“Right you are!” said the Deputy.
“You are sure we won’t be in anybody’s way?”
“Quite the contrary—we have all been longing for just what you have. Come ahead!”
XII
The die was cast, and Lanny drove straight toward Munich. It would be dark before he got there, and he wouldn’t have to worry. He was above even the Gestapo now; if any officer were to stop him he would say: “I have an appointment with Reichsminister Hess at the Berghof.” If the man would not believe him, he would say: “Come with me to the nearest telephone and call Herr Hess yourself.” Grasping the nettle!
To his companion: “Now, recite your lessons. Let me hear what Uncle Cicero has to say about Baron von Zinszollern and Professor Heinzelmann.” And then Dietrich Eckart. He corrected one or two errors. Seeing that she was nervous, he told her: “Remember, you don’t have to be the greatest medium in the world. It will be nice if you justify my estimate of you, but if you fail, it will not be a crime. I should guess that nine-tenths of the séances I have attended have been fizzles. There are a hundred reasons—you are in a strange environment and are overanxious, the weather is not right, you have a headache—or just that the spirits are not in the mood, and you don’t have to know why.”
“You are being kind to me,” said the woman.
“I am reminding you that our purpose is to get you an exit permit, and if you fail, they will be the more willing to part with you quickly. So take it easy, and remember how many ways there are to cover up a slip. You misunderstood what the old Negro said, or he misunderstood a German trying to speak English. If you realize that you have presented the spirit of a man who is still among the living, you say that it is his great-grandfather of the same name, and it will take some time to check that. Do not let yourself be pinned down on anything dubious; Uncle Cicero can only know what the spirit tells him, and the spirit can fall dumb, he can be angry, or weeping, or perverse—or he can just fail in his mind.”
The teacher heard his pupil recite the details of life in the fortress of Landsberg-am-Lech, where Hitler had dictated volume one of Mein Kampf to Hess. That was the scene most apt to impress and convince the Deputy. They would create an imaginary guard by the name of Fritz; there was bound to have been one in the prison. He would say: “You wouldn’t remember me, but I was there; I saw it.” His efforts at English would be bad, and he would call in another spirit to translate for him. He would remark: “I come back to the room in the fortress now and then, but I find that people see me, and it frightens them.” Lanny chuckled: “We may start a ghost story in the old fortress!”
XIII
They came to the city of Munich after dark, and drove through it at proper speed, obeying all the traffic lights. Nobody paid any attention to them, and when they were out in the country again, Lanny thought it safe to stop and let his friend resume her place at his side. He turned on the radio softly, and they listened to a commentator in Munich, explaining the significance of the proposed friendship agreement with the Soviet Union. The decadent French and the perfidious British had been seeking to lure Russia by promises which they were in no position to keep and had no thought of keeping; the Führer, who always kept his word, had stepped in ahead of them. The French and British purpose had been to draw Russia into war with Germany; but the Führer, who wanted only peace, had thwarted that treacherous scheme, and now it was no longer conceivable that the stubborn Poles should resist his demand for German territory to be returned to the Reich.
“You see, they are preparing the public for war,” remarked Lanny.
“Oh, God, oh, God!” exclaimed the woman. “Let me get out before it comes!”
“I have been told on good authority that the time is three days off. But the Führer often changes his mind, and he might do it again—especially if der alte Herr, as he called Hindenburg, were to advise it.”
“Radio München,” said the voice; and Lanny reflected how the name of that once genial and happy city had for all time and in all languages come to stand for cowardly diplomacy and base betrayal. Would he, the presidential agent, be doing another “Munich” if he took Laurel Creston to the Berghof and helped her to unsettle the Führer’s mind? No, he told himself. “Munich” had consisted in the unsettling of the minds of Chamberlain and Daladier; there could never be any harm in causing a madman to desist from his crime.
