by Behn, Noel;
“Am I allowed to know in what?”
“G. P. G.”
“Those curious initials again, Wilhelm?”
“Very curious and very secret, Father. G. P. G. is so secret that the British know nothing of it—nor are they supposed to. In fact, even the United States military is kept in the dark. All that certain privileged generals and admirals have been told is that orders marked ‘G. P. G.’ must receive maximum priority and dispatch—and minimum questioning. It all sounds very important, wouldn’t you say, Peppermint?”
“And mysterious, Wilhelm.”
“Oh, G. P. G. has its more human side. Take, for example, Lady Cecelia. The center of G. P. G.’S clandestine activities is a country estate on the eastern coast of Britain with the highly Anglo-romanticized name of Westerly. Westerly covers approximately forty-five square miles of land and was rented seven weeks ago from its owner, Lady Cecelia.
“Lady Cecelia is a charming lunatic. First of all, she refused to move from the grounds, so she was installed in the gatehouse near the main entrance. Secondly, she is maniacally inquisitive. When she discovered she had been isolated from her lands by a barbed-wire fence, she took to sitting on her rooftop with opera glasses. When this wasn’t enough for her curiosity she took to crawling over or under the fencing.
“With true American ingenuity the fence was electrified, which led to a mass slaughter of the magpies who came to roost on the wires. Lady Cecelia is a wildlife fanatic, so she rushed to the defense of her feathered friends. Large signs were erectd near the main gate calling her tenants murderers. The daily death toll was painted in three-foot-high letters.
“The sophism of American gentility emerged, and behold, the fence was de-electrified. For perimeter protection a second fence, four feet higher, was erected three yards inside the first. The area within the two fences was seeded with electronic listening devices. If so much as a twig should drop on this hallowed strip, arc lights flash on, sirens wail, hordes of half-crazed watchdogs are released and mobile as well as foot patrols rush to the suspicious point. And this is exactly what happened—twigs began dropping. Sometimes branches and often acorns, but mainly twigs. Once they hit the ground, the estate lit up like the Burning Bush.” Von Schleiben paused and uncorked a bottle of champagne.
“Astounding, Wilhelm. This information will bring a record price from almost any comic-book publisher.”
“Here’s to comic books.” Von Schleiben lifted his silver goblet. “Our second installment can cover the American exotic machinations within their double-fenced sanctuary.
“First the outer fence goes up. The following day the convoys bring machinery and four hundred men up the winding path. In twenty-four hours the gardens are torn out and completely replaced with new landscaping. Capability Brown gives way to Versailles.
“Now the Americans take to working only at night. The main house and the connecting South Hall and Great North Hall are completely refurbished. Heating and air-conditioning units are installed. Intricate electrical security systems are installed. The three buildings are sectioned off into four isolated sections. Each section has its own electrical system and secondary alarm system. Each section has its own kitchens, dining rooms and living facilities. Double passes and identification cards are needed to move from one section to the next. The passes and identification cards change daily. There is one section that no one, so far, has been allowed into. That is the Great North Hall. Work is still going on inside, but, even so, no one from the other three sections has ever passed the guard gates.
“Below the hill, to the rear of the main buildings, camouflage netting has been raised. Underneath are fifty Quonset huts and thirty-two wood frame buildings. An emergency power plant was concealed underneath an ornamental swimming pool. A secret airstrip has been built deep in the woods. The ruins of the abbey above the forest preserve now conceal a steel radio tower twenty meters high that rises at night and retracts at dawn.
“The most interesting fact about all of this construction was the time span in which it was accomplished. Everything I have told you about was completed within twelve days of the Americans’ putting up the first fence.”
“And was that all the building that was done?” the Priest inquired.
“Oh, no, there was one last little project. Since Lady Cecelia persisted in observing all movement through the main gate, the Americans have just completed an eighteen-mile double-lane concrete highway leading out of the rear of Westerly. The first convoy up this new highway arrived by night and was under the strictest security. It consisted of eighteen tarpaulin-draped trailer trucks carrying printing presses—the type you publish large newspapers with.” The last of the Dom Perignon trickled into von Schleiben’s glass. He reached for another bottle and began to untwist the metal cap seal.
“And what is the meaning of those initials G. P. G?” asked the Priest.
“Its cover name is General Preparations Group, but its actual meaning is German Propaganda Group. Well, good Father, what do you think? Will the Americans be interested in what I have just related?”
“Why should they be interested in what they already know?”
“So that their British and Russian allies don’t find out, for one thing.”
“Wilhelm, blackmail is hardly the cornerstone on which to build a lasting relationship.”
“What if I revealed my source of information concerning G. P. G. at Westerly?”
“That, Wilhelm, would certainly be interpreted as a token of good faith by the Americans.”
“What if I went further and told you where to find this informant?”
Peppermint nodded. “I would say that we then have the beginning of a most appealing package.”
“The informant is Rudi Hecht, one of my undercover agents. He is going under the name of Harvey Leigh and is presently employed as personal secretary to Lady Cecelia. Shall I remove him or will you?”
