by Jana Petken
“You’re not yourself tonight, Dieter. Is everything all right at home?” Freddie asked.
“Yes, everything is fine. I caught Hannah wearing her mother’s rouge lip balm. Wilmot’s a handful, as always. Max is off to England for a spell, did I tell you? And Paul has decided not to follow me into the business. He’s about to go into medicine at the Munich Medical Faculty.” Dieter gave Freddie a weak smile. “Ach, I’m a bit hurt – I just don’t like my children growing up and leaving me.”
“Don’t worry about them, Dieter.” Freddie chuckled. “They’ll come back to you like bad pfennigs. That’s what children do.”
“I know. But I hate seeing my Laura upset. Those children are her life.” Dieter cleared his throat. “Right, that’s enough of me. What’s this wonderful news you wanted to tell me?”
Freddie took a furtive look around the garden. Only five people including he and Dieter remained. The sun was setting, it was growing cold, and men were going inside to continue drinking. “I haven’t told Olga yet, so keep this to yourself.”
“I will. Jesus, Freddie, what have you done? Tell me you haven’t re-joined the army?”
“No, but I have got myself a new job. I was hand-picked by Göring himself.” Freddie puffed his chest out like a turkey Jake. “To say I’m delighted would be an understatement. Meet the new Kriminaldirektor of the Geheime Staatspolizei.”
“The what?”
“The Gestapo, Dieter. The new Prussian Secret State Police. I’m leaving for Prussia on Tuesday, which is ironic, considering that’s where I come from and where I began my police career.”
“Hmm.” Dieter hid his worried frown. The new Secret State Police in Prussia under Göring had already started to gather intelligence on people known to oppose the Nazi Party. Konstantin, during their earlier lunch, had predicted that Göring’s Gestapo would eventually be a nationwide force. The Secret Police could quite possibly become an intelligence agency, which would keep dissenters at bay during this crucial time in Germany’s resurgence. Apparently, Himmler wanted all the security forces under his command.
“Have you nothing to say about my news?” asked Freddie, breaking the long silence.
Dieter shrugged. “I’m pleased for you, Freddie. I can’t say I’m happy about you going to Prussia, but I do congratulate you on your new appointment.”
“I have a feeling I won’t be gone for too long. I’m getting in on the ground with the promise of a transfer back to Berlin if the Gestapo becomes a national force.”
Dieter ordered two double Scotches to celebrate and, despite the cold creeping into his bones, suggested that they remain in the garden. Desperate to save their friendship, he asked, “Are you sure you want to do this? Do you really want to lock people up for speaking their minds? Have you heard about the detention camp that’s been opened near Munich? Is that where you’ll put the people you arrest?”
“You mean Dachau?”
“Yes.”
“Ach, c’mon, Dieter, don’t be so bloody naïve. We’re talking about Jews and Communists. You know as well as I do that they’re Germany’s biggest problem.”
“No. I don’t actually.”
Freddie clicked his tongue, an annoying habit of his when he was angry. “But you did when you cheered Hitler on at his political rallies – what’s got into you? Those people are never going to accept the Nazi Party. They’re trying to sabotage everything we’ve achieved. You know that, so don’t look at me with those outraged eyes of yours. Dachau is a stroke of genius. It’ll get those troublemakers off the streets and shut them up for good.” He swallowed half the amber liquid in his glass. “Dieter, if it comes down to it, I’ll report my own mother for treason. I would, for the good of my country. We’ll all have to step up, even you. No one should be above the law or allowed to derail the Führer’s policies. You must see I’m right?”
With one finger to his lips, Dieter patted Freddie’s arm. His friend was becoming increasingly agitated as the discussion continued.
“Don’t you shush me, Dieter Vogel. I’m glad to have the chance to silence agitators. Real Germans are the victims of Jews who want to take over Europe, and if we have any chance of growing, we must expel the lot of them. I’m all for tough measures. What about you?”
“Well, I…”
“Ach, don’t answer. You’re one of those people who’s willing to go halfway but doesn’t want to jump in the mud and get dirty. Thank God, you’re in the minority. Never in the history of Germany has there been such enthusiasm for its leader. You know, I truly believe that the Führer was sent by the Almighty to cleanse the Fatherland.”
“And I truly believe you’ve had far too much to drink, old friend.” Dieter didn’t know if he should laugh or cry at Biermann’s belief that destroying civil liberties and an entire religion was the path to glory. But as he watched his friend’s mouth snarl with hatred, he was certain that their friendship in its previous form had ended. He was devastated.
Dieter politely refused a lift from Biermann and hailed a taxi, giving the driver his home address. Halfway there, however, he changed his mind and told the driver to take him to another part of the city. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his wallet and studied the address written on it.
For weeks, he’d been mulling over the meeting he’d attended in London, at times kicking himself for opening a can of maggots that were now eating his conscience alive. Every day since his return to Berlin, he’d gone through the questions posed by the man he’d met: did the prospect of becoming a British spy make him feel nervous, excited, guilty, or justified? Was he on his way to ruination or salvation, helping Germany or becoming a traitor? Only after he’d found answers to these questions and was happy with them, was he to contact the British Intelligence Service with his offer to serve.
