by Greg Iles
like yours can produce hysterical responses in some people."
"But not in you," Natterman said, eyeing the Israeli closely.
"Since you think Hess is alive, Professor," Stern said gamely, "tell me
this. If Hess survived his mission to England, why didn't he return to
Germany? To his beloved Fuhrer?"
Natterman opened his mouth to speak, then realized that he did not have
an answer. "I won't know that until I know what Hess's real mission
was," he said. "Until we find Hess himself."
Stern swung onto the access road for Frankfurt-Main International
Airport. "Professor," he said, "we are after two different things.
You're obsessed with the past, I fight in the present. But the Hess
case links us. We're on a road we cannot see, and at the end of it, I
fear, lies something as evil as human beings can devise. I believe that
the danger that exists now came out of the past. But I can't rip away
the curtain of time and see what ill-begotten proposition Rudolf Hess
carried to England forty-seven years ago."
Stern flicked his lights and passed a slow-moving BMW. "So you know
what I think? I think maybe having a German history professor along
with me is the next best thing. Even if he is an ambitious,
close-mouthed goyim who thinks he's Simon Wiesenthal."
Stern swung the car into the TICKETING/CHF-CK-IN lane.
When he had parked, Natterman climbed out and looked at him across the
car's roof. "I just hope you're not condemning my granddaughter to
death by making this stupid side nip to Israel," he growled.
Stern bunched his coat collar higher around his neck.
"This mystery has waited half a century to be solved, Professor.
It can wait one more day."
He turned and hurried into the terminal.
I wonder, Natterman asked himself, walking toward the huge glass doors.
I wonder if it can.
THE PLAN NAZI He is insane. He is the Dove of Peice. He is Messiah. He
is Hitler's prince.
He is the one ckan honest man they've got He is the worst assassin of
the la He has a mission to preserve mankind Hes non@ohouc. He was a
"b@" He has been dotty since the age of ten.
But all the dine was top of Hitlers men ...
"Hess, the Deputy Fuhrer"
By A.P. HERBERT, 1.941
after Hess par"huted into England
CHAPTER TWENTY
January 7, 1941, The Berghot The Bavarian Alps Rudolf Hess stood alone
before the great picture window of Adolf Hitler's Alpine headquarters
and waited for his Fuhrer. Hess was a big man, with an addete's
body-broad across the shoulders and, even at forty-seven, narrow through
the waist-yet Hitler's window dwarfed him. Like all things designed by
or for the Fuhrer, it was the largest in the world.
Silhouetted against its Olympian panorama, Hess looked like a tiny extra
in the corner of a movie screen.
Deep in the valley below him, the village of Berchtesgaden slept
peacefully. Beyond it the magnificent Untersberg rose skyward, covered
with fresh January snow. Far to the north Hess could just see the
rooftops of Salzburg. He could understand why the Fuhrer retreated to
this mountain eyrie when the pressures of the war became too onerous.
This was one of those times. As Hess stared out at the mountain, a
stabbing pain pierced his stomach. He bent double, clenching his
abdomen with his heavy-muscled forearms until the agony abated. He had
endured these attacks for three weeks now, each in stoic silence. For
he knew it was no organic toxin that caused the pain, but anxiety-a
terrible, withering apprehension. The first,attack had struck him on
December 18, less than twelve hours after Hitler issued his secret
Directive Number 21. In that order the Fuhrer had commanded that all
preparations for plan Barbarossa-the full-scale invasion of Soviet
Russia-be completed by May 15 of this year.
Hess regarded Directive 21 as insanity, and he was not alone.
Some of the Wehrmacht's most gifted generals felt the same. Hess felt
no moral qualms about betraying Stalin or attacking Russia. If a few
million Russians had to die to create new living space for Germans, so
be it. But to attempt the invasion now, while England remained unbeaten
in the west? Madness!
Hess had a single hope. If peace with England could somehow be secured
before Barbarossa was launched, suicidal tragedy might yet be averted.
Just six months ago Hitler had offered peace to the British from the
floor of the Reichstag, and Winston Churchill had immediately answered
with a resounding "No!" Yet that had not discouraged Hess.
With the help of Professor Karl Haushofer, a family friend, he had sent
a sub-rosa letter to England proposing a secret meeting in Lisbon
between himself and Douglas Hamilton, the Premier Duke of Scotland.
The subject to be discussed: AngloGerman peace. The Duke of Hamilton
was renowned as the first man to fly over Mount Everest, and Hess liked
the idea of dealing with a fellow flyer. He himself had won the
dangerous air race around the Zugspitze, Germany's highest peak.
Hess had met Hamilton briefly at the 1936 Olympics in Berlin, and the
dashing young duke had seemed just the type of fellow who could
short-circuit the tedious process of diplomacy and bring Churchill to
his senses.
Yet three months had passed since the peace letter began its circuitous
journey to England, and still Hess had received no answer.
For the first few weeks he hadn't worried too much; Hitler had given
tacit consent to the peace feeler, and gratefully he hadn't seemed too
disappointed when the effort did not immediately pan out.
