience you have just suffered? I do have a table permanently reserved at the Four Seasons…'

He waited, somewhat surprised at his impulsive action and even more surprised when he realized he was almost holding his breath for her reply. She looked at him steadily, taking her time while she considered his proposal. It would be a rejection, Jaeger felt sure.

'Is that the real reason why you extend this invitation, Colonel? Simply to express regrets?'

She was holding him on a tightrope of anticipation. It was quite ridiculous but he desperately wanted to get to know her better – and she had thrown him completely off balance.

'It would be an honour,' he said frankly, 'to walk into the Four Seasons graced by your company. Simply lunch – I promise you as an officer..'

'And a gentleman?' She smiled to take the sting out of her playfulness. 'I would be very glad to join you – for lunch…' said Paco calmly.

'Alfred,' Jaeger informed Schmidt, 'this is the Baroness Werther, niece of General Speidel. You will assume command of the operation while we take lunch at the Four Seasons. Good hunting!'

Paco dipped her head a fraction in acknowledgement of Schmidt's bow, her eyes catching briefly those behind the rimless glasses of Jaeger's thin-faced deputy. Something about the man disturbed her.

The Colonel was a buoyant, full-blooded personality who enjoyed life and radiated a warmth of feeling, a man a woman could understand – even if at times he might prove a handful. 'Alfred', she sensed, was a very different proposition.

'Who was that man you introduced me to?' she asked as Jaeger escorted her from the station to his waiting car.

'Schmidt, my deputy,' Jaeger replied impatiently. 'A good man – but hardly your type. Before the war he was a policeman! Now, in a matter of minutes we can get to know each other better in the comfort of the Four Seasons..'

The little alarm bell at the back of Paco's mind kept on ringing.

It was quite true that in peacetime Alfred Schmidt had been in the police force. Blessed with a sixth sense that the Fuhrer would have appreciated – and a first-rate mind – Captain Alfred Schmidt had been Chief of Police in Dusseldorf.

When the war came on 1 September 1939 his obvious destination was the Gestapo. Schmidt, a man with a wide knowledge of international police forces and security organizations, appreciated some specialist outfit was needed to guard the state. He knew that England had its Special Branch, America the FBI, and so on.

But the Gestapo had already built up a certain reputation – to put it bluntly Schmidt didn't like the smell of it. To avoid being co-opted into the Gestapo he volunteered for the SS. Even after several years of war his policeman's instincts had not deserted him.

For one thing no one had checked 'the Baroness's' papers. He had observed the two soldiers had been shown nothing by the time Jaeger arrived. He had noted the girl's long glance in the direction of his chief. The Colonel he highly respected and liked was lunching with a girl whose credentials were quite unknown.

Schmidt was in a dilemma. To check on Jaeger's lunch companion he must use a 'safe' telephone – which meant driving to the SS barracks, and the Colonel had left him in charge at the station.

It was probably all a wild goose chase anyway, but – like Paco – the ex-police chief had a sixth sense which warned him that something was wrong. With such a beautiful escort he estimated Jaeger would be away at least two hours. He made up his mind.

'Klaus!' he called out. 'Take command of operations here – I'll be back later..

He drove himself to the barracks, leaped from behind the wheel and ran upstairs to his office. The lines were busy – so it took twenty minutes to get through to Gestapo headquarters in Berlin. He asked to be put through to Gestapo chief Heinrich Muller.

'It is lunchtime,' a bored voice informed him. 'He is out. Who did you say was calling?'

'SS Colonel Jaeger's deputy from Munich. Who am I speaking to? It is an urgent matter…'

'Brandt. I have been seconded here temporarily. No, everyone else is out – I told you, it is lunchtime..'

'Then you must deal with this personally. Can you check the General Records? Good. I need information as to whether there exists a Baroness Werther, niece of General Speidel. How long will that take? You can't say? God Almighty…'

He arranged for Brandt to phone back the information to his secretary, replaced the receiver and instructed his secretary.

'Type out the reply from this half-wit, Brandt. Have a despatch rider standing by. Give him the reply in a sealed envelope and tell him to race like hell to the main station and hand it to me.'

He drove back to the station and was relieved on arrival when Klaus reported nothing had happened in his absence. Now it was a matter of waiting for the reply. If something was wrong he could phone Jaeger direct at the Four Seasons.