“If there are no objections, Wilhelm, I prefer looking after those arrangements in my own fashion.”
The cork popped off the champagne bottle. “And now, good Father, why don’t I make the offering to G. P. G. even more appealing? Why don’t I give them exactly what they are after?”
“What is it you think they are after so exactly?”
“German political prisoners. Important political prisoners, not leftovers like Vetter or Hilka Tolan.”
“If G. P. G. is a propaganda operation, as you said, what would they want with political prisoners?”
“If we are to enact business, I prefer not speculating on the answer to that question, Peppermint. Would G. P. G. be interested in major political prisoners?”
“I didn’t think any were still alive.”
“No, Father, no, no, no. You most definitely do think some are still alive, but you don’t know which ones, or where they are being kept. That is why you brought out Vetter and are planning to free Hilka Tolan. You reason that if the girl can be freed successfully, our security measures will have to be drastically tightened. You anticipate that the most important political prisoners will be transferred to more protected areas. If this transfer occurs, you might be able to see just whom we are holding and where we are sending them.
“It is a desperate scheme, Peppermint. It reveals how badly you need political prisoners of importance. Why whistle a brash and soundless song? Let me supply G. P. G. with men of the caliber they desire.”
“The Americans would want to know names.”
“Ernst Hauller, Friedrich Tolan, Thomas Brome, Ludwig von Rausch, Hugo Bengl.”
“They are all alive?”
“Alive, well and ready for shipment. G. P. G. can have its pick of one. Well, Father, are you interested?”
The Peppermint Priest considered. “There might be interest in Brome and von Rausch,” he quietly admitted.
“I myself would have thought Bengl or Tolan would have more value. Each still has his own type of following in Germany, but perhaps I have read the situation wrong
.”
“And what,” Peppermint asked uneasily, “do you want in return?”
“Complete immunity from any war trials that may result from an Allied victory. The guarantee of political asylum in the United States if I find I must flee Germany before hostilities cease. If the Allies do win—and only their own ineptitude could prevent this—I will also need immediate American citizenship. It will also be necessary for the United States government to allow me to transfer my money to their country without protest or examination.”
“Is that all?”
Von Schleiben swished the champagne about in his glass. “Oh—perhaps the G. P. G. plan to bring out Hilka Tolan should be dropped. In fact, it must be dropped.”
“What else?”
“Erik Spangler’s life.”
“Spangler again? I told you before, the name is only vaguely familiar.”
“From your expression, Father, I would say you go back much further with Spangler than I first suspected. Was he with you in the beginning, when you first started documenting the camps?”
“You must have him confused with someone else. I cannot place the name.”
“Yes, he was most definitely with you at the start. They are always the hardest to lose. I have never admired loyalty, Peppermint, not in our profession. Even so, I’ll ease your burden. Have G. P. G. show me what he looks like. Let them provide photographs or a clear description. Have them tell me where he is. I will see to the rest—and you won’t have been involved.”
“And if the Americans refuse?”
“How can they refuse? I have what they need.”
“They may still refuse.”
Von Schleiben shook his head in disgust. “Should they refuse, then the Russians will be told that G. P. G. took Vetter—and why. Not only that, the Russians will further be informed that your real interest lies in the five political prisoners I offered earlier. It will be strongly suggested that if by chance the Russians got to any of the five before G. P. G. did, they would not only disrupt American plans, but also put themselves into excellent bargaining position for the return of Vetter.”
Von Schleiben smiled contentedly. “Yes, Peppermint, that is exactly what I’ll do if the Americans prove obdurate. I will make a real competition of it—to pay you back for undermining my position with both the Council and Kuprov by sending Spangler to intercept Vetter. I will have those five precious political prisoners moved to new and more secure detention. Then I will sit back and watch the footrace between you and the Russians. It will be grand sport observing which honorable ally detects the first prisoner. It will be even more amusing to see if they can free him. Yes, that will be the most amusing way to spend the spring, dear Peppermint—because I have no intention of letting anyone get even near those men. But don’t be dejected—at least you have five chances to fail.”
“Is that all?”
“More or less. There is one final item I feel should be included.”
“What?”
“Since you are back to using Spangler, I must assume that Jean-Claude is also involved. Get Jean-Claude out of Europe or the Bubels will have a new playmate. If you are not familiar with the term Bubel I suggest you ask Spangler for a definition.
“So there you have it, Father, plain and simple. I suggest the Americans give it their most serious consideration, for my sake as well as theirs. I really wouldn’t want to end up in Russia or South America.”
“When do you need your answer?”
“If no one comes after the Tolan girl, I will have my answer.”
The Peppermint Priest stepped across the room and began putting on his slicker.
“Going, Father?”
“You wouldn’t want me to miss the tide, would you?”
“But, Peppermint, who knows what eyes are watching? The façade must be complete. You must assist me. Every part must fit. Not a suspicion must be aroused.”
