The Deep Secret

by David Robinson

  The hypnotist indicated his laptop. “Only this. Zepelli’s manuscript. I have the original locked in the safe at home. As Millie pointed out last night, there may be something in there that isn’t in the transcript on my computer.”

  “Like the code?”

  Croft smiled. “The code is there, Shannon. It’s easy to see, too, but it’s gobbledygook. What I need is the key to the code. It could be something as simple as words stressed in the handwritten script. Something that the transcribers wouldn’t necessarily have carried over. I’ll work on that.”

  “We thought, sir, if we can distribute copies amongst our own code-breakers, we may be able to crack it.”

  “You can print off from my netbook,” Croft said. “I’ve had a cursory look at it but I came away in a total fog. It appears to be absolutely random, and if it is, then we need that key.”

  “In that case, print off a copy of the transcript so I can duplicate and circulate them through the department,” Shannon ordered.

  “Will do.”

  The superintendent made more notes. “All right. The CC’s using up a lot of favours, but you, Millie, and you, Croft, are on point. The minute you’re needed anywhere in the country, when the call comes in, you’ll be driven or flown to the area, and you, Millie, will have command of any forces allocated to the situation, and that doesn’t matter if they put a Chief Superintendent out there. He’ll take your reading on the matter.” Shannon narrowed his eyes on Croft. “This doesn’t give you carte blanche to play the big hero. We don’t want another repeat of your tête-à-tête with Burke in Cromford Mill.”

  “The only way you’ll get him, Shannon, is to take him out,” Croft said, “and the only way you will smoke him out is to use me as bait.”

  “Our orders are clear. We are to apprehend the target if possible. If that is not possible, marksmen will open fire.” Shannon’s lip curled slightly. “I suppose, as a public schoolboy, you’ll be a crack shot.”

  “I’ve handled weapons, both while I was at Loxley and later, when I was working with multinational corporations, but I don’t like them and I don’t approve of them, and anyway, this man is not a target in a double trap contest.” He smiled with uncharacteristic cruelty. “Give me five minutes with him, Shannon. I won’t leave enough for your marksmen.”

  “None of that,” Shannon grumbled. “I understand your feelings, but as far as I’m concerned, this is a police matter, not a personal battle between you and him.”

  “But it is personal, Superintendent,” Croft corrected. “It’s as personal now as it was when Burke played The Handshaker, two years ago. This man has murdered my partner. How much more personal can it get? Now, however, the stakes are higher.” He tapped his laptop again. “I have something he wants.”

  “I just said there’ll be no head to head.”

  Croft disagreed. “He’ll have it arranged so there is a face to face meeting between us. Then it’ll be down to which of us has the larger bargaining power. Which of us has the most balls.”

  15

  Walter threw his feet up on the chair before him, leaned back in his seat, savouring the fresh summer air. Behind him, the monolithic splendour of Schloss Heidelberg cut into the cloudless sky, beneath the steep, wooded hill, Königstuhl, a testament to a bygone age of empirical glory, and Walter felt the setting was apt. A palace was exactly the kind of place he should be enjoying.

  And Heidelberg had so far escaped Allied bombing. There had been raids on Frankfurt, one hundred kilometres to the north, and of course the dams of the Ruhr valley had been badly damaged just a couple of months back, but Heidelberg had escaped unscathed. It was as Walter preferred.

  Almost three years had passed since his interview with Hauptman Lehrer, and it had been as luxurious as Walter could wish. Commanders of the Abwehr, German Intelligence, had been called to Heidelberg to witness demonstration after demonstration of Walter’s hypnotic powers, not all of them on Private Kohler. Granted the few chemicals he needed, he had already sent a few foreign agents to their death before the firing squad, condemned by their own confessions.

  In the demonstrations, some to officers so senior that they were reputed to have the ear of the Führer, Walter had displayed his extraordinary hypnotic skills, culminating in the interrogation of a member of the Dutch Resistance, which led to the man giving away the identities of his entire cell.

