Eagle Has Flown, The

by Higgins, Jack

  ‘War, Jack, war. Now have another drink, then get yourself off home to bed. You’re going to have a full day tomorrow.’

  Near Paderborn in Westphalia in the small town of Wewelsburg was the castle of that name which Heinrich Himmler had taken over from the local council in 1934. His original intention had been to convert it into a school for Reich SS leaders, but by the time the architects and builders had finished and many millions of marks had been spent, he had created a Gothic monstrosity worthy of stage six at MGM, a vast film set of the kind Hollywood was fond of when historical pictures were the vogue. The castle had three wings, towers, a moat and in the southern wing the Reichsführer had his own apartments and his especial pride, the enormous dining hall where selected members of the SS would meet in a kind of Court of Honour. The whole thing had been influenced by Himmler’s obsession with King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, with a liberal dose of occultism thrown in.

  Ten miles away on that December evening, Walter Schellenberg lit a cigarette in the back of the Mercedes which was speeding him towards the castle. He’d received the order to meet the Reichsführer in Berlin that afternoon. The reason had not been specified. He certainly didn’t take it as any evidence of preferment.

  He’d been to Wewelsburg on several occasions, had even inspected the castle’s plans at SD headquarters, so knew it well. He also knew that the only men to sit round that table with the Reichsführer were cranks like Himmler himself who believed all the dark-age twaddle about Saxon superiority, or time-servers who had their own chairs with names inscribed on a silver plate. The fact that King Arthur had been Romano-British and engaged in a struggle against Saxon invaders made the whole thing even more nonsensical, but Schellenberg had long since ceased to be amused by the excesses of the Third Reich.

  In deference to the demands of Wewelsburg, he wore the black dress uniform of the SS, the Iron Cross First Class pinned to the left side of his tunic.

  ‘What a world we live in,’ he said softly as the car took the road up to the castle, snow falling gently. ‘I sometimes really do wonder who is running the lunatic asylum.’

  He smiled as he sat back, looking suddenly quite charming although the duelling scar on one cheek hinted at a more ruthless side to his nature. It was a relic of student days at the University of Bonn. In spite of a gift for languages, he’d started in the Faculty of Medicine, had then switched to law. But in Germany in 1933 times were hard, even for well-qualified young men just out of university.

  The SS were recruiting gifted young scholars for their upper echelons. Like many others, Schellenberg had seen it as employment, not as a political ideal, and his rise had been astonishing. Because of his language ability, Heydrich himself had pulled him into the Sicherheitsdienst, the SS security service, known as the SD. His main responsibility had always been intelligence work, abroad, often a conflict with the Abwehr, although his personal relationship with Canaris was excellent. A series of brilliant intelligence coups had pushed him up the ladder rapidly. By the age of thirty, he was an SS Brigadeführer and Major General of Police.

  The really astonishing thing was that Walter Schellenberg didn’t consider himself a Nazi, looked on the Third Reich as a sorry charade, its main protagonists actors of a very low order indeed. There were Jews who owed their survival to him, intended victims of the concentration camps rerouted to Sweden and safety. A dangerous game, a sop to his conscience, he told himself, and he had his enemies. He had survived for one reason only. Himmler needed his brains and his considerable talents and that was enough.

  There was only a powdering of snow in the moat, no water. As the Mercedes crossed the bridge to the gate, he leaned back and said softly, ‘Too late to get off the roundabout now, Walter, far too late.’

  Himmler received him in his private sitting room in the south wing. Schellenberg was escorted there by an SS sergeant in dress uniform and found Himmler’s personal aide, a Sturmbannführer named Rossman, sitting at a table outside the door, also in dress uniform.

  ‘Major.’ Schellenberg nodded.

  Rossman dismissed the sergeant. ‘A pleasure to see you, General. He’s waiting. The mood isn’t good, by the way.’

  ‘I’ll remember that.’

  Rossman opened the door and Schellenberg entered a large room with a vaulted ceiling and flagged floor. There were tapestries on the walls and lots of dark oak furniture. A log fire burned on a great stone hearth. The Reichsführer sat at an oak table working his way through a mound of papers. He was not in uniform, unusual for him, wore a tweed suit, white shirt and black tie. The silver pince-nez gave him the air of a rather unpleasant schoolmaster.

