by Michael Dean
‘Understood.’
Barbara was brought up from the cells. She was pale but calm. Her eyes met Hodge’s. They smiled at each other.
Lindsay spoke quickly, before Barbara had even sat down. ‘Describe the first time you ever saw Gustav Rau.’
Hodge shut his eyes, willing her not to start describing the interview at Hindenburg.
‘The first time?’ Barbara said. ‘The very first time?’ She brushed some strands of black hair out of her eyes. It was such a feminine gesture, Hodge’s heart flipped.
‘That’s what I said, Miss Ketz. The very first time.’ As Hodge understood, Lindsay’s emphasis on ‘very’ was meant to help Barbara.
‘Gustav Rau was our postman. I think. Yes, my aunt sent me a doll. I have family in the north of Germany. I was seven years old. Gustav Rau delivered the doll.’
‘So Rau knew your father? Knew who he was?’
‘Oh yes!’
‘What do you know of Rau’s politics?’
‘He was in the SA. He used to gather money for them. It was called Winterhilfe. They would stop you on the street corner. Shake a tin in your face. You had to give them money.’ Barbara shuddered.
‘And he knew your father was banned from painting?’
‘Yes.’
‘How?’
‘He used to play Skat – cards – with Josef Raschke. He was the man the Gestapo sent round every week to check my father wasn’t painting.’
Lindsay leaned forward in his chair. ‘Miss Ketz, why did you not tell Captain Hodge all this when he outlined his plan to you?’
Barbara shrugged. ‘We were playing this trick on every person we interviewed. Not only Gustav Rau.’
‘But didn’t all of them know you?’
‘Some of them. Yes. Not all.’
‘What percentage?’
‘Maybe thirty percent. Maybe forty. I don’t know.’
Lindsay was silent for a moment. He scratched his chin. ‘I guess it could have worked,’ he said softly, speaking to himself, then to Barbara Ketz. ‘But why didn’t you tell Captain Hodge when one of the prisoners was known to you? Because with those prisoners this trick was never going to work, was it? They would know an anti-Nazi like you would not be in touch with Werwolf, so showing them that symbol was an obvious set-up?’
Barbara was close to tears. ‘I don’t know. I wish I had now. I didn’t think to. I know you lost one of your soldiers in the attack in Kornwestheim and I am very sorry.’ She began to cry, softly.
‘John. Captain Lindsay. May I speak, please?’
‘Yes.’
‘I gave Barbara no advance warning of my plan. I told her at the last minute, in the jeep, seconds before we went into Hindenburg Barracks.’
‘Why?’
‘I didn’t want her to have too much time to think. I thought she might tense up. That was a big mistake. I should have discussed the plan with her, used her local knowledge, given her a chance to say it wouldn’t work or that it wouldn’t work with everybody, or whatever.’
‘No, it was my fault,’ Barbara said, still sobbing. But she shot Hodge a grateful look.
It was a full long minute before Lindsay spoke again. ‘Here’s what I think. Hodge’s plan was ingenious. He had no way of knowing some of them would know you, Miss Ketz.’ Lindsay looked seriously at Barbara. ‘Yeah, with twenty-twenty hindsight you maybe should’ve piped up. Even with not much time to do that. But you made a mistake. And a mistake of omission not commission at that. I do not believe either of you were complicit, or even culpable in any way.’
‘Thank God!’ Hodge burst out.
‘They outsmarted us,’ Lindsay said, ruefully. ‘It happens sometimes.’
Barbara was still crying. ‘Thank you,’ she said.
‘Then we can go?’ said Hodge. ‘You can release us?’
‘Unfortunately not. This has gotten very big. Colonel Dawson is now in command, not me. He will be here tomorrow and he wants to speak with both of you. A decision will then be made then on a way forward.’
‘But you will tell Colonel Dawson what you think?’
Lindsay grimaced. ‘I think you can proceed on the assumption that I will share my opinions with Colonel Dawson. Yes.’
Manson and Bradley were grinning. Manson had stopped taking notes.
Lindsay folded his arms. ‘So it’s one more night in the cells for both of you. And I … regret that. But there must continue to be no contact between you, so I can assure Colonel Dawson there has been no collusion. However, I will lift any restrictions I can.’
Hodge and Barbara said, ‘Thank you,’ in unison, then smiled at each other.