  In December 1940, he had been accepted into the Abwehr, at the rank of Leutnant, purely for pay purposes, and equipped with clothing to his tastes and requirements, rather than the dreaded, unflattering grey of the Wehrmacht. And at his request, he had been given an ADC: Julius.

  Securing the assistance of his apprentice had been the coup-de-grace of negotiations between himself, the Gestapo and the Abwehr. Since joining the ranks of the Wehrmacht, Julius had further distinguished himself in action in the Netherlands, Belgium and Northern France, and was surprised, but not disappointed, when recalled to Heidelberg to serve his old master. In the course of the following two years, they had been flown all over the growing Reich to interrogate prisoners of war, suspected subversives, and even a Jewess at Auschwitz-Birkenau who had learned what was really happening in the gas chambers. Her testimony identified the man who had imparted the information, who was then thrown – alive – into the furnaces, while he, Walter, and Julius, got to enjoy the woman before she, too, was sent to the gas chamber.

  Based here at Heidelberg Castle, where they had rooms on the lower floors, they had the respect of the small garrison: a respect born of naked fear. Walter and Reiniger were Abwehr; they had strange powers; powers which could compel a man to tell the absolute truth, and send him to his death. They were more feared than the Gestapo, more feared than any other member of the Abwehr, more feared than any of the Führer’s immediate aides.

  He and Julius remained aloof, separate from the garrison. When men were posted elsewhere and newcomers arrived, they soon learned to avoid the pair, and Walter preferred it that way. His role permitted him the freedom of Heidelberg, its women and bars, and if he brought a woman back to the apartments, no one would dare challenge him. Likewise, when the woman was found dead the following morning, no one would think to question it. Walter’s reports simply read, ‘died under interrogation’, and that was the end of the matter.

  One of the downsides of working for the Abwehr, however, was the knowledge he gained from those he was called upon to interrogate; knowledge that undermined official propaganda and told him which way the wind was really blowing. The defeat of Rommel in North Africa, the unprecedented secrecy with which the British had developed their ‘bouncing bomb’, the entry of the Americans into the war late in 1941… it all spelled the worst possible disaster for the Fatherland, and if Walter did not plan carefully, it would be the end of him, too.

  Footsteps marching quickly across the terrace reached his ears and brought him from his ruminations back to the pleasant summer morning. Without turning to look, Walter greeted him with a smile. “Good morning, Julius.”

  “How did you know it was me?”

  “I have lived with those clipped footsteps for twenty years, my friend. I could identify you in a group of tap dancers.”

  His apprentice marched round him, so that he could face his master, and snapped to attention. His right arm shot out. “Heil Hitler.”

  “Yes, yes, very good, very military. You are at ease, Lance-Corporal Reiniger. Now stop playing the fool and sit down.”

  Julius took the seat alongside. “Thank you, sir.”

  “And forget the yes sir, no sir, nonsense, too. You may have been dragooned by the Wehrmacht but you now work for the Abwehr and this is Franz Walter, your master, speaking to you, not Hauptmann Lehrer. You will address me as you always did: ‘master’.”

  “But, the protocols, Herr Walter…”

  “You should know by now that I am not remotely interested in military tosh,” Walter interrupted, and at once regretted his irritation. “Ah, Julius, Julius, my boy.
I am fifty-one years old, and with that advancement in years comes not only wisdom but a lack of patience at you youngsters and your refusal to adapt.” He patted the younger man on the shoulder. “You have been a good and obedient servant. You have learned all your lessons but one, and you have proven your worthiness of The Deep Secret.” Walter laughed. “And such times we have had with it, Julius, eh?”

  “Indeed, master. I do not think I could have survived the years in prison without that knowledge and your support.” Julius frowned. “You say there is one lesson I have not learned, master. What is that lesson?”

  “Political reality, my boy. Distinguishing between propaganda and the truth.”

  Julius looked furtively round for signs of Hauptmann Lehrer or his NCOs but aside from a couple of sentries marching aimlessly back and forth across the terrace, there was no one else to be seen. He was no longer a part of their camaraderie, but he knew the remainder of the small garrison would be in the mess enjoying coffee and Schnaps.

