“We need to jump out before the train gets into the sidings,” Otto said. The train had slowed almost to a standstill.
The girls nodded. He helped them clamber up the side and swing their legs over, finding the steel ladder. They each climbed down and made the short jump on to the stoney ground beside the tracks. Otto tossed Leni's pack down then followed her with his own in his hand. It was the reason he missed his footing and fell, but he jumped to his feet quickly.
“I'm fine, I'm fine,” he said, embarrassed.
Leni looked around. “What's the plan, then?” She had retrieved her own pack by now.
“Follow me,” said Otto, authoritatively.
They crossed the tracks, and hurried through a rail yard full of empty carriages and wagons and the sound of shunting engines. However, they didn't run into anyone and quickly reached a staircase cut into the brick embankment wall. They climbed the steps and found themselves standing on a Munich street.
“According to this,” Otto was studying his railway timetable, “there's a passenger train leaving at noon for Kempten. We can change there and get the local line to Immenstadt and from there to Bregenz.”
“You mean we've got to hang around Munich till twelve?” Leni frowned, and Otto could see she didn't like the idea. “Shouldn't we stay on the move?”
“It's a fast train to Kempten. What's the alternative? Get an earlier train and have to change a couple of times, or get a bus which takes ages. It's only the morning, and if I'm right this is the last place they'll be searching for us.”
Otto was set on his plan. Leni shrugged, acquiescing, but she wasn't happy.
They were walking down the street now, passing shops just opening up for business.
“Can we go to the National Museum?” Angelika tugged at Otto's sleeve. “I saw it in a book in the convent.”
“That's a great idea,” said Otto, “or maybe one of the big parks. There's lots to see in Munich.” For a moment he felt genuinely enthusiastic, then he glanced at Leni. Her face was still drawn.
“It's the best plan, really, you'll see.” They found themselves on a corner, the streets leading off in four different directions. Otto looked around.
“I suppose you know where we are,” said Leni a little sarcastically.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” he said, managing a tight smile. He wondered whether to tell her that Munich was a place he knew very well indeed, that it was in fact his home town. A part of him felt reassured to be back in a place that was so familiar to him, but he also felt a sense of dread and fear in the pit of his stomach. It was only a year since he had escaped the Gestapo here.
Ten minutes later they had stowed their packs in lockers at the main station and purchased tickets for Bregenz. Now they had a few hours to kill. They jumped on a tram and went along Neuhauser and Kaufinger Strasse, past the Academy of Sciences, the Akademie der Wissenschaften. Otto stared at the building as they bumped past it, then found Leni looking at him. He examined the tram's floor instead.
His father had taught chemistry at the Akademie. Otto knew the place inside out. Many afternoons he'd go to meet his father after his lectures had finished. They would walk the five flights of stairs to his small laboratory at the top of the building, and his father would show him his latest experiments. Otto couldn't really understand them, but he loved all the equipment, the centrifuges and the strange chemicals, like thorium. Otto had thought that maybe one day he might be a Munich chemistry professor, too. Not any more.
The tram's bell rang. They'd reached Marienplatz. They quickly changed lines, taking another tram to Ludwigstrasse. It was almost as if he'd never left. So much was the same. The shops were still full of goods, the people on the street were still well dressed, and the city still smelt of fresh-baked bread, coffee, exhaust fumes and a sour soupy smell Otto always put down to the sauerkraut. But here and there were boarded-up businesses with Jewish stars painted over the boards, even more sandbags and swastikas. He remembered that terrible night in November three years ago. The Nazi supporters had all come out on to the street late in the evening. Roving gangs, armed with bricks and staves, had smashed all the windows of the Jewish shops and businesses, and their owners had been dragged out, some in their night clothes, and beaten on the pavement. Then they'd been tossed into waiting Nazi lorries and driven away. People had called it Kristallnacht – the Night of Broken Glass – because there was so much broken glass all over the pavements the next day. His mother had cried; he remembered that, too. Then everything had changed. People had become afraid. He glanced at Leni. She had been so lucky to get out. And so brave, he thought, to come back.
