An orderly appeared with the Major’s breakfast and Freddie noticed with interest that in spite of the rationing it consisted of a good-sized gammon-rasher, coffee, rolls, butter and apple confiture.
With a wave of his hand the Major instructed the orderly to bring two more breakfasts but his politeness did not extend to waiting for his guests. Tucking a paper napkin into his stiff uniform collar he sat himself down at once and lowering his head began to guzzle as though his very life depended upon the speed with which he consumed his food.
In due course two more gammon-rashers and another jug of Ersatz coffee arrived, upon which Gregory gave Freddie a swift look and, tucking his paper serviette into the top of his collar, set-to with a most admirable imitation of the Major’s manners, that the airman did his best to follow.
“Aren’t you going to join us?” Gregory asked Wentsich with his mouth full of ham and bread-and-butter. But the Ober-Lieutenant shook his head.
“I don’t go off duty until seven o’clock and I have my breakfast then; but I’ll keep you company with another drink in the meantime.”
As soon as they had finished breakfast the fat Major stood up and said: “We’ll start at once, then I shall have plenty of time to drop you at the Air Ministry before I keep my appointment.”
“Danke Schön, Herr Major” Gregory murmured, but he felt no gratitude at all for this new offer; in fact, it perturbed him exceedingly. He had counted on the Major’s dropping them ‘somewhere in Berlin’, which would have left them free to follow their own devices; whereas, now that he intended to set them down at the Air Ministry, it meant that they would at least have to make a pretence of inquiring there for Goering. And once inside the Air Ministry with a British Officer in R.A.F. uniform as his companion, Gregory felt that it might be anything but easy to get out again.
Wentsich rang for the Major’s car and, having thanked the Ober-Lieutenant for his kindness, they went downstairs out into the still dark street where the car was waiting.
It was not a big car, as the Germans were economising petrol and, in fact, no cars were on the roads at all now except those in use for the Fighting Services and official business. Nevertheless, they made a steady thirty miles an hour towards Berlin and did even better when they got on to the broad Autobahn between Wittenberg and Potsdam. By ten-past six they were running through the suburbs of the Capital and a quarter of an hour later, in the grey light of dawn, the car pulled up in front of the Air Ministry.
Gregory was about to get out when the Major checked him.
“Ein Augenblick,” he called. “It is unlikely that the Field-Marshall will be in his office as early as this. Let us inquire, and if he is not you can come on with me and we can have a second breakfast together after I have done my business.”
Cursing inwardly, Gregory had smilingly to agree. The Major sent his chauffeur into the building to make the inquiry; the man returned to say that the Field-Marshal had not slept in his flat at the Air Ministry that night and it was not known at what hour he would arrive.
“Perhaps we had better wait,” suggested Gregory hopefully, but the Major would not hear of it; insisting that his own business, although important, would take only a few moments, and that it was senseless for the Herr Oberst to kick his heels in a waiting-room when he might be doing justice to a meal.
Gregory agreed to this with another false smile, the car drove on towards the Wannsee quarter and pulled up outside a big private house in a fine residential district. The Major then left them and went inside; but as his chauffeur remained in the car it was impossible for Gregory and Freddie to slip away as they would have liked to have done.
Ten minutes later the Major came out again and beckoned to them from the doorstep. “My business is done,” he called, “and my friend invites you both to breakfast; he is anxious to meet the English flying-officer.”
There was nothing for it but that they should accept the invitation, so they got out and accompanied the Major into the house. The friend proved to be another officer of Black Guards; a fair, thin paunchy man with almost white eyelashes, whose name was Blauhoff. He spoke English well and, while maintaining a smiling, urbane manner, questioned Charlton exhaustively; not so much upon the British Air Force, about which a flying-officer would naturally be averse to disclosing any details, but regarding events in London and the state of England generally.
Freddie stood up to the ordeal well, as he had an unshakable conviction that Britain would win the war and that the Government was neglecting no possible opportunity to mobilise her resources with speed and efficiency.
In consequence, he came out of the business with credit and the German got little satisfaction from him. Even when Blauhoff made sarcastic remarks about the amazingly poor quality of British propaganda Charlton innocently assured him that although there was certainly a great deal of muddle at the Ministry of Information when it was first started that was only to be expected in a country where propaganda had been deemed quite unnecessary up to the outbreak of the war: and that, in any case, much more competent people were now being given jobs there, as a consequence of which his host could rest assured that in the long run it would function with extreme efficiency.
The talk then turned on Finland and the new crisis that had arisen there. News had just come through that the Finns had offered to withdraw their troops if the Russians would do the same; which demonstrated beyond question the Finns’ pacific intentions. But Blauhoff said that he did not think that the Russians would accept the offer. In addition to a withdrawal of the Finnish Army they were demanding the surrender of certain islands in the Gulf of Finland which, together with the bases that they had now established on the coast of Estonia, would give them control of the whole of the Eastern Baltic; and now that they had decided to exert pressure on Finland again it looked as though they had made up their minds to have what they wanted.
