They Used Dark Forces gs-8

by Dennis Wheatley

  `Jawohl, mein Fьhrer.' Bormann shot out his arm in the Nazi salute; the others did likewise, then they all left the room.

  Next morning the exodus began. As the Fьhrer intended to remain in Berlin for as long as it could be held, Obersalzberg was too far distant for the headquarters to be established there as yet; but it was decided to form one at Krampnitz from which Keitel and Jodl could come into Berlin daily; so a number of the junior staff officers were sent to make the necessary preparations, while all but a handful of the servants were packed off to Berchtesgaden.

  Among those who left was Himmler's liaison officer, Obergruppenfiihrer Fegelein. That evening the ex jockey got very drunk and took no pains to hide his joy at having received permission from his Chief to join him at Hohenlychen. At intervals between pouring brandy down his throat he mercilessly twitted the others on their ill luck in having to remain in the hell of Berlin and the madhouse that the bunker had become.

  For all the senior officers the following day proved one of the worst they had ever experienced. News came in that the American spearheads had reached the Elbe the previous evening and that the Russians had secured bridgeheads over the Oder. The German front there had broken and the Bolsheviks were crossing the river in many thousands.

  At the midday conference Hitler demanded that heads should roll, and that the troops be called upon to die fighting where they stood. From beyond the partition there came an unceasing flow of curses, denunciations, reproaches and abuse. Hours later the Generals who had been present trooped out, white faced and weary. Old Koller had had such a lashing because of the failure of the Luftwaffe to prevent the Russians gaining a foothold on the west bank of the Oder that he was again in tears.

  All through the afternoon and evening Gregory hovered about the outer regions of the bunker waiting for the news to come in from the United States; but midnight came, the 12th April was over and there had been no announcement of the President's death. About two o'clock, by then extremely worried, he went back to the Air, Ministry, but only to spend an anxious, restless night.

  In the morning he went to the Ministry of Propaganda to see Goebbels' assistant, Heinz Lorenz, and ask if there was any news of special interest; but, apart from reports of fresh disasters on the Oder front, there was nothing. Returning to the Air Ministry he tackled Malacou, who could tell him only that Roosevelt 's horoscope had shown him to be in great danger at this period, and that he would actually leave his present body on the 12th had been conveyed by the familiar spirits who, in all other matters, had proved correct.

  There now seemed little doubt that on this occasion they had misinformed Malacou, and as Gregory walked over to the Chancellery he dreaded the reception he expected to receive. It was not so much that Hitler would pour out his vials of wrath upon him that he feared, but that all his careful planning would be brought to naught by the failure of this one prophecy to mature, and that having won the Fьhrer’s confidence by great art and skill he would now find himself completely discredited.

  Down in the passage sitting room Bormann was talking to Keitel and Burgdorf before they went in to the midday conference. On seeing Gregory he said with a sneer, `How is the President's health this morning, Herr Major? It seems that you and your Turk have been made fine fools of by the spirits. I'm not surprised, though. You have lasted longer than most of the occult gentry we've had here and done better even than the Reichsfьhrer’s man, Wulf; but you all come a cropper in the end.'

  `That is not certain yet, Herr Parteifuhrer,' Gregory replied stoutly. `It is quite possible that the Americans are holding up the news for reasons of their own.'

  `They had better be,' snapped Bormann, `or the Fьhrer will have your head off for having misled him.'

  When they had gone in to the conference Gregory went through to the mess passage, to get himself a badly needed drink. He remained there for some time, talking with some of the other adjutants. He then returned to the sitting passage. Just inside the doorway two men were standing. One was von Below. The other, a shortish man with very broad shoulders and rolls of fat showing above the collar of his black S.S. uniform, had his back to. Gregory.

  With a smile, von Below said, `Oh, Protze, I don't think you've met our new colleague. The Reichsfьhrer has sent him to replace Fegelein. This is…: The rest of the introduction Gregory did not even hear. The other man had turned towards him and he found himself staring into the solitary eye of Obergruppenfьhrer Grauber.