The taxi dropped him off at the corner of a street of terraced houses. He lit a cigarette while walking towards house number 547 and pondered the questions again. He still didn’t have all the answers, but he had instinct, principles, and enough trepidation for Germany’s future to warrant attending this second meeting. That answer would have to do for whomever he was to be seeing now.
When he reached the door, he glanced over his shoulder; he’d become paranoid in the space of an hour. And that was another reason to continue to his destination.
He knocked three times. The door was opened almost immediately by an elderly man in a dressing gown and furry slippers who looked furtively over Dieter’s shoulders.
“Yes?”
“I’ve come to visit a friend from my old stomping ground.”
“A friend, eh?”
“Yes, the Englishman.”
“Well, you’d better come in then.” He held the door wide and Dieter entered, a sense of fate and destiny giving flight to the butterflies in his stomach.
In the living room, a middle-aged man lounged in a deep armchair reading the Berliner Börsen-Courier, a German newspaper. When Dieter entered the room, the man folded it in four, stood, and extended his hand. “I’m very glad you decided to come, Herr Vogel. My name is Jonathan Heller of His Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service.”
The elderly man in his dressing gown and slippers left the living room, closing the door quietly behind him.
“To be honest, Mr Heller, when I woke up this morning I decided not to come here or have anything to do with your lot. At lunchtime, I changed my mind. An hour ago, I got in a taxi intending to head to this part of the city, but instead, I instructed the driver to take me home before changing my mind again halfway there. And this is how it has been ever since my meeting with your agent in London. I’m not glad to be here, but after the day I’ve had and the things I have learnt, I see it as my duty to at least try to halt my government’s path to Germany’s undoing. God and history will judge me, Mr Heller, so let’s get to it, shall we?”
Heller gestured to an armchair and waited until Dieter was seated before he regained his own. “Herr Vogel, after you approached
us in London – and we’re very happy you did – we looked at your background … standard procedure, you understand?”
“Yes. I understand. And what did my personal history tell you about me?”
“You were a good soldier and an enthusiastic member of the Nazi Party in the late 20s. You’re a family man who has allowed his wife and children to keep their ties with Britain. You now have concerns about where your country is heading, and you want to stop your Führer from crossing the boundaries of nationalism into a situation of outright aggression towards his neighbours to the East. My agent told me of your fears. Would you care to elaborate on them?”
Dieter deduced that the only way any association with the British would work was if he were completely honest, not only with the Englishman, but with himself. He knew what he wanted to achieve and could only hope that Jonathan Heller was of a like mind. He was tired of compromising his truth.
“Your agent has a good memory, but I would like to explain further. You see, I believe that the Nazi Party is becoming fanatical about certain policies that might damage the country’s economy and relations with the rest of Europe,” Dieter began. “I’m particularly concerned about Herr Goebbels’ Propaganda Ministry. It’s always a bad sign when a government exerts jurisdiction over journalism, the arts, and information, and calls such establishments the enemy of the people. For example, I believe that newspaper you were reading will be out of business by the end of the year because it’s bold enough to criticise the Nazi Party. Of course, Goebbels’ expression, the enemy of the people, has been used throughout history, back to Roman times, if I’m not mistaken, when the Senate declared Emperor Nero a hostis publicus. My point is, Mr Heller, I cannot allow such disregard for the truth to go unchecked.”
“What do you think you can do about it?”
“I think I can help my country by providing you with facts that will counteract the lies that Hitler and Goebbels are spinning to the German people. Our European neighbours deserve to know the truth, so they can prepare themselves for whatever is to come.”
“And what do you believe is coming? War?”
“I’m not sure. Any financial analyst would say that Germany is in no position to declare war on anyone, at least not in the foreseeable future. But we haven’t seen anyone like Adolf Hitler and his Nationalist extremists before. Mr Heller, anything is possible and that is why I am here.”
Dieter’s mouth was as dry as cotton, despite the wine, beer, and Scotch he’d downed that day.
Six weeks earlier, while on a visit to Laura’s family in Kent, an MI6 agent who he’d met once before in Hyde Park had given him a piece of paper with a date, an address, and instructions: he was to meet with a British Intelligence operative in Berlin before midnight on the specified date. Today. The London spy had also stipulated that he was never to contact MI6 again should he decide not to go ahead with the meeting in Berlin. Likewise, should he agree to join the British Secret Service, he would not be able to get out later. If he tried to leave or double-cross the British, get out would mean being permanently disposed of. An obvious and scary assumption, although the agent had declined to expand on the statement.
“It was today’s events that swayed me,” Dieter repeated. “Had I not witnessed Goebbels’ monstrous abuse of power on the streets of Berlin, I probably wouldn’t be here now. But I am here, and I’m willing to sacrifice everything to help Britain keep abreast of the Nazis’ agenda and combat their propaganda. It’s up to you whether you accept me.”
Heller looked pleased. “We’d be delighted to have you on board, Herr Vogel.”
The two men shook hands. Dieter was desperate for a drop of alcohol to settle his nerves, but Heller had already begun talking about what the job would entail.
