W E B Griffin - Men at War 3 - The Soldier Spies

by The Soldier Spies(Lit)

  "I surmised as much," the man said. "Be good enough to explain this.

  "This is none of your business, mein Herr!"

  "Oh, but my dear sir," the man said icily, "it is my business." The man then reached into the breast pocket of his suit and took out a pigskin folder, something like a thin wallet. He held it in front of the Gestapo agent's face.

  "Be so good as to examine this," he said softly.

  The Gestapo agent took a good look. He had never actually seen one before in the hands of the person it had been issued to. He had seen examples of them, of course, in school.

  It was an identity card issued by the Minister for State Security, signed by Heinrich Himmler himself. In the name of the Fuhrer, it commanded all German law-enforcement authorities to place themselves at the orders of the bearer, Brigadefuhrer SS-SD Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz.

  "I am at your orders, Herr Brigadefuhrer," the Gestapo agent said.

  "Then you will be so kind as to explain what you're doing?"

  "If I may be so bold, Herr Brigadefuhrer," Fulmar said. "This officer was simply doing his duty."

  "Indeed? How is that?" von Heurten-Mitnitz said.

  "There is a call out for someone meeting my description. What this gentleman was doing was making sure I am who I say I am."

  "Obviously, Herr Brigadefuhrer," the Gestapo agent said, "that will no longer be necessary." Von Heurten-Mitnitz ignored him.

  "Your aunt Beatrice told me you were probably going to be on this train," he said. "I looked for you in Vienna but couldn't find you." "I almost missed the train," Eric said.

  "With your permission, Herr Brigadefuhrer," the Gestapo agent said, "I will return to my duties." Von Heurten-Mitnitz dismissed him with a casual wave of his arm, in a sloppy Nazi salute.

  "Heil Hitler," he mumbled.

  The Gestapo agent started back to the train.

  "You, there!" von Heurten-Mitnitz called after him, and when the Gestapo agent turned, added, "Your zeal is to be commended."

  "Thank you, Herr Brigadefuhrer," the Gestapo agent said, pleased.

  "That was rather close, wasn't it?" von Heurten-Mitnitz said.

  "How was he going to check you out?"

  "I was going to call Muller," Fulmar said.

  "He wouldn't have been there," von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "The moment I heard about what happened on the train from Switzerland, I tried to call him. He's still at Rastenburg with Kaltenbrunner."

  "I thought he'd changed his mind," Fulmar said, "or been bagged.

  I was about to bite that fucking pill." Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz looked at him intently for a moment but didn't reply.

  "Is there anything else I should know? Was there any trouble in Marburg?"

  "I had to take out the local SS-SD man," Fulmar said.

  "Take out?"

  "I killed him," Fulmar said. "The body is in the Dyer apartment.

  We drove to Frankfurt in his car." Von Heurten-Mitnitz thought that over a moment.

  "Well, it's a good thing, then, that Muller is at the Wolf's Lair, isn't it? Anything else?"

  "Dyer wanted to bring some papers with him, or to destroy them before we left. I told him there wasn't time.

  Do you know anything about that?" Von Heurten-Mitnitz thought that over a moment, then shook his head.

  "I have no idea," he said.

  He would tell Muller to get his hands on Professor Dyer's papers, if he could do so without causing much suspicion. If Dyer thought they were important, it probably explained why the Americans had gone to all this trouble to get him out.

  "I have a bit of news for you," von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "On my arrival in Budapest, I learned that your contact there is your cousin by marriage, the Countess Batthyany." Fulmar's eyebrows rose. "All I had was St. Ann's Church, and the date and time," he said.

  "Why don't we get back on the train, my dear Eric?" Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz said.

  "What happens next?" Fulmar asked.

  "Tomorrow, or the day after, you will be taken to Yugoslavia.

  Once you're in Mihajlovic's hands, I am assured the risky part of the journey will be over." Fulmar snorted. ""Assured'? Assured by whom?

  "Someone very close to the top of the Hungarian resistance," von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "Someone in whom I am acquiring a certain faith.

  "But you're not going to tell me who?"

  "I did," von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "The Countess Batthyany." Fulmar's eyebrows rose again.

  "I think you will find her to be a rather remarkable woman," von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "That has been my reaction to her, at least." Fifteen minutes later, when the train had left, the Gestapo agent telephoned his chief in Vienna and reported the presence of a Brigadefuhrer-SS from Berlin on board the train.

  "I trust everything went smoothly?"

  "Yes, of course."

  "They sometimes show up, you never know when or where."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Don't be so impressed, Franz. They piss and shit like the rest of us. r [FOUR] East Railway Station Budapest, Hungary 1145 Hours 31 January 1943 When the Opel Admiral was found in the official Cars Only parking area of the East Railway Station, it quite natur'xy caused a certain curiosity among the Gestapo agents assigned to the station.

  For one thing, there were few Admirals around anywhere, and possession of one was a symbol of power and authority. This one, moreover, bore Berlin license plates, a CD (Corps Diplomatique) plate, and, affixed to the Berlin license tag where the tax sticker was supposed to go, a sticker signifying that taxes had been waived because the automobile was in the service of the German Reich, and specific'xy in the service of the SS-SD.

