They Used Dark Forces gs-8

by Dennis Wheatley

  `I can let you have all the money you need,' Sabine replied; then she added with a worried frown, `But to get identity papers or you is going to be far from easy.'

  `Money is more than half the battle,' said Gregory quickly. For a good round sum I might be able to buy a passport from some minor official in a neutral Embassy; but to find such a man would take time and I don't want to embarrass you with my presence for longer than I can help. Another possibility would be for me to hang about in a well-populated district while an air-raid is in progress and hope to find someone just killed, then take his papers.'

  Sabine shook her dark head so that her hair shimmered in the sunshine. `No. To approach anyone on the staff of an embassy is too great a risk. He might agree to get you what you want, then when you went to collect it turn you in to the police. But your second suggestion has given me an idea. People are brought home dead or dying every night. Their wives or relatives are then left with their papers. I've known several women who've lost their men folk in the last few months. I could go to see them and sound them out. I might be able to get a set of papers for you that way.'

  `Bless you, my dear. I'll never be able to repay you.'

  She patted his hand. `Dear Gregory, you never know. These days we're all living on the edge of a volcano. If I do survive the war I'll probably find myself penniless. If so, I'm sure I could count on you to see me through to better times.' `Of course you could. Now about hiding me. Where do you suggest that I lie low? How about the rooms over the garage? 'Yes, they are furnished and empty. My car's still there, but had to get rid of my chauffeur over a year ago when it became impossible for even people like me to get petrol. We all go bout on bicycles now. I see no reason, though, why you shouldn't occupy one of the top bedrooms in the house. Kurt never goes up there and it would be more convenient for Trudi to bring you your meals.'

  `Are you absolutely certain you can trust her?

  'Yes. I shall simply tell her that you are in trouble with the Nazis. That will be quite enough. She is Hungarian but her mother was a Jewess. And what those fiends are doing to the Jews in Budapest is beyond belief. Hitler is positively obsessed by his fanatical determination to exterminate the whole Jewish race. Ribb told me it was that much more than strategic considerations that led to his taking over Hungary. There were more than a million Jews in Budapest alone; mostly good honest people who ran all our industries and commerce for us. I gather it was the sweeping advance of the Soviet Armies that decided Hitler to go into Hungary and kill all the Jews while he had the chance; and Himmler, who from the beginning has made race-purity his overruling passion, urged him to it. They sent a man named Adolf Eichmann there. He is the head of what is termed the "Office of Jewish Emigration", but it would be better styled "The Office of Wholesale Murder".'

  `He is the brute who drove all the Jews in Poland into ghettos, then systematically slaughtered them, isn't he?

  'That's the man, and as his Einsatz gruppen could not shoot the poor devils quickly enough he invented the gas chamber. They sent him to Budapest in March and he made his headquarters the Majestic Hotel. The hordes of Jews rounded up were so enormous that they overflowed the ghettos; so thousands and thousands of them were packed into cattle trucks, ninety to a truck-can you imagine it?-to be sent to Germany. But only a handful ever got here. The trains were shunted on to sidings and the people in them left to starve to death.'

  `God, how appalling!'

  `Isn't it? And no-one can stop it. The Generals try to when they get the least chance; but Bormann's Gauleiters have the power to overrule them. It's said now that Himmier's ape-men have murdered over four million Jews.'

  Gregory shook his head. `After all, there are great numbers of decent Germans. One would think they'd get together and stage some sort of protest at such hideous barbarity.'

  `They daren't. Everyone knows what is going on, of course, and about the tortures that are inflicted on the prisoners in the concentration camps. But no-one mentions these horrors above a whisper. They'd pay for it with their lives if they did. But let's get off this frightful subject and go across to the house.'

  The interior of the villa was much as Gregory had expected: a flight of stairs led straight up from the hall; on one side was a drawing room that ran the whole length of the house, with a bay window looking towards the road and French windows leading on to the garden at its other end; off it, beyond a velvet curtain, there was a small writing room; on the other side of the hall was a dining room and, in rear of it, the kitchen.

