Hitler said to Himmler, ‘I knew nothing of this.’
Himmler looked quite wretched. ‘It was to be a surprise, my Führer.’
Hitler turned again to Schellenberg. ‘This Colonel Steiner, where is he?’
‘He’ll be here soon. The thing is, I received an anonymous telephone call only a couple of hours ago. I regret to have to say this in the presence of the Reichsführer, but whoever it was spoke of treachery, even within the ranks of the SS.’
Himmler was almost choking. ‘Impossible.’
‘An officer named Berger was referred to.’
Hitler said, ‘But Sturmbannführer Berger is in charge of my security here. I’ve just had him promoted.’
‘Nevertheless, my Führer, that is what I was told.’
‘Which just goes to show you can’t trust anyone,’ Horst Berger called and he moved out of the shadows at the end of the dining hall, an SS man on either side of him holding a machine pistol.
Steiner and Captain Kramer led the way up the hill to the Chateau in a Kubelwagen, the top down in spite of the rain. The paratroopers followed packed into two troop carriers. Steiner had a stick grenade tucked into the top of one of his jump boots and a Schmeisser ready in his lap.
‘When we go, we go hard, no stopping, remember that,’ he said.
‘We’re with you all the way, Colonel,’ Kramer told him.
He slowed at the outer gate and the SS sergeant came forward. ‘What’s all this?’
Steiner raised the Schmeisser, lifted him back with a quick burst, was on his feet and swinging to cut down the other guard as Kramer took the Kubelwagen forward with a surge of power.
As they reached the bottom of the steps leading to the front door, more SS appeared from the guardhouse on the right. Steiner pulled the stick grenade from his boot and tossed it into the centre of them, then he leapt from the Kubelwagen and started up the steps. Behind him the paratroopers jumped from the troop carriers and stormed after him, firing across the courtyard at the SS.
‘You dare to approach me like this, a gun in your hand?’ Hitler said to Berger, his eyes blazing.
‘I regret to have to say it, my Führer, but your moment has come, you, Field Marshal Rommel here, the Admiral.’ Berger shook his head. ‘We can no longer afford any of you.’
Hitler said, ‘You can’t kill me, you young fool, it’s an impossibility.’
‘Really?’ Berger said. ‘And why would that be?’
‘Because it is not my destiny to die here,’ Hitler told him calmly. ‘Because God is on my side.’
Somewhere in the distance was the sound of shooting. Berger half turned to glance at the door and Major Ritter leapt to his feet, threw his briefcase at him and ran for the door. ‘Guards!’ he shouted.
One of the SS men fired his Schmeisser, shooting him in the back several times.
Schellenberg said, ‘Mr Devlin.’
Devlin’s hand found the butt of the silenced Walther in his waistband against the small of his back. His first bullet caught the man who had just machine-gunned Ritter in the temple, the second took the other SS man in the heart. Berger swung to face him, his mouth open in a terrible cry of rage and Devlin’s third bullet hit him between the eyes.
Devlin walked across and looked down at him, the Walther slack in his hand. ‘You wouldn’t be told, son, would you? I said you needed a different class of work.’
Behind him the doors burst open and Kurt Steiner rushed in at the head of his men.
When Schellenberg knocked and entered Himmler’s room he found the Reichsführer standing at the window. It was instantly evident that he intended to brazen it out.
‘Ah, there you are, General. A most unfortunate business. It reflects so terribly on all of us of the SS. Thank goodness the Führer sees Berger’s abominable treachery as an individual lapse.’
‘Fortunate for all of us, Reichsführer.’
Himmler sat down. ‘The anonymous phone call you mentioned? You’ve absolutely no idea who it was?’
‘I’m afraid not.’
‘A pity. Still …’ Himmler looked at his watch. ‘The Führer intends to leave at noon and I shall fly back to Berlin with him. Canaris goes with us. Rommel has already left.’
‘I see,’ Schellenberg said.
‘Before he leaves, the Führer wants to see you and the other three. I believe he thinks decorations are in order.’
‘Decorations?’ Schellenberg said.
‘The Führer is never without them, General, carries a supply in his personal case wherever he goes. He believes in rewarding loyal service and so do I.’
