The German Half-Bloods (The Half-Bloods Trilogy Book 1)

by Jana Petken

  Rudolph continued to gaze at the middle photograph, his pink tongue repeatedly licking his top lip.

  “Himmler didn’t mince his words that night, did he?” Dieter continued, quite enjoying himself now. “Who’d have thought that seven, eight, or even ten percent of the German male population was homosexual? Ach, I don’t know if I believe that, but he did. I recall Himmler saying it was a plague that could destroy Germany, and that ... let me get this right ... ah, yes, ‘to say we are animalistic is an insult to animals, for animals do not do such things. This is a life or death situation for the country.’ I’m paraphrasing that last sentence, of course, but I think it is accurate.”

  With Leitner now forgotten, Rudolph squirmed, white-faced and stunned into silence. But Dieter wasn’t finished with him yet. He only had one crack at the whip, and he intended to hit hard. “You underestimated me, Hans. Did you think you could come to my home in Dresden, claim to be my friend, threaten and blackmail me without my retaliation?” he leant in. “I am a businessman who built his company from the ground up with only my brain and very little capital. I made it my priority to study the competition’s methods and became an expert in pre-empting whatever they were thinking of bringing into the market. I earned hospital and government contracts through sheer hard work and by being a sneaky bastard, not above industrial espionage, and sabotage if necessary. I always win because I know how to play the game, the system, and the customer.”

  Dieter poured himself a glass of water, his milky tea gone cold and rancid. “Then, you come along to destroy my Paul and make me an accessory to mass murder. You’re lucky I didn’t have my investigator kill you and your little playmate while you slept.”

  Rudolph was breathing hard. He glared at the photographs as if his glare would wipe them clean. He seemed mesmerised by the picture of his well-guarded private life. “Have you shown these to anyone else?” he finally asked.

  “No. Not yet.”

  “What do you want for them?”

  “We’ll go into that in a minute.” Dieter expelled a long breath from his nostrils. “First, there are certain questions to be answered, Hans, such as why my factory was chosen to produce gas and how high up the chain of command this coercion went. I want the truth.”

  “Ah, the truth,” Rudolph looked at Dieter from under his eyebrows. “The truth is you weren’t our first, second or third choice. We don’t like your British connections, you see. The only reason you got the contract was that the others turned us down flat. Perhaps you know them? Their factories were recently closed and then re-opened by the Wehrmacht as weapons manufacturing depots. Have you asked yourself where those businessmen and their families are now?” Rudolph wiped his damp forehead with a handkerchief. “You were fortunate, Dieter. I saved you, your wife and your children by forcing you to agree, and if I’m honest, the only reason I helped you was because your son was a fellow doctor … and I wanted him here...”

  Dieter was becoming angrier, but also determined to control his temper. “Don’t speak my son’s name, he’s a pawn in this, nothing more. And I was not fortunate, Hans. You didn’t do me any favours. You forced me to say yes because the Chancellery probably decided that putting too many German industrialists into concentration camps wasn’t a good idea. The Arbeitsfront and its union leaders had already kicked up a fuss and threatened to strike because of their bosses’ disappearances, and their factories being taken over by the Army. And though it might want to, the Reich Labour Service can’t incarcerate every worker that disagrees with it.”

  Dieter paused and for the first time connected his competitors’ incarcerations to the Ministry of the Interior’s gas manufacturing programme. “You are right about one thing, Hans. Had the Ministry come to me first without using blackmail, I would have refused.”

  “And where would you and your English bitch of a wife be now had you done that?”

  Dieter’s hackles prickled the back of his neck, but he focused on the business at hand. “Let’s get back to the photographs, shall we? This is what I want...”

  “Why did you suspect me?” Rudolph interrupted, subdued.

  “Gestures, the way you looked at my two boys,” Dieter lied. He hadn’t suspected a thing that might have alerted him to Rudolph’s homosexuality. He’d been shocked by his investigators’ evidence. “As I said, nobody else noticed, at least not at my party.”

  “And you say no one else has seen these pictures...?”

