By 11 p.m., Churchill was showing no signs of slowing down but it was becoming ever more apparent that Hitler had stood them up. Mattie had heard enough. Churchill was explaining, for at least the third time that night, why France should not disarm until a general treaty on European disarmament had been reached where Germany agreed to limit its military in the same manner as the French. Sturm agreed but each time reminded Churchill that the Versailles Treaty already forbade Germany from equality of arms with the French.
Mattie caught Cockran’s eye and signaled they should leave, the two of them rising together. To her surprise, Kurt and Ingrid had promptly done the same, leaving Hanfstaegl and Hudson behind, hostage to the Churchillian monologue. After thanking Winston for his hospitality, the two couples excused themselves and walked to the lobby where Mattie spotted a medium-sized man in a green fedora and a tan Burberry trench coat on a wide staircase talking to an overweight man in his late fifties with close-cropped white hair and a triple chin. The man in the trench coat shook hands with the fat man and turned to walk down the stairs. Adolf Hitler.
Mattie turned to Cockran. “Oh, my God! You see who that is? Come on, wouldn’t you like to meet him?” Mattie said, grabbing his hand and heading toward the staircase.
“Not especially,” Cockran mumbled, but he didn’t let go of her hand.
“Herr Hitler! Herr Hitler! It’s Mattie McGary. Remember me?” she asked in German.
Hitler paused and frowned, as if he were displeased to have been recognized.
In a moment, Mattie was on the steps, blocking Hitler’s way, her hand extended. She sensed Cockran was still behind her and she noted with surprise that both Kurt and Ingrid had followed as well, the four of them facing Hitler. Hitler’s frown turned into a smile. He took off his fedora and grabbed Mattie’s right hand in his. “Fraulein McGary! How nice to see you again,” he said as he raised her hand and lowered his face to kiss it gently, his bright blue eyes a contrast to his limp brown hair.
Mattie turned and placed her hand on Cockran’s arm. “Herr Hitler, may I present my friend from America, Bourke Cockran?” She watched their perfunctory handshake but was amazed when Hitler shifted his focus to the right. To Kurt von Sturm.
“Kurt!” Hitler cried, grasping Sturm’s hand in both of his and shaking it vigorously. “How very good to see you. Friedrich told me you stopped by the other day. I regret I was not there to receive you. I trust he took good care of you? The letter he gave you was satisfactory?”
“Yes, mein Fuhrer,” Sturm replied. “Most satisfactory. Please thank Friedrich for me.”
“Think nothing of it,” Hitler replied. “And who’s this beautiful woman?” Hitler asked. “With Fraulein McGary on one side and her on the other, I hardly know which way to turn.”
Mattie watched as Kurt introduced Ingrid to Hitler who bowed and kissed Ingrid’s outstretched hand in the same way he had done with Mattie. Mattie wasn’t exactly speechless but she was bemused. She and Kurt had spent two weeks together last summer in daily contact. While Kurt had expressed admiration for Adolf Hitler, he never admitted to her that he was a Nazi. Someone else had told her that. Moreover, while Mattie had told Kurt that she had interviewed Hitler on three separate occasions, he had never disclosed that he and Hitler were well-acquainted, let alone that the Nazi leader had genuine affection for him. Either that, or Hitler was one hell of an actor, something Mattie did not entirely discount.
“We were most disappointed,” Mattie said, “that you could not join us after dinner tonight at Mr. Churchill’s table. Herr Hanfstaengl said that you were unavoidably detained.”
Hitler’s startling blue eyes flashed in a clear display of anger. Mattie knew it well. She had been the object of that anger during her second interview with him in the days before the Beer Hall putsch in 1923. She had raised a subject from Hitler’s days as an artist in Vienna before the war which he clearly did not want to address.
“Putzi did not tell me that there would be two such beautiful women at Mr. Churchill’s table tonight. Of all people, Fraulein McGary, you know my weakness for a pretty face.”
Mattie smiled at the compliment. She had interviewed Hitler the year before and had negotiated on behalf of Hearst to have him write exclusive articles for Hearst, just as Mussolini and Churchill were already doing. She had struck a favorable bargain—less than the new Hearst deals with Winston and the Italian dictator—and Hitler had made Mattie promise not to discuss their negotiations with others. “My enemies must not learn how easily I can be swayed by a pretty face,” the Nazi leader had told her.