  Even so, he felt a warning was needed. “You should be careful, master. If anyone were to overhear, it would mean a firing squad.”

  “For believing that the official line is a tissue of half truths and outright lies? Pah.” Walter snorted. “I doubt that they would shoot me for such trivia, Julius, but for what I have to say to you next, I would surely be executed. The tide of this war is turning and not in Germany’s favour. Two years, three, maybe more, maybe less, and Germany will be on its knees, crushed by the Allied forces from the West and the Russian forces from the East.”

  Julius’s eyes widened in pure horror. “Master, you cannot say that. It is treason. Against the law. You could be executed for it.”

  “Did I not just say so? And since when has that stopped me? Did the threat of the hangman stop me slitting several female throats? Did it stop me trying to dispose of Etzler and his alluring wife?” Walter laughed. “When I first knew you, Julius, you were captivated by the rhetoric of Herr Hitler, and terrified of his retribution for running away. You are not so worried about retribution now, I think, yet you still cling to the trite nonsense he and his ilk deliver. I thought I had educated it out of you, but it seems I was wrong.”

  “I respect your fine mind, master, and I am grateful for all you have taught me, but I find glory in the words of the Führer.”

  “There is no glory in death, Julius. And I don’t care whether you wear the tedious grey of the Wehrmacht or the equally tedious khaki of the Allies. Dead is dead, and the glory you speak of is the glory of others, for whom you have died. What will it profit you if you are buried in the mud and filth of some battlefield? Listen to me, Julius, for I speak only the truth, and I speak the truth of the hedonist. Life, as I have so often taught you, is about serving yourself, not your political masters. It is about the pursuit of pleasure, not digging holes in a French field so you can camp there with your Spandau ready to shoot the first British or American head that pops into view. Life is about drinking and fucking and gambling, sleeping it off and re-energising yourself so you can drink and fuck and gamble some more.”

  To Walter’s satisfaction, Julius gaped at the frankness.

  “Master, the soldier’s reward is in heaven.”

  “And I do not believe in God anymore than I believe in Herr Hitler.” Walter tutted. “Do you deny that you and I had some wonderful times down the years?”

  “No, master.” Julius, too, smiled. “There have been some excellent moments.”

  “Indeed.” Walter sighed. “For me, Julius, there will not be so many more of those wonderful moments. I am getting old. But for you… for you there are yet many opportunities. Sadly, they are not here in Germany.”

  Again, Julius’s eyes popped. “Master?”

  Walter sipped at his coffee, brought his feet down from the opposite chair, sat forward and leaned on his forearms. “Do you recall our interrogation of that French Resistance worker in January?”

  Julius beamed a proud smile. “I do, master.”

  “And do you recall him mentioning Operation Roundup?”

  “The planned invasion by the Allies. I do.”

  “I have given this matter some serious consideration, Julius. The Abwehr dismissed this notion of an Allied invasion as nothing more than British and American propaganda. They are probably correct. But defeats on the Russian front have seriously weakened our position, and it is, I believe, only a matter of time before an invasion really does take place. Maybe not this year, maybe not even next, but it will come and Germany, the Third Reich, the empire Hitler built to last for a thousand years, will crumble to nothing. You, Julius, should not be here when that happens.”

  Julius shrugged. “I do not see how I can avoid it, sir.”

  “No.” It was a statement not a question. “You don’t but I do.” Walter lit a cigarette and watched the smoke drift up into the morning air. “The Abwehr is in need of volunteers to go into Britain as spies.” He looked his apprentice in the eye. “You are one of the prime candidates.”

  “I am, master.” Julius glowed with smug satisfaction.

  “It is not unexpected. You speak excellent English, and with a little coaching you will soon drop your German accent and pick up the oddities of the way the English speak. You have your powers of hypnotism, a study which is beyond the comprehension of the ordinary Soldat. You will make an excellent spy, Julius, and with care, you will survive the war, perhaps in an English prison, but you will survive to see peace and all the opportunities it will bring.”