They got off near the Hofgarten.
“Now can we get an ice cream?” asked Angelika.
“Just give me a minute,” said Leni. Otto found she was staring at him sternly. “Can I speak to you?”
“What about?”
Leni took his arm and pulled him to one side. “What's going on, Otto?”
“What do you mean?” Otto decided he'd have to brazen it out.
“Don't treat me like a fool. This is your home, isn't it?” Leni's blue eyes dared him to deny it.
Otto was tempted but he didn't want to lie to her. “So what if it is?” he admitted, defensively.
Leni shook her head. “That's why we're here.” She started to pace around. “I knew getting that train didn't feel right. What have you done?” She checked they were still out of earshot of Angelika.
“Look, yes, I admit this is where I'm from,” Otto said a little crossly. “It's got nothing to do with us being here, though.” He was lying now. But he couldn't go back. “It's the right thing to do, travelling this way.” That was true. He could see Angelika was straining to hear the conversation.
“Then why are you trying to ditch us till we catch the train?” Leni planted her hands on her hips. She could see straight through him and out the other side, thought Otto. It was annoying.
He paused, wondering whether to confide in her. He decided against it. “There's just . . . something I need to do. I'll be as quick as I can. It's nothing to worry about, I swear. Meet me at the tram station in the Promenadeplatz in two hours. We'll all go to the station together.”
Leni looked at him, her eyes serious. “I'm trusting you, Otto. Don't let me down or do anything stupid.”
“Don't worry, I won't.”
But that was a lie, too.
CHAPTER 22
MANHUNT
As soon as the police boat had raced back to Stock, Heydrich had ordered every house, building and structure in the village to be searched from top to bottom. Nothing had come to light. He had then travelled to Prien in the Opel to co-ordinate the initial operation and to issue general orders to Munich regarding the security of the border and troop deployment. It was clear to him the girl had been snatched by foreign agents. It was also logical, as the Führer had said, that this affair led back to Hess's recent treachery and his flight to Scotland. Therefore those foreign agents were almost certainly British or British-trained.
At Prien, his adjutant and driver had arrived with his six-wheeled Mercedes and his personal effects. He had quickly changed into his SS uniform, strapping on another Walther pistol, and jumped into the limousine. His first duty was to inform the Führer, in person, at the Berghof.
As his car roared along the road, the siren blasting out, Heydrich pondered the potential escape routes open to the abductors. The Swiss border was 260 kilometres as the crow flew. It would take less than a day by car or train to reach it, although crossing the border itself might be more difficult. Whoever had taken the child had already been moving since the small hours. It was essential to get road blocks on all routes thirty kilometres or more from the border. Heydrich assumed that they would be travelling by car. Probably a man and woman, he thought.
The car's radio telephone rang and he snatched it up. “This is Heydrich.”
*
“There are reports in the village of a boat e
ngine being heard at around 3 a.m.” It was the police chief from Stock. He still sounded anxious, eager to please. “And the convent's launch has been found drifting on the east side of the lake, out of fuel.”
“They must have let it go. Any reports of a car engine?” “No. However, a child's bike was found at the back of the church. It was reported stolen yesterday afternoon along with two adult bicycles.”
“Is that all?”
“For the moment, sir.”
Heydrich hung up, thinking hard. They must have cycled out. To Rosenheim, most probably. They would have had a car waiting there for them, or else used the mainline railway. The quickest way to the border from there was south through Innsbruck. He had to get ahead of them, meet them on the way. He picked up the telephone and reached Gestapo headquarters in Munich.
“This is Heydrich. Give me General Müller.”
He waited to be connected to the Gestapo chief. He knew he could trust Müller to carry out his orders discreetly and to the letter. Besides, there was no way this operation could be kept top secret any more. Finally he heard Müller's voice at the end of the line.