  26

  Out of the Blue

  FOR a moment neither man moved. On Grauber's face there was a look of incredulity; on Gregory's, before he could check it, one of consternation. It was just such a chance meeting with his old enemy that he had feared when Goering had first had the idea of sending him and Malacou to Fuhrer H.Q.

  Since then he had become so immersed in the tremendous drama being played out in the bunker as the Nazi-controlled legions were being beaten to their knees, and in his growing influence over Hitler, that he had not given Grauber a thought.

  Now he cursed himself for having failed to realize that in the chaos that was swiftly destroying all organization in the Reich such private Intelligence services as Goering's would have broken down, and that men like Grauber would not remain to die fighting with a defeated Army but scurry back to the seats of Nazi power where, for the time being at least, their lives would be safe.

  Had Gregory not been caught off his guard and been able to greet Grauber with bland politeness he might, just possibly, have made the gorilla-like Obergruppenfьhrer doubt the evidence of his eye. But Gregory's jaw had dropped and his eyes had shown acute alarm. In that instant, despite the extreme improbability of a British agent's having penetrated the Fuhrer's headquarters, Grauber identified him beyond all question. With a cat like agility amazing in a man of his bulk, he jumped backwards and his hand slapped on to his pistol holster.

  But it was empty. He had momentarily forgotten that before entering the bunker he had had to leave his weapon in the outer guard room… Knowing that Grauber's recognition of him spelt death, had Gregory been armed he too would have whipped out a gun, in the hope of shooting Grauber first then shooting his way out of the bunker. Being used to having to check in his pistol before coming downstairs, his reaction was entirely different but equally swift.

  Raising his eyebrows in surprise at Grauber's backward spring, he glanced at von Below and said, `I’m sorry, Colonel, but I did not catch the Obergruppenfьhrer’s name.'

  Grauber's high-pitched voice came in a screech of mingled hate and triumph. `He knows it well enough! And I know well He is the ace British Secret Agent, Gregory Sallust.'

  Von Below looked quickly from one to the other, then smiled and said, `My dear Herr Obergruppenfьhrer. What you suggest is absurd. I…'

  `It is not absurd. It is a fact,' snapped Grauber.

  Gregory managed to raise a smile and shook his head. `I had no idea that I resembled this apparently famous character so closely. But my name is Protze, and I am a member of the Reichsmarschall's staff.'

  `Then you have tricked him,' Grauber snarled. `As you have many other people by your perfect German. I know you for who you are and now, at last, I've got you.'

  `Really,' protested von Below. `I'm sure you are mistaken. Major Protze has been with us since the beginning of March. He could not possibly be a British agent. All of us here--'

  `You fool!' Grauber piped in his feminine falsetto. `I tell you I know him! I've known him for years. Ever since the beginning of the war. We've been up against one another half a dozen times and each time he's slipped through my fingers. But not now. Not now!'

  At that Gregory resorted to a show of anger and stormed back, `You are talking nonsense! The strain we are all under these days has addled your wits. I've never met you before in my life. I'm as much a German as you are. The Reichsmarschall will vouch for me.'

  `I'll take my oath he can't. At least for only during the latter stages of the war. He cannot have known you as an offi
cer of the Luftwaffe in '39 or '40 or even in '42.'

  The rank Grauber held made him the equivalent of a full

  General but, like most regular officers, von Below disliked and despised Himmler's people; so he stood up for Gregory as an officer of his own service and said sharply, 'Herr Obergruppenfьhrer, this accusation you bring against Major Protze rests solely on your word. He has shown himself to be a loyal servant of the Fьhrer, who has developed a high regard for him. Should you persist in this and be proved wrong you will have cause to--'

  Grauber's pasty moonlike face had gone white with rage and he cut in, `How dare you threaten me in the execution of my duty! I insist that this man be arrested and taken to the Albrecht Strasse. Round there we've plenty of ways to make him admit his true identity.'

  Von Below drew himself up. `Your suggestion is outrageous. Under torture anyone will admit anything. To have an officer tortured simply because he resembles a British agent that you used to know is unthinkable. No one can stop you from practising your barbarities on Jews and foreigners. But this is Fьhrer Headquarters and the loyalty of every man in it is beyond question.'