  “But… master… I… what about you?”

  “Too old, my friend. They would have to find much more complex means of getting me to England, rather than parachuting out of a Junkers, and the Reich is unlikely to let me sail from North Africa to Southampton. But you… With a little training, you will be ready by November.” Walter laughed. “Who knows, Julius, it may be you that helps build the Fourth Reich.”

  ***

  Walter was relaxing in his room, a small, yet decorated apartment on the first floor of Heidelberg Castle, when Julius knocked and entered.

  Walter looked his apprentice up and down with approval. Dressed in a cheap, double breasted, brown suit, with a pair of shabby brogues on his feet, his shirt collar was creased, his dark brown tie slightly awry, but with the fedora hat covering his growing hair, he looked nothing like a German soldier.

  Walter applauded.

  “Werde ich als Engländer passieren?”

  His master frowned. “No, Julius, you will not pass as an Englishman while you are speaking German.”

  “I am sorry, master.”

  Again Walter shook his head. “The English, do not say, ‘I am sorry’, they say, ‘I’m sorry’. Contractions, Julius. They use them all the time. A lazy yet informal manner of speaking.” Walter poured wine into two china cups. “Come, my friend, this may be the last time we see each other. Let us drink to a wonderful, long-lasting friendship.”

  Julius sat with him and they drank.

  “When do you leave?” Walter asked.

  “I am not supposed to say, master.”

  “Come, Julius, I am an Abwehr officer, not some minion. You can tell me.”

  “I leave Heidelberg tomorrow morning, for a flight to Bremerhaven. From there I take another flight, north towards Norway, but then turning southwest to Scotland, where I will parachute out.” The younger man patted his pockets. “I have English money, papers and a British military exemption certificate on the grounds of heart trouble.” He laughed. “I’ve never had a heart attack in my life.”

  Walter reached beneath the mattress of his iron bed, from where he took a sheet of paper. “Take this.”

  Julius studied it. “Names and addresses?” He looked into his master’s eyes. “Contacts?”

  Walter shook his head and drank more wine. “They are names and addresses of thirty Nazi spies already living in England. I copied them from records earlier today.”

  “Master, I have been warned I must not attempt to con
tact any German agents over there. It may compromise their cover, much as it would compromise mine if they were to try and contact me.”

  “You’re not going to contact them, Julius. They will save your life when you hand yourself over to the British authorities.”

  In the act of drinking, Julius almost choked. “What?”

  Walter shushed him and nodded at the open door. Leaning back in his chair, Julius closed it and when he looked round again, his face was flushed with fury.

  “You expect me to betray my country?”

  “No, Julius, I expect you to survive. I will not, and as the only other man in this world who knows The Deep Secret, you must.” Walter allowed an indulgent smile. “Come, my friend, have I ever steered you wrong? No. Then heed my words carefully. When you get to England, you will be challenged regularly. The chances are that at some point, you will give yourself away. It could be something as trivial as your manner of speech, or wearing the wrong necktie, but it will happen. It may be that someone already working for the Abwehr in Britain will learn your name and feed the information to the Allies as a sign of his good faith. The British and Americans will not hesitate to shoot you.”

  “I am aware of the risks.” Julius’s tones were still haughty, aggrieved, and Walter noted the lack of the usual ‘master’.

  “I know you are, but you and I, Julius, we serve a higher purpose; a purpose far more important than the Third Reich. We hold a secret that must not be allowed to die. It is a secret that will survive when this Reich and all those like it have turned to dust. In order to ensure that survival, you must survive, and there is only way you can guarantee that; by giving the British your fellow agents.” Walter shrugged. “True, they will be shot, but their sacrifice for The Deep Secret is much more valuable than giving their lives for Herr Hitler.” He took the younger man’s hand. “I know you find this difficult, Julius, and you have every right to be proud of your patriotism, but you have an allegiance to a power far mightier than the Nazis, a power which is second only to the God in which so many believe: the power to control men’s minds.”