  Up on the top floor Sabine showed Gregory the room he was to occupy. It was comfortably furnished and, she said, had been used by her manservant when she had had one. Trudi's room and two others were on the same floor, but there was no bathroom; so Sabine told him he would have to wait until Kurt had gone to his laboratory then use the one on the first floor.

  Down there she showed him her luxuriously furnished bedroom, which was as big as the drawing room, and off it, above the back hall, was the bathroom. Beyond that lay a dressing room and the best spare bedroom, in which von Osterberg usually slept. As they came out of the bathroom she smiled, and said:

  `Kurt goes off to his work every morning at half past eight. Trudi will bring you up your breakfast as soon as he has gone. I don't usually get up till ten o'clock or later; so perhaps when you've had your bath you would like to come and keep me company?'

  Her smile made the implications of this invitation quite unmistakable, and Gregory knew that, although he had found sanctuary, he had come to the edge of a precipice.

  17

  A Nation in the Polls

  GREGORY made no immediate reply. The thin laughter lines on either side of his mouth deepened in the suggestion of a smile. Yet, had Sabine known it, this half-smile was not one of pleasurable anticipation; it was caused by a quirk of cynical humour at a thought that had suddenly flashed into his mind.

  He was thinking again of the cockroach and the armpit of the tortoise. To escape from that devouring beast the Gestapo by jumping into the bed of one of the loveliest ladies in Berlin surely transcended any other possible way of emulating that life-saving feat. It could happen only to one dearly beloved by the gods.

  She had no need to remind him of the sensual delights her slim white body had to offer. During the last half-hour her full red lips, big liquid eyes, shining hair, the scent she used, her every movement, had brought back to him a score of memories of their nights together in Budapest and on the Danube.

  Yet in the story the cockroach had been compared to an early Christian set before a lion. And in a sense that, too, applied. Early Christians had made a fetish of chastity and out of love for Erika he had sworn to himself that while away from her he would remain chaste.

  Since getting away from Poland he had several times concentrated hard on trying to let her know by thought transference that he had not been captured and was uninjured; and twice he had felt a response which led him to believe that she was praying for his safety. That she should, by astral means, pick up the knowledge that he was again with Sabine did not seem remotely possible. But she might well get the feeling that he was lying in the embrace of some other woman, and that would make her acutely miserable. Damnably alluring as Sabine was, he knew that he would be guilty of true evil if he risked adding such thoughts to the intense distress that must be afflicting Erika on his account.

  As he sought desperately for a way to evade the issue, Sabine said sharply, `You're looking very glum all of a sudden. Is it that you no longer find me attractive, or have you become impotent?'

  Her last words suddenly brought inspiration to him. Looking down, he sadly shook his head and asked, `Have you not noticed my limp?

  'Well, yes,' she admitted. `It did strike me that you were limping a little as we crossed the lawn. I thought that maybe you'd just hurt your foot.'

  With a heavy sigh he lifted his left leg and showed her the extra half-inch of leather on the sole of his shoe. Then he said, ` Berlin 's not the onl
y place that has air-raids. We have them in London, too. About six months ago when I was in Brixton Prison a bomb fell on it. My left leg was shattered and I was lucky to escape with my life. On my hip and thigh there are the most ghastly wounds. But they are healed now, so that's not the worst of it. A piece of flying debris struck me between the legs and carried away the most precious half-inch of flesh a man has on his body.'

  `Oh, you poor darling!' she cried, putting her arms round his neck. `How absolutely frightful for you! What an awful thing to happen. Then you'll never… never be able to make love again?'

  In the past they had always bathed together. Suddenly it struck him that as he was to use her bathroom she might quite possibly walk in on him next morning and, seeing him naked, realize that in spite of his scarred leg he had lied to her. Swiftly he hedged and said

  `No. Thank God, it's not as bad as that. The surgeons did a wonderful job of grafting and at least I benefited by being for four months in the prison hospital instead of in a cell; though the pain of the dressings was ghastly. You'd hardly notice anything, but before I left England my doctor said that my only chance of not destroying the good job they've done is to continue to count myself out of court for some time to come. Anyhow, for another month or two. For this to have happened and then for me to find you again is the shabbiest trick the Devil has ever played me. But there it is, my sweet; I'm no good to you.'

