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

by Peter Alderson Sharp

  * * *

  When Saunier had completed his statement, Rahn was asked by Marcourt if he wished to ask any questions. Rahn asked Saunier if he was a member of Thule-Gesellschaft. If the question surprised Marcourt, the answer surprised him even more. Saunier hesitated for a moment then told Rahn that although he (Saunier) was not a member, he was fairly sure that two of the other arrested men were, and that he had overheard them talking about the society. He stated that he wasn’t sure about the other (fourth) man.

  * * *

  When the prisoner had signed the statement and been taken back to the cells, Rahn asked Marcourt what he thought the outcome would be. Marcourt was fairly non-committal; he thought it unlikely that, in the absence of a name for the person the four had transported to Marseilles, they would be able to bring any meaningful charges. He indicated that he would have the warehouse searched for contraband or banned substances but felt they would probably have to release the four men without charge.

  * * *

  Marcourt counted out the negative points.

  * * *

  The Thule-Gesellschaft—whatever that is (his words)—is not a banned organisation in France.

  None of the four has a criminal record.

  At this stage of the operation, nothing they are doing in the workshop appears to be illegal.

  It is perfectly legal to give a man a lift to Marseilles in one of their lorries—even if he is a German.

  Unless the identity of the mysterious German can be established, it cannot be assumed that he was a war criminal.

  * * *

  After we bade farewell to a disappointed Chef d’Escadron Fournier, Rahn and I discussed our next move. We thanked the inspector for his cooperation and had to reluctantly agree with all of his negative points, but we felt he had missed one especially important positive. We knew from the statements made by Gerd Weiss in Sarreguemines that the person they transported to Strasbourg two years ago was a German officer wanted for war crimes. We felt there was a high probability that this was the same German who had been transported by the warehouse crew to Marseilles. That meant that the Marseilles route had been used in the past for people trafficking, we could be fairly sure of that, so Rahn decided he needed to pursue the possible Marseilles link to see if that would throw up any clues as to the whereabouts or plans of Müller.

  * * *

  Section 5Marseilles

  * * *

  Rahn booked a hotel near the docks, which at first seemed an odd choice. It was small, a little run down and with few amenities, however it was clean and comfortable. As always with Rahn, there was method in his madness. The hotel is owned by a Scotsman who had served with Rahn in the Legion. Davy McIntyre (Mac) is a man of small stature and build, but like Rahn, his years in the Legion are forever etched onto his hard face. He has the look of a man who would kill you for a shilling but is, in fact, one of the nicest, kindest men I have met in a long time (I think I move in the wrong circles!).

  * * *

  The advantage of this hotel, as Rahn explained to me, apart from its proximity to the docks, is that Mac is the unofficial leader of the Docklands Hoteliers and Bar Owners Association, a loose and non-official group of owners who meet regularly to discuss their mutual problems and who assist each other when needed. Between them, they operate a vigilante group that can swoop on any particular hotel at short notice in the event of violent behaviour by any of their customers. It appears that the police are aware of this ‘arrangement’ but allow them to get on with it.

  * * *

  Mac therefore has his finger on the pulse of everything that happens in any of the bars or hotels in their group. In particular, he is aware of any unusual comings and goings. Even if transgressors and fugitives didn’t use any of the Docklands Association properties and hostelries, Mac would often hear about it on the grapevine or from matelots who frequented the bar of his hotel.

  * * *

  We were, through Mac, introduced to a number of people who he thought might be able to help us. These included some of the lower-placed officials of the Port Authority. As Mac pointed out, there was no point in interviewing the higher officials, as they would deny that any people trafficking had ever taken place through Marseilles. Lower-placed officials might, on the other hand, let something useful slip. They didn’t.