“An evening with two charming and beautiful women is something else entirely than listening to Putzi translate the tired bromides of an aging English politician who has fallen from power.” Hitler narrowed his eyes. “I shall speak to Putzi about this. Mistakes like this will not happen again. You may be assured I will not again miss such a delightful evening.”
Mattie thought about defending Putzi but decided not to. She owed him nothing. They each had gotten what they wanted. Mattie her story. Putzi his shag. Besides, Putzi had been cheating on his wife during his brief interval in Mattie’s bed. She had charmed Hitler once again. That was enough. Putzi could defend himself to his boss.
Hitler bade farewell to the quartet, shaking hands with both men, patting Sturm on the shoulder with an affectionate gesture, and then once more kissing Mattie’s and Ingrid’s hands before putting on his slouch hat, pulling it low on his forehead and heading down the stairs.
“I knew you’d interviewed Hitler several times,” Cockran whispered in a deadpan voice as they walked down the staircase and made their way to the elevators, “but I had no idea he was one of your old boyfriends as well.”
72.
I Do Care For Kurt
Hotel Continental
Munich
Wednesday, 1 June 1932
MATTIE turned on him. “Damn it, Cockran, he’s not.…” and then laughed as she saw Cockran grinning at her. That bastard! Still it was good that Cockran could joke like this after an evening spent at the same table with one man he knew was a former lover and another he suspected of being one. Thank God he knew nothing of Putzi. It was better to be lucky than good, she thought, and squeezed Cockran’s arm as they stepped into the elevator.
“I saw you and Kurt talking before dinner with Ted. Does that mean he’s going with you two when you try to rescue the twins?”
Cockran didn’t reply. He fished out his key and opened the door to their room. Once inside, he turned to her. “I don’t know. Probably. I intend to break several federal laws tomorrow morning when I tell Winston, Rankin, Bobby and Sturm all I know about Hudson. It’s probably OK to trust Ted on this. I’m willing to take the risk but the others deserve to know the kind of man with whom they’re going into harm’s way.”
Mattie turned to him, placing both her hands on his arms. “I’m not sure I understand. I know you don’t like Ted and I’m fairly certain you don’t like Kurt.”
“True. But Sturm’s not one of my favorite guys for a different reason.”
“I know why you don’t like Kurt. He’s a Nazi and…..”
Cockran nodded. “That’s not the only reason…”
Mattie blushed. “Okay, I understand. But you never told me anything specific about Ted’s past. Yet you’re going to tell Winston, Robbie, Kurt and Bobby what you won’t tell me? Why”
“Look, Mattie, everything which makes me dislike Ted Hudson occurred before we met. Almost all of it is classified information under the Espionage Act of 1917. You’ve got a history with Hudson and it’s bound to color your views of what I say. I mean, would you believe me if I told you that it sure seemed to me Hudson tried to stop me entering the Eugenics Record Office that night specifically to make sure you were captured or killed?”
“No,” Mattie said, shaking her head. “We’ve been through this before. He simply took something I said and blew it out of proportion. That plus the bad blood between the two
of you explains everything. He’s saved my life. Ted would never do anything to bring me harm.”
“You prove my point. The golden boy can do no wrong in your eyes. If Winston, Bobby and Sturm agree with you or believe the risk is minimal with Hudson, then we’ll take him along. Personally, now that we have the tunnel as well as Sturm, I don’t think we need Hudson.”
“But here’s what I don’t understand. You don’t like Ted or Kurt, but you obviously trust Kurt enough to take him into your confidence. Why’s that?”
“I don’t like Sturm for the reasons I told you. But I both respect and trust him. From the first time we met, he’s never given me reason to doubt his word. Also, you don’t talk about Hudson the same way you do about Sturm. If you did, I might be jealous of Hudson the way I am about Sturm.”
“You’re not jealous of Ted?” Mattie asked, surprised that Cockran had just admitted he was jealous of Kurt. He had never admitted that before. Maybe that Irish bastard was vulnerable after all or, at least, he didn’t always have to hide it behind humor. It was a start.
