Traitor's Gate

by Michael Ridpath

  ‘So it’s all down to Lord Halifax,’ said Conrad.

  ‘I think so,’ said his father. ‘Let’s hope he takes the right decision.’

  26

  Conrad looked down upon the clear white V cutting across Lake Havel as a passenger ferry made its way south towards Potsdam. A pocket of warm air rose up from the Grunewald and struck the descending aeroplane, causing it to lurch alarmingly. Conrad gripped the armrests of his seat as the Ju-52 lowered itself on to the runway at Tempelhof.

  It wasn’t the landing that bothered him, but what would happen afterwards. Whenever he had crossed the borders of the Third Reich before, his luggage had been diligently searched, but his personal correspondence had never been read. He had stuffed Churchill’s letter to von Kleist into the middle of a sheaf of old love letters from Veronica. As long as he was treated as any other passenger he had nothing to fear, but if Klaus had somehow learned of his return to Germany and decided to have him searched thoroughly, he would be in big trouble. He had cabled ahead to Theo to meet him at the aerodrome, so all he needed to do was to get through customs safely and he could hand the letter over and be done with it.

  He was about twenty people back from the front of the queue in the terminal building. It was moving slowly: the German border police ahead were being thorough, but not suspiciously over-diligent.

  Suddenly he felt as much as saw the queue stiffen. Two border policemen were walking purposefully towards the waiting passengers. Everyone looked around, trying to decide whether it was they or their neighbour that the police were approaching. The palms of Conrad’s hands became instantly clammy. He looked straight ahead, and then, realizing that this set him apart from the rest of the queue, joined in with those staring at the policemen.

  They walked right up to him. ‘Herr de Lancey?’

  He nodded.

  ‘Come this way please!’

  The policemen’s faces were stiff and correct; Conrad couldn’t read them. Thoughts scrambled around his brain as he tried to think of what he would say to Klaus if the letter were discovered. In it Churchill made the point that if the Germans invaded Czechoslovakia a long and bloody war with Britain and France would result, but he didn’t mention von Kleist’s name or his activities, other than to note that the recipient had recently paid him a visit. The letter was addressed to ‘My dear Sir’. Conrad decided that his best bet was to claim that Churchill had written the letter to him, and that he was keeping it as a memento from a celebrated politician on an important subject.

  Would Klaus believe that? Somehow, Conrad doubted it.

  Under the curious gaze of his fellow passengers, Conrad was led through a door into a small office.

  There, in uniform, was a figure he recognized.

  ‘Theo! What the devil are you playing at?’

  Theo grinned and shook Conrad’s hand. He nodded to the two policemen, dismissing them. ‘You don’t think I could let you go through carrying that letter, do you?’

  ‘You could have warned me you would be meeting me on this side of customs. I had quite a fright when those policemen came for me.’

  ‘Keeps you on your toes,’ said Theo, clapping Conrad on the back. ‘Now, come on. Once we are in the car, you can tell me all about it.’

  Theo and Conrad slipped out of a side door from the little office, out of sight of the other passengers. Theo’s Horch was parked outside and in a few moments they were heading through the Kreuzberg to Conrad’s flat.

  ‘Have you seen von Kleist since he got back to Germany?’ Conrad asked.

  ‘Yes, I have.’

  ‘Is he happy with his trip?’

  ‘I think so. He feels he made his point and that Churchill especially listened to him. He is still disappointed he didn’t meet anyone actually in government. Have you got the letter?’

  Conrad rummaged through his suitcase and handed Theo Churchill’s letter. ‘It’s not from the Prime Minister, but I hope it will do.’

  ‘But will he get the message?’ Theo asked.

  ‘Oh, definitely. Halifax has had a full report already. Chamberlain is in Scotland fishing, but he’ll find out all about it soon enough.’

  ‘What will his reaction be?’

  ‘I have no idea. But my father will keep his ear to the ground. What’s all this?’

  Theo’s car was stopped at a junction while a seemingly endless line of trucks crammed with soldiers drove past.