“… and information, anything your new Chancellor and his Nazi Party does that might threaten Europe or give you cause to worry. Any troop movements, changes to military structures or German citizens’ rights, chatter about neighbouring countries to the East and West and North. We’ll also need a written assurance of loyalty.”
“I’ll give you my word,” said Dieter, not entirely sure what was meant by an assurance.
“I’m afraid that won’t be enough. You will be required to go to Britain to sign an agreement, in accordance with the Official Secrets Act, then attend a couple of training courses in communication and tactics. We would like you in London as soon as possible. Can you manage that?”
“Getting to London won’t be a problem. I’ll take my wife to visit her sister in Kent.”
Heller left the room and returned a few minutes later with the man in the dressing gown.
“Let me introduce you to Ernst Brandt,” Heller said. “He’s joined us tonight from Munich.”
Dieter shook Brandt’s hand. “Is this your house, Herr Brandt?” Dieter asked, looking at the man’s striped pyjamas under his robe.
“No. His Majesty’s government owns the property, but Ernst’s name is on the lease,” Heller answered. “Ernst’s wife is Jewish, making their children half-Jewish and his grandchildren a quarter Jewish. He’s concerned, as he should be, and he’s also one of the best forgers in the business. He’s been with us for almost a year, and now he’s going to work with you.”
“Why did you get involved, Herr Brandt, apart from being concerned for your family?” Dieter asked.
“That’s none of your business, and you can call me Romeo from now on,” Ernst Brandt scowled.
Heller chuckled as he handed Dieter a piece of paper with a telephone number on it. “You’ll warm to him, Dieter. Your code name is Big Bear, and tonight will be the last time you will communicate with us using your real name.” He pointed to the telephone number. “You can contact me at this number when you arrive in London.”
When Dieter finally got to bed that night, he kissed Laura, his wife of twenty-five years who was sound asleep beside him, then laid his head on the pillow thinking about the momentous decision he’d made. His chest felt as though it were being crushed by an anvil. It was hard to breathe, hard to think of anything but the lifetime of lies and subterfuge he would now have to create to survive, but he had no second thoughts or doubts, not one. The Nazi Party was the most dangerous con ever perpetrated against a country, and they needed to be reined in before they plunged the German people into an abyss.
Chapter One
Max Vogel
London, England
October 1941
The two women waved from the window as the train huffed, puffed, and jerked as it pulled away from the platform. Laura sniffed and blew her nose with Dieter’s handkerchief. “I love you, darling,” she squeaked, her normally strong voice snuffly with a blocked nose. Hannah’s face, however, was lit up with excitement. She and her son were going home to Frank, she had informed them all the previous evening; she was never truly herself without him by her side.
When the last carriage had disappeared down the track, Max and Dieter fought their way through Euston Station’s crowded platforms to the exit. Max, who despite his stiff leg, had insisted on accompanying his father to the emotional send-off for his mother’s sake. “I’ll be happier knowing your father won’t be alone when I leave him.” Laura had wept that morning, smiling weakly as she hugged her eldest son. “Make sure he eats properly, and don’t let him get into any more trouble.”
Both men were going in the same direction, but they would split up when they reached Oxford Circus. Dieter had a meeting at MI6 Headquarters with Heller, and Max was going back to the SOE offices in Baker Street. The previous evening, he had received a startling telephone call from his boss regarding Paul, and the news he’d received had shaken him to his core. He hadn’t slept a wink, nor would he in the days to come, he suspected.
He shot a sideways glance at Dieter whose face was rarely a window to his feelings. The last-minute decision to send Laura to Scotland with Hannah had been taken after long discussions that had lasted until midnight. Dieter, who’d hated the idea, had eventual
ly given in to his wife after she’d reminded him that he would be spending most of his time in London, and she would be alone in Kent, albeit surrounded by her extended family. Max, who was finding it hard to even like his father at present, had been impressed by his sacrifice. If there was anything he knew to be true, it was his father’s love for his wife and his reluctance to be parted from her for any length of time. He was a difficult person at times, but when one peeled away the layers of deceit and stubborn pride, one found a man with a deep-seated devotion to his family. Max saw a glimmer of hope for a better relationship with his father, but it wouldn’t happen until the secrets and lies between them had been aired and expunged.
“You did the right thing letting her go, Father. It might not feel like that to you now, but it will be best for Mother. You’ll hardly find the time to get back to Kent once you start work.” Max patted his father’s shoulder.
“Do you really think so, Son? I hated sending her off like that. She’s only just got me back, and she’s still coming to terms with everything that happened in Germany. Ach, I know she’ll be better off. I just don’t want her to think I was lying again or trying to get rid of her because I’ll be too busy to spend time with her. I won’t know what to do with myself without her to keep me right. This whole business has floored me.”
The corners of Max’s mouth lifted in a tender smile. His father was behaving like a love-struck teenager; it was touching to listen to his concern for the woman he loved. “Papa, this was her decision. She rightly presumes you’ll be working all the hours God gave, and you wouldn’t get home to Kent more than a couple of nights a week at best. I know all about the demands at MI6 headquarters. It was the gruelling days that forced me to rent the bedsit in Central London, which you can use whenever you want, by the way.”