Even as weeks turned to months-while Hess grew more agitated with each
passing day-Hitler seemed unconcerned. Then on December 18, Hess, to
his horror, discovered the reason for the Fuhrer's uncharacteristic
patience. Hitler meant to invade Russia whether peace with England had
been secured or not! From that day forward Hess had prayed despqrately
that an answer from the Duke of Hamilton might still arrive-that peace
negotiations could still be arranged. He hoped that he had been
summoned to the Berghof today to discuss that very event.
Wiping the sweat from his brow, he took another long look out at the
great mountain across the valley. Legend told that the Emperor
Charlemagne slept beneath the Untersberg, that one day he would rise up
to restore the lost glory of the German Empire. Hess had often boasted
that Adolf Hitler was the fulfillment of that prophecy. Now he was not
so sure. No man was more faithful to the Fuhrer than he, but lately he
had begun to think back to the old days, to the Great War. Hess had
been Hitler's company commander then, and young Hitler only a dispatch
runner, one more mustard-gassed soldier betrayed by the Jewish
financiers.
Hess caught his breath as another stab of agony twisted his stomach. He
shut his eyes against the pain, yet even as he did, a horrifying vision
filled his mind. He saw the frozen, limitless steppes of Russia
stretching away before him, league after leag
ue, drenched in blood.
German blood.
When the pain finally eased, he pressed his sweaty palms to the great
sheet of glass, fingers outspread, and looked out at the Untersberg in
silent invocation: If ever there was a time for you to rise, emperor, it
is now! What the Fuhrer plans was beyond even Napoleon, and I fear that
without some miracle, the task he set us is too great"Rudi!" Adolf
Hitler called across the richly appointed salon. "Come here! Let me
see you!" w, he felt a jolt of asWhen Hess turned from the windo
tonishment. The effusive welcome had not surprised him; Hitler often
complained that his senior staff did not visit the Berghof frequently
enough. But his clothes ... Hess was startled speechless. For some
time now Hitler had worn dark business suits during the day, and dressed
with particular severity around the time of military conferences. But
today-with a major war conference scheduled in a matter of hours-he
looked just as he had during the early thirties, wearing a blue linen
sport jacket, white shirt, and a yellow tie to top it all off. Hitler
strode forward and clapped Hess on the back, then led him away from the
window.
"I've had historic news today, Rudi," he said, his voice quavering with
excitement. "Prophetic news."
Hess braced himself for whatever revelation might follow this ominous
preface. "What has happened, my Fuhrer?"
"All in good time," Hitler said cryptically. "Tell me, how are your
training flights progressing?" two a week since Hess shrugged.
"I've managed one or October."
"Good, good. Anyone taking an unusual interest in your activities?"
thought he had seen the Fuhrer wink, For a moment Hess but he banished
the thought. "I don't believe so."
"Not Goring? Or Himmler?"
Hess frowned. "Not directly, no."
Hitler's eyes flickered. "Indirectly?"
"Well ..." Hess looked thoughtful. "Last fall Himmler lent me his
personal masseur, to see if he could relieve my stomach pains-" "Felix
Kersten?"
"Kersten, yes. He was a bit more inquisitive than I thought proper at
the time. Is he one of Himmler's spies?"
"Notorious!" Hitler cackled.
Hess was perplexed. He had not seen the Fuhrer in such a mood since
Compiegne, after the French surrender. He watched Hitler clasp his
hands behind his blue-jacketed back, then pace across the room and stop
before a magnificent Titian nude.
"I have a destination for you, Rudi," Hitler said to the painting.
"At last. Would you like to guess it?"
Hess felt a tightening in his chest. He had played these games before,
and he knew Hitler would say nothing more until he had guessed at least
twice. "Lisbon?" he tried impatiently.
'No.
"Switzerland?"
"No!"
Hess could hear the laughter in Hitler's voice. This really was
intolerable, even from the Fuhrer. Just as Hess started to say
something he might regret, Hitler turned to him with an expression that
could freeze molten steel. "England," he said softly.
Hess thought he had misheard. "I beg your pardon, my FuhrerT' "England,
" Hitler enunciated, his eyes flashing.
With a sudden surge of elation Hess understood. "We've had an answer
from the Duke of Hamilton! Professor Haushofer's letter has done it!"
Hitler waved his hand irritably. "No,'no, Rudi, don't be silly.
Haushofer and his son are merely decoys-diversions meant to confuse
British Intelligence."
Hess opened his mouth to protest, but no words came out.
"I know Haushofer is an old friend of yours, but his dilettante son is a
member of the German resistance, for God's sake. But for you, I'd have
had him shot months ago."
Hess was dumbfounded. To hear that all his peace efforts to date had
been in vain was bad enough, but the revelation that his old friend's
son was a traitor ... it was beyond belief!
hrer? There is no "And the Duke of Hamilton, my Ffi chance that he
might still help us?" n is as loyal an EnHitler snorted. "The Duke of
Hamilton englishman as you could find, Rudi. of course, that doesn't
mean the duke can't prove useful." there
"England," Hess murmured, trying to will away another stomach cramp.