  * * *

  We interviewed a friend of Mac’s, a captain of a freighter, who happened to be in port and who confirmed that some fugitives passed through there occasionally, but these were mainly French criminals trying to evade the law. He wasn’t aware of any German war criminals. Most French captains wouldn’t have had anything to do with that—memories were still strong—but as he pointed out, both Spanish and Italian ships used the port, and their captains were unlikely to have any such scruples. We mingled with matelots and stevedores and spent a lot of money on drinks (see expenses claim attached), but without reward.

  * * *

  Our last contact was another ex-Legionnaire who went by the name of Henri Gagnier, real name Heinrich Bauer, a Saxon-German who had married a French woman and settled in Marseilles after he left the Legion before the war. Seeing which way the wind was blowing, he had changed his name before the war started.

  * * *

  When hostilities began, Henri had been one of the first to join the Resistance. His compatriots, even those who had served with him in the Legion, were of course suspicious, but his courage and tireless dedication had eventually won them round. It was during this time that he had renewed his acquaintance with Rahn. They had served together in the Legion and both were then in the business of getting soldiers and RAF airmen through Toulouse and into Spain, en route for Gibraltar.

  * * *

  Henri was of the same opinion as Rahn: if German war criminals were coming through France as a means of escape, then they would certainly not be using the Toulouse route which would be far too dangerous. He could understand why they would want to get to Spain. They would be feted and treated as heroes once across the border into Franco’s fascist ‘paradise’, contrary to the way the Spanish had treated British servicemen who were often thrown into jail and interrogated before being allowed to continue on to Gibraltar.

  * * *

  Henri felt that the Spanish would have preferred to hand the servicemen back to the Gestapo in France but were afraid of British reprisals if they did so. However, Spain was the only option open to the Resistance to get the servicemen to some sort of relative safety.

  * * *

  Henri was adamant that the only way for a German fugitive to get to Spain would have been through Marseilles by ship. But why, he had queried, would they go that way? The sensible option would be to go through Austria and into Italy where again they would be well received and hidden by fascist sympathisers. From Italy, they could be transported to Argentina or one of the other South American countries. It would be a much less hazardous journey. There would be no language problems in Austria and the people they met, if not entirely sympathetic, would at worst be indifferent, hence less risk of betrayal and capture.

  * * *

  Rahn asked Henri if he had heard of the Thule Society. Of course, he had responded. Who in Germany before the war had not? They were going to drag Germany out of the mess caused by the Versailles treaty, but somewhere along the line, something had gone radically wrong. Asked if there were Thule in Marseilles, Henri had shaken his head. Thule, he explained, was a very German society. It promises that German supermen will rule Europe, perhaps even the world, and subspecies such as Slavs and French would be under their command. Why would any self-respecting Frenchman join such a society, even if that society would deign to admit him, which is most unlikely. After which he smiled at me and told me that I would have no problem joining Thule. I wasn’t entirely convinced that I had been complimented.

  * * *

  Having tested all avenues and come up wanting, we decided to call time on our expedition. Agent Rahn drove me back to Sarreguemines, where I pick
ed up my car from the gendarmerie and returned to Berlin.

  * * *

  Section 6 Conclusions

  * * *

  Heinrich Müller has not used the Sarreguemines-Strasbourg-Marseilles-Toulouse route to escape to Spain.

  This escape route is now virtually closed. If Müller is still in Germany, he will be unable to use this route.

  Though possible, it is unlikely that Müller escaped by ship from Marseilles. There is no evidence of his passing through either Sarreguemines or Strasbourg and there are no sightings in Marseilles.

  Müller is more likely to make his way through Austria to Italy.

  Müller is Bavarian, so he would easily pass as an Austrian. He would be able to affect a convincing Tyrolean accent and use the Bavarian dialect.

  * * *

  Kelly looked up from the report and rubbed his chin. She was right, of course, on every point. The French escape route had been a red herring, probably a deliberate one. He would need to investigate where that tip-off had come from, but that could wait. He could see why McFarlane would feel that this was now a waste of time—that Müller was gone—but he wasn’t convinced.

  Kelly’s task was to try to locate the Nazi treasure, not to find Müller, but he was becoming increasingly convinced that the two were in some way linked. Find one, and you find the other.