“Hell no. I’ve never sensed you held tender feelings for Hudson. Sturm is different. You know why.” Cockran walked to the sideboard and poured them both a short nightcap from their bottle of Johnnie Walker Red and handed a glass to Mattie. Yes, she knew why and she still carried the guilt.
“Take Ingrid,” Cockran began. “I had a long talk with her. She says many of the same things about Sturm that you do with the same kind of look in her eyes that you have. I think she’s in love with him just like I know you still care for him. I can’t change that.”
“Ingrid? Really?” Mattie asked, ignoring his comment about her feelings for Sturm.
“She may not know it yet, but it’s clear to me. In any event, Sturm obviously listens to her. He turned down your request because he had promised to rescue her brother and sister and trying to rescue all the twins would have jeopardized that. It was a matter of honor that he keep his promise to Ingrid. She had to release him from that and once she did, he agreed to help us. So, do I trust Sturm? Sure. He’s a man of honor. His word means something to him. In my experience with Hudson, honor doesn’t play a part in his decisions. Once he decides on an objective, the ends justify almost any means.”
Mattie drew back and looked into his eyes. “You’re right. I do care for Kurt. The two of you are alike in so many ways. He’s a strong and caring man who’s not afraid to occasionally express his feelings. Like you. But it’s you I love, not him, and you’re stuck with me,” she grinned, “Forever.”
“I can live with that,” Cockran replied with a small smile.
“You’d better.”
73.
Growing Up in Passau
Munich
Thursday, 2 June 1932
KURT von Sturm inspected the four Schmeisser submachine guns the warehouse manager had produced for him. Five hundred rounds per minute without sound suppressors. Four hundred rounds with suppressors.
“I need four sound suppressors for each one.” Sturm said. “Eight boxes of ammunition. Four Lugers also. Sound suppressors and ammunition for them as well.”
“At once, Obersturmbanführer,” the manger replied, his double chin wobbling as he virtually came to attention, turned smartly on his heel and scurried off.
Sturm smiled. His black SS officer’s uniform, the silver trim and polished knee-high black leather boots, often had that effect on people, especially in Munich. He had worn the uniform to Churchill’s suite this morning as well if only to show them how its appearance might buy them time tonight upon confronting any SS guards.
Together with the Irishman’s four Thompson Model 1921 SMGs with 100 round drums, the Schmeissers and Lugers would give them all the firepower they would need. Sullivan’s two men would function as a strategic reserve or as a diversion depending upon what happened when the four of them entered the Clinic. Sturm shook his head. The four of them. The American MID Major Hudson would be joining them. It was not Sturm’s choice. After listening to Cockran describe the man’s background, he instinctively shared Cockran’s reservations. For whatever reason, the bloody fool had almost gotten Mattie killed.
Yet the minute Mattie arrived with Ingrid, she had promptly argued against them, backed by Churchill, Rankin and Sullivan who all wanted the extra firepower Hudson would furnish. Sturm hadn’t agreed. In his experience, trusting all the members of your team was more important. He knew both Cockran and Sullivan. He trusted the Irishman just as he trusted Cockran whose timely tourniquet had saved his life a year earlier.
Strangely, he also trusted the Englishman Churchill, his former enemy in the Great War. The man was clearly a warrior, a leader. Cockran may have planned the initial assault, since modified by the discovery of the tunnel, but it was Churchill who had orchestrated the logistics of the twins’ extraction by motorbus from the clinic and by air from Regensburg. He even trusted Churchill’s bodyguard Sergeant Rankin, a British bomber pilot from the war for goodness’sake.
Still, he kept coming back to Cockran. Sturm knew he and Cockran had more in common than loving the same woman. He was honorable, courageous and coldly efficient in a firefight, qualities Sturm valued and thought he possessed as well. Yet each of them had gone along over including Hudson just as they had when Mattie and Ingrid insisted upon making the flight with them to Passau. The aircraft take-off time was about all the two men had agreed upon which their women had not changed.