  “I have the negatives,” Dieter warned.

  “Of course, you have. So, what do you want? Just Wilmot’s release?”

  “Yes, only that. Get him out of Dachau, and you can have my word that no one will ever see these pictures. Have him released and sent back to the war, preferably somewhere relatively safe – Paris might be a good posting for him.”

  Rudolph laughed, “You think too highly of me. The High Command won’t listen to a word I say.”

  “Make it listen. Go above its head. Go to the Führer if you must. I know you have the influence to do this.”

  Rudolph stood, but Dieter wasn’t finished. “Don’t think I won’t carry out my threat. Bigger men than you have fallen to Hitler’s displeasure. You must remember what happened to Field Marshal von Blomberg after it was discovered that his wife was a prostitute, and Fritch, the Commander in Chief of the Army, when he was accused of having a homosexual relationship in a bathroom – where are those two influential men now, Hans – hmm?

  Rudolph, still afraid, retorted, “Who told you those ridiculous stories?”

  “Who told me is not important. What will happen to you when I show someone in the Führer’s inner circle those photographs, is the only thing that should concern you now. I’ll give you two days to set my Wilmot’s release in motion, no longer than that. Are we agreed?”

  “I can’t promise...”

  “Oh, yes, you can, because if you don’t make it happen, you’ll be signing your own death warrant.” Dieter walked to the door then turned around. “I want to take Paul out for breakfast. I believe he worked the night shift?”

  Rudolph scowled and lifted the telephone from its cradle. “He did. I’ll alert the guards in the residency building that you’re going over there. Don’t be too long with him. He’s going to Berlin in about three hours with Hauptsturmführer Leitner. Goodbye, Herr Vogel.”

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  I don’t know if we can trust Papa anymore. With his brother’s warning in mind, Max gritted his teeth, opened Paul’s bedroom door fully, and let his father pass.

  Without taking his eyes off his son’s face, Dieter stepped into the room.

  “Father?” Max said, as he closed the door behind Dieter.

  “My boy, my dear Max. It’s good to see you.” Dieter squeezed his teary eyes shut as he pulled Max close to pat him on the back. “Oh, my boy, my darling son. You’ve come back.”

  He broke away to hold Max at arm’s length, anxiety masking his lined face. “We need to get you out of here right now. Your brother is waiting for us at the Oro Inn outside Brandenburg. Get your stuff together.”

  Max, his nerves already frayed, stared at his father in astonishment. Why was Paul in Brandenburg and not at the Swiss border, or on his way to it? Was he staying in Germany? Was this a trick?

  Dieter put his hand on his son’s shoulder, and when Max shrugged it off, his face crumpled. “Max, what’s wrong? What’s the matter with you? I’m here to get you out of this mess. Paul is waiting in the Inn to swap over with you. Son, we have to go!”

  Had his father reported him to the SS or Gestapo? Were they waiting downstairs to arrest him? No, they’d have come to the room and dragged him out. “You’ve put us both in danger by being here. What did Paul tell you?”

  “Only that you had taken his place to help him get away, and now he’s not going. I’ll explain everything when we get to him. Please, we must go now. Max, say something.”

  Max continued to stare at his father, afraid to open his mouth. The nefari
ous accusations against the great Dieter Vogel, were like knives in his gut, yet he couldn’t speak them aloud.

  He was furious with Paul, and any joy he might have felt at seeing his father was buried beneath a mountain of disgust. His papa, the man he’d looked to for guidance since childhood, was now a fully-fledged member of the Nazi Party, a duplicitous agent of terror, the producer of a lethal weapon, and a repressive father who’d destroyed Paul’s future for his own ends.

  Finally, he averted his eyes, ashamed of the Nazi standing before him. The gassings he’d taken part in the previous night would be impossible to erase from his memory, futile to describe, for he would never be able to aptly relay what he’d witnessed to anyone who had not seen it with their own eyes. He’d never forget what he’d been forced to watch, never forgive anyone else who’d played a part.