  When he had told Horst Manteufel, in strictest confidence, that he thought Müller might try to escape through France, he had been very sceptical. Perhaps he should have listened more carefully to what Horst had to say. He needed to speak to Horst again, as soon as possible.

  Part II

  Horst Manteufel

  His story as told to Lt Colonel Kelly

  A BRIXMIS Extraction

  Nine-year-old Helmut Manteufel walked carefully out of the kitchen and into the lounge, skilfully balancing a cup in a saucer and beaming all over his face.

  “What’s this, Hellie?” asked his father, Horst.

  “It’s a cup of tea, Papa,” he said proudly. “Onkel Dan showed me how to make it.”

  Dan Kelly emerged from the kitchen behind the boy, smiling broadly, his eyebrows raised.

  “Why thank you, Hellie, that is very kind and very clever,” said Horst, smiling at the boy as he took the cup and saucer from him, then looked up at Kelly and grimaced.

  “Try it!” said Kelly. “You might actually like it. It’s best quality NAAFI tea—you can’t buy that in Harrods, you can’t even get it in Fortnum and Masons! I’ve bought you two cups and saucers and a teapot, so you and Gudrun can enjoy tea and biscuits on a Sunday afternoon.”

  “Wonderful?” said Horst, sounding anything but convinced.

  “Oh, and I’ve put one spoonful of sugar in. I know you like sugar in your coffee, so I’ve assumed you would want it in your tea.”

  “We haven’t got any sugar,” said Horst sounding surprised.

  “You have now.”

  Horst scowled at Kelly. “You’re spoiling us,” he growled.

  “No,” said Kelly nonchalantly, “nothing in this world would make me spoil you, you reprobate, I’m spoiling Gudrun and the boys.”

  “Ah, yes!” said Horst nodding gravely. “That makes more sense.”

  Kelly had negotiated a one day paid leave of absence for Horst with his squadron commander so they could go over some of the issues arising from Sybilla’s report and revisit some of Horst’s statements to see if they could get any nearer to tracking down the Nazi treasure hoard. Gudrun had seized the opportunity to take young Siegfried to Tante Gerda in the west of Charlottenburg, but Helmut had insisted on staying with his father so that he could see ‘Onkel’ Dan.

  “I know I’ve thanked you before, Dan, for getting Gudrun and the boys out of the East, but I still don’t know how you pulled it off?” said Horst. At Kelly’s insistence, Horst was now using the familiar ‘Dan’ rather than the very formal ‘Colonel’.

  “Ah! That would be telling,” Kelly answered quietly. “I had the help of a few friends. I expect Gudrun told you all about it?”

  “Yes, as much as she can remember. She said it all happened very quickly. She remembers lying down in the back of a powerful car.”

  “Yes, my friends do have nice cars,” smiled Kelly.

  Horst smiled in turn. He knew he wasn’t going to get any more information from Kelly.

  “It was nothing really,” said Kelly by way of closing the subject.

  It had been far from nothing and had involved a small degree of risk. Kelly had known that he would have to extract Gudrun and the boys from the East if he was to get Manteufel’s full cooperation, and consequently, she and the boys had become an essential part of the operation. Undercover, he had visited Gudrun twice whilst Horst was in Plötzensee Prison, to prepare her for the eventual move. Each time he had taken food and milk with him. Helmut and Gudrun herself were beginning to look alarmingly thin, though thankfully young Siegfried seemed quite healthy. After each visit, he had taken as many of their personal belongings back with him as he could and stored them at Spandau.

  For the final extraction he had enlisted the help of BRIXMIS, a surveillance team who operated mainly in East Berlin. There was nothing particularly secret about BRIXMIS, and the Soviets had their own counterpart in SOXMIS. Both groups had marked vehicles which were allowed free entry to each other’s areas in order to carry out surveillance, repatriate prisoners of war and displaced persons and to hunt for war criminals. Kelly had used them on a number of occasions in the latter capacity. They operated in the main in plain view, but of course occasionally they ‘strayed’ into prohibited areas to take pictures of military installations and troop movement. The Soviets did exactly the same in the British sector, so it was very much tit for tat.