‘Reichsführer.’
Schellenberg turned to the door and Himmler said, ‘Better for all of us if this shocking affair never happened. You follow me, General? Rommel and Canaris will keep their mouths shut, and easy enough to handle those paratroopers. A posting back to the Russian front will take care of them.’
‘I see, Reichsführer,’ Schellenberg said carefully.
‘Which, of course, leaves us with Steiner, Hauptsturmführer Vaughan and the man Devlin. I feel they could all prove a serious embarrassment as I’m sure you will agree.’
‘Is the Reichsführer suggesting …’ Schellenberg began.
‘Nothing,’ Himmler told him. ‘I’m suggesting nothing. I simply leave it to your own good sense.’
It was just before noon, as Schellenberg, Steiner, Asa and Devlin waited in the library, that the door opened and the Führer entered followed by Canaris and Himmler who carried a small leather briefcase.
‘Gentlemen,’ Hitler said.
The three officers jumped to attention and Devlin, sitting on the windowseat, got up awkwardly. Hitler nodded to Himmler who opened the case which was full of decorations.
‘To you, General Schellenberg, the German Cross in Gold and also to you, Hauptsturmührer Vaughan.’ He pinned on the decorations then turned to Steiner. ‘You, Colonel Steiner, already have the Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves. I now award you the Swords.’
‘Thank you, my Führer,’ Kurt Steiner replied with considerable irony.
‘And to you, Mr Devlin,’ the Führer said, turning to the Irishman. ‘The Iron Cross First Class.’
Devlin couldn’t think of a thing to say, stifled an insane desire to laugh as the cross was pinned to his jacket.
‘You have my gratitude, gentlemen, and the gratitude of all the German people,’ Hitler told them, turned and went out, Himmler trailing behind.
Canaris lingered for a moment at the door. ‘A most instructive morning, but I’d take care if I were you from now on, Walter.’
The door closed. Devlin said, ‘What happens now?’
‘The Führer returns to Berlin at once,’ Schellenberg said. ‘Canaris and Himmler go with him.’
‘What about us?’ Asa Vaughan said.
‘There’s a slight problem there. The Reichsführer has made it plain he doesn’t want you three back in Berlin. In fact, he doesn’t want you around at all.’
‘I see,’ Steiner said. ‘And you’re supposed to take care of us?’
‘Something like that.’
‘The old sod,’ Devlin said.
‘Of course there is the Lysander waiting on the beach at Chernay,’ Schellenberg said. ‘Leber will have had it checked out by now and refuelled.’
‘But where in the hell do we go?’ Asa Vaughan demanded. ‘We’ve just got out of England by the skin of our teeth and Germany’s certainly too hot for us.’
Schellenberg glanced enquiringly at Devlin and the Irishman started to laugh. ‘Have you ever been to Ireland?’ he asked Vaughan.
It was cold on the beach, the tide much higher than it had been that morning, but there was still ample space to take off.
‘I’ve checked everything,’ Flight Sergeant Leber said to Asa. ‘You shouldn’t have any problems, Hauptsturmführer.’
Schellenberg said, ‘You go back to the airfield now, Flight Sergeant, I’ll join you later.’
Leber saluted and walked away. Schellenberg shook hands with Steiner and Asa. ‘Gentlemen, good luck.’ They got into the Lysander and he turned to Devlin. ‘You are a truly remarkable man.’
Devlin said, ‘Come with us, Walter, nothing for you back there.’
‘Too late, my friend. As I’ve said before, far too late to get off the merry-go-round now.’
‘And what will Himmler say when he hears that you let us go?’
‘Oh, I’ve thought of that. An excellent marksman like you should have no difficulty in shooting me in the shoulder. Let’s make it the left one. A flesh wound, naturally.’
‘Jesus, it’s the cunning old fox you are.’
Schellenberg walked away, then turned. Devlin’s hand came out of his pocket holding the Walther. It coughed once and Schellenberg staggered, clutching at his shoulder. There was blood between his fingers and he smiled.
‘Goodbye, Mr Devlin.’