  `Oh dear, what a tragic disappointment,' she said unhappily. `And from the moment you popped up from behind my hammock my mind's been full of all the lovely games we used to play. Still, it's much worse for you and we must just try not to think about it.' Kissing him lightly, she added, `Let's go upstairs again and get your room ready.'

  Together they made up the bed and Sabine dug out for him a flowered silk dressing gown, pyjamas and other things that Ribbentrop had kept there for his visits. Then they went down to select cold food from the larder for his supper. Gregory was surprised to see half a game pie, a salmon trout, the remains of a ham, an Apfelstrudel, a block of Gruyere cheese and a variety of fresh fruit, as well as white rolls, a dozen eggs and a big slab of butter.

  `By Jove!' he laughed. `In spite of rationing you manage to do yourself jolly well. In London we now get only two eggs a month, a scrape of butter, a few rashers of bacon and a chop a week to eke out things like soya-bean sausage and the sort of fish one used to give the cat.'

  'Really!' She looked at him in astonishment. `Surely you have a Black Market?

  'We have. But only spies and shysters use it. All patriotic citizens who are determined to win the war refuse to encourage that sort of thing.'

  She shrugged. `It's different here. You can still get pretty well anything you want if you've the money to pay for it, and everyone's so utterly sick of the war that they don't feel patriotic any longer. Most of us fear we haven't long to live, so to hell with rationing. Help yourself to as much as you want, but don't take the salmon trout. Kurt had it sent to him by a friend, and if part of it's gone he'll ask questions.'

  While Gregory filled a tray high with good things she went down to the cellar and brought up for him a bottle of hock.

  261

  A NATION IN THE TOILS 261

  By then nearly two hours had gone since his arrival at the villa, and when she had helped him carry the things upstairs she said, `It's close on six o'clock and Kurt will be back soon; so I must leave you.'.

  Taking her in his arms, he kissed her. Then, as her full soft lips melted into his, he drew away and said, `Although I'm on the run I wouldn't have missed today for anything. How I wish… but there it is, my sweet. A million, million thanks. See you in the morning.'

  As soon as she had left him he felt suddenly overwhelmed with tiredness. It was now Tuesday evening and since waking in Bari the previous Sunday morning he had had barely twelve hours’ sleep, and none of that with his clothes off. Undressing slowly, he got into bed, and only hunger impelled him to eat his excellent supper. When he had done he put the tray aside, thought for a moment of his luck in having found Sabine and her generosity in taking a considerable risk to hide him; then instantly fell asleep.

  When he roused next morning a grey daylight was filtering into the room, so he turned over and dozed again until there was a soft knock on the door. On his calling `Herein', Trudi appeared with his breakfast.

  She was a short plump girl with dark hair, a fresh complexion and quick, boot-button eyes. Bobbing to him, she smiled and gave him the traditional greeting, `Kiiss die Hand, mein Hen', then set the tray down on the bed.

  To establish good relations he talked to her for some minutes about the old days in Budapest, and the unutterable evil that Hitler had recently brought upon that lovely city. Then, having told him the Herr Graf had left and the gnari'ige Frau Baronin would like to see him when he had had his bath, she bustled away.

  Greatly refreshed by his long sleep Gregory tucked into the big plate of ham and eggs, ate two fresh peaches and lapped up the coffee, which he guessed must have come via the Black Market from Turkey. By nine o'clock he was having a most welcome bath and soon after, clad in Ribbentrop's dressing gown, he went in to Sabine.

  She was sitting up in bed. He thought that she looked absolutely adorable and for a moment cursed himself as a fool for the puritanical scruples that had denied him the delight of getting in beside her and smothering her flower-like face with kisses. With an effort he got a hold on himself, kissed her good morning and perched himself on the side of her big bed.

  Smiling, she returned his kiss then sighed and said, `Oh God, how I hate this war. Just to think what a bomb has done to you and robbed us of. And the even worse things that have happened to such thousands of other people. May that filthy little Austrian that brought it on us rot in hell for all eternity.!