  The boys in BRIXMIS, including the drivers, all considered themselves super spies, but in reality, it was mainly low-level surveillance. However, Kelly did nothing to disabuse them as he needed their invaluable help from time to time.

  That had been the case in this operation. The cars, all specially prepared and tuned, carried three: a tour officer, a tour NCO and an RASC driver. On one particular occasion, the tour officer in the Opel Kapitan that was travelling slowly around the Prenzlauer Allee area was a half colonel in a borrowed Black Watch uniform. They stopped the car in an unlit area just off the side street leading to the apartment building housing the Manteufel family. Kelly waited until he was sure there was no movement nearby and ran to the door. He met Gudrun coming down the stairs carrying a battered suitcase of effects, while Helmut struggled along in front with another bag, almost as big as he was. Siegfried brought up the rear, clinging to his mother’s skirt.

  Kelly had whisked them into the car, where, as previously briefed, they squeezed down between the front and rear seats, the tour NCO covering them with greatcoats, maps, scarves and left-over meal packets. They had then driven slowly and deliberately back into West Berlin and safety.

  Kelly smiled as he thought about the operation—it had not been without risk, but the mission was accomplished without mishap. He turned to Horst. “We had better go over these points again, Horst, you all set?”

  “All set. I’ve cleared the dining table; we can use that. It will give us more room to spread things out.” Turning to Helmut, he said, “All right soldier, you know the drill.”

  Helmut saluted British style and barked, “Jawohl, Herr Stabsfeldwebel!” Moving to Kelly he said, “I have to go and play in my room now, Onkel Dan, but if you need help, just call me.”

  Kelly put on his serious face. “Thank you Hellie. I’ll bear that in mind.”

  After the boy had gone, Kelly smiled at Horst. “He’s coming on fine, Horst.”

  “Yes, he’s a blessing. There were times when I thought I’d never see him and Gudrun again.”

  “That would have been after you had left the bunker?”

  “That’s right.”

  “It’s your last few days in the bunker I’m interested in,” said Kelly. “Perhap
s you can recall how you got out, and what happened in the months following that?”

  “We were told at about four in the afternoon on 30 April that the Führer was dead. Committed suicide. Now you may find this hard to believe, but when a German soldier takes an oath, that oath is binding.”

  “I don’t find it hard to believe,” said Kelly. “I know it for a fact.”

  “Well,” continued Horst, “I had taken an oath of allegiance to Adolf Hitler, and as long he was alive, I would have stayed at my post and defended him. After his death, I was no longer under any obligation to remain in the bunker to be captured by the advancing Soviets. It was every man for himself at that stage.”

  Manteufel’s Story – I Leave the Bunker

  I packed a small side satchel with food and attached an extra water bottle to my belt, which also held my pistol, my trench knife—I preferred that to the gravity knife—and a torch I had liberated from the store. I then made my way out through the chancellery. The tunnels were full of debris—I had to wriggle through in some places—but I managed to get out into the open air just as night was falling.

  I knew there was a plan to try to break out over the Weidendammer Bridge and travel west to surrender to the British, but that just seemed like madness to me. The Soviets were bound to have all of the bridges covered and would, I assumed, have cordons around all the possible western routes. Instead, I settled on a bold plan: to go EAST towards the oncoming Red Army. I needed to go south down Wilhelmstrasse, then get off the main roads and travel carefully and quietly towards Leipziger Strasse and Kochstrasse, and then turn east. I must have been in the apartment blocks in or around Zimmerstrasse when I decided to hole up for the daylight hours, before the dawn broke. I needed a hideout urgently, but most of the buildings were so badly damaged and cluttered with rubble that it made finding a cellar, my preferred option, difficult.