  Unlike Heydrich who had always addressed Schellenberg by his Christian name, Himmler was invariably formal. ‘General Schellenberg.’ He looked up. ‘You got here.’

  There was an implied rebuke and Schellenberg said, ‘I left Berlin the moment I received your message, Reichsführer. In what way can I serve you?’

  ‘Operation Eagle, the Churchill affair. I didn’t employ you on that business because you had other duties. However, by now you will be familiar with most of the details.’

  ‘Of course, Reichsführer.’

  Himmler abruptly changed the subject. ‘Schellenberg, I am increasingly concerned at the treasonable activities of many members of the High Command. As you know, some wretched young major was blown up in his car outside the entrance to the Führer’s headquarters at Rastenburg last week. Obviously another attempt on our Führer’s life.’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Reichsführer.’

  Himmler stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You and I, General, are bound by a common brotherhood, the SS. We are sworn to protect the Führer and yet are constantly threatened by this conspiracy of generals.’

  ‘There is no direct proof, Reichsführer,’ Schellenberg said, which was not strictly true.

  Himmler said, ‘General von Stulpnagel, von Falk-enhausen, Stief, Wagner and others, even your good friend Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, Schellenberg. Would that surprise you?’

  Schellenberg tried to stay calm, envisaging the distinct possibility that he might be named next. ‘What can I say, Reichsführer?’

  ‘And Rommel, General, the Desert Fox himself. The people’s hero.’

  ‘My God!’ Schellenberg gasped, mainly because it seemed the right thing to do.

  ‘Proof.’ Himmler snorted. ‘I’ll have my proof before I’m done. They have a date with the hangman, all of them. But to other things.’ He returned to the table and sat. ‘Have you ever had any dealings with an agent named Vargas?’ He examined a paper in front of him. ‘José Vargas.’

  ‘I know of him. An Abwehr contact. A commercial attaché at the Spanish Embassy in London. As far as I know, he has only been used occasionally.’

  ‘He has a cousin who is also a commercial attaché at the Spanish Embassy here in Berlin. One Juan Rivera.’ Himmler glanced up. ‘Am I right?’

  ‘So I understand, Reichsführer. Vargas would use the Spanish diplomatic bag from London. Most messages would reach his cousin here in Berlin within thirty-six hours. Highly illegal, of course.’

  ‘And thank God for it,’ Himmler said. ‘This Operation Eagle affair. You say you are familiar with the details?’

  ‘I am, Reichsführer,’ Schellenberg said smoothly.

  ‘There is a problem here, General. Although the idea was suggested by the Führer, it was, how shall I put it, more a flight of fancy than anything else? One couldn’t rely on Canaris to do anything about it. I’m afraid that total victory for the Third Reich is low on his list of priorities. That is why I personally put the plan into operation, aided by Colonel Radl of the Abwehr, who’s had a heart attack, I understand, and is not expected to live.’

  Schellenberg said cautiously, ‘So the Führer knows nothing of the affair?’

  ‘My dear Schellenberg, he carries the responsibility for the war, its every aspect, on his own shoulders. It is our duty to lighten that load as much a
s possible.’

  ‘Of course, Reichsführer.’

  ‘Operation Eagle, however brilliantly conceived, ended in failure, and who would wish to take failure into the Führer’s office and place it on his desk?’ Before Schellenberg could reply, he carried on. ‘Which brings me to this report which has reached me from Vargas in London via his cousin here in Berlin, the man Rivera.’

  He handed across a signal flimsy and Schellenberg glanced at it. ‘Incredible!’ he said. ‘Kurt Steiner alive.’

  ‘And in the Tower of London.’ Himmler took the signal back.

  ‘They won’t keep him there for very long,’ Schellenberg said. ‘It may sound dramatic, but the Tower isn’t really suitable to house high-security prisoners long term. They’ll move him to some safe house just as they did with Hess.’

  ‘Have you any other opinion in the matter?’

  ‘Only that the British will keep quiet about the fact that he’s in their hands.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Operation Eagle almost succeeded.’

  ‘But Churchill wasn’t Churchill,’ Himmler reminded him. ‘Our Intelligence people discovered that.’

