"That's Aunty Ju," Franke said, pulling the car close to the boxy plane.
Getting out of the car, Johanna could see that the skin was corrugated, like the roof on a tin shack. Franke opened a door in the side of the fuselage behind the left wing. He jumped in and held out his hand to help Johanna in.
The hold of the plane looked like the inside of a freight car with straight sides and a curved roof.
"You'll sit up in the cockpit with me," Franke announced. He pointed forward to an open door. "The seat on the right."
Johanna climbed up into the cockpit of the plane. The square glass canopy stretched over her head and all around the front of the plane. She stepped over the center console with its levers and knobs, careful not to touch anything.
Sliding into the cushioned leather seat, she felt Franke's hand behind her shoulder pulling the harness around her. He reached between her knees for a strap and clicked the buckles together.
Franke slid into the pilot's seat and smiled at her.
"Sorry, I don't have an extra flight suit." He reached over and pulled on the straps across her chest.
"I've got it," Johanna said, pushing his insistent hands away.
Franke shrugged and handed her a headset, putting a pair on over his cap.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
He tapped his headset and shook his head. He pulled out a clipboard and went through his checklist-- flipping switches, reading gauges and yanking levers. He started the left engine, looking out the window as it roared to life. The headset muffled the sound, but Johanna could feel the vibration of the motor. Franke started the right motor, leaning over Johanna to see out her side.
He flipped another switch and now Johanna could hear him talking in her headset through the plane's intercom.
"My orders are to fly you to a location to be provided once we're in the air," he said, putting on a pair of sunglasses and stowing his checklist. "In the meantime, it's a beautiful day for flying."
Johanna watched him put his hand on two levers by his right knee. He held them there for a moment while he checked a few gauges and meters. As he pushed the levers forward, Johanna felt and heard the engines rev but the plane didn't move. Franke checked one more gauge, turned to Johanna and winked.
The plane sprang forward as Franke took his feet off the brakes. He pushed the throttle levers almost all the way up and the plane built up speed, bouncing on the grass field. Johanna felt herself being pushed back into the seat and then down as the plane lifted off the ground and climbed into the air.
Franke turned the plane and then leveled out. He twisted what looked like a small radio dial and clicked on his transmitter. Johanna tried to hear what he was saying, but he spoke too fast and it was lost in static.
An equally garbled reply came back. Franke switched off the radio and pulled out a map.
"Lisbon it is, then," he said. He flipped through a notebook and made some calculations. "It's going to be a few hours, so if you can sleep, I recommend you do so."
45
Johanna felt a sudden sensation of falling and started awake.
The drone of the engines had lulled her to sleep. Never able to catch more than an hour of sleep at a time on the U-boat, the long flight was just what she needed. Now the timbre of that drone had changed and they were dropping.
Franke was pulling back on the throttle and pushing forward on the wooden yoke. Johanna could see a sliver of ocean on the horizon. Below them was green, mountainous terrain broken by the occasional village.
The plane descended and the sliver of ocean grew closer and bigger. Now Johanna could see a sprawling city up ahead, with white buildings and red roofs snaking around hills and narrow streets.
Johanna heard the rush of air as Franke lowered the flaps. He banked and dropped the plane still lower. Nothing that looked like an airport was in sight.
After a few minutes of descent, Johanna saw a clearing in the trees. This one was a strip of sandy ground between scrub brush and pine trees. Franke tipped the wings to account for the wind and brought the plane down with a soft bump. He pulled back on the throttle and stood on the brakes.
At the end of the makeshift runway a man leaned against the hood of a black convertible. He shielded his eyes from the sun and waved to the plane as it taxied to a halt.
Franke shut off the engines and removed his headset. He leaned over to help Johanna out of her harness, but she held up her hands.
"I've got it, thank you," she said.
Franke threw a wooden block of steps out the side cabin door. Johanna stepped out of the plane into the warm afternoon sun and took off her heavy overcoat. Franke closed the door behind her and went back up into the cockpit.
Johanna could see that the man at the end of the runway was very tall. He towered over the small roadster beside him. Waving again, he walked over to meet her.
"Good afternoon, Dr. Falck," he said, extending his hand. "My name is Hans."
Hans was at least three inches taller than Johanna and wore black-rimmed glasses. He wore a severe gray suit that clashed with his friendly manner.