  ‘There’s a parade in honour of Admiral Horthy, the Hungarian regent. It’s supposed to be one of the biggest yet. It’s playing havoc with the traffic.’

  Conrad stared at the soldiers, hundreds of them, thousands of them. It seemed like a whole division. ‘If the British listen to von Kleist’s message and stand by Czechoslovakia, do you think General Beck will keep his promise to lead a revolt?’

  ‘General Beck has resigned.’

  ‘He’s what!’ Conrad turned towards Theo who was staring straight ahead at the column of trucks.

  ‘He submitted his resignation yesterday. We tried to stop him, but he insisted.’

  ‘So who will lead the coup?’

  Theo sighed. ‘That’s a very good question. His successor is almost certain to be General Halder, his deputy.’

  ‘Will he do it?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Theo. ‘We’ll see.’

  Conrad shook his head. ‘So Uncle Ewald’s trip was a waste of time.’

  ‘No, it wasn’t!’ said Theo. Anger mixed with determination in his voice. ‘There are enough of us who are determined to act. Trust me. We will get rid of that maniac.’

  Conrad smiled at his friend. ‘Good. And I will do all I can to help you.’

  Eventually Theo battled his way through the mayhem and dropped Conrad at his flat. Conrad was anxious to see Anneliese. True, he had promised Theo that they would stay away from each other to avoid provoking Klaus unnecessarily, but he thought he could risk dropping in on her during the day for a short period. He remembered that she was on an early shift that day and should be home by four. Since he had a couple of hours until then, he decided to walk, and watch the parade on the way.

  Unter den Linden was packed, as was the Victory Avenue through the Tiergarten. Conrad found himself a spot near the Brandenburg Gate to watch the procession. Infantry marched past with a rapid goose-step; Prussian cavalry mounted on fine chargers trotted along, looking vulnerable in front of the armoured monstrosities clanking behind them. Bandsmen in many different uniforms played the same martial music. Looking down on it all was the Quadriga, the sculpture of Victory driving a four-horse chariot perched atop the Brandenburg Gate. The crowd were cheering wildly, not just the men but the women too, their faces lit up with excitement and pride. Arms were raised everywhere in the Nazi salute. When a giant gun passed by carried by four trucks, a gun bigger than Conrad had ever seen or even imagined, the crowd erupted into ecstasies of militaristic joy. Conrad wondered whether Uncle Ewald was right; it seemed to him at that moment that the German people were straining to march into a war, smiling and laughing to the sound of the bands playing ‘Deutschland über Alles’.

  Beck’s resignation was clearly a blow to Theo and his conspirators. But it was equally clear that something drastic had to be done to stop the Nazi juggernaut smashing over Europe. Conrad hoped that there were enough Germans who thought like Theo to do it.

  It was impossible to cross the never-ending line of soldiers, and so Conrad doubled back to take the U-Bahn underneath them to the Scheunenviertel. He spent twenty minutes loitering in the streets around Anneliese’s building, checking for watchers. It was five o’clock by the time he finally rang the bell to her building. Frau Goldstein answered the door.

  When she saw him, she burst into tears.

  ‘What is it?’ asked Conrad. ‘Where’s Anneliese?’

  ‘Oh, Herr de Lancey, it’s so terrible. I was hoping you would come so I could tell you—’

  ‘Where is she?’ Conrad repeated more urgently, only just manag
ing to restrain himself from shaking the woman.

  ‘It was last night they came. They took her away.’

  ‘Who? Who took her away?’

  ‘The Gestapo.’

  ‘Was it Schalke?’

  ‘No. But it was another one I recognized. The one with red hair who arrested you.’

  ‘Dressel. Where did they take her?’

  ‘I don’t know. I asked them, but all they said was: “You won’t be seeing her for a long while.”’

  Conrad closed his eyes. He had never anticipated that Anneliese would be arrested before he could get her out of the country. How foolish he had been! ‘Did they hurt her?’

  ‘I don’t think so. But she looked very frightened.’ The landlady sniffed. ‘She did shout something to me.’

  ‘What was that?’

