Shadow Of Evil: Cold War Espionage Thriller (Dragan Kelly Book 2)

by Peter Alderson Sharp

  “You’ve got to talk to me! ‘He’ wants to interview you,” she said earnestly.

  “He?”

  “‘The Wolf’—and I don’t want that to happen. I don’t like his methods. If I can’t walk out of this room with something, he will be entitled to take over. For your own safety, don’t give him that option.” Her face was a mask of misery and her voice almost pleading. She drew her hand away from his and slumped back in her chair.

  “He can’t pull any stunts like that here,” he said, though his voice was anything but convincing. “He wouldn’t be allowed to.”

  Sybilla sat bolt upright, her face expressing shock and surprise. “For God’s sake, wake up! Don’t you understand what you are facing here? You are charged with the attempted murder of a police officer, you are further charged with conspiracy to harbour a war criminal, no less a person than ‘Gestapo’ Müller, the second most wanted man in the world! It may have escaped your notice, but you crossed a bridge on the way to this depot. You are sitting in a gendarmerie in Saarland, a little piece of Germany under French ‘protection’. Neither the laws of West Germany nor the laws of France apply here, and just outside that door is one of the most feared and hated interrogators in France. Get real!” Sybilla sunk back in her chair, looking exhausted.

  “He’s bad, right?” he stammered, staring wide-eyed at the closed door.

  Sybilla gave him a look of scorn. “You don’t know how bad. He is ex-Foreign Legion, and he was an interrogator in Algiers.”

  The prisoner’s face blanched.

  Sybilla struck again. “Look, I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I think you need to know. He’s Jewish. He lost his younger brother and sister in a death camp. He knows you are a Nazi and an associate of Müller—”

  “I’m not a Nazi!” he interjected. “I’ve never been a Nazi, I’m Thule!”

  Sybilla noted that he was shaking slightly.

  “I’m not an associate of Müller, I’ve never met him—he was just a package we were moving for the Thule.”

  Sybilla pursed her lips, looking pensive and drummed her fingers on the table for a moment or two.

  “Look!” she said decisively. “The best I can do is this. I have more authority than the ‘Big Man’”—she indicated the door with a backward flick of her head—“over the level and type of charges brought. I can make the conspiracy charge disappear and I can reduce the attempted murder.” She pursed her lips again and appeared to be considering the matter. “Let’s see. Hmm … possession of an unlicensed firearm? It’s the best I can do, but for that, I will need every bit of information you have. If I get up out of this seat without that information, then the offer is off the table and ‘The Wolf’ will come in. He will still get the information, have no doubt about it, but I want none of that.”

  “I can’t,” he said as he wrung his hands together, pleading. “I can’t betray the Thule.”

  Sybilla sat stony-faced for a moment, then with a shrug closed her file and started to stand up.

  “Wait! Wait … I’ll talk to you. I’ll give you everything.”

  The Thule and the Swastika

  “Well? Did you get anything?” asked Rahn as Sybilla entered the squad room.

  “I think I got pretty much all he knows,” she said, waving her notes at him.

  “Let’s hear it then!” said Fournier ushering her to his chair at his desk and pulling up another chair, while indicating to Rahn to do the same. Once they were seated either side of her, she opened her notes and began.

  “His name is Gerd Weiss. I asked him if Gerd was short for Gerhard, but not in his case—he was christened Gerd. He is twenty years old and lives with his mother here in Sarreguemines. I have his address. His partner was Manfred Becker. He thinks Becker was about thirty-five but he’s not sure. Becker lived alone in a flat above the warehouse. He runs, or I should say, ran a second-hand furniture business. Again, I have the address which is also in Sarreguemines. Weiss vehemently denies that he is, or ever was, a member of or affiliated in any way to the Nazi Party. He was particularly insistent that this point should be emphasised to ‘The Wolf’.”

  “Why would he want me in particular to know that?” asked Rahn puzzled.

  “I’ll tell you later,” smiled Sybilla enigmatically.

