Hunting the Hangman

by Howard Linskey

  ‘Well, of course one can never be entirely sure with the Führer, but I think there is a good chance that it will be… Paris.’

  ‘Paris!’ And her face showed joy for the first time that day. ‘Oh, Reinhard, is it true?’

  ‘Let’s just say I have it on very good authority.’ And he beamed back at Lina, enjoying her happiness.

  ‘You were teasing me!’ she squealed in chastisement but there was no anger left in her now.

  28

  ‘Have patience, the day of revenge is approaching’

  The signal for action from the Czech service of the BBC

  When the Heydrichs departed, Novotný diligently carried on with his repairs. As soon as the watchmaker was finished, however, he packed up his tools, ensured the safe delivery of the pocket watch and immediately went to look for a friend on the Hradčany staff.

  Novotný found the joiner working on an ancient dilapidated cabinet.

  ‘Šafařík,’ he whispered, ‘I have important news. The day after tomorrow, Heydrich is to leave Prague forever,’ and Novotný explained everything.

  Šafařík wasted no time. As soon as he had received a verbatim report on the Heydrichs’ conversation from Novotný, he went round the castle making further discreet enquiries among his fellow servants, disguising them as the natural curiosity of a paid underling. He soon discovered the Reichsprotektor’s immediate staff were preparing for one of his regular trips to Berlin and was satisfied the watchmaker had not misunderstood. Although nobody could confirm Heydrich’s next destination was Paris, there was a good deal of speculation he would soon be moved away from Prague.

  ‘A new posting,’ explained the maid who tidied his office. ‘A promotion by all accounts,’ she added, sounding almost proud of the fact, stupid girl.

  Further investigations revealed Heydrich’s driver Klein had been granted a few days’ leave, starting the day after Heydrich said he would be in Berlin, and the Mercedes was due to have a complete and thorough mechanical check at the same time, keeping it off the road for several days. Šafařík concluded Novotný was entirely accurate in his summation. Heydrich was leaving.

  It was all Šafařík could do to stop himself from running across the road with his news. Instead he waited until his normal hours of work were over then he took this priceless information to the girls in the apartment by the castle.

  One of them, Helena, set out immediately, trawling the safe houses in an effort to locate Zelenka. She eventually found him at the fourth time of asking, sitting in the back room of a shabby coffee house with Hlinka, the forger, at his side. Whatever business they were discussing, Zelenka quickly brought it to a conclusion when he saw Helena, for she had never come looking for him before. On receiving her message, he kissed the diligent girl on both cheeks, thanked her for her persistence in locating him, and dashed off to find Kubiš.

  At Aunt Marie’s house the resistance leader passed an increasingly anxious two hours, waiting for Jan to return from his latest surveillance trip. As soon as he crossed the threshold Zelenka sat him down at the table then set out everything he had heard.

  Kubiš did not bother to disguise his alarm. ‘Christ, that ruins everything. When is this concert?’

  ‘Tomorrow night, at the Wallenstein Palace, but the whole place will be crawling with security. He has invited a large number of SS, Gestapo and Wehrmacht officers. I have a contact working in the headquarters of the Abwehr. Their senior men are all expected to attend apparently, much to their irritation.’

  ‘And he will leave the very next day?’

  ‘Yes, but not till the afternoon. Šafařík says he is expected to attend a meeting with Hácha in the morning, before he flies out.’

  ‘This meeting, it will still go ahead even though he is to be posted away from Prague?’

  Zelenka nodded. ‘It has not been removed from his diary, which is the usual practice. We can normally rely on the fastidiousness of the German military.’

  Kubiš fell silent for a moment while he racked his brain for a solution.

  Zelenka asked him gently. ‘What do you want to do, Jan? Call it off? You don’t even have a suitable location. Rushing into this greatly increases your risk.’

  ‘Would you call it off?’ challenged Kubiš.

  ‘I don’t know, but it’s not my neck on the line, is it?’

  ‘If we let him fly out of here like nothing ever happened then he has won. Heydrich would go unpunished for countless murders.’