A shift of the dial, and there was a newscaster in Zurich, speculating on the hour when the German mission was to fly to Moscow. “So it hasn’t left yet!” exclaimed Lannv. “We may be in time!” He said it lightly, for that was his role. A woman, face to face with a second World War, might shudder and weep; but an ivory-tower art lover would stay in his retreat and refuse to let his serenity be disturbed for a moment. Except, of course, to get a lady out of trouble!
Said this lady: “An embarrassing question, Mr. Budd. What are our hosts going to think about my traveling around Germany alone with so charming a personage?”
“I am afraid,” he replied, “that Miss Elvirita Jones may be somewhat compromised; but let us hope that Miss Laurel Creston will manage to escape.”
XIV
The road began to climb, and presently they saw the lights of the village of Berchtesgaden, once the haunt of the wild witch Berchta. There were streams and little lakes, and many camping parties, which they would not visit now. The road wound this way and that, and the lights of the car swung over slopes covered with dark evergreen trees. Poignant memories were brought back to the son of Budd-Erling. On just such a night four years ago he had driven over this road with two women in his car instead of one. At his side had sat Irma Barnes, his wife, and in the rear seat Trudi Schultz, his wife-to-be—though he had had no idea of it at the time. He had been engaged in smuggling Trudi out of Germany, and now he was engaged in smuggling another—both by the means of a visit to the Führer. Certainly he had never expected to repeat that dangerous enterprise!
He called his passenger’s attention to a revolving light on the mountain side, sweeping over the landscape. “That is our destination,” he said. “A well-guarded fortress, you will discover.”
The village of Berchtesgaden was full of tourists at this time of year; it had a fine hotel, where visitors to the Berghof stopped—those who were not important enough to be put up by the Führer. Mountain climbers came, and set out with staffs and ropes; others, less ambitious, sat on rocky shelves and watched with glasses. If sometimes they turned these glasses in the direction of the Führer’s retreat, that was not yet an offense, but might soon become so.
Onward and upward, to the entrance of the private road to the Berghof. Here was a barrier with blue-and-white-painted stripes, and armed SS men in the black and silver uniform of the Führer’s personal guard. As the car halted, one of them flashed a torch into Lanny’s face; Lanny extended his right arm and said: “Heil Hitler!” and the Nazis returned the salute. The visitor gave his name, and the name of his companion; the men had received notice, and all they did was to flash their torches into the car and make sure there were no other passengers. Then: “Alles in Ordnung, Herr Budd.” The barrier rose, and he drove on.
The road wound along the side of the Obersalzberg, close to the old Austrian border, now a border no longer. “A wonderful job of road building,” commented Lanny. “It is the work of the Führer’s engineer, General Todt.” There were sentries along the way, but none challenged them until they were approaching the house. Here was another barrier, and the formalities were repeated. When they reached the wide drive in front of the house, they observed a sentry with a high-powered rifle pacing up and down; also a machine gun on a tripod, with two SS men beside it. A man came toward them, clad in one of the old brownshirt uniforms, the same kind that Hess wore. He was one of the Deputy’s secretaries, and knew the visitor well. They exchanged their Heils, and Lanny introduced “Miss Jones.” No one ever entered the Führer’s home without being thus inspected and identified.
The secretar
y indicated the door to which Lanny was to drive—for what was once a modest mountain châlet had been added onto until it was like a row of houses. Lanny explained the embarrassing circumstance about Miss Jones’s baggage having been missed—being careful to add that they had only just discovered the theft and had no idea where it had occurred. They surely didn’t want the efficient police being notified and set to searching! “The housekeeper will take care of Miss Jones’s wants,” promised the secretary; and the new-born spiritualist medium stepped silently out of the car and disappeared inside the ogre’s den.
19
Double-Dyed Deceiver
I
The main reception room of the Berghof is large and square, paneled in dark wood and with beams in the ceiling intersecting to form squares. The floor at the far end is raised, and there is a great fireplace with lounges in front. The lighting is from clusters of bulbs in the ceiling, and there are many paintings on the walls—Lanny Budd’s Defreggers among them.