  Max dressed hurriedly, ramming his feet into his boots while scowling at his father who was clasping and unclasping his hands. What’s wrong with you, Son? He’d tell him what was wrong after he’d found out what the hell was going on with Paul. His twin brother, the person he shared his heart and soul with, had disappointed him twice over. When they’d spoken in the forest, Paul had not warned him about Vogel Industries’ involvement with Görden Prison, and now he’d betrayed him to their father. Paul’s big mouth and lack of discipline had put all their lives in peril, including their mother’s.

  Max, fumbling with his tie said, “I’ll come with you, but don’t say another word to me until we’re inside the Inn. And don’t speak to anyone you don’t have to until we get out of the hospital grounds. You’ve no idea what you’ve got yourself into.”

  “I don’t like your tone. This is no way to speak to your father...”

  “Stop – just stop.” Max’s mouth snapped, his finger pointing at Dieter’s face. “Not a bloody word, Father.”

  Dieter’s car was parked in the visitor’s section of the car park at the back of the hospital. Only a handful of cars were there. Most people took trams or buses nowadays, having got rid of their cars for measly sums before the Wehrmacht forcibly requisitioned them to convert to military vehicles. And, apart from that issue, there was no great need for a visitor’s car park anymore when no visitors were allowed into the complex to see the patients. Max counted six in total, all empty.

  Dieter strode towards his driver, who nodded in recognition to Max. Kurt had been his father’s driver for years, both in Berlin and Dresden. He had a flat above the garages at both properties and Dieter trusted him with every secret and every lie.

  The Oro Inn was one kilometre east of Brandenburg. The detached building was set back from the road and was surrounded by pine trees. Dieter, who had instructed Kurt to drive past the entrance to the back of the building, pointed out the ground floor room where Paul was waiting.

  “Max, I’ll go back around to the front entrance with Kurt. Paul will be looking out for you and will open the side window to let you in.”

  Max’s worst fears had been unfounded. On the journey, he’d imagined arriving at the Inn and having to evade detection by whoever was at the reception desk. It looked like a small place with no more than ten or twelve bedrooms, and the person running the show was bound to have noticed Paul as he registered with their father the previous night. He or she would also have observed Dieter leaving alone earlier that morning. He had to give Papa his due on this occasion, he’d planned things well so far.

  Max shot his father a sideways glance just before the car drew up behind the building. His face had a grey pallor, he’d aged in the year they’d been apart. Murdering people would do that to a man, Max thought dispassionately.

  Dieter pointed out the window. Two cars were parked nearby but were empty, and Max saw no one milling about.

  “I’ll see you both in a minute, Son,” Dieter said.

  Max nodded. True to his word, he’d refused to speak to his father on the short drive to the Inn. Afraid of spouting vile accusations and living to regret his foul temper in the years to come, he’d set his mouth in a tight line and had thought instead about how the day would play out.

  ******

  August Leitner spotted Dieter’s car and driver from his position behind a tree. Dieter Vogel got out, and his driver then parked the car near the Inn’s entrance doors. The man checked the vehicles’ tyres and then walked towards the Oro café – hmm – where was Paul?

  Leitner stood for a moment, concealed in the coppice of trees. Not wanting to be spotted by the Vogels, he’d parked his car in a lane off the main road just before the turn off to the Oro. He was baffled, annoyed, and trying to work out about whether to go ahead with his current plan or return to the hospital. Where was Paul? He asked himself again. Dieter Vogel hadn’t been out of his sight from the time he’d left Rudolph’s office to when he’d gone into the doctors’ residence. There, Leitner had waited for about fifteen minutes and was rewarded for his patience when he spotted Vogel senior and junior leave the building together. Paul Vogel had got into his father’s chauffeured-driven car and had been sitting in the back seat when the vehicle left the compound. How could Paul have disappeared en route? He had followed the Vogels’ car all the way until it went around the back of the Inn’s building to turn around – why had the driver done that when there was plenty of room to turn at the front?