  'You seem to have changed your views quite a lot since last we met,' Gregory grinned. `Two summers ago when we talked of these things in Budapest you were a hundred per cent pro Nazi.!

  'Yes,' she admitted. `But look what the Communists did to Hungary after the First World War. Those gutter bred swine robbed families like mine of everything we had, and did their utmost to degrade everyone to their own filthy level. You British, with your stupid, pale-pink Liberalism, made no effort to stop them. Neither did the French. The only people who had the guts to stand up to them were the Italians and the Germans. Naturally, as German influence was so strong in Hungary I became a Nazi. What sensible person wouldn't have? But I'm not a Nazi now. They've made themselves untouchables. Say that I'm a Fascist, if you like. But I'm not a Nazi.'

  Gregory nodded. `There's a lot to be said for the Fascists. Old Mussolini did a great job in cleaning up Italy. If only he'd stayed neutral he'd be on the top of the world today and Italy positively bulging with money made out of both sides during the war. That he got folie de grandeur and thought that with Hitler's help he could become a modern Roman Emperor, ruling the whole Mediterranean, was one of the greatest tragedies of our time. Little Franco, too, has done a great job of work in Spain. What is more he has had the sense to keep his country out of the war, so given it a real chance to recover… Why people should cavil at him for having put the Moscow inspired agitators and saboteurs behind bars I could never see. If he'd run his country on the lines the idiot British and French intellectuals and those crazy Americans would have liked to see, by this time Spain would have had a Communist Government. Quite a useful card for the war against Hitler. But what about afterwards, with Russian bombers based there only two hours' flight from London and Paris? Some people simply can't be dissuaded from trying to cut off their noses to spite their faces. But all this is beside the point. You say you're no longer a Nazi; but you're still working for them.'

  `Up to a point,' she agreed thoughtfully. `I'd still turn in these dirty little Marxists -who'd like to see Germany a Soviet Republic, whenever I could get the goods on them. But I've never yet given information about those of our own kind who would like to see Hitler as an ugly corpse.'

/>   `Are there many people who feel that way?' he asked.

  `Quite a few. Of course millions of ordinary people must wish him dead simply because they believe it would bring about an end to the war. Although it's amazing how many of them, and, I gather, particularly the troops at the front who don't suffer from the bombing, still believe in him. They get nothing but Goebbels' propaganda, and day after day he plugs away about the Secret Weapons that are yet going to get Germany out of her mess. You may not know it, but London has already been destroyed by the buzz-bombs, the invasion ports soon will be and the long-range rockets are going to send New York up in flames. Only the upper crust know that to be poppy-cock, and the middle classes doubt it but the great majority believe it to be gospel. That's what keeps them going. That and fear of the Russians.'

  `What sort of people are the few you mentioned? I mean, those who would take a hand in putting an end to Hitler if they had the chance?

  'They are a very mixed bag, most of whom wouldn't see eye to eye in anything else at all. There is every sort o f group ranging from Communists to the old aristocracy who'd like to see a Kaiser on the throne again; the old Trade Union laddies, Social Democrat ex-Deputies, priests of both the Roman Catholic and Lutheran faiths, high-up Civil Servants, exDiplomats, Generals of the Wehrmacht: the lot.'

  `Then since leaders in every sphere feel that way and are prepared to sink their differences to achieve this one end they must form a very powerful group of conspirators.'

  `They're not. All the civilians showed their colours too clearly before the war. Hitler dismissed them from their posts ages ago, and although they've been left free they are constantly watched by the Gestapo. I'm speaking now of men like the Socialist leaders Julius Leber and Wilhelm Leuschner, Dr. Karl Goerdeler the ex-Mayor of Liepzig, the ex-Ambassadors Ulrich von Hassell and Count Werner von der Schulenburg, the former Prussian Finance Minister, Popitz, and the former President of the Reichsbank, Dr. Schacht. I've good reason to believe that a lot of them are in touch with one another; but if they do meet it is at night in cellars of bombed-out buildings… If one of them so much as raised a finger in any public act he and his whole family would find themselves in a torture chamber.'