Von Schleiben pulled open the louvered doors. The girls stood expectantly in the doorway. “Whores talk, Father. We must make everything look natural—or at least unnatural. I have promised my energetic young darlings something special; something they have always wanted. That is why they think you are here. We have been talking, Peppermint. I have been convincing you. I am known not to fail. I am known not to disappoint my darlings. They are waiting, Father. They are waiting for a cleric of their own. It might prove embarrassing if you left without fulfilling their expectations. Then, of course, there is my own curiosity—I have never been sure if you really are a priest. Perhaps their findings will answer my question.”
Von Schleiben leaned back against the table and watched the young women enter the room. The two whores stood facing the Peppermint Priest. They smiled enigmatically as their gowns fell open.
The boat floated free of the pilings and started its engine. The Peppermint Priest scrambled down the ladder, pushed into the tiny cabin, stripped off his cassock and took his neatly pressed uniform from the hanger. He had finished dressing and was adjusting his Ben Franklin glasses when the wireless operator stuck his head through the hatch.
“Contact G. P. G. Two, Purple Line,” the former priest ordered. “Tell them the Lone Ranger must be delayed. He must not ride. Whatever happens, the Lone Ranger must stay off his horse. Tell them I think I can lay my hands on an Orator.”
The petty officer returned half an hour later. “Major Julian, sir,” he said unhappily, “Purple Line has just replied.”
“And?”
“They received our message and got it through to the Lone Ranger—and, well …”
“What is it?”
“The Lone Ranger told them to fuck off.”
10
At dusk the twelve “isolation” rooms on Floor One, B Barracks, were unlocked and the twelve women escorted out. They formed ranks, marched across Oranienburg and filed into the arrivals building. Each was given new shoes and a new prison dress for the inspection. Each was assigned the number of an office where her physical examination would take place.
Hilka Tolan entered door 11K. The room was dark except for spotlights glaring down on a crude wooden platform. She was ordered to stand at center stage. Three women lined up to her left, four to her right. All were in civilian dress. All had short-cropped haircuts like hers. All were the same height. All slightly resembled her—they were tall, blond, slightly reminiscent of Jean Arthur.
The woman to her immediate right was too fat. The woman second from her left was too thin. Both were dismissed.
Hilka and the five remaining women were ordered to undress. All six bodies bore appendix scars. Hilka was ushered to the left of the stage. In turn each of five companions was placed at her side. The first one’s knees were slightly knocked. She was eliminated. The third one did not possess Hilka’s high tight breasts. The fourth lacked her flat stomach, thin thighs and long graceful legs.
The second and the fifth were the final choices. They moved back center stage, and Hilka stepped between them.
The cosmeticians and the makeup people moved in. Brush and paint and powder and putty were applied. Within an hour, three beautiful blue-eyed, thin-lipped, oval-faced, ivory-skinned women were on display.
Hilka and the woman to the right stepped forward. The comparison took ten minutes. The woman to the right stood aside, and the woman to the left lined up. The second comparison was slightly shorter. Cosmeticians instituted further adjustments. Another comparison took place. The woman to the right was chosen to impersonate Hilka Tolan.
The lights went out. Hilka was dressed in an SS-Totenkopf greatcoat that fit perfectly and a death’s-head several sizes too large. Her mouth was taped. She was pushed out the back door, down the outside steps and into the rear seat of a waiting Mercedes-Benz. Webber slid in beside her. His right wrist was handcuffed to her left. He adjusted his monocle with his free hand and gave an order. The staff car sped out of Oranienburg.
11
The Gestapo’s informant’s tip had been correct. The stolen Documents Divis
ion truck was found concealed near an orchard less than fifteen miles from Berlin. At least fifty newly printed and validated Reich passports were missing. So were uncountable numbers of other official permits.
The loss of the documents was not the only discovery. The truck contained a cache of recently missing goods. Included in the loot were uniforms taken from a Wehrmacht officers’ club and many pieces of clothing stolen from three of the better Berlin shops. Two cases of ammunition and a crate of Lugers were also uncovered.
The most curious discovery was found in the front seat of the truck cab. There could be little doubt that it was the clothing locker stolen from von Schleiben in Munich. The General was contacted by phone, and the details of the discovery were painstakingly recounted to him.
A special car raced the locker back to Berlin despite the air raid.
12
The blue-gray elevator cage descended to the fifth level of the underground bunker. Eight delegates to the Council for Extreme Security stepped out, moved quickly through the concrete tunnels and entered the conference room. Von Schleiben was waiting calmly at the head of the table. The time was 2230 hours, 20 February 1944.
“Where is Webber?” the General asked impatiently.
“Seeing to the Tolan woman’s new detention, Herr Obergruppenfuehrer,” Platt assured. “He’ll be here any moment.” The room shuddered slightly from the bomb explosions above.
“I see.”
Webber had still not arrived by 2400 hours. Platt made a phone call.
“It is a very heavy raid, Herr Obergruppenfuehrer,” he said to the General, hanging up the receiver. “He has probably taken refuge. Perhaps we should proceed without him?”