  For a moment Gregory took heart at von Below's stout defence of him. But Grauber shrilled, `That does not apply to this one. I order you to fetch the guard. Whether you like it or not, I intend to remove him.'

  `They will not obey you. They take their orders only from Herr Parteifьhrer Bormann.'

  `Then I demand to see him.'

  Von Below gestured towards the partition. `He is in there at the Fьhrer conference, so cannot be disturbed. And it may go on for hours.'

  'Gott im Himmel!' Grauber suddenly exploded, driven to madness at the thought of the least delay in wreaking vengeance on his hated enemy. `Then I'll arrest him myself. There are plenty of S.S. men upstairs who'll obey my orders and take him to the Albrecht Strasse.' As he spoke he shot out one of his enormously long arms and grabbed Gregory.

  Once out of the bunker, Gregory knew that he would be finished. Even if von Below later secured from Bormann an order for his release, long before he could be got out of

  Grauber's clutches the Gestapo would have reduced him to a gibbering, bleeding wreck. Jerking himself-away, he hit out but missed. Grauber came at him in a bull like rush. A chair went over with a crash. They fell to the floor together struggling wildly and yelling curses at one another.

  Gregory had Grauber by the throat, but was underneath him and held down by his great weight. The Gestapo Chief had both his thumbs under Gregory's eyes, endeavouring to gouge them out. The pain was excruciating. Gregory screamed, but managed to wrench his head aside. Then he fixed his teeth in. Grauber's right hand. The deep bite brought forth a yell of agony.

  The door in the partition opened. Bormann appeared and shouted angrily, `What the hell is going on here?'

  Spreading out his arms in a helpless gesture, von Below cried above the din, `The Obergruppenfьhrer’s declares Major. Protze to be a British spy.'

  `Stop it!' bellowed Bormann. `Stop it, you two!' And, taking a pace forward, he kicked at the writhing bodies on the floor. His heavy boot caught Grauber on the thigh. Gregory unclenched his teeth. They rolled apart and, panting heavily, came unsteadily to their feet.

  Hitler had emerged behind Bormann and was surveying the scene with dull eyes, as Bormann rapped out at Grauber, `Explain yourself, Herr Obergruppenfьhrer’s. On what do you base these accusations?

  'I know the man,' Grauber piped. `I've known him for years. His name is Sallust and he is the most dangerous agent in the British Secret Service.'

  `When did you see him last?' Bormann asked.

  `In the summer of 1942, Herr Parteifьhrer,' Grauber replied promptly.

  `But damn it, that is getting on for three years ago. However good your memory may be for faces that is a bit long for you to be so sure you recognize a man. Can you produce anyone else who could identify him as this British agent?'

  Grauber hesitated, sucked at his bleeding hand, then admitted sullenly, `No, Herr Parteifьhrer. No. But I am certain of what I say. He was then passing himself off as a French collaborator. I ran into him in a night-club in Budapest.'

  His hopes rising again, Gregory burst out, `That's a lie. This whole business is an absurd mistake. I've never been in Budapest in my life.'

  `And that is a real lie,' said another voice, that came from the far doorway. In it Ribbentrop had just appeared, having arrived to attend the conference. Addressing. Hitler with a smile, he went on:

  `The Obergruppenfьhrer’s is right, mein Fьhrer. When I first saw this man here a few weeks ago I knew I'd seen him somewhere before, but could not place him. It was in Budapest in the summer of 1942. He is an exceptionally able British agent and his name is Sallust.'

  It was the coup de grace. Up to that moment Gregory had still hoped that with von Below's help and by calling on Koller to protect him he might managed to get the issue postponed for long enough to escape and disappear among the ruins of Berlin or, if he were placed under arrest pending investigation, at least get them to insist on his being confined in the bunker and allow him to telephone Goering. What attitude the Reichsmarschall might have taken up there could be no telling. He would certainly not have been willing to admit that he had knowingly foisted an English spy on to his Fьhrer and with everything going to pieces he might cynically have declined to intervene. On the other hand, out of loathing for Himmler, he might have used his still great powers in some way to thwart Grauber.