  ‘He could be brought to justice eventually.’

  ‘There is no guarantee of that and you know it. Who can tell how this war will go? If Heydrich ends up in Berlin or Paris, he may be untouchable. Certainly, a Czech would never get near him. Do you want to leave our vengeance up to someone else?’

  ‘Of course not. I want you to hit him and make him pay for his crimes. I just don’t know how you are going to do that now.’

  ‘Neither do I, but we promised the President we would fulfil this mission and I have no intention of giving up on it yet. Can I trouble you for one of those awful cigarettes you smoke?’

  Zelenka reached for the tin and selected a hand rolled cigarette, with loose strands of tobacco hanging from its sides, for each of them. They both lit up and puffed silently away for a moment.

  ‘Can you get a message to Gabčík tonight?’ asked Kubiš finally.

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘Tell him I need to have an emergency meeting with him tomorrow. I’ll think of a time and venue before you leave.’

  ‘I’ll ensure it.’

  ‘In the morning I will walk the route again. There is no ideal place for an operation like this, so the best I can hope is to find a location that makes a shot at the man possible and does not bring a battalion of soldiers down on top of us two minutes later. Who knows, maybe I’ll discover the ideal place now that I simply have to.’

  ‘You never know, Jan, you just never know,’ agreed Zelenka. ‘It certainly helps to concentrate the mind, I’ll say that much’ and he took a long reflective drag on his cigarette.

  They met the following evening in one of those quiet little restaurants so beloved of agents across the globe. The family-run vinárna was never too busy to talk, nor was it entirely empty. A couple of apathetic waiters plodded from table to table, with no interest in anything except what was ordered, middle aged men who could be relied upon to drop the plate sullenly on the table then leave you to it. The presence of two strangers discussing business would be overlooked.

  Gabčík was already there, facing the door, as all spies in foreign countries are wont to do, a glass of local beer poured in front of him, half of it gone already in the few moments he had been seated. Perhaps he was as nervous as Kubiš. There was an empty glass there for him too and another bottle with its top removed. Kubiš undid his raincoat, letting drops of water spill onto the dark, warped wooden floor. He hung it on a hook on the wall near to Gabčík’s table then sat down in front of his friend. Jan’s hair was sopping wet from the rain and water slid down his back when he sat, but it was a small price to ensure his counter-surveillance ritual was followed in advance of this most vital of meetings. To get there Kubiš had taken three buses and walked down a maze of side streets only lengthy veterans of Prague could know as well as he.

  ‘I ordered Vepřový Řízek for two, didn’t think you’d care,’ pronounced Gabčík by way of greeting.

  Kubiš nodded. The traditional fried pork dish would do as well as any other. He had no appetite and, if it were not for the sake of appearances, would have avoided food altogether. He was happy to be spared the distractions of a menu.

  Kubiš poured his beer and both men watched as the bubbles rose up the glass to form a foaming head. He took a rejuvenating gulp before setting it down and confirming the news Gabčík had received from Zelenka the night before. Heydrich would be leaving the next a
fternoon but not until he had visited Hradčany in the morning at his normal hour and in the usual vehicle.

  ‘What time does Heydrich’s car leave Panenské Břežany?’ asked Gabčík.

  ‘Nine o’clock.’

  ‘Every morning?’

  ‘Without variation. Always nine, give or take a moment or two. The man is like clockwork.’

  ‘Has he ever had an escort?’

  ‘Apart from his driver, no.’

  ‘Motorcycle outriders even? A couple of men to go ahead and clear the way?’

  ‘No need, there is barely any traffic. No one can get petrol. Almost every vehicle he sees will be German military.’

  ‘And you are sure it would be impossible to take him at the gates of the mansion?’

  ‘It can be done, Josef – when his driver slows to take the bend out of the gateway – but I think we would never get away afterwards. There is the SS barracks down the road for one thing and no way out except the road into Prague. They would have us in minutes.’

  ‘I think you are right,’ conceded Gabčík reluctantly.