"Would my visit be in an official capacity?"
"of course-not," Hitler scoffed. "That kind of play-acting I leave to
blusterers like Ribbentrop- Your mission will be all substance, Rudi. A
master stroke of statesmanship!"
Hess stood silently for some moments. "Do you ... do you mean that you
have a plan to secure peace from the British?" be th isfaction. "That
is exactly what Hitler amed wi self-sat I mean. Fate has answered us in
our hour of need. Peace and, Rudi, and Russia is within our with
Britain is at h grasp."
Apropos of nothing, Hitler launched into a critical assessthe Russian
stePPes, haries XII's campaigns on ment of C ru ut Mussolini's arrothen
segued ah ptly into a harangue abo gant nephew Ciano. From years of
practice Hess managed to look attentive while ignoring the entire
monologue- His mind was filled by an image of himself flying
hell-forleather over the English Channel on an errand to see GOd only
knew what Englishmen. Finally his anxiety got the better of him, and,
quite out of character, he interrupted Hitler.
,You wish me to fly to London, my Fuhrer?"
on yet," Hitler rep "I'm not sure of the exact destinati lied, ignoring
the interruption. "But certainly not London. MY God, they'd throw you
in the Tower before you got a chance to speak to anyone!"
"Undoubtedly," Hess agreed. asy, R@0i. What is it)"
Hitler frowned. "You seem une ,Well ... England. I mean, it's not
neutral We're still at war. If I were to be captured there, the results
could be catastrophic." Hess saw Hitler's face darken, as it always did
at the slightest hint of opposition. "I'm not worried for myself, of
course' " he said quickly, "but with all that I know ...
the Russian invasion ... Barbarossa."
ks Hitler snapped. "But there "I'm well aware of the ris " is no
alternative, Rudi- We must have peace with England now, no matter what
the cost. I have considered every option. I even thought of sending
your double in your place.
He hasn't done anything but sit on his backside in Denmark since we
trained him."
Hess felt a jolt of surprise. He had almost forgotten he had a double.
The Fuhrer obviously had not.
"But it would never work," Hitler declared. "The English will be
looking for a trick, and they know you too well. A simple check for
your war wounds would unmask any impostor." Hitler chuckled. "I'm
afraid you're almost as famous now as I am, old friend. And that's what
makes you perfect for this mission."
Hess cleared his throat. "What exactly is the mission, my Fuhrer?"
Hitler began pacing out the room. "The operation will be called
Mordred. But for the time being, the less you know the better. I only
tell you your destination now because I must know you can reach England
on the given
night. Whatever @ning or navigational practice you need to
ensure success on such a flight, you must do it." Hitler stopped pacing
and looked into Hess's deep-set eyes. "Can you fly alone to England,
Rudi? Alone in the darkness?"
Hess nodded crisply. "Absolutely, my Fuhrer."
Hitler nodded. "Do you have any parachute training?"
Hess's eyes widened. "No."
Hitler clucked his tongue. "I thought not. You probably won't need it,
anyway. I'm told the Duke of Hamilton has a landing strip right beside
his castle."
Hess felt more confused than ever. "But you said that the Duke of
Hamilton was a loyal En lishman!"
Hitler smiled enigmatically. "That is quite irrelevant." His eyes
twinkled. "Do you remember The Scarlet Pimpernel, Rudi?"
Hess's heavy black eyebrows bunched in puzzlement. "I ...
I believe you showed the film here at'the Berghof, didn't you?"
"That's right, just last year. The Pimpernel was the daring English
nobleman who made fools of the French during the Reign of Terror."
"What has that to do with me?"
Hitler's eyes flashed with wicked glee. "Everything, Rudi! You know I
have always admired the English. They are fellow Aryans. They are
great empire-builders, as we Germans are. But"-Hitler stabbed a stiff
finger into the air-"they have allowed themselves to be deluded by
Churchill.
Dangerously deluded. Look what happened when I spared their pathetic
Expeditionary Force at Dunkirk! I halted Guderian's tanks, blamed the
British escape on Goring and the Luftwaffe"-Hitler's face reddened in
anger-"and then Churchill had the nerve to call Dunkirk a British
victory! The English people must be freed from the influence of that
warmonger!" cross his broad chest.
Utterly adrift, Hess folded his arms a "But this Pimpernel business, my
Fuhrer. How does it relate to me?" "Don't you see , Rudi? You're my
Scarlet Pimernel!"
Hess stepped back in disbelief.
Hitler nodded excitedly. ,yes! You are the exact opposite of what you
appear to be! Since the war heated up, everyone has written you off as
merely a loyal bureaucrat who wastes his time on Party administration.
All my officers think I've forgotten you." Hitler shook his head
bitterly. "How can they have forgotten, Rudi? From the beginning you
fought beside me, took wounds meant for me. And now, you will be the
man who receives my most sacred charge, the responsibility of the most