  The Vogels had been in Leitner’s sights for months. His bosses in the Abwehr Secret Intelligence Service were understandably interested in a German family of significant standing, which had an English mother and two children living in Britain. Ongoing questions needed to be answered. His section chief had itemised: what was the measure of contact between Dieter Vogel and his eldest son, Max, who made maps for a living in London? Could Paul Vogel be trusted with Interior Ministry secrets when he had displayed contempt for the program, and how far did treachery stretch in the family? Dieter and Paul Vogel were not the only Vogels who’d been under surveillance, for Wilmot, the youngest son, had also been in play and had been caught red-handed trying to defend Jews in another secret test programme.

  Leitner had read the report on the shooting incident, and had even interviewed the victim wounded by Wilmot Vogel’s gun. Vogel, had rushed to save Jews on a truck, his victim had testified, and when he saw they were all dead, had turned his gun on his fellow storm-trooper.

  Leitner’s job as an Abwehr agent, was to make sure that the doctors and staff at Brandenburg obeyed their directives. Secret gas trials, such as the ones going on in Görden, were also being carried out in Poland and Czechoslovakia, and any soldier who whispered about them in the wrong ears, had, and would be dealt with severely. The obligations of soldiers during wartime were clear to him: they must do as they were told without question and keep their mouths shut when secrecy was called for.

  Leitner lit a cigarette, still confused, yet hopeful that Vogel junior would show up. He didn’t want to return to Brandenburg. He had a duty to perform, and he’d rather do it discretely, without Rudolph or Heinze poking their noses in. Rudolph, the only person who knew about the Abwehr’s infiltration in the hospital, had cooperated, thus far, but he would not approve of this mission to bring down the Vogels.

  The Vogels were an interesting catch, Leitner reflected. He had nothing on the father, Dieter Vogel. He was a decorated soldier from the Great War, and from all accounts was a good Nazi and loyal to the Reich. He couldn’t help but like Dieter. He was a good German with rotten sons.

  The Abwehr chief, Vice-Admiral Willhelm Canaris, based at Tirpitzufer in Berlin, had informed Leitner that Dieter Vogel was not to be targeted for arrest unless he openly subverted the Brandenburg program. The Chancellery had already shot themselves in the foot by detaining influential industrialists who were, without doubt, the most capable men in the country to build Germany’s war machine. Canaris had apparently been furious about the arrests, and he’d gone on to say that war or no war, German workers were still the backbone of the Fatherland. If we lock up the country’s industry leaders, the Reic
h will not get our workforce’s respect, trust or sincere loyalty. It cannot happen again.

  Thus, Dieter Vogel and his English wife were not to be touched. Fine, he agreed with Vice Admiral Canaris’ decision. Paul Vogel, on the other hand, was an enigmatic young man who constantly conveyed a rebellious streak that couldn’t be ignored. It’d be better to arrest him now, Leitner had suggested to his boss, than wait until he did real damage and betrayed his country.

  Leitner’s boss had pointed out that Paul was insignificant in the grand scheme of things, and only in the picture because he was Dieter Vogel’s son. But, inconsequential as he was, Paul was guilty of a serious crime against the Reich, and he, as an Abwehr agent dealing with domestic threats, was expected to facilitate a minimum number of arrests each month. The Intelligence Service and the Führer now expected excellent results from their spies, who had been neglected for years in a run-down government department that had very few resources compared to their British counterparts.

  Leitner strode across the courtyard thinking about the Brandenburg programme. It was going to end long before its original termination date. He’d heard a rumour from his contact inside the Chancellery that not all of Hitler’s inner circle were happy about the mass euthanasia plan, some, including those in his cabinet, thought it prudent to discard the idea of using gas elsewhere. That was not on the cards, Leitner determined, but shutting down Brandenburg was, for not even the recent move to a more discrete location was halting the local authorities’ letters demanding information on the prison’s and hospital’s suspected immoral activities.

  Determined to ask Dieter Vogel how his son had miraculously disappeared from his car, Leitner walked into the Inn and approached the desk. “You have a Herr Vogel staying here.” The young girl at the reception counter heard a statement, rather than a question.

  “Yes, Hauptsturmführer. He’s just this minute arrived back.”

  “Was he alone?”