“Müller, have three extra companies of SS mountain troops sent down here in addition to the four going south. And have the train station at Rosenheim searched and its staff questioned. I'm looking for three people – two adults and a girl.” He had a final thought. “Call the commander at the Schlessheim airfield. Tell him I will need the Flettner helicopter at the Berghof at once. ”
He slammed the phone down. He felt slightly more satisfied knowing he was beginning to throw a vast dragnet across the country. Whatever it took, he would get this girl back. But first he had to get to the Berghof and tell the Führer the terrible news. Not only that. Hitler had said the child must not leave the Reich under any circumstances. Heydrich needed to be certain of what that really meant. He leant forward in his seat.
“Faster! Go faster!” he yelled at his driver.
CHAPTER 23
ADMIRALTY ARCH
MacPherson was sitting at his desk at the Admiralty. He glanced for the umpteenth time at the clock on the wall. It was almost twenty-seven hours since he had stood on the damp grass at the edge of the runway and watched the Mosquito return from Germany. Since then, a long terrible silence. The lack of news made him short-tempered with everyone.
He got up from his chair and looked out of the window. St James's Park was dotted with sandbagged anti-aircraft batteries, which were fighting for space with rows of deckchairs. To his left was the entrance to the newly constructed bunker that was the Prime Minister's command headquarters, deep below street level. Not even a squadron of bombers dropping their payload right on top of it would penetrate that stronghold. The PM would no doubt be calling him soon for the latest news. Unfortunately, it didn't look as though he would have anything to tell him.
Of course, MacPherson understood it would be very difficult to get reports back on such a mission. It had been agreed right from the start that the children would not attempt to make any contact with London themselves. It was not safe or practical for them to carry radio equipment, and anyway there had not been time to train them. Sending telegrams to safe addresses in Switzerland was also out of the question, the essence of the mission being speed and secrecy. Besides, any postmaster in the Reich would immediately be suspicious of a young person doing such a thing, and almost certainly the Gestapo read every such document.
MacPherson sat down again, still disgruntled, and contemplated a small bronze figurine on his desk. It was a dancing faun, the emblem of the London Controlling Section, symbolising secretive dealings and disinformation.
There was a knock on the door and a young woman dressed in a Wren's uniform brought in breakfast on a metal tray.
“Kippers and toast, sir.” She cleared a space on his desk and set the food down. There was a steaming cup of tea in an enamel mug.
“Thank you.” He realised he was famished.
Then she handed him a telegram. It was from Bletchley Park.
He waited until she had left the room and closed the door, before ripping open the envelope and scanning the contents.
The boys up at Bletchley had intercepted and decoded a Gestapo order to all SS units along the Reich's borders with Switzerland in Bavaria and Austria. The border was to be sealed with immediate effect and all posts and crossing points were to be put on full alert. Extra Waffen-SS units were also being dispatched.
Otto and Leni had got the girl. They'd bloody done it.
MacPherson slammed his fist on to the desk, and the breakfast on the tray jumped.
He reached for the phone. “Get me a car. And have Signals send a message to our contact in Geneva. Message reads: ‘Eagle arrives tonight. Kestrels on the wing.’”
*
Four hours later, the blue Hudson raced along the harbour road that ringed the naval dockyards at Plymouth. Above the car loomed the slate-grey hulls of battleships and cruisers, the gangplanks packed with sailors embarking. Dock cranes swung in and out, loaded with provisions and ammunition. There were more ships anchored out in the harbour. Up in the sky were lines of barrage balloons, silver and grey, the first line of defence against German dive bombers.
The Hudson came to a halt outside a large hangar with a concrete slipway leading down into the water. MacPherson was out of the car in an instant and hurrying into the hangar. There he was greeted by a young officer from the Fleet Air Arm service, the navy's own air force. He was sporting a neat moustache and puffing on a pipe. MacPherson took it as a cue to fish out his own.