  ‘Also, there is not enough cover by the entrance. We could easily be spotted by a routine patrol and jeopardise the whole attack before it began.’

  Gabčík raised a hand in supplication. ‘I’m convinced. Where then?’

  ‘It’s the same problem we have always had. Where can we wait for him without attracting attention? It must be somewhere we can attack without too many civilians in the way. One, we don’t want to kill any bystanders if it can be avoided. Two, we cannot be in too large a crowd. It will hinder the escape and we have to remember there are some in Prague who do not want Heydrich dead. They might try to play the hero if they think it will profit them. You need a clear shot and you won’t get it if some collaborator hurls himself at you during the crucial moments.’

  ‘So it cannot be in the heart of the city and it cannot be in the countryside because there would be no place for us to run. We need to be close to the safe houses.’

  ‘Which leaves the suburbs,’ confirmed Kubiš.

  ‘You have a place in mind?’

  Kubiš nodded. ‘Holešovice.’

  Gabčík thought for a moment. ‘Where exactly?’

  ‘You remember, weeks ago it was, when we were scouring the whole area for a likely spot? I thought it showed promise then. The tram stop.’

  Gabčík’s eyes narrowed. ‘Remind me. Describe it to me exactly as you remember it.’

  ‘I went there again this morning. It’s by a tight corner. We could join the rush hour crowd there. It is busy enough but not so bad that we can’t break out afterwards. Trams are coming and going all the time. From early in the morning they are full of office workers. Then later it stays busy with the wives heading into town for groceries. Enough people I’m telling you. We can blend in. Valčík has agreed to help and he can give the signal once he sees the car coming towards us.’

  ‘So we join the crowds and we wait. And when Heydrich comes round the bend…’

  ‘His car will slow down…’

  ‘And bang, we hit him.’ Gabčík illustrated his point by quietly bringing his right fist into the palm of his left hand.

  ‘That’s the way I see it. I think we could do it and maybe stand half a chance of getting away afterwards. On bikes, back into the city, amid all the confusion. I would say it could be done. We have both committed to die if we have to but who says we have to?’

  ‘I agree. They all think it is suicide but I have every intention of killing the bastard Nazi and staying alive.’

  ‘So, we are agreed?’ asked Kubiš. ‘It’s Holešovice.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  There was a solemnity in the moment and the two men shook hands as if they had just taken an oath together.

  ‘Now let’s go through every detail,’ said Gabčík, ‘moment by moment, so there can be no mistakes.’

  29

  ‘Blond Moses’

  Derogatory nickname given to the young Reinhard Heydrich by his fellow naval cadets

  The Wallenstein Palace was a picture of opulence, its entranceways flanked by towering arrangements of flowers and guarded by soldiers, whose dress swords and silver buttons gleamed. To witness waiters pouring French champagne or handing out canapés, symbolically assembled using delicacies imported from all corners of the Reich’s European empire, was to forget there was a war on at all, thought Schellenberg.

  As was his custom, the head of Foreign Intelligence declined the rich food and held onto a single glass of champagne until it had long since lost its fizz. He did endeavour to mingle with his fellow officers and the gilded ladies of Prague who accompanied them, for he did not want to be accused of delivering any form of snub during this most auspicious of occasions. Then, just as he was about to creep away to a quiet corner of the gardens for a moment’s respite, Heydrich hailed him.

  The party was about to go in it seemed and the Reichsprotektor had decided to bestow a quite singular honour on Schellenberg – the privilege of sitting next to his master while the orchestra struck up the opening chords of a most eagerly awaited concert. For the first time in years, and to a much larger audience than ever before, the collected and interminably dull works of Heydrich’s late father Bruno would be publicly performed.

  Was there no one else of sufficient importance for Heydrich to choose as his companion during hours of this awful faux Wagnerian rubbish? It seemed not. Every officer in Prague, from the Gestapo, SS and Abwehr, was at the concert, itself a ridiculous security risk in Schellenberg’s view, but, when one considered it, there was nobody here whom Heydrich would regard as a part of the true elite. For the past week a stream of regretfully declined invitations had been steadily arriving from the likes of Goebbels, Speer and Göring. Himmler too was indisposed it appeared and the Führer had also regretfully declined, though not in his own hand, for the card quite clearly contained the childlike signature of Martin Bormann.