  ‘She said, “Tell Herr de Lancey I love him.” So I am telling you that now. Oh, Herr de Lancey, do you think they have taken her to a camp?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Conrad. ‘I just don’t know.’

  Conrad reeled out on to the street. Klaus! Klaus must have been behind it; he had sent his henchman Dressel because he didn’t have the guts to arrest Anneliese face-to-face.

  But why? Why would he harm her when he was so obsessed with her? Perhaps it was some bizarre kidnap attempt. Perhaps love had turned to hate. Conrad had no idea: it was yet another example of the illogical behaviour of this insane country. Perhaps they had already let her go and she was making her way back home. Or perhaps she was at that moment locked up in a concentration camp.

  Conrad felt a surge of hot anger rush through his body. Klaus was playing with Anneliese’s life, toying with it. He had no damn right to do that! Impotence and frustration stoked up his rage. He stumbled towards Oranienburger Strasse in search of a cab. He would go straight to Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse and confront Klaus, demand Anneliese’s release. He didn’t care what the Gestapo did to him, he had to show them that they couldn’t push around the little people with impunity, that Klaus couldn’t hurt Anneliese, his Anneliese, and get away with it.

  After a minute or so of frantic waving, a taxi stopped and Conrad climbed in and flopped into the back seat.

  ‘Where to, chief?’ the driver asked in his Berliner accent.

  Conrad took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He had to think this through. Anneliese’s life was too important to jeopardize through his desire to make a point. Going to Gestapo HQ was a waste of time; he knew that. It might make him feel better, but that wasn’t important. What was important was to find out where Anneliese was and get her out of there.

  ‘Chief?’

  ‘Tiergartenstrasse,’ Conrad said. ‘Number seventeen.’

  Foley would be able to discover where the Gestapo had taken Anneliese, or at least he would know whom Conrad could speak to to find out.

  The parade had finished, but it took the taxi half an hour to fight its way through the crowds of people streaming home, their faces still flushed with the exhilaration of the afternoon. It was early evening, so there were no queues outside the Passport Control Office, but inside the building there was chaos. Foley was carrying a box stuffed full of papers through the entrance hall. When he saw Conrad, he put the box down. ‘De Lancey! You catch us at a very bad moment. But I’m glad you’re here, I need a quick word with you. Come on through.’

  Conrad followed Foley into his office, which was strewn with more papers, tea chests and boxes.

  ‘What’s going on here?’

  ‘Some of us are leaving,’ Foley said. ‘In a hurry.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Did you see something in the paper about a British diplomat arrested in Austria? A Captain Kendrick?’

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘He was our Passport Control Officer in Vienna.’

  ‘You mean...’

  ‘I mean he had the same hobby as me and all the other British Passport Control Officers in Europe. The Germans and everyone else have known for years that the title is just a cover for other activities, but London are concerned that now they are going to round some of us up. So we have been recalled immediately. We’ll leave a skeleton staff of genuine passport officials to deal with the mess here.’

  ‘Will you be coming back?’

  ‘Your guess is as good as mine. If everything blows over, perhaps. But if Germany invades Czechoslovakia and the balloon goes up, probably not. Which is why I wanted to speak to you.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘Yes. No one staying on here knows anything about intelligence work. But if you come across anything you think I should know, look me up when you are in London. Your father will be able to find me.’

  ‘My father?’

  ‘He’s well connected, he’ll know how to track me down.’

  ‘I suppose so. Look, Captain Foley, I know you’re frantically busy, but Anneliese has been arrested by the Gestapo. I don’t know where she has been taken, and I hoped you could find out.’

  Foley frowned. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, de Lancey. As you can see, I can’t help you myself.’

  ‘What do you want me to do with the Mayer file?’ Conrad turned to see a young secretary at the door clutching a thick manila folder. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Captain Foley, I didn’t know you were with someone.’

  ‘That should go in the diplomatic bag, thank you, Margaret,’ said Foley. ‘Give us a couple of minutes.’

  ‘Certainly, Captain Foley,’ the woman said and withdrew.

  ‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Foley. ‘You can try this man.’ He scribbled a name on a piece of paper and passed it to Conrad. Wilfrid Israel. ‘You can find him at N. Israel.’

  N. Israel was one of Berlin’s smartest department stores. Remarkably, it was still open despite its obviously Jewish name. ‘I take it he owns the place?’

  ‘He does. He helps me arrange things. Tell him I sent you. Oh, and when you do find Anneliese, the people here should still be able to issue her a visa for Britain, once she gets her papers together. There’s a note in her file.’

  ‘Thank you, Captain Foley.’

  ‘Anyway, must be getting on.’

  Conrad left the Passport Control Office, crossed the road and went into the Tiergarten. There were still people making their way home from the parade along the main paths. He soon found himself at the Rosengarten, where he had been so many times before with Anneliese. He couldn’t bear the thought of her in a concentration camp. He remembered when she had first told him that she had been inside one and how inhuman it had been. Later she had recounted little anecdotes about her time there. Although the stories had had a certain black humour, there was always the background of starvation, sadism, torture and despair. He knew there were tens of thousands of Germans in the camps, but at that moment he only cared about one of them.

  He sat on a bench in front of a yellow rose Anneliese particularly liked, and savoured the heavy scent of the blossom. A white butterfly skipped between the blooms, revelling in its freedom. He remembered her shouted message to Frau Goldstein. He couldn’t let her down.

  But he felt despair close in around him. What chance did the ordinary person have in this new world of the Third Reich? Someone like Klaus Schalke, with his twisted obsessions, had the untrammelled power of the state at his disposal to toy with the lives of Conrad and Anneliese as he wished. Faced with such brazen evil, the German people had grumbled and then acquiesced. And what Klaus was doing to Anneliese, Hitler was doing to whole countries. The leaders of the other European powers, decent, nervous men who played by the rules, were setting themselves up to do the same thing: grumble and then acquiesce. Hitler understood this; he was counting on it.

  There were some brave men scattered around Europe who were prepared to do something. Theo. Ewald von Kleist. Winston Churchill. Conrad knew then he had to do all he possibly could to help them. That way he had some hope of extracting Anneliese from the madness.

  But if Hitler did invade Czechoslovakia at the end of September
there could well be war. Conrad would have to return to England, leaving Anneliese in Germany to God knows what fate.

  That was only five weeks away.

  Part 3

  Late August 1938

  27

  ‘So what shall we do about Czechoslovakia, Edward?’

  Neville Chamberlain was happiest sharing the unrelenting burden of running the British Empire with his closest supporters and confidants deep within No. 10 Downing Street. Once he had agreed a policy with them, then he would set about presenting the case to the wider Cabinet, knowing what outcome he was aiming to achieve. He was sixty-nine, at the end of a moderately distinguished political career, which had been overshadowed by the greater figures of his father Joseph and his brother Austen. Now, suddenly, he found himself Prime Minister, a position neither of them had been able to achieve. Not only that, but he held that office at one of the most difficult points in his country’s history. His achievements to date had been as Minister of Health and then as Chancellor of the Exchequer and he knew nothing about foreign affairs. But he was determined to prove himself up to the challenge. The Czech crisis had been brewing all summer, and he had been racking his brains for a solution. Now he thought he had one, and he was looking forward to telling his colleagues about it. It was quite brilliant.

  There were three other men around the table: Sir John Simon, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Lord Halifax, the Foreign Secretary, and Sir Horace Wilson, a civil servant who had been responsible for negotiating a solution to the General Strike in 1926 and who had helped smooth the abdication of Edward VIII two years before. Just the man to deal with a tricky customer like Herr Hitler.

  Lord Halifax’s long face was grimmer than usual as he replied. ‘The only deterrent likely to be effective in preventing Hitler invading the Sudetenland is an announcement that Britain will declare war on Germany if he does.’ Halifax pronounced the words ‘detewent’ and ‘pwevent’: he couldn’t say his ‘r’s properly. ‘There are two problems with this. One is that a significant proportion of public opinion both here and in the Empire is against such a course of action.’