  “He insists,” she continued, referring to her notes, “that both he and Becker were members of the Thule-Gesellschaft. Does that make any sense to either of you?”

  As she looked up, Fournier was shaking his head, but Rahn was nodding and looking profoundly serious.

  “I know of this organisation,” he said. “but let’s hold that for a moment. Please go on, Billa.”

  “Their mission was to await a signal from a contact over the river, then when they were sure it was clear, to row over and collect ‘the package’. They would then conceal the fugitive in Becker’s removal van and deliver him to the next Thule cell in the line at Strasbourg.

  “I have the name of the contact on the other side of the Blies River but no address, and he tells me that there are five Thule members in the Strasbourg group, but he only has one name. He has, however, the address of the warehouse they were to deliver the package to.”

  “Does he know what was to happen to the fugitive after that?” asked Rahn.

  “He says that Becker told him they were then moved through Lyon, Marseilles and then Toulouse, where they would have to wait until spring before they could cross the Pyrenees into Spain. Once in Spain, Franco’s boys would look after them and arrange passage on a ship to Argentina.

  “In the event, this particular delivery came to nothing. On the night we intercepted them they had just rowed back across the river, having been told by their contact on the other side that the move was off. Müller would not be moved this way; he was being channelled further down the border and would come across at Neuenberg and then through Mulhouse.”

  Sybilla looked up at the two men. Rahn had risen and was standing with his left hand across his body and his right elbow resting on it, the hand to his mouth where he chewed thoughtfully on the side of his finger.

  “You’re not buying this, Wolf. You think our boy in there has sold me a pup?”

  “No, I don’t. I think Weiss has told you exactly what he believes to be true, but I think its bullshit. It’s precisely what he’s been programmed to believe in case he was ever captured.”

  “Why do you think that?” asked Fournier.

  “The route that Weiss has described is exactly the route taken by those Allied airmen who, having bailed out in Europe, were making their way to Gibraltar via Spain. That route used to be swarming with the Resistance in order to assist them and to help them evade the Gestapo. I speak with some authority on this matter.” He cast a knowing glance at Sybilla. “They may not be the Resistance any more, but those brave men and women are still there, and their hatred of Nazis hasn’t diminished. That route would be too dangerous for a fugitive Nazi.

  “All of that said, thanks to Agent Skadi here, we have some good leads,” continued Rahn. “If it’s not too presumptuous, I think a stakeout on the Strasbourg warehouse is called for. Paul, if your men can catch one or two of them in there, we may be able to get more information. As to the real route and destination, I doubt very much that they are heading to Toulouse, but they may well be making for Marseilles. That place is so cosmopolitan a Scotsman in a kilt could walk around openly and no one would take a blind bit of notice.”

  “I will speak to the brigadier. I’m sure he will want to work with the SDECE on this. You were going to tell us about Thule-Gesellschaft that Weiss keeps mentioning.”

  “Paul, could I have a sheet of plain paper, a pencil and an eraser?” Rahn asked.

  Fournier nodded to detective Hans Schuster sat at a nearby desk, who immediately scurried off to comply.

  “The Thule-Gesellschaft is a secret German underground society. Its main aim is to create a unified European state led by Aryan Übermenschen. The basic concept is drawn
from the writings of German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche. Writing in the late nineteenth century, he described in Also Sprach Zarathustra the gradual development of a race of supermen or Übermenschen. The Thule plagiarised this completely out of context and distorted it, introducing the notion that the Übermenschen already existed in the form of Aryan Germans and Scandinavians, and therefore anyone who did not fit into the profile must, by definition, be Untermenschen or subhumans.”

  “So, who or what was Thule?” asked Sybilla.

  “Thule was a mythical land where, at the dawn of civilisation, the Aryan people emerged and spread to Scandinavia and Germany. It is generally associated with northern Scandinavia, probably Norway.

  “The Thule was formed at the turn of the century but really came into its own immediately after the First World War. What brought the Thule to prominence was the fact that half a dozen or so of its members formed the Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, the DAP, which developed into the NSDAP or Nazi Party as it came to be known.