The Irishman scrambled in and pulled down the cupola. Asa turned into the wind, the Lysander roared along the beach and lifted off. Schellenberg watched as it sped out to sea. After a while he turned and, still clutching his shoulder, walked back towards the slipway.
Lough Conn, in the county of Mayo and not too far from Killala Bay on the west coast of Ireland, is better than ten miles long. On that evening in the failing light as darkness swept down from the mountains, its surface was like black glass.
Michael Murphy farmed close to the southern end of the lough, but that day had been fishing and drinking poteen until, in the words of his old grannie, he didn’t know whether he was here or there. It started to rain with a sudden rush and he reached for his oars, singing softly to himself.
There was a roaring in his ears, a rush of air and what he could only describe afterwards as a great black bird passed over his head and vanished into the shadows at the other end of the lough.
Asa made a masterly landing on the calm surface several hundred yards from the shore, dropping his tail at the last moment. They skidded to a halt and rested there and then water started to come in. He got the cupola up and heaved the dinghy package out. It inflated at once.
‘How deep is it here?’ he asked Devlin.
‘Two hundred feet.’
‘That should take care of her then. Poor lovely bitch. Let’s get moving.’
He was into the dinghy in a moment followed by Steiner and Devlin. They paddled away and then paused to look back. The Lysander’s nose went under. For a moment there was only the tailplane showing with the Luftwaffe swastika and then that, too, disappeared below the surface.
‘That’s it I guess,’ Asa said.
They started to paddle towards the darkening shore. Steiner said, ‘What now, Mr Devlin?’
‘A long walk before us, but the whole night to do it in. My great-aunt Eileen O’Brien has an old farmhouse above Killala Bay. Nothing but friends there.’
‘And then what?’ Asa demanded.
‘God knows, my old son, we’ll have to see,’ Liam Devlin told him.
The dinghy drifted into a small beach. Devlin went first, knee deep, and pulled them in to shore.
‘Cead mile failte,’ he said, putting out a hand to Kurt Steiner.
‘And what’s that?’ the German demanded.
‘Irish.’ Liam Devlin smiled. ‘The language of kings. It means a hundred thousand welcomes.’
Belfast
1975
16
It was almost four in the morning. Devlin stood up and opened the sacristy door. The city was quiet now, but there was the acrid smell of smoke. It started to rain and he shivered and lit a cigarette.
‘Nothing quite like a bad night in Belfast.’
I said, ‘Tell me something. Did you ever have dealings with Dougal Munro again?’
‘Oh yes.’ He nodded. ‘Several times over the years. He liked his fishing, did old Dougal.’
As usual I found it difficult to take him seriously and tried again. ‘All right, what happened afterwards? How did Dougal Munro manage to keep it all under wraps?’
‘Well, you must remember that only Munro and Carter knew who Steiner really was. To poor old Lieutenant Benson, Sister Maria Palmer and Father Martin he was just a prisoner of war. A Luftwaffe officer.’
‘But Michael Ryan and his niece? The Shaws?’
‘The Luftwaffe started on London again at the beginning of that year. The Little Blitz, it was called and that was very convenient for British Intelligence.’
‘Why?’
‘Because people died in the bombing raids, people like Sir Maxwell Shaw and his sister, Lavinia, killed in London during a Luftwaffe raid in January nineteen forty-four. Look up The Times for that month. You’ll find an obituary.’
‘And Michael Ryan and Mary? Jack and Eric Carver?’
‘They didn’t rate The Times, but they ended up in the same place, a crematorium in North London. Five pounds of grey ash and no need for an autopsy. All listed as victims of the bombing.’
‘Nothing changes,’ I said. ‘And the others?’
‘Canaris didn’t last much longer. Fell out of favour later that year, then in July the attempt to kill Hitler failed. Canaris was arrested amongst others. They killed him in the last week of the war. Whether Rommel was involved or not has always been a matter of speculation, but the Führer thought he was. Couldn’t bear to have the people’s hero revealed as a traitor to the Nazi cause so Rommel was allowed to commit suicide with the promise that his family would be spared.’
‘What bastards they all were,’ I said.