‘Captain Hodge, alcohol of your choice will be sent down to your cell on my tab. Judging by the faces you were pulling when we drank root beer together we had better come up with something else, as this is not meant as a punishment. Just let Danny ‘The Pencil King’ know what you want.’
Manson and Bradley laughed again.
‘As to you, Miss Ketz, your father must be worried sick. I’ll have him brought over to you in my car for the evening. You two can dine together in your cell. I hope you find the experience interesting. Please make any food wishes that we can fulfil known to the guards. That includes alcohol.’
‘Thank you, Captain Lindsay.’
‘Don’t mention it. All courtesy of Uncle Sam. Now take the prisoners down. I have to go. I have a meeting with our newly de-Nazified mayor.’
Chapter 14
Ludwigsburg, Wednesday August 29, 1945
Hodge was kept in his cell until just before the meeting with Colonel Dawson and Major Bingham. But it was clear to him after that, that he was a free man. His belt, boots and pistol were returned to him. He was allowed to revisit his room. A soldier accompanied him to the meeting, but that was only to show him where the Main Conference Room was, as the soldier was careful to explain.
To his joy, Barbara was already sitting at the enormous rectangular oak table. She was twisting her hands together in her lap and looked nervous. But as soon as she saw him, her face came alive with delight. She had obviously been allowed home to change, as she was wearing a severe, though attractive, blue patterned dress he had not seen before.
Hodge sat next her, squeezed her hand and blurted out, ‘I am so pleased to see you again.’
She gave him a warm smile.
They were quickly joined by Lindsay, trailed by Lieutenant Manson. They took seats high up the table on the right, leaving the two chairs at the head of the table free.
‘You two sleep well?’ Lindsay called out.
‘Fine, thanks, John,’ Hodge called back.
Barbara blushed but said nothing.
The next participant to arrive at the meeting was a surprise to Hodge. Wilhelm Keil, still carrying himself upright but with an old man’s small-step walk, was escorted to a seat next to Lieutenant Manson by a GI. He sat down with relief, then, with a start, noticed Barbara.
‘Frἂulein Ketz! Grṻss Gott!’
‘Grṻss Gott, Herr Keil.’
‘Eine angenehme Ṻberraschung, Sie hier zu sehen.’
Barbara beamed, looking more relaxed. ‘Yes, it’s a pleasant surprise to see you here, too.’
After a few minutes, Lindsay was told by one of the GI attendants at the meeting that the senior officers had arrived.
‘Excuse me, gentlemen. Miss Ketz,’ Lindsay said standing. ‘Top brass are here. I have to meet and greet.’
There was silence in the light, airy room – a room clearly kept for the most important meetings. Nobody touched the water and orange juice placed at carefully measured intervals along the table.
Eventually a burble of friendly conversation grew louder as it came toward them.
Colonel Dawson was a huge lumbering shapeless bear of a man, pink in the face, with snow white hair and a genial demeanour. It was he who was chattering away to Lindsay. His number two, Major Bingham, was whip-lean and had that ‘now is everything in place?’ look about
him, characteristic of second-in-command administrators in all walks of life. He was carrying a pile of buff manila folders in both hands, a pile so high it teetered on comedy.
Dawson settled himself at the head of the table, with Bingham next to him, thankfully putting down his files. Lieutenant Manson prepared to take notes, as he had done yesterday at the questioning of Hodge in Lindsay’s office.
‘Good afternoon, everybody,’ Dawson boomed. ‘Thank you all for coming.’ He beamed at the gathering. Hodge thought he looked as if he was about to carve turkey for the family at Christmas.
Dawson opened one of Bingham’s bulky files, spreading papers on the table. ‘I want to quickly outline where we are at. Give you a strategic overview, so to speak. After that, I will hand you over to Major Lindsay, for the operational details and where we go from here.’
Lindsay cleared his throat.
‘You got a tickle, Major Lindsay? You want some water?’ Dawson solicitously poured water in Lindsay’s glass from a carafe.
‘Thank you, sir. It’s actually Captain Lindsay.’
‘No it’s not. Not since yesterday. Oh, did I not mention that?’
Hodge had never seen Lindsay so wrong-footed. He gasped. ‘You did not, sir.’