This time, as the art expert entered, he saw more people in the room than on any previous occasion; in fact, the place appeared like a hotel lobby. They were all men, the greater number in uniform. Here and there he caught a familiar face, but many were strangers to him, and he imagined that they gazed at him with no welcome in their eyes. In time of danger men draw together and become clannish. “Who is this foreigner,” they ask, “and what is he doing in our midst?” Evidently he was to spend the night, for a servant followed him with two bags.
In the company was a young physician of the Führer’s staff, and he came forward to greet the visitor. Presently came the secretary to report that Miss Jones had been made comfortable, and that Reichsminister Hess was in conference with the Führer; he would be down shortly. Lanny seated himself and listened to the conversation of the doctor and two of the Führer’s aides, who were discussing the orders soon to be issued for the rationing of foods throughout the Reich, and whether or not the Herrenvolk could be expected to thrive upon only seven hundred grams of meat per week, a little less than a quarter of a pound per day.
Hess came, and shook hands with his guest; his grip was firm and his hand had black hairs on the back. His manner was especially cordial, as if to say to the assembled staff officers and officials: “This son of Budd-Erling is all right.” Then he took Lanny up to his room and shut the door. “Now, tell me about this medium.”
“She is from New York,” Lanny replied, “and was visiting on the Riviera. I heard reports of her powers, and after I had tried her I decided that you ought to see her at once. I won’t stop to tell you what she did—you will see for yourself—that is, unless she has been upset by the journey. She is a woman of refinement and should receive every consideration.”
“She knows what this place is?”
“I couldn’t have persuaded her otherwise. Also, I had to tell her that you would be the first sitter. But she knows very little about you—only as much as an American would have read in the papers. Her control is an old Negro, an ex-slave whom she knew when she was a child. You know how it is—you have to pretend to believe in him, and be polite and encourage him to talk; then wait quietly until he is gone and the medium comes out of her trance. The séance need not be in complete darkness.”
“All right. She sent word that she is ready. The Führer wants to see you meanwhile. You understand that he is tired and nervous—he has been holding conferences all day. The mission to Moscow flies in the morning, and he has just been giving his final instructions over the telephone. Also, we have just had word that Sir Nevile Henderson has a letter from Chamberlain which he wishes to deliver personally to the Führer. He is flying here tomorrow morning.”
“I can imagine the tension,” said the sympathetic visitor.
“It will be the same old story: the British will not admit our right to deal with Poland in our own way; and the Führer’s mind is absolutely made up, we are going to deal with them in no other way. If I were you I wouldn’t try to dissuade him, Lanny.”
“Heavens, no! I’m not sure that I’d want to; and anyhow, it is not the role for an art expert.”
II
The Deputy escorted the visitor to that unforgettable front room on the second story, having what was called the largest window in the world, and certainly looking out upon one of the largest views in the world. But not at the hour of midnight; the heavy velvet curtains were drawn, and the commonplace-looking man for whom the window had been built was not thinking about his beloved forests and mountains, with their legends of witches and gnomes and giants, their Feuerzauber and Weldweben and Walkürenritt. No, he was thinking about men, inside and outside of Germany, and their perverse determination to have their own way instead of following the intuitions of an inspired and predestined world leader.
He jumped up from his chair to greet his visitor, and shook hands more vigorously than was normal. “Willkommen, Herr Budd, Ihr Besuch freut mir.” He was dressed in an ordinary business suit of the color called dark pinhead worsted. With his funny little dark mustache and slightly bulbous nose he was certainly ill-equipped to be a leader of men, and there was no one of those downstairs who could not have played the role more acceptably.
To Hess he said: “Go on, Rudi, and see the woman, and tell us about it.” As the Deputy strode out of the room he remarked to Lanny: “Ordinarily I am curious about such matters; but in a time like this I cannot stop for experiments. I have to follow my own inner light. When I have trusted to it, I have never gone astray; only when I let others argue with me and fill me with doubts and fears.”