‘We all know what happened to the Führer holed up in his bunker at the end. Himmler tried to make a run for it. Shaved off his moustache, even wore an eye patch. Didn’t do him any good. Took cyanide when they caught him.’
‘And Schellenberg?’
‘Now there was a man, old Walter. He fooled Himmler when he got back. Said we’d overpowered him. The wound helped, of course. He became head of the Combined Secret Services before the end of the war. Outlasted the lot of them. When it came to the war crimes trials, the only thing they could get him for was being a member of an illegal organization, the SS. All sorts of witnesses came forward to speak for him at the trial, Jews amongst them. He only served a couple of years in gaol and they let him out. He died in Italy in fifty-one – cancer.’
‘So that’s it,’ I said.
He nodded. ‘We saved Hitler’s life. Did we do right?’ He shrugged. ‘It seemed like a good idea at the time, but I can imagine why they put a hundred-year hold on that file.’
He opened the door again and looked out. I said, ‘What happened afterwards? To you and Steiner and Asa Vaughan? I know you were a professor at some American college in the years after the war, but what happened in between?’
‘Ah Jesus, son, and haven’t I talked enough? I’ve given you enough for another book. The rest will have to wait until next time. You should be getting back to your hotel. I’ll go a step of the way with you.’
‘Is that safe?’
‘Well, you’re clean enough if we meet an Army patrol and who’s going to worry about a poor old priest like me?’
He wore a hat and a raincoat over his cassock and sheltered us with his umbrella as we walked through the mean streets, passing here and there the devastation of a bombing.
‘Would you look at this place?’ he demanded. ‘Rat’s alley where the dead men left their bones.’
‘Why do you keep on?’ I asked him. ‘The bombings, the killings?’
‘When it started, back in August sixty-nine, it seemed like a good idea. Orange mobs trying to burn Catholics out, the B Special police giving them a hand.’
‘And now?’
‘To be honest with you, son, I’m getting tired and I never did like soft target hits, the indiscriminate bomb that kills passers-by, women, children. That farmhouse above Killala Bay. My old aunt Eileen left it to me, and there’s a job waiting as Professor of English at Trinity College in Dublin whenever I want.’ He sto
pped on the corner and sniffed the smoky air. ‘Time to get the hell out of this and let those who want it to get on with it.’
‘You mean you’ve finally got tired of the game playing you instead of you playing the game?’
He nodded. ‘That’s what Steiner always says.’
‘Interesting,’ I commented. ‘You said: Steiner says.’
He smiled. ‘Is that a fact?’ The rain increased suddenly. We were on the corner of the Falls Road. In the distance was a foot patrol of the Parachute Regiment and a Saracen armoured car. ‘I think I’ll leave you here, son.’
‘A wise decision.’ I took his hand.
‘You can look me up in Killala any time.’ He turned away and paused. ‘One thing.’
‘What’s that?’ I asked.
‘The Cohen girl, the hit-and-run accident. You were right. Convenient for someone, that. I’d watch my back if I were you.’
I lit a cigarette in cupped hands and watched him go, the cassock-like skirts around his ankles, the umbrella against the rain. I glanced down the Falls Road. The patrol was nearer now but when I turned to take a last look at Liam Devlin, he’d gone, disappeared into the shadows as if he had never been.
THE EAGLE HAS FLOWN
Jack Higgins lived in Belfast till the age of twelve. Leaving school at fifteen, he spent three years with the Royal Horse Guards, serving on the East German border during the Cold War. His subsequent employment included occupations as diverse as circus roust? about, truck driver, clerk and, after taking an honours degree in sociology and social psychology, teacher and university lecturer.
The Eagle Has Landed turned him into an international bestselling author, and his novels have since sold over 250 million copies and have been translated into sixty languages. In addition to The Eagle Has Landed, ten of them have been made into successful films. His recent bestselling novels include The Killing Ground, Rough Justice, A Darker Place, The Wolf at the Door, The Judas Gate, A Devil is Waiting and The Death Trade.
In 1995 Jack Higgins was awarded an honorary doctorate by Leeds Metropolitan University. He is a fellow of the Royal Society of Arts and an expert scuba diver and marksman. He lives on Jersey.
Eagle Has Flown, The Page 23