‘Oh well. I got a lot on my mind, you know? Anyhow, I brought the citation with me. I believe it refers to outstanding leadership and … one or two other things like that.’
All the Americans in the room, officers and the attendant GIs, broke into applause, quickly joined by Hodge and then by Wilhelm Keil. Barbara smiled.
‘Thank you, sir,’ Lindsay said.
‘You are more than welcome,’ beamed Dawson, sounding not unlike Lindsay himself. ‘And to spare the major any further embarrassment, let me quickly move quickly on. We welcome our friend and ally from the British army, Captain Hodge.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘Say, you’re not related to General John Reed Hodge, are you? He was at Gaudalcanal. Good officer.’
‘No, sir.’
‘Pity. I thought maybe you were his long-lost English cousin, or something. Anyways, I hope you been treated well here, captain. Give or take a few days in choky.’
Hodge laughed with everybody else. ‘I have no complaints, sir.’
‘Glad to hear it. All-righty, let’s put this one to bed then, eh? Oh, excuse me ma’am.’ Dawson tipped an imaginary hat at Barbara, who acknowledged the affront to her womanly sensibilities by shutting her eyes for a second.
‘Captain Hodge!’ Dawson was brisk now, getting down to business. ‘We have identified beyond all doubt the man you met in London. He is an SD major by the name of Heinz Felfe.’ Dawson consulted his file. ‘Bilingual in English and German, near native level French. Educated at one of your great public schools, Captain Hodge. Same one Churchill went to, I hear. Tell us captain.’
‘Harrow,’ Hodge said, feeling a fool at having being so comprehensively taken in.
‘Yes. Harrow.’ Dawson favoured Hodge with the beam. ‘And please don’t be too hard on yourself, Captain. Felfe has fooled everybody he came into contact with. That’s his job.’
‘A question, sir,’ Hodge said.
Dawson’s amiable smile froze. He was clearly not used to being interrupted. Hodge blundered on, as everybody looked askance. ‘Sir. It’s just that, in Paris. I also met his wife. That is “Palfrey’s” wife. I actually stayed with them. Who …?’
‘Major Bingham?’ said Dawson, evenly. ‘We perhaps have time to digress to satisfy our British friend’s curiosity.’
Hodge felt himself blushing.
Bingham searched through the pile of files, eventually pulling one clear. Hodge noticed his drawing of Heinz Felfe/Palfrey folded in half, peeping out of one of Bingham’s files. There was a silence as Bingham scanned his file, turning over thin pieces of paper clipped in place.
‘Yuh. Here we are,’ Bingham said. Hodge was already feeling a fool, again, for causing so much trouble. ‘She’s his wife alright. That’s for real. She’s British. Name’s Veronica Teeslake. You heard of her, Captain?’
‘I’ve heard of the family,’ Hodge said. ‘Leading aristocrats. Financial supporters of Mosely – our leading fascist,’ he added.
Bingham made a note in pencil in his file. ‘Thank you for that, Captain. Colonel Dawson?’
‘Why, thank you Major Bingham. I believe I was talking about Heinz Felfe. So, to continue to fill you in on him: He was undercover in London for years, buying and selling art for Hitler’s personal collection. We don’t know exactly when he moved to Paris. He continued to spy for the Nazis there. But he was transferred to Kaltenbrunner’s staff in April of this year. That we do know. We reckon that was to help Kaltenbrunner co-ordinate last-ditch resistance. Major Bingham will now fill us all in on Kaltenbrunner, and what he has to do with the operation in Ludwigsburg. Major Bingham!’
Major Bingham re-ordered his files, as if playing a giant poker hand. ‘Ernst Kaltenbrunner,’ Bingham began. ‘SS Obergruppenfṻhrer. He is the second highest ranking Nazi still at large, after his boss, Heinrich Himmler. He’s Austrian, which is pretty relevant at the moment. As Colonel Dawson indicated, Kaltenbrunner was put in charge of guerrilla resistance, mainly via Werwolf. Any questions so far?’
There was silence round the table, all eyes on Bingham, everybody fascinated.
Bingham went on. ‘As Colonel Dawson said, now we come to what this has to do with the Ludwigsburg operation, as we are calling it. Felfe found out about Wagner stealing the paintings when he went back to London from Paris. We don’t know why he went back. Maybe he was on a visit. But at that point he got hold of the bank documents he showed you in London, Captain Hodge.’
