by Greg Iles
idealistic men who have been betrayed Even the Hitler-Stalin pact had
not disillusioned these men. They saw it merely as an adroit political
move by Stalin-a temporary alliance that would be rescinded as soon as
Russia could defend herself against Germany.
If any Englishmen could be made to take up arms against Churchill and
their king, I knew, it was Helmut's Verwunden Brigade.
I arrived in London in April of 1941, armed with secret documents
bearing the signatures of the highest officials of the Soviet Communist
Party-all excellent forgeries, of course. This deception was risky but
necessary. No communist cell, howeverfanatic, would undertake an
operation of the magnitude we planned without the full weight of the
Party International behind them. My mission was to symbolize this
authority. I was the holy messenger sentfrom Moscow, the sacred city,
and the documents I carried sanctified my crusade. They made the
planned assassinations sound like the first shot of a worldwide
communist revolution. One document even bore Stalin's signature! The
SD forgers had done their jobs so well that I myself was tempted to
believe in my newfound power Of the operation itself there is much to
tell, and yet little.
The mechanics were relatively simple. From English collaborators and
German agents-in-place we received regular reports on our targets' daily
movements, along with predictions of their future agendas. That part
was easy.
Churchill tramped all over the country with his fat cigar, inspecting
troops or viewing air-raid damage. With an assassin willing to die in
the deed, the prime minister was as good as dead King George presented a
more difficult problem, but not insurmountable. Though better protected
than Churchill, he occasionally left Buckingham Palace to put on a show
of solidarity with the common people.
What made the mission impossibly difficult was Hitler's commandment that
the operation be carried out on the tenth of May.
Limiting the mission to a single day meant that our assassins would have
to strike regardless of circumstances I wasn't concerned about their
chances of survival; on the contrary, we wanted to insure that the
assassins would be killed in the accomplishment of their mission. But I
also had to be reasonably sure that the targets would be sufficiently
exposed for our men to reach them. When I expressed my apprehension to
Heydrich, however he assured me that Hitler had devised a diversionary
ploy that would bring our targets into the open on the given day. At
the time he would tell me no more than that.
With Helmut's help I set to work selecting our assassins.
We had decided to choose three men-one man for each target, with one
backup man I . n case of unforeseen circumstances. The men we
ultimately chose were named William Banks and William Fox. I shall
neverforget them. The confusion caused by the similarity of their names
was circumvented by their nicknames. Banks, a red-haired giant, was
known as "Big Bill, " and the more diminutive Fox as "Little Bill.
" The backup man-selected by Helmut-was a distasteful little fanatic
named Sherwood This Sherwood almost wrecked the operation on the first
day. During the Spanish war he'd been captured at Jarama, and the first
time he saw me he turned pale as a fish. When Helmut asked him what was
wrong (I spoke little English) Sherwood asked if I had ever been in
Spain. Naturally I said I hadn't, whereupon the little man told his
comrades that I could have been the twin brother of a certain El Muerte@
sadistic Russian interrogator who worked for the Germans in Spain.
Helmut laughed outright, and the rest o us joined !f in. All but
Sherwood The memory had shaken him badly. It had shaken me too.
In Spain-where I had used my Okhrana methods ruthlessly-the communists
had christened me El Muerte.
My job was to motivate Banks and Fox to carry out their suicidal
attacks. Helmut had prepared them well, and this made my role much
easier From the day he founded his tiny cell, Helmut had promised his
disenchanted men that when the revolution came, they would be called on
by Moscow to carry out the first strikes against the iniperiali's't
oppressors.
My years in the Okhrana had given me an encyclopedic knowledge of
communist-methods and terminology, and I used it to the full in dealing
with these Englishmen.
I told them solemnly that Hitler intended to break his pact with Stalin
and attack Russia within thirty days. To this terrifying news I added
the usual Stalinist drivel, .e that while the industrialized nations
would eventually fall like rotten apples from the tree, the war had
presented an opportunily we could not afford to let pass. Now was the
time for revolution, I cried with passion, and the names of the martyrs
who struck down the imperialist leaders would be engraved forever in the
histories of the new world.
Stalin, I told them, had decided to save Russia and ignite the worldwide
revolution in one daring stroke. Not only were Churchill and George VI
to die, but the leaders of imperialist France and the fascist leaders of
Italy and Germany. The forged documents I carried added the weight of
holy writ to my tale, and these two Englishmen accepted it all with
grave pride. It was a sobering thing to see-two men who had fought so
bravely for their homeland agreeing to bring it to its knees.
Of course, in their minds they were liberatorsdowntrodden proletarians
who would free their fellowcountrymen from the clutches of warmongers
like Churchill.
One week before the target date we received reports that Churchill would
be spending the weekend of May 10th at Ditchley Park, a private country
house owned by a friend.