  Surprisingly, Heydrich was still in good form, laughing and joking with his surrounding acolytes, for the evening, even with the most senior men absent, appeared to be going well. Eventually the whole group, led by Heydrich and Lina, traipsed along the scarlet carpet that ushered them towards the Palace’s golden staircase. Here they paused while animated photographers competed to capture the finest images of the Reichsprotektor and friends, as if he was royalty or a film star.

  It was then Heydrich paid the bemused Schellenberg something akin to a compliment. ‘Good idea about the Mozart, Walter. I think it will work.’

  Oh God, and it had been said in a form of mischievous half jest as well. A week ago, when Heydrich had been looking for suitable music to begin the concert and pad out his father’s insubstantial repertoire, he had asked Walter for an opinion on an opening act. Schellenberg had offered Mozart, on the spurious grounds that Prague was his second home, but surely even the general would see the folly of putting a genius further down the bill than a largely ignored nonentity. Not so. Heydrich thought it an excellent and fitting idea.

  ‘But which piece?’ he had pondered.

  ‘Requiem,’ answered Schellenberg, immediately cursing himself inwardly for his out of character mischief making. Offering the funereal piece as an opening to the programme might easily offend his volatile superior so he quickly added, ‘For its power. If you think it is appropriate.’

  ‘Entirely!’ and Schellenberg had been startled by Heydrich’s enthusiastic endorsement.

  And so the two men took their place in the balcony, alongside Lina’s spreading bulk, with the orchestra and choir deliberately poised, ready to strike up the first bars of Mozart’s Requiem as they took their seats. Heydrich had delayed their arrival, insisting they wait outside in the corridor while everyone else sat down. Only when he received the signal from a harassed looking junior officer did they make their final entrance, to a
ccompaniment from the opening triumphant strains of Rex Tremendae.

  Thankfully nobody was foolish enough to ruin the music by applauding, but all eyes turned on Heydrich and he took his time. He even gave the conductor a slow regal bow, acknowledging the man’s obsequious sense of timing. This was the crowning moment of Heydrich’s tenure in Prague. Here was a chance to redeem a father’s neglected memory, underlining his superiority, watched over by the last remnants of the Prussian military class, all forced to turn out and pay homage to him. The general had come a long way since they had thrown him out of the Navy for conduct unbecoming of a gentleman when he broke off an engagement to another girl to marry Lina.

  As the music rose to fill the room, Schellenberg was struck by the look of vainglory etched on Heydrich’s face, as clear and distinct as the buttons on his best dress tunic. He thinks he is the Sun King, a modern God, thought Schellenberg as the sound of the choir rose and swelled in homage to the all-powerful Reichsprotektor.

  30

  ‘Of all the Slavs, the Czech is the most dangerous because he’s a worker.

  He has a sense of discipline, he’s orderly…he knows how to hide his plans’

  Adolf Hitler, January 1942

  27 May 1942

  The sky was white from a sun shrouded by early morning clouds that refused to disperse as Gabčík pedalled his way up the hill towards Holešovice. He arrived at the tram stop and untied his briefcase from the handlebars, leaving his bicycle, a ladies’ model borrowed from Aunt Marie, leaning against a wall. The spot was carefully chosen so he could easily run back for it.

  Gabčík draped an oversized raincoat over an arm and in his other hand he carried the briefcase, which contained the disassembled Sten. He wore a cap to disguise the colour of his hair and the humble suit of an office worker. As he crossed the road towards the tram stop he spotted Kubiš, similarly dressed, standing among the commuters. His friend immediately produced a cigarette and lit it; the signal that all was as expected and the attack should go ahead as planned. Kubiš had been at the scene for half an hour already and his blessing meant the last obstacle to the mission had been removed.