Hodge nodded, ruefully.
‘Felfe immediately told his boss, Kaltenbrunner. Kaltenbrunner told Himmler. This was in May after Hitler had killed himself. Now, you might think top Nazis would have better things to do than hunt Wagner and his paintings, but that’s not how they are. We are talking fanatics here. And Wagner was a traitor to their cause. We know from intercepts that getting the paintings back and killing Karl Wagner are number one priority for any Nazi top brass still out there. All Werwolf groups have orders to kill Wagner on sight. Only a local group here remains loyal to him. A group how big, do we think, Herr Keil?’
Wilhelm Keil cleared his throat, nervously. ‘Between eight and ten, actively, I believe. With many more sympathisers.’ He shrugged apologetically at Lindsay. ‘Only too many, I am sad to say.’
‘Thank you, Herr Keil.’ Major Bingham again made notes.
‘There is one more thing,’ Bingham said. ‘Kaltenbrunner and Felfe want Wagner dead, but they also want the paintings. Kaltenbrunner has a huge hoard of jewels, gold and art somewhere in Austria, but we don’t know where yet. Getting those paintings back would add to his loot, but also, in the way they think, avenge Hitler for Wagner’s original theft of them.’
‘Thank you, Major Bingham. That was comprehensive and clear. As usual. Now, as we are running a little late, I will hand you over to Major Lindsay, who is in complete operational control.’
Lindsay nodded. ‘Thank you, Colonel Dawson. Miss Ketz., Ggentlemen. Before outlining the operational details, may I request one minute’s silence for the United States infantryman we lost, killed at Kornwestheim in the recent Werwolf ambush. He was Corporal Donald Templeman, from Savannah, Georgia. Don was aged twenty-two. He was a good soldier, good at all sports, especially handball. He was popular with everybody in his detachment and would have gone higher in the army, if he had stayed with us, after his tour here, as he intended to.’
In the silence, all the Americans looked down. Dawson was obviously praying. Wilhelm Keil stared ahead grimly. Hodge had tears in eyes, knowing he would blame himself for the death for the rest of his life. Barbara took his hand under the table. He looked at her, grateful. She mouthed, ‘Not your fault,’ at him. Then aloud, as the silence came to an end, ‘Blame Werwolf. Always blame the Nazis.’
; ‘I have some questions for Captain Hodge,’ Lindsay said briskly, ‘just to put everybody fully in the picture.’
‘Go ahead,’ Hodge murmured.
Lindsay gave Hodge a friendly look. ‘After you had located the paintings what did this Palfrey/Felfe guy tell you to do next?’
‘Send him a telex,’ Hodge said.
‘Would this be on telex 761348?’
Hodge smiled. ‘You searched my room, eh, major?’
Lindsay smiled back ‘We took that liberty. Yeah. So you send the telex. Then what?’
‘I understood that he, Palfrey, would take it from there. He would make all the necessary arrangements.’
‘So he would arrange shipment of the paintings from Ludwigsburg to Paris?’
‘Yes.’
‘Excuse me butting in,’ boomed Dawson. ‘But the audacity of this here sting fascinates me. Major Lindsay, let’s assume captain Hodge here finds these paintings. He asks you to use our telex facilities, here on the base. Do you check what he is doing? Do you check out that telex number?’
Lindsay shook his head. ‘On an operation run by our British ally? When I have a million and one other things to do? No way, sir. We would have sent it for him. And that’s it.’
‘OK. So Heinz Felfe gets the telex,’ Dawson said. ‘Then what?’
‘He arranges transport,’ Hodge said. ‘There are a few firms with experience of doing that, with artwork. They are not only back in business but much in demand. He would know the ones in Paris. If he didn’t, I do. The paintings would be transported to a warehouse. The haulage firm would make the transport arrangements, documentation and so on.’
‘That’s what I thought,’ Dawson said. ‘A totally legit transport company. So it would have worked?’
‘Yes. I’m afraid it would,’ said Hodge.
Dawson was shaking his head. ‘You have to admire the guy! So Felfe grabs the paintings from under our noses. He gets them to Paris. Then what? Sends them to Kaltenbrunner?’
‘No, sir,’ Hodge said. ‘I don’t think so. He would sell them in Paris. Send Kaltenbrunner the money. Maybe.’