  But Ribbentrop's appearance on the scene had now rendered such speculations futile. It had been Gregory's ill luck that, apart from Goering, the only other Nazi in all Germany who could identify him had arrived at that moment. The Obergruppenfьhrer’s solitary eye gleamed with triumph: He passed his tongue swiftly over the thin lips of his mean little mouth and cried in his feminine falsetto:

  `I thank you, Herr Reichsaussenminister. Your arrival is most opportune. Now I'm proved right I'll have my people take this fellow to pieces and we'll learn what filthy game he has been playing here.'

  Gregory paled; but he possessed that fine trait in the British character-he was at his best in defeat. Whatever he said now could not save him, but he might yet win himself a quick death instead of one after prolonged, excruciating torment. Facing Hitler he burst into a torrent of words, shouting down Bormann's efforts to check him.

  'Mein Fьhrer You are a just man. I ask you to see justice done. It is true that I am an Englishman. But I am not a British agent. Many years ago I realized that any democratic government dominated by Jews must lead- to corruption and the exploitation of its people. I became a Fascist but disguised my beliefs in order to enter the British Secret Service and work against the decadent Government. In the early years of the war I twice managed to get sent to Germany with the intention of offering my services to the Nazi Reich; but on both occasions I came up against the Obergruppenfьhrer’s. He had already known me in London as a member of the Secret Service so would not believe the honesty of my intentions. On both occasions. I was forced to go to earth and return to England. Otherwise he would have had the Gestapo torture me to death.'

  `You lie screamed Grauber. `This is a tissue of lies. He never offered to come over to us. In Budapest he was plotting to persuade those accursed Hungarians to go over to the Allies.' 'On the contrary,' shouted Gregory. `I was persuading some of their leaders to give more active support to Germany. And from the Baroness Tuzolto I was receiving invaluable assistant. Everyone knows that she is a wholehearted Nazi.' Suddenly he swung round on Ribbentrop and cried:

  `You can vouch for her, Herr Reichsaussenminister. Is it likely she would have given me her aid if I had been working for the British? But the Obergruppenfьhrer’s vindictiveness wrecked everything. I had to get out to save my skin and to save hers from this ham-fisted lieutenant of Herr Himmler's I had to take her with me. And it was you who enabled us to escape. Isn't that true?'

  Ribbentrop had helped them to get away in order to spite Himmler,
and he was quick enough to see that, since Gregory had been Sabine's lover, if she were brought into the matter she might side with him. As he could not afford to be accused of aiding a British agent to escape, he decided to hedge and replied:

  `I knew only that he was an Englishman and that Sabine Tuzolto vouched for him. I've known her for years and she is above suspicion. When Grauber got after them it occurred to me that by helping this man to escape I might make use of him; so I sent the Baroness with him to London hoping that through her high connections there she would obtain valuable information for us.'

  `And she did,' added Gregory. `With my help she obtained for you the Allies' plans for their entry into the Mediterranean -Operation "Torch".'

  Suddenly Hitler spoke. His memory for facts, figures and events was prodigious and, despite the shocking deterioration in his health, his memory had not suffered. In his hoarse, rasping voice, he said:

  `I recall the affair. A few days before the North Africa landings, through the help of the Moldavian Military Attach, the Baroness got back to Germany. She brought the plans with her. But they proved to be false. False!'

  `Mein Fьhrer,' Gregory cried, `that was no fault of mine. I had them from a man I knew in the Offices of the War Cabinet. But the swine had sold me the Deception Plan. That, though, is only half the story. M.LS had got wise to the Baroness's activities. She was arrested; sent to the Tower of London. She was to have been court-martialled and would have been shot as a reprisal for the Gestapo's having executed British women landed in France by parachute. And what then? Did I leave her there to her fate? No! At the peril of my own life I rescued her from the Tower, and with Colonel Kasdar's help succeeded in getting her away. Is that not proof enough that I believed the plan she took with her to be the genuine one and did my best to serve Germany?'