Gregory and Freddie did not like their host at all but they could not quarrel with the breakfast he provided. It was an excellent meal and yet one more demonstration of the fact which Gregory already knew: that, however short of food the German people had to go, the Nazi officials denied themselves nothing.
When they had finished they all left the house together. Blauhoff drove off to his office while Putzleiger insisted upon driving his passengers back to the Air Ministry.
It was now just after eight o’clock and, knowing the early hour at which all Germans start work, Gregory thought it quite possible that Goering had by this time arrived at the Air Ministry; that is, if he was in Berlin at all—a point upon which Gregory was by no means certain.
As they pulled up in front of the big building he extended his hand to the Major and thanking him for his kindness began to wish him a hearty farewell; but the Major would have none of it and insisted on accompanying them into the hallway, where Gregory was forced to make his inquiry for Goering in front of his jovial but infuriatingly persistent escort.
One of the uniformed clerks behind the long ‘Inquiry’ counter in the big hall informed them that the Field-Marshal had not yet appeared so the Major promptly asked at what time he was expected. An inquiry was put through to one of Goering’s secretaries and ten minutes later an answer came down that he would not be at the Ministry at all that day as he was staying at Karinhall, his house outside Berlin, but that anyone who had special business could go there and apply for an interview.
To Gregory’s fury Putzleiger immediately said: “Come along, then, I will drive you out to Karinhall; it is no great distance.”
“But really, Herr Major” Gregory protested, “I don’t feel that we can trespass on your time like this.”
“Not a bit of it, my dear fellow,” came the prompt answer. “Now I’m in Berlin I shall spend the whole day here, but I have nothing at all to do this morning. In being of assistance to you I am serving our great Air Chief, and when you see him you might perhaps—er—casually mention my name in that connection. In any case it would be a pleasure to see you
safely to your destination.”
In vain Gregory tried to persuade the Major that he had done more than enough for them but he declared that he had never seen Goering’s famous mansion, Karinhall, and that this was an excellent opportunity for him to do so. Quite clearly he had no intention of being deprived of it or of this chance of getting his name mentioned to Goering as a zealous Nazi, so yet again Gregory had to give in and they set off in the car once more, this time heading for the northern suburbs of the Capital.
Many of the smaller private traders in Berlin had already been forced to close their shops, which made the outer suburbs more than usually dreary and depressing, but they were soon out in the open country and the bright cold air helped to refresh Gregory and Freddie after the exhausting hours of their sleepless night. By half-past nine they arrived at the gates of the great park which surrounded the country-residence that Goering had turned into a palace, rivalling those of the old kings of Prussia, by the almost limitless outpouring of some of the millions which were his share of the loot that the Nazis had taken from the German nation.
At the gates they were halted by grey-clad members of Goering’s special bodyguard and had to undergo a most rigorous questioning, but at last Putzleiger was given a pass for himself, his chauffeur and his car to enter the grounds and Gregory one for Charlton and himself to go up to the house. As an added precaution, apparently to see that none of them left the car while driving through the estate, one of the bodyguard jumped on the running-board to accompany them.
They ran up the mile-long drive and the bodyguard directed the chauffeur to a big car-park at one side of the great mansion. As Putzleiger had not come on business he was told that he could not be allowed inside the house and their escort expressed his intention of accompanying him on a walk round the building; while Gregory and Charlton, having been questioned by yet another official, were directed to cross the great open space in front of the mansion and present their pass to the man on the front door. At last they were able to shake the Major off, and having parted from him with many expressions of goodwill they left the car-park to walk across the open expanse of gravel.
It was the first time for many hours that Gregory and Freddie had been alone and that the airman was able to give expression to the worry he was feeling. As Putzleiger had been present when Gregory had been questioned by the guards on the gate he had had to stick to his story that he was bringing a British Air-officer prisoner whom the Field-Marshal wished to question personally. They could not possibly, therefore, turn round and go out again without entering the building and between the car-park and the front door of the mansion there was no place where they could conceal themselves.
A hundred yards away on the steps of the portico a small group of the grey-clad guards had already noticed them and were eyeing them casually; and Freddie’s first swift glance round the grounds had shown him that other guards were posted here and there in positions where they could keep a look-out over the gardens, so it was out of the question to try to run for it; they would be shot before they had covered twenty yards. They could not go back and must go on, but he was grimly anticipating the moment when they got into the house and were questioned by somebody in authority. Gregory’s story about Goering’s wishing to see his prisoner would soon be found to be quite untrue and wherever he said that he came from a longdistance telephone call would be quite sufficient to disclose the fact that he was not whom he said he was at all. The fat would then be in the fire with a vengeance.
He glanced anxiously at Gregory, who had lit a cigarette and was walking forward apparently quite unperturbed.
“Well,” he asked in an undertone, “what the hell do we do now”
Gregory suddenly turned and grinned at him. “Why, since the Nazis have already provided us with two breakfasts this morning I think it would be a good day to take lunch off Goering.”