  “Here, let me show you something,” Rahn said, taking the drawing material from Schuster. He drew two concentric circles, made some adjustments and did some rubbing out, and produced the following diagram:

  * * *

  * * *

  “This is the insignia of the Thule-Gesellschaft,” said Rahn. “Now, if I just make a few adjustments, shorten the arms just a little and colour it in … Now look at this, let me turn it through forty-five degrees. Do you recognise it?”

  * * *

  * * *

  “My God!” exclaimed Sybilla. “The swastika!”

  “That is how the swastika came into being. You’ll read nonsense about runes, Sanskrit and religious icons, but the symbol as used by the Nazis was developed by Doctor Friedrich Krohn, a very active member of the Thule, who used the Thule insignia as his inspiration, in exactly the same way as I’ve shown you here.”

  “This Thule,” said Fournier, “is it a dangerous organisation, in your opinion?”

  “Not in the sense that they will start another world war,” said Rahn. “I don’t think that was ever their aim. After Hitler joined the NSDAP, the Thule seemed to lose control. No, they are much cleverer than that. Insidious. They will infiltrate big companies and organisations and bring about change in that way. Their aim hasn’t changed. They will strive to build a united Europe led and controlled by Aryan Germans, Übermenschen.

  “But why do they want to help Müller?” asked Sybilla.

  “I’m not really sure,” Rahn responded, shaking his head. “They have, for a long time, assisted Thule members, Nazis and non-Nazis, helping many to escape from Europe, but in Müller’s case I’m puzzled. Our best information is that he wasn’t a member of the Thule. That then begs the question, why are they helping him? I can only assume that Müller has something the Thule want. It could be a physical object or objects, or it could be information. Either way, they are willing to take risks to protect him.”

  “Wait a minute …” Sybilla was running her hands through her hair, frowning and thinking hard. “Was Müller ever in Hitler’s bunker in the last days of the war?”

  Rahn nodded. “He was one of the last ones out, he stayed almost to the end. Do you have something?”

  “Probably not,” said Sybilla, “it’s just that Dan …” She glanced up at Fournier. “My colleague in Berlin,” she explained, “is working on a theory that some treasure—or information relating to some treasure, stolen loot or some such—was smuggled out of the bunker after Hitler committed suicide. Could this be a link to Müller and the Thule?”

  “You may have something there,” said Rahn. “You need to contact Dan and let him know that the Thule are involved with Müller and are probably hiding him and helping him to escape. Remind him about Müller’s presence in the bunker. I expect he already knows, but may not have made the connection.”

  “Where do we go from here?” asked Fournier.

  “Well, I need to go to Marseilles to investigate the possibility that this is part of the route out,” said Rahn. “I have some very good contacts there from my previous incarnation in the Legion who should be able to help.”

  “I will go with you if you’ll permit? I need to follow this through,” said Sybilla.

  “Good!” returned Rahn. “I was hoping you would. I would have greatly appreciated your help also, Paul, but I suspect the brigadier won’t sanction you operating that far out of your area?”

  “No, he most certainly won’t,” confirmed Fournier, “however, I’ll do my bit here. If I can’t lead the Strasbourg warehouse raid personally, I will certainly initiate it.”

  Horst Manteufel Reflects

  Horst Manteufel parked up his three-tonner on the vehicle park in Alexander Barracks and sauntered towards the admin block. He was in no hurry today.

  Some Saturday afternoons he would rush to hand in his vehicle docs, grab his bits and pieces from his locker and then sprint to the bus stop so he could get home as soon as possible. He would grab the kids—always wrapped up and ready to go—before dashing to the S-Bahn station near the Olympic Stadium to get the train to Gesundbrennen so that he and the boys could watch his beloved Hertha BSC football team. They would all have a boiling hot Bockwurst with a smear of mustard and a slice of dry bread from the Imbiss near the ground before going in. Saturday afternoon bliss, but not today. There was no game scheduled for today, so no hurry.