  ‘Of course, Reichsführer, but German paratroopers did land on English soil and fought a bloody battle. If the story was publicized, the effect on the British people at this stage of the war would be appalling. The very fact that it’s SOE and their Brigadier Munro who are handling the matter, is further proof.’

  ‘You know the man?’

  ‘Know of him only, Reichsführer. A highly capable intelligence officer.’

  Himmler said, ‘My sources indicate that Rivera has also passed this news on to Canaris. How do you think he will react?’

  ‘I’ve no idea, Reichsführer.’

  ‘You can see him when you get back to Berlin. Find out. My opinion is that he will do nothing. He certainly won’t go running to the Führer.’ Himmler examined another sheet in front of him. ‘I’ll never understand men like Steiner. A war hero. Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves, a brilliant soldier, and yet he ruined his career, risked failure, everything, for the sake of some little Jewish bitch he tried to help in Warsaw. It was only Operation Eagle that saved him and his men from the penal unit they were serving in.’ He put the sheet down. ‘The Irishman, of course, is a different matter.’

  ‘Devlin, Reichsführer?’

  ‘Yes, a thoroughly obnoxious man. You know what the Irish are like, Schellenberg? Everything a joke.’

  ‘I must say that from all reports he seems to know his business.’

  ‘I agree, but then he was only in it for the money. Someone was singularly careless to allow him to walk out of that hospital in Holland.’

  ‘I agree, Reichsführer.’

  ‘My reports indicate that he’s in Lisbon now,’ Himmler said. He pushed another sheet across. ‘You’ll find the details there. He’s trying to get to America, but no money. According to that, he’s been working as a barman.’

  Schellenberg examined the signal quickly then said, ‘What would you like me to do on this matter, Reichsführer?’

  ‘You’ll return to Berlin tonight, fly to Lisbon tomorrow. Persuade this rogue Devlin to return with you. I shouldn’t think that would prove too difficult. Radl gave him twenty thousand pounds for taking part in Operation Eagle. It was paid into a numbered account in Geneva.’ Himmler smiled thinly. ‘He’ll do anything for money. He’s that sort. Offer him the same – more if you have to. I’ll authorize payments up to thirty thousand pounds.’

  ‘But for what, Reichsführer?’

  ‘Why, to arrange Steiner’s escape, of course. I should have thought that’s obvious. The man is a hero of the Reich, a true hero. We can’t leave him in British hands.’

  Remembering how General Steiner had met his end in the Gestapo cellars at Prinz Albrechtstrasse, it seemed likely to Schellenberg that Himmler might have other reasons. He said calmly, ‘I take your point, Reichsführer.’

  ‘You know the confidence I repose in you, General,’ Himmler said. ‘And you’ve never let me down. I leave the whole matter in your capable hands.’ He passed an envelope across. ‘You’ll find a letter of authorization in there that should take care of all contingencies.’

  Schellenberg didn’t open it. Instead he said, ‘You said you wanted me to go to Lisbon tomorrow, Reichsführer. May I remind you it’s Christmas Eve?’

  ‘What on earth has that got to do with anything?’ Himmler seemed genuinely surprised. ‘Speed is of the essence here, Schellenberg, and reminding you of your oath as a member of the SS, I will now tell you why. In approximately four weeks, the Führer will fly to Cherbourg in Normandy. January twenty-first. I shall accompany him. From there, we proceed to a chateau on the coast. Belle Ile. Such strange names the French employ.’

  ‘May I ask the purpose of the visit?’

  ‘The Führer intends to meet with Field Marshal Rommel personally, to confirm his appointment as Commander of Army Group B. This will give him direct responsibility for the Atlantic Wall defences. The meeting will be concerned with the strategy necessary if our enemies decide to invade next year. The Führer has given to me the honour of organizing the conference and, of course, responsibility for his safety. It will be purely an SS matter. As I’ve said, Rommel will be there, probably Canaris. The Führer particularly asked for him.’

  He started to sort his papers into a neat pile, putting some of them into a briefcase. Schellenberg said, ‘But the urgency on the Steiner affair, Reichsführer, I don’t understand.’

  ‘I intend to introduce him to the Führer at that meeting, General. A great coup for the SS, his escape and near victory. His presence, of course, will make things rather difficult for Canaris which will be all to the good.’ He closed the briefcase and his eyes narrowed. ‘That is all you need to know.’