Their women. The thought brought Sturm up short. Mattie was Cockran’s woman. No matter how much he loved Mattie McGary, he knew she would always be Cockran’s woman. But did he consider Ingrid to be his woman? True, they were lovers but did he love Ingrid? Until now, the thought had never crossed his mind. Like all Sturm’s lovers, she was married and love was not part of the equation. By design. He had deviated from the design only once. And had fallen in love. With Mattie. Had he done so again? He wasn’t sure but the two women were disturbingly similar. Mattie was British but to Sturm, she talked and acted like an American. Irreverent. Opinionated. Free. Like Ingrid. Was Sturm in love? Again?
Forget the women, he thought, as he closed the boot. Focus on the immediate future. Tonight’s raid. He felt no more emotion now than he had the night he killed Reynaud. Killing him had been an obligation he owed to the men who employed him. The obligation to do so tonight would be different. Owed not to his employer, but to himself. To his honor. To his father’s values. To all that Germany once stood for and, he hoped, would do so again.
Back in his hotel room, Sturm stripped off the Obersturmbanführer uniform and thought about his visit to the clinic yesterday. Passau. Why was the SS Clinic located near Passau, a town on the border with Austria? Adolf Hitler had lived there as a child from age three to six when his father had been stationed nearby as an Austrian customs inspector. It was less than two years ago when Hitler and Sturm had talked together outside the Cafe Heck. Sturm couldn’t remember how it came up but Hitler had talked of his childhood, growing up in Passau.
“I thought of myself as a German, not an Austrian, because I was living in a German city and playing with German children,” Hitler had told him. “My German today bears the traces of the Bavarian dialect of my youth. Whenever I hear it, it reminds me of my childhood in Passau.”
Did Himmler or Verschuer locate this clinic dedicated to perfecting and multiplying the Aryan race near Hitler’s childhood home to curry his favor? Did Hitler know of the so-called science being conducted there in his name? Did Hitler realize that twins were being killed in experiments and that Verschuer wanted to cleanse the race by sterilizing the weak — the feeble minded, the lame and even the blind? Was it Hitler’s will as well? He didn’t know. He wished he did. He hoped it wasn’t. The old Germany whose greatness he wanted to restore would never have done that. What would the new Germany do? Sturm wanted to know. He had to know.
74.
Just Like Your Wife
The Bavarian National Forest
T
hursday, 2 June 1932
THE autogiros lifted off early in the evening at the same time Sergeant Rankin and Churchill took off for the Regensburg airfield in a leased Ford tri-motor. Rankin, of course, was in the left-hand pilot’s seat, having flown multi-engined bombers before but Winston was in the right-hand co-pilot’s seat despite never having flown an aircraft since 1913. Cockran just shook his head. Churchill’s regular bodyguard Inspector Tommy Thompson, had once told him that Winston so much enjoyed danger that they rarely told him when his life was in peril. Which it very much was tonight. The plan was for the two men to refuel the plane upon landing in Regensburg; spend the night at the airfield; and be ready to take off as soon as the rescued twins arrived in the motorbus Rolf had hired.
Cockran flew the lead autogiro, Mattie and Ingrid in the front cockpit. Sullivan piloted the second with Sturm and Hudson in front. The sky was overcast and a line of thunder squalls lay between them and their landing zone in the Bavarian National Forest. There was one drawback to open cockpit aircraft, Cockran thought, and that was rain. When it happened, you got soaked and there was not a damn thing you could do about it except wear a rain slicker over your leather flying jacket and hunker down. Which they all did.
In deference to Sturm’s and Cockran’s reservations, the others had agreed Hudson would only be advised of their departure for the clinic thirty minutes before take-off. Cockran had expected Hudson to complain about the short notice he had given him over their departure time and he did. Too fucking bad, Ted, Cockran thought with some satisfaction. So far as they knew, all the twins were still there at the clinic. The two Apostles Sullivan sent to watch the clinic had phoned that, as of 6:00 p.m., no one had entered or left the clinic gates. The Apostles also had a surplus army field telephone and, once in position at the tunnel’s entrance, Sullivan would use his own field telephone to once more verify whether anything had occurred since their last communication.
The Gemini Agenda Page 36