“Strictly no smoking, but the CO doesn't seem to mind.” The pilot smiled and thrust out a hand. “Commander Bracken. I believe I'm your taxi driver for the night.”
MacPherson shook hands, then stepped past him and stared at the seaplane that was going to carry them to Switzerland. As a Navy man, he'd have preferred to travel by sea. But that was impossible for this trip, and the plane looked sturdy and well built, with a powerful single engine and a double cockpit covered with a sliding canopy. A hatch in the rear cockpit led down to a cabin fashioned inside the plane's large central float. In America the aircraft was used as an executive taxi for admirals. MacPherson had persuaded the Prime Minister to have it sent over from America for just such a purpose as tonight's. It was perfect for the job. The indoor cabin would have plenty of room for Otto and Leni and the girl.
A dozen technicians were still working on the plane. Some were fitting extra fuel tanks, while others were repainting the fuselage and wings, changing them from light grey to a night-flying matt black. The plane would carry no markings.
“The Grumman Duck. Not a bad old bird. But a tad slow. So unfortunately,” Commander Bracken took his pipe from his mouth, “she's also known as ‘The Sitting Duck’.” He nonchalantly tapped out the bowl of his pipe on the edge of the wingtip. “But we won't let that one worry us, sir.”
“No, we won't,” said MacPherson gruffly.
“Any idea where we're going, sir?”
MacPherson frowned at the pilot. “All in good time, Commander. Remember: ‘Loose Lips Sink Ships’. And ‘tad slow’ aeroplanes too.”
CHAPTER 24
JAEGERSTRASSE
Otto stood at the top of the staircase on the third floor of the apartment building. He was racked with indecision.
He had already spent an hour sitting on a bench on the opposite side of the street, debating whether or not to go in and, inevitably, reliving that terrible day just over a year ago when he'd got back early from school, complaining of a stomach ache. His father had come home early, too – quite by chance, a cancelled meeting – but his mother and Karl weren't there. His father had suggested a game of chess. Just as Otto had put him into check there had been a loud hammering on the door.
“Who is it?” his father had called out, getting to his feet.
“Gestapo! Open up!”
“One moment!” His father had grabbed Otto and pulled him up.
“Op
en the door!” A fist banged again on the door.
“I am not dressed, give me a moment,” his father had shouted in reply, knowing that would not stop the men. He talked fast as he hustled Otto through the apartment to his study, the sound of boots kicking the door fracturing their conversation.
“The time has come, Otto.”
“No—”
“We've talked about this . . . you know what you have to do . . . you have everything.”
His father had pulled open the top drawer of his bureau and thrust an envelope into Otto's hands.
“Passports and Reichmarks and French francs, enough for all of you. You have your identity card?”
Otto had nodded and his father had hugged him tight for a moment, kissing him on both cheeks. The hammering of the door grew louder.
“I am coming!” he shouted back then looked at Otto. “Wait five minutes and then go.”
Calmly, his father had closed the study door behind him as he walked to the front door and opened it. “Now what is all this about?”
Through a crack in the study door, Otto saw three men step into the hallway, the first one in a suit, the others in black Gestapo uniforms.
“Herr Doktor, you are under arrest for undermining the war effort.”
A terrible jolt of fear had run through Otto as he heard those words. He had read somewhere that the crime of “undermining the war effort” had been designated a capital one. And with that, his father had been marched away. The men had not even bothered to check the apartment. Perhaps they had thought he was still at school.
After they had left, Otto had waited five minutes, as his father had instructed, in a state of blind panic. Then he had run out of the apartment building and crossed the street to sit on the bench opposite. He stayed there for some time, wondering what to do, before taking the tram to his school, only to discover that his mother had picked Karl up half an hour before. He had frantically run through the city, following their usual route home, but they were nowhere to be seen. And so he had returned to the bench and waited for them, the tears never far from his eyes.
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