“Oh, stop fooling!” Freddie muttered angrily. “With all these damned guards about we daren’t run for it, and once we’re inside this place even your plausible tongue will never get us out.”
“It is rather tricky, isn’t it,” Gregory admitted. “Just the toss of a coin as to whether we come out on our own feet or are carried out feet first. Of course, I could easily have held up old Putzleiger with my gun while you tackled the chauffeur on the way here. On a lonely stretch of road we could have tied them up, rolled them in the ditch and got away with their car.”
“Then why in the name of thunder didn’t you?”
“Because that wouldn’t have enabled me to find out about Erika or to get out of Germany. We’d only have been on the run again and risking our necks every moment of the day to no particularly good purpose; and it occurred to me that old Putzleiger might be Fate playing into our hands. I think this is the biggest gamble that I’ve ever taken, but now I’m here, by hook or by crook I mean to see Goering; after that our lives will probably depend upon the quality of the butter that he ate with his breakfast.”
Chapter VIII
The Waiting-Room of the Borgia
As Gregory and Charlton had been talking they had crossed the open space and were now at the foot of the steps leading up to the great pillared portico. The grey-clad guards did not move forward to question them but the nearest gave the two visitors a long, searching look. It was the quiet, intent gaze that Gregory had noticed at times on the faces of good detectives when for the first time they saw a criminal who had just been arrested. He felt quite certain that the man was specially trained in remembering faces and that if he ever happened to run into Freddie or himself again he would know them instantly.
A uniformed porter was standing just inside the door and an officer of the guard was slowly walking up and down the great marble-tiled hall. Gregory produced his pass and showed it to the porter. The officer turned in his stride, came over, glanced at it and motioned with his hand to a doorway on the right. They walked through it and entered a small office.
A shaven-headed clerk with thick-lensed spectacles was seated there behind a desk and taking Gregory’s pass he gave him in exchange a yellow form. Gregory glanced down it and read: “Interview desired with … … By appointment—or not … … Name of applicant, rank, etc … … Business upon which interview is requested.”
He took up a pen from the desk and instead of filling up the form simply wrote across it in German:
“If Your Excellency would examine the inscription on the back of the enclosed you will realise that the sender is in possession of information which is of importance to you.”
Opening his greatcoat he then unpinned the Iron Cross which General Count von Pleisen had given him and, asking the clerk for an envelope, placed both the decoration and the form inside it. Having sealed the envelope he handed it back and said:
“I shall be grateful if you will have that conveyed to the Field-Marshall.”
“The Field-Marshall is extremely busy,” replied the clerk officiously; “much too busy to deal personally with officers’ grievances; so sending up your decoration won’t do you any good.”
Gregory suddenly became the autocratic Prussian officer in a manner that positively startled Freddie. He froze the clerk with an icy stare as he snapped: “How dare you assume that I am an officer with a grievance! Obey my order instantly or the Field-Marshal shall hear of this.”
The little Jack-in-office wilted visibly, banged a bell-push on his desk and stuttered: “If the Herr Oberst will be pleased to wait in the next room an orderly shall take this up at once.”
The adjoining room proved to be a very much larger apartment. Its colour scheme was blue and gold; its furnishings were rich and elegant. Wood-fires on open grates—a rarity in Germany—were burning in two big fireplaces; papers, magazines and periodicals were scattered over a number of tables and the room contained between thirty and forty arm-chairs and sofas. There were between a dozen and twenty people already in it, sitting about reading and smoking, so it would have resembled a rich man’s club-room had not the
company been an extremely mixed one. There were several officers of the Reichswehr, Air Force and Black Guards, also a couple of well-dressed civilians; but the presence of three women and a peasant in a leather jacket, together with the way in which they all refrained from speaking to one another and kept a watchful eye upon the door as though expecting to be called at any moment, gave it the atmosphere of a dentist’s waiting-room.
Gregory and Charlton selected an unoccupied sofa and sat down. How long they would have to wait they had no idea but it seemed probable that it would be a long time if all the people already gathered there had appointments with the Field-Marshal. For ten minutes Gregory flicked over the pages of “Simplissimus”, smiling at the caricatures of Chamberlain, Churchill and John Bull, which were the most prominent feature of Germany’s leading comic; then he yawned, moved over to an arm-chair and, stretching out his feet, remarked:
“We may be here for hours yet so I think I’ll get some sleep.”
“Sleep?” echoed Freddie. “In this state of uncertainty! How can you?”
“Why not?” muttered Gregory. “We may be up again all tonight.”
“I only hope to God we are!”
“So do I, since if we sleep at all tonight it may be for good. D’you know that little rhyme?
‘A man’s not old when his hair turns grey,
A man’s not old when his teeth decay,
But it’s time he prepared for his last long sleep
When his mind makes appointments that his body can’t keep.’
Well, thank God, I’m a long way from having got to that stage yet, so when the time comes you can trust me to put up a show all right, but while we’re waiting a spot of shut-eye won’t do either of us any harm. We’ll be all the fresher for it when we lunch with the Field-Marshal.”
Faked Passports Page 11