  Schellenberg, who felt that he was only hanging on to his sanity by his fingernails, said, ‘But, Reichsführer, what if Devlin doesn’t wish to be persuaded?’

  ‘Then you must take appropriate action. To that end, I have selected a Gestapo man I wish to accompany you to Lisbon as your bodyguard.’ He rang a bell on the desk and Rossman entered. ‘Ah, Rossman. I’ll see Sturmbannführer Berger now.’

  Schellenberg waited, desperate for a cigarette, but aware also of how totally Himmler disapproved of smoking and then the door opened and Rossman appeared with another man. Something of a surprise, this one. A young man, only twenty-five or -six, with blond hair that was almost white. Good-looking once, but one side of his face had been badly burned. Schellenberg could see where the skin graft stretched tightly.

  He held out his hand. ‘General Schellenberg. Horst Berger. A pleasure to work with you.’

  He smiled, looking with that marred face like the Devil himself and Schellenberg said, ‘Major.’ He turned to Himmler. ‘May I get started, Reichsführer?’

  ‘Of course. Berger will join you in the courtyard. Send Rossman in.’ Schellenberg got the door open and Himmler added, ‘One more thing. Canaris is to know nothing. Not Devlin, not our intentions regarding Steiner and for the moment, no mention of Belle Ile. You understand the importance of this?’

  ‘Of course, Reichsführer.’

  Schellenberg told Rossman to go in and walked along the corridor. On the next floor, he found a toilet, slipped in and lit a cigarette, then took the envelope Himmler had given him from his pocket and opened it.

  FROM THE LEADER AND CHANCELLOR OF THE STATE

  General Schellenberg acts upon my direct and personal orders in a matter of the utmost importance to the Reich. He is answerable only to me. All personnel, military and civil, without distinction of rank will assist him in any way he sees fit.

  Adolf Hitler

  Schellenberg shivered and put it back in the envelope. The signature certainly looked right, he’d seen it often enough, but then it would be easy for Himmler to get the Führer’s signature on something, just one document amongst many.

  So, Himmler was g
iving him the same powers as he had given Max Radl for Operation Eagle. But why? Why was it so important to get Steiner back and in the time scale indicated?

  There had to be more to the whole business than Himmler was telling him, that much was obvious. He lit another cigarette and left, losing his way at the end of the corridor. He hesitated, uncertain, then realized that the archway at the end led on to the balcony above the great hall. He was about to turn and go the other way when he heard voices. Intrigued, he moved forward on to the balcony and peered down cautiously. Himmler was standing at the head of the great table flanked by Rossman and Berger. The Reichsführer was speaking.

  ‘There are those, Berger, who are more concerned with people than ideas. They became sentimental too easily. I do not think you are one of them.’

  ‘No, Reichsführer,’ Berger said.

  ‘Unfortunately, General Schellenberg is. That’s why I’m sending you with him to Lisbon. The man, Devlin, comes whether he likes it or not. I look to you to see to it.’

  ‘Is the Reichsführer doubting General Schellenberg’s loyalty?’ Rossman asked.

  ‘He has been of great service to the Reich,’ Himmler said. ‘Probably the most gifted officer to serve under my command, but I’ve always doubted his loyalty to the Party. But there is no problem here, Rossman. He is too useful for me to discard at the present time. We must put all our energies into the preparation for Belle Ile while Schellenberg busies himself with the Steiner affair.’ He turned to Berger. ‘You’d better be off.’

  ‘Reichsführer.’

  Berger clicked his heels and turned away. When he was halfway across the hall, Himmler called, ‘Show me what you can do, Sturmbannführer.’

  Berger had the flap of his holster open, turned with incredible speed, arm extended. There was a fresco of knights on the far wall done in medieval style in plaster. He fired three times very fast and three heads disintegrated. The shots echoed through the hall as he replaced his weapon.

  ‘Excellent,’ Himmler said.

  Schellenberg was already on his way. He was good himself, maybe as good as Berger, but that wasn’t the point. In the hall he retrieved his greatcoat and cap, was sitting in the rear of the Mercedes when Berger joined him five minutes later.