  As he approached the block, Charlie Jackson, a bluff Yorkshireman, a sergeant driver in the same RASC Company for which Horst worked, emerged with vehicle keys and documents in hand. Charlie was a near neighbour, living in the same married quarters only a few blocks from where Horst had been allocated temporary accommodation.

  “Not going to the match today, Horst?”

  “No game today, Charlie, worse luck!” he responded in his much-improved English.

  “Oh, I wish I’d known, I could have passed this one to you—you’re always looking for a bit of overtime,” said the sergeant.

  “I can still take it if you want? I have nothing pressing this afternoon if you want to get away for the weekend,” said Horst.

  “No, it’s okay, Horst, I’d better do it. Keep me in the good books with the Old Man.” The ‘Old Man’ was the RASC company commander Major Jack Hemmings, an ex-ranker who, along with Charlie, had seen action in the war—or what they referred to jokingly as ‘The Big Exercise’.

  “It’s a WRVS tour in one of the buses, wish me luck!” Charlie said laughing as he walked towards the vehicle park.

  It had taken Horst a while to get used to all the abbreviations and acronyms used in the British Army. He was still caught out from time to time, but he thought he had the main ones now: RASC, for whom he worked as a civilian driver, was of course the Royal Army Service Corps; WRVS was the Women’s Royal Voluntary Service. These ladies ran a second-hand shop to help families make their money go further and organised trips for them to those parts of Berlin they were allowed to visit. That was what Charlie was doing this afternoon.

  Horst looked towards the vehicle park and was surprised to see Charlie retracing his steps. “I just remembered,” he said as he approached, “I left a bit of beef in your locker. Tell Gudrun to roast it slow and serve it with Yorkshire pudding and a bit of horseradish, it’ll taste delicious.”

  “Aah, Charlie, you shouldn’t have done that, but hey, thanks, you know how the kids love roast beef.”

  “We’ll make Yorkshiremen out of them yet,” said Charlie grinning. “By the way, how is Helmut getting on at school? Did I see him going out in footie kit the other day?”

  “Yes!” nodded Horst enthusiastically. “He’s playing for the school team now! We’re very proud of him.”

  “Brilliant, we’ll have to see if we can get him a trial with Barnsley,” laughed Charlie. “Tell him Uncle Charlie asked after him.”

  Charlie was already walking towards the vehicle park when Horst shouted after him, “I’ll tell him that, Charlie, and thanks again for the
beef.”

  Charlie raised his hand in the air and waved without turning. “That’s okay, pal, enjoy it.”

  Horst Manteufel never ceased to be amazed at the reception he had received when he had joined the RASC. He was full of trepidation when he attended on his first day. Would the others despise him, perhaps even spit on him? He feared the worst. An Englishwoman had met him in the reception area, a Mrs Gabriel, the wife of a REME staff sergeant in the nearby Berlin Field Workshop. It transpired she was the Company Commander’s secretary and she did her best to engage him in conversation, but he was so anxious that he didn’t really do himself justice. She seemed to sense his tension and unease.

  “It’ll be okay, Horst. May I call you Horst?”

  He had shot her a look of surprise and gratitude as he answered. “Of course, thank you.”

  After being shown into the Company Commander’s office, he stood bolt upright, rigidly to attention, staring ahead. Major Hemmings had walked around his desk smiling, his arm outstretched to shake hands.

  “Relax, relax, Herr Manteufel, this is not an interview. You already have the job. I’ve checked your driver qualifications and you come well recommended by Lieutenant Colonel Kelly, so this meeting is just by way of a welcome to the company, a chance to meet people and get your bearings.”

  Jack Hemmings laughed as Horst breathed a huge sigh of relief and shook hands, trying hard to raise a smile.

  Hemmings looked serious. “Are you apprehensive about this, Horst?”

  Horst had enough English to get the gist of the meaning, and just enough to answer. “I’m very worried about it, Herr Major.”

  “Everything will be fine. I’ll get Sergeant Jackson to show you the ropes.” He walked to the door and spoke to Mrs Gabriel. A few minutes later, Horst was walking out the door with the Yorkshireman.