The king, of course, would be at Buckingham Palace. Soon after I
received a coded message from Heydrich, outlining the "diversion" that
Hitler would provide. The Fuhrer had ordered an air raid on London for
the night of May 10th-to occur simultaneously with our mission. And not
just any air raid, Heydrich said, but the largest bomber strike yet
visited on the city. Hitler believed that such a raid would not only
provide us with a perfect diversion, but would also demonstrate to the
English the futility of continued struggle against GermanyThe moment I
read this message I decided to change the strike date to May 11th,
regardless of Hitler's orders. I knew that our targets would not leave
their protected shelters during the air raid,- and if our assassins
attempted to break into Ditchley Park or Buckingham Palace, they would
be shot dead long before they reached their targets. But on May
11th-when both Churchill and the king would emerge to view the
unprecedented bomb damage of Hitler's raid-the chances of success would
be highest.
The weapon we chose for the attacks was the British Sten gun.
Although prone to jamming, the Sten was easily concealable and insured
that a high number of bullets would penetrate the targets. Each man was
to carry
a revolver as a backup in the event of a jam.
Five days before the strike date, I suggested to Helmut that we dismiss
the alternate-Sherwood-from training.
Helmut agreed and informed Sherwood of the change. From this moment on,
things began to go wrong. First "Big Bill" Banks, the man assigned to
kill Churchill, refused to remain in the safehouse during the final days
before the strike date.
His parents lived in London, and he wanted to spend his last days with
them. Helmut's best efforts could not change the man's mind.
"Little Bill " Fox-the man assigned to King George-had no family, and
agreed to stay in the safehouse with us. Together we passed the days
playing cards and listening to the radio. At night around ten-thirty
"Big Bill" would show up to make sure the plan had not changed.
Twice during this period Sherwood found an excuse to break orders and
come to the safehouse. I should have found some way to kill the
Bolshevik rat, but since "Liule Bill" was with us all the time, I
couldn't risk doing it in the house.
I thought of ordering Helmut to slip out and kill Sherwood, but I must
confess I had some doubt as to whether he would do it. Helmut had lived
with-andfought b@these Englishmen for years, and I could see that the
inevitability of their deaths was beginning to weigh upon him.
Helmut wasn't disloyal, but the strain of living a perpetual lie had
started to build up in him to a significant degree. Because of this, I
let the Sherwood matter go unresolved.
On May 10th-the final night before the strike-the atmosphere in the
house was electric. We had a car parked behind the house, filled with
black-market petrel. Every minute it sat unattended was another minute
of increased risk.
Around ten p.m. we heard the first Luftwaffe bombs falling outside. They
were far away from us-Heydrich had seen to that-but the noise was still
frightening. I began to worry.
By eleven p.m. "Big Bill" had still not arrived. I began to wonder if
he had lost his nerve, or even-God forbid-if he might have been killed
in the air raid. His lateness did not help Fox's resolve, either The
little man paced the room like a prisoner in solitary confinement.
At eleven-fifteen, disaster struck. The door burst open and "Big Bill"
stormed into the room, his eyes blazing. "They're dead! " he shouted
like a madman. "Dead dead dead! " I will neverforget his huge redface,
shaking in anguish. I couldn't imagine what he was screaming about, but
he soon told us.
Both his parents had been killed in the air-raid, he wailed, burnt
blacker than coat He wanted revenge: revenge on Goring, on the
Luftwaffe, and most of all on Hitler I tried to turn this catastrophe to
our advantage. Banks would have his revenge, I said. Tomorrow Hitler
would be killed@just as Churchill would-by a communist martyr just like
Banks.
What better revenge could his parents have?
When I mentioned Churthill, however, a strange look crossed Banks's
face. Then an odd calm settled on him. "I won't do it, " he said
simply. I almost collapsed "What?" I cried Speaking in a voice almost
too low to hear, Banks said that all along Churchill had been the man
who had stood up to Hitler That no mauer what extremes of capitalist
greed Churchill stood for, Churchill wanted Hitler dead It seemed that
this alone was now enough for "Big Bill" Banks. The 's f man anatical
communist zeal had disappeared in the blink of an eye.
I wanted to shoot him on the spot. I could see that his uncertainty was
having a similar effect on Fox. Immediately I redoubled my efforts to
convince Banks to push on. Helmut did his best to help me, and after
several minutes of emotional appeals Banks started to come around.
Somehow Helmut had redirected Banks's anger onto ChurrhilL It was
Churchill who'd brought the air raids down on England he said, Churchill
who'd actually killed Banks's parents. "Big Bill" took hold of his Sten
and began marching around the room, a snarl on his lips and tears in his
eyes. His rededication steeled Fox for his task, and I believed that
our mission might yet succeed But disaster struck again, this time in
the form of Sherwood. We heard the group's secret knock at the door
Helmut answered it, ready to brain whatever fool had broken his order
not to come around. The moment he unlatched the door, Sherwood burst in
with a revolver and ordered me against the wall. Jabbing the gun at me,
he told the others that I really was El Muerte, the Russian torturer
from Spain.