  Obviously, whoever had parked the car was someone of high importance.

  The question was just who he was.

  First things first. Josef Harem, the raking Gestapo agent, ordered that the Hungarian railway police be "requested" to station a railway policeman to watch the car. If there was one thing known for sure, it was that, whoever the high official was, he would not be at all pleased to return to his car and find that someone had taken a key or a coin and run it along the fenders and doors.

  There had been a good deal of that lately. A number of Hungarians took offense at the Hungarian-German alliance generally, and at the large--and growing--presence of German troops and SS in Budapest specific'xy, and expressed their displeasure in small, nasty ways.

  Then Harem called the security officer at the German embassy and asked who the car belonged to.

  "It probably belongs to von Heurten-Mitnitz," the security officer said.

  "That would explain the SD sticker, and he's the type to have an Admiral."

  "Who's von Heurten-Mitnitz?"

  "Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz, " the security officer said. "He's the new first secretary."

  "How does he rate an SD sticker?"

  "Because when he's bored with wearing striped pants, he can wear the uniform of a Brigadefuhrer SS-SD," the security officer said. "You could say that von Heurten-Mitnitz is a very influential man. His brother is a great friend of the Fuhrer. If you'd like, I can check the license-plate number of the teletype with Berlin."

  "How long would that take?"

  "Thirty, forty minutes," the security officer said.

  "I'll call you back in an hour, "Josef Harem said. "Thank you, Karl." When he called back, Harem was told that von Heurten-Mitnitz did not own the Admiral. It was owned by Standartenfuhrer Johann Mulleg of the SS-SD.

  "Do you think he knows von Heurten-Mitnitz is driving it?"

  "I think if it was stolen, Josef," the security officer said sarcastic'xy, "they probably would have said something. Muxer is with the Fuhrer at Wolf's Lair.

  Nobody takes a personal car there. So maybe he loaned it to von Heurtenmitnitz."

  "Have you seen this von Heurten-Mitnitz? What's he look like?"

  "Tall, thin, sharp-featured. Classy dresser. If you're thinking, Josef, of asking von Heurten-Mitnitz what he's doing with Muller's ca
r, I wouldn't."

  "I'm thinking of finding the new First Secretary when he comes back and telling him that if he will be so good, when he leaves his car at the station, as to tell us, we will do our very best to make sure some Hungarian doesn't piss on his engine or write a dirty word on the hood with a pocketknife." The security officer chuckled. "You're learning, Josef," he said, and then hung up.

  Josef Harem and two of his men were waiting at the end of the platform when the train from Vienna pulled in. The two men positioned themselves at opposite ends of the three first-class cars, and, when one of them spotted a "tall, sharffeatured, classy dresser" getting off, he signaled to Josef Harem by taking off his hat and waving it over his head, as if waving at someone who had come to meet him at the train.

  Harem saw that Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz was indeed a classy dresser.

  He wore a gray homburg and an overcoat with a fur collar. With him were three people, an Obersturmfuhrer-SS and a man and woman who looked like father and daughter.

  When they had almost reached the police checkpoint at the end of the platform, Harem walked around it and up to von Heurten-Mitnitz.

  "Heil Hitler!" Harem said, giving a quick, straight-armed salute.

  Von Heurten-Mitnitz made a casual wave in return.

  "Herr Brigadefuhrer von Heurten-Mitnitz?" Harem asked.

  "Yes," von Heurten-Mitnitz said, but he did not smile.

  "Josef Harem at your service, Herr Brigadefuhrer," he said. "I have the honor to command the Railway Detachment, Gestapo District Budapest.

  "What can I do for you, Herr Harem?" von Heurten-Mitnitz asked, obviously annoyed to be detained.

  "First, let me get you past the checkpoint," Harem said.

  "This officer and these people are with me," von Heurten-Mitnitz said.

  The young SS officer raised his hand in a sloppy salute.

  "Make way for the Brigadefuhrer and his party!" Harem called out as he led them to and past the checkpoint.

  "Very kind of you," von Heurten-Mitnitz mumbled. "Now, what's on your mind?"

  "Herr Brigadefuhrer," Harem began, "If you would be so kind as to notify one of my men whenever you park your car here at the station--"

  "Why would I want to do that?" von Heurten-Mitnitz interrupted.

  "--I can make sure that no one bothers it while you are gone." Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz looked at Harem without speaking, but a raised eyebrow asked, What the hell are you talking about?

  "There have been unfortunate incidents, Herr Brigadefuhrer," Harem explained, "where cars have been... dejiled... by unsavory elements among the Budapest population. Paint scratched. Worse." Von Heurten-Mitnitz seemed to consider this a moment, and then he smiled.

  "I believe I am beginning to understand," he said. "You saw my car parked, and took the trouble to find out whose it was, and then to meet me.

  How very obliging of you, Herr Harem! I am most grateful."