Adi’s complexion had always been pasty, ever since Lanny Budd had first known him; now it was quite gray, and his face had deep lines of fatigue. He signed the visitor to a chair, but instead of seating himself he began to pace the floor, snapping his fingers and talking fast, pouring out his irritation with military men who insisted upon saying “if” and “but” and other qualifying words. Then he came and sat down in front of Lanny, still talking as if to convince himself; now and then he slapped his thighs to emphasize his words—another of his favorite tricks.
There was just one thing he had to make up his mind about, and that was: would Britain and France fight? That was the million-dollar question, the billion-dollar question—you would need astronomical figures to evaluate it. The Führer had the answer in his own mind and considered that he had proved it in six different tests: when he had moved his troops into the Rhineland; when he had enlarged the Reichswehr beyond the hundred thousand permitted by the Versailles Diktat; when he had resumed conscription in Germany; when he had taken Austria; when he had taken the Sudetenland; when he had taken Prague. Every time Britain and France had threatened to fight, and every time the generals and the diplomatic staff had said they would, but they didn’t. And now, only one time more, Danzig and the Corridor; or maybe two times, for he had just announced that he must have Posen and the lost parts of Silesia; and there might possibly be a third, if the insane Poles should refuse to behave themselves and he would have to take Warsaw to keep them in order.
III
It is not permitted to interrupt a ruler so long as he wishes to tall; and Lanny was satisfied to leave it that way. But at last the Führer stood in front of him and demanded: “What do you have to tell me, Herr Budd? What will they do?”
“Mein Führer,” said Lanny—for in a burst of enthusiasm he had enrolled himself—“I don’t believe that any man living can answer that question, and I would say, be careful of any person who claims to answer it. Neither Britain nor France is one nation, but a clash of warring factions. The decision will be taken in the last few hours, and only in the face of the latest events. I can tell you what some of the leaders of the factions say——”
“Tell me what is really in Chamberlain’s mind!”
“I talked with one of his close friends a couple of weeks ago. He would sacrifice his right hand to avoid war with Germany——”
“Then why did he order conscription in Britain?�
��
“I do not think he would have done it of his own choice. He is the head of a party, and the pressure on him becomes more than he can resist. If you make a move, he is forced to make a counter-move.”
“Germany has no aims against Britain; but Britain persists in the policy of encirclement of Germany. What else can be the meaning of an alliance with a semi-civilized state like Poland? They talk peace, but all their actions are war. By God, I have made up my mind that nobody is going to compel me to spend any more time arguing about Polish customs officials in Danzig!”
“Dann, mein Führer,” said the son of Budd-Erling, with one of his genial smiles, “in that case I will go and purchase that property in what they call their Corridor.”
Adi smiled in return, but only for a flash. His compulsions drove him, and right now the dread Four Horsemen had snatched him up and were galloping with him. “Wait until you see what happens in the next few days. You may find that the wretched Poles have compelled me to burn that house and to lay the whole district waste.” Then, coming like a cry of pain: “Does anybody imagine that I want war? That I like war? I am a builder; I wanted to be an architect, and I assure you that the form of relaxation I enjoy most in this world is to design great buildings and see them arise. So far I have never destroyed a building, except for clearance purposes, If ever I am forced to do it, my heart will ache for each and every stone.”
Lanny was thinking: “Madrid—Guernica—Barcelona—Valencia!” But he kept those names locked tight in his mind, and was glad that Adi didn’t possess the gift of “that old telepathy”!
“But since they force war upon me—since they are determined to have it—what can I do? I said to Henderson, a few days ago: ‘If I have to fight a war, I would rather do it when I am fifty than when I am fifty-five or sixty.’ By the way, explain that pious and correct dullard to me—if it can be done.”
Dragon Harvest Page 53