I calmly called the man a lunatic and told him he was about to wreck the
greatest strike for world communism since 1917. Sherwood laughed
wildly. Both Helmut and "Linle Bill" Fox urged him to put the pistol
down, but the fanatic showed no reluctance to point the gun at his own
countrymen if they interfered.
Sherwood Stepped up to me and laid the barrel of the pistol between my
eyes. "Tell them, " he said. "Tell them who you really are. " I could
almost see Helmut's brain spinning.
No one suspected him yet, but he had to be careful. "Comrade Zinoviev
comes from Moscow!" he told them. "From Stalin himself!
Don't bring Stalin's wrath down upon us. " But Helmut@ words had no
effect on Sherwood. "He thinks we're fools, Bill!" Sherwood shouted to
Banks. "Wants us to kill our own King, he does! Wants us to kill
Churchill and help Hitler! " Banks looked confused "Why would a Russian
want that?" he asked Sherwood Sherwood scowled "Aye, he@ a Russian,
Bill, but he's no Communist. He's a Tsarist killer and a bloody
Nazi-lover too! Aren't you?" he said, jabbing me with the revolver I
told Sherwood he was mad, all the while praying that Helmut had a pistol
on him. This couldn't go on much longer, I knew, and it didn't.
Sherwood suddenly called out a name, and a ragged old man shambled
through the door My blood ran cold Before me stood the interrogator's
nightmare@ne of my former victims, a man whose arm I had ordered broken
in several places. I could not conceal my shock.
The man had only one arm now, but I remembered his face from Spain.
While Sherwood pointed his pistol at me, the old man raised his one arm
and slapped me in the face. "Bastard, " he said. Then he turned to the
others and said, "This is El Muerte. " Sherwood's eyes sparkled with
glee. "Little Bill" Fox stood shaking his head in disbelief. Sherwood
took two steps back and steadied his aim; he meant to kill me on the
spot.
In that moment Helmut saved my life. He jerked a knife from his pocket
and buried it in Sherwood's heart. The stunned Englishman staggered
back, gurgled once, fired the pistol and fell dead.
Everyone in the room stood still, not quite sure what had happened. I
had the insane notion that we might yet salvage the mission. Then-in
a.flash of insight-"Big Bill" Banks understood it all. "You're a Nazi,"
he said to Helmut, his face slack with astonishment. "You-you always
have been. " He looked like a shell-shocked recruit. "But you fought
with us at
Jarama, " he mumbled "And Madrid. " Helmut tried to deny it,
but Banks heard nothing. His eyes narrowed and his lips grew white and
thin. It was the killing look-I'd seen it a hundred times before.
Had Banks simply shot Helmut, I would not be here today-but Banks was a
huge man, and his instinct was to smash what he hated with his hands.
Clutching the Sten gun like a bat, he smacked its stock across Helmut's
face. I felt Helmut's blood hit me as it sprayed across the room. He
staggered, but held his feet. Dazed, he tried to reason with Banks, but
the Englishman raised the Sten above his head and brought it down on
Helmut's skull Helmut crumpled to the floor Banks's fury at the loss of
his parents had been unleashed, and nothing short of death could stop
it.
Fox and the old man who had pointed me out backed against a wall, cowed
by the violence of their comrade. As Banks raised the Sten once more, I
snatched up Fox's Sten from the table, pulled back the bolt, and pointed
the gun at Banks. The man did not even notice me. I could have cut him
down at that instant, but I hesitated. By killing him, I would be
admitting that my mission hadfailed. Of course it already had, but I
could not yet accept that. My finger quivered on the trigger How could
this specter from my past have traveled to this very room after so long?
And the bombs-how could they have fallen right on Banks's house! How
could it possibly have happened!
I saw Banks bring the Sten down once more onto-or rather into-Helmut's
skull, and I pulled the trigger Whirling around the room in fury, I cut
them all down in seconds, then bolted for the car I had just got it
started when I remembered my forged papers-my "orders from .Moscow. "
Dashing back inside, I searched for my suitcase, but couldn't find it in
the main room. I checked the kitchen, found nothing, then returned to
the room where the bodies lay. I caught sight of my case in a dark
corner I started toward it, then froze. A pair of tall workboots stood
beside it. And standing in the boots was a thick pair of legs. Bill"
Banks, the red-haired giant, had somehow gotten to his feet, and he
still held his Sten.
He wobbled, then fired. He hit me twice-once in the right arm, once in
the right shoulder I had no choice but to rum At worst, I thought, the
forged papers implicated Stalin-not Hitler-so I ran. I cranked the old