  "It was my pleasure, Herr Brigadefuhrer," Harem said.

  "You can do me one other courtesy," von Heurten-Mitnitz said.

  "Please do not use my SS rank when addressing me. The less well known it is in Budapest the better, if you take my meaning. I also hold the rank of Minister."

  "That was thoughtless of me, Herr Minister," Harem said. "I beg the Herr Minister's pardon."

  "Don't be silly, my dear Harem," von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "How could you have known?"

  "Is there any other way in which I can help the Herr Minister?" Harem said.

  "I can't think of one," von Heurten-Mitnitz said after a moment's hesitation. He offered his hand. "I am touched by your courtesy, Herr Harem, and impressed with your thoroughness. I shall tell the ambassador what you've done for me." They were by then standing beside the Admiral. Harem opened both doors and, after the father-and-daughter had gotten into the backseat, closed them. The young SS officer walked around the rear of the car and slipped in beside von Heurten-Mitnitz. Harem gave another salute, which von Heurtenmitnitz returned casually, and with a smile, and then Harem stood back as von Heurten-Mitnitz backed the Admiral out of its parking space.

  All things considered, Harem thought, I handled that rather well.

  When they were a few yards from the station, the tall, gray-haired man in the backseat spoke. "My God, when he stopped you, I thought I was going to faint."

  "You re'xy don't faint when you're frightened, Professor," Eric Fulmar said. "Fear causes adrenaline to flow, and that increases, not decreases, the flow of blood to the brain. Shutting off blood to the brain is what makes you. _ "Oh, my God! rthe young woman in the backseat said with infinite disgust.

  Helmut von Heurten-Mitnitz chuckled.

  "How very American," he said.

  "Where are we going?" Professor Doktor Friedrich Dyer asked.

  "To Batthyany Palace, r von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "It's on Holy Trinity Square. Not far from here."

  "And what happens there?" Professor Dyer asked.

  "I don't know about anybody else, r Fulmar said. "but I intend to go to work on a bottle of brandy."

  "That's not what I meant," Professor Dyer snapped.

  "You'll be told what you have to know, Professor," Fulmar said, aw hen you have to know it. The less you know, the better. I thought I'd made that plain." Professor Dyer exhaled audibly and slumped against his seat. His daughter flashed a look of contempt at the back of Fulmar's head, and shook her own head in resignation.

  Von Heurten-Mitnitz turned off the square, stopped the Admiral with its nose against the right door of Batthyany Palace, and blew the horn.

  A moment later, one by one, the double doors opened. He drove through, and the doors closed after him.

  Beatrice, Countess Batthyany and Baroness von Steighofen, was standing in a vestibule waiting for them. She was wearing a sable coat that reached nearly to her ankles and a matching sable hat under which good deal of dark red hair was visible. Von Heurten-Mitnitz drove past her into a courtyard, turned around, and returned to the vestibule, where he stopped.

  The Countess went to the rear door and pulled it open.

  "I'm the Countess Batthyany," she said. "Won't you please come in?" Professor Dyer and Gisella got out of the car and, fohowing the direction indicated by the Countess's outstretched hand, walked into the building.

  The Countess turned to smile at Fulmar. "And you must be my dear cousin Eric," she said dryly. "How nice to finally meet you." Fulmar laughed. "Heho," he said.

  She turned to von Heurten-Mitnitz, who had walked around the front of the car.

  "I see everything turned out all right," she said.

  "The Gestapo man at the station personally led us past the checkpoint, " he said.

  "Oooh," she said. "I suppose you could use a drink.

  "I could," Fulmar said.

  She turned to look at him again.

  "You look like Manny," she said. "You even sound like him. That terrible Hessian dialect." He chuckled.

  "Let's hope you are luckier," the Countess said as she started into the house.

  "Let's hope there's some of his clothing here, and that it fits," Fulmar said. "Particularly shoes." She turned and looked at him again, this time appraisingly.

  "You're a little larger than Manny was," she said. "But there should be something. I gather you want to get out of that uniform?"

  "They're looking for an Obersturmfuhrer who looks like me," Fulmar said.

  "There was a Gestapo agent at the border who thought he had found him.

  " "That close?" she asked.

  "I think it's been smoothe over, "von Heurten-Mitnitz said. "It was close, but I think it... is smoothe over." The Countess considered what he had said and nodded her head.

  The Dyers, not knowing where to go and looking uncomfortable, waited for the others to catch up with them at the foot of what had been the servants' stairway to the first floor. The Countess went up ahead of them. They came out in the large, elegantly furnished sitting room overlooking the square.

 
; Fulmar immediately sat down on a fragile-looking gilded wood Louis XIV sofa and began to pull his black leather boots off.

  The Countess looked askance at him, but von Heurten-Mitnitz sensed there was something wrong.

  "Something wrong with your feet?" he asked.

  "The goddamned boots are four sizes too small," Fulmar said. "I soaked them with water, but it didn't help a whole hell of a lot." When he had the boot off, he pulled a stocking off and, holding his foot in his lap, examined it carefully.