Johanna shook his hand and said hello.
"I'm so very pleased to meet you," he continued. "You don't have any bags?"
Johanna shook her head.
"Very well. Please, this way," he gestured to the car.
With the top down, Johanna enjoyed the warm Mediterranean air and the feel of the sun on her face. For a moment, she almost forgot where she was.
Portugal is a neutral country, she reminded herself. How much trouble can I get into in a neutral country?
Hans hummed a tune while he drove into the city, passing white stuccoed buildings on the cobblestone streets.
"We're going to the Hotel Continental," he announced after a while. "There is a group of men most anxious to meet you."
"Yes, well… I'm most anxious to meet them too," she replied with a note of caution. "Can you tell me what our meeting is all about?"
Hans smiled and shook his head.
"Everything in good time."
The Hotel Continental sat close to the road across from the water in central Lisbon, its walls glowing pink with the setting sun. Hans drove past the front entrance with its uniformed valets and pulled the car around to the back of the hotel.
Behind the six story building, a high brick wall sheltered the hotel's cobblestone courtyard from the street and neighboring buildings. A porte cochere jutted out over the back door and Hans parked the car underneath it. He leaped out of the car to get Johanna's door for her, offering his hand to help her climb out of the low-slung convertible.
"Come, we have dinner waiting for you and then you'll want to rest," Hans said with his ever-present smile. He opened the hotel's back door for her and followed behind.
They walked down a narrow hallway piled high along the walls with empty produce boxes from the kitchen. At the end was a service elevator with a brass grate. They took the elevator up to the sixth floor. From the rear courtyard to the sixth floor hallway, they didn't encounter a single other person. Johanna wondered if that was by design.
Hans stopped in front of Room 632 and knocked. The door opened and a dour-looking man let them in without a word. He immediately walked out into the hallway and closed the door behind him.
The suite was luxury such as Johanna had never seen. Antique furniture filled every corner of every room; paintings and tapestries hung on the wall. The parlor opened up onto a wide verandah with a view of the ocean. Through the parlor Johanna could see a dining area with a long, polished mahogany table decorated with cut flowers.
Hans pointed to a bedroom just to the right of the suite's door.
"That will be your room," he said. "I took the liberty of ordering some dinner for you – you'll find it on the trolley."
"Thank you," Johanna replied, somewhat awed by the high accommodations.
"I also expect that you will want a change of clothes. I'm afraid I'm not up on the latest fashion
, but I hope you'll find what's in the closet to be adequate."
"I'm sure it will be." Johanna walked into the bedroom, taking in the four-poster ebony bed draped in white muslin. "Quite sure."
"Good night, then."
Johanna turned to reply, but Hans had already closed the door. She picked up a silver plate cover off the room service trolley and found a large bowl of what looked like bouillabaisse. Fresh fruit and shrimp cocktail were on the bottom shelf. She kicked off her shoes and sat on one of the plush armchairs. She pulled the trolley over and ate everything on it.
After the big meal, the long day was getting the better of her. She slipped out of her dress and threw it in the corner. She looked at it lying on the floor and remembered when she had put it on in her flat in Stuttgart. Whatever Hans had picked out for her would be an improvement, just to put something clean and fresh on. Something that wouldn't be a constant reminder of the ordeal she had just been through.
Just about to get into bed, she glanced at the bedroom door. She padded over to it and tried the knob. It was locked.
Johanna wondered if the dour man had been a guard and whether he was outside the suite door right now. She yawned and decided that answers could wait until the morning.
46
The early morning sun streamed through the window and a light breeze fluttered the thin white curtains. Johanna blinked in the light and stretched. She had a moment of disorientation, not remembering where she was. The tinkling of silverware on china from the other room snapped her back to reality.
Were all her questions going to be answered today? She was impatient to find out, but not too impatient to resist the temptation of a hot bath. She threw back the covers and walked over to the adjoining white tile bathroom. She drew a steaming hot bath and sank slowly into it.
As she felt days of sweat and dirt slough away, Johanna forced herself to clear her mind and relax.
Toweling her hair dry, Johanna slid back the louvered closet door. Three dresses hung within. Johanna grabbed the first one and stepped into it. She recovered her shoes from where she had kicked them off and once again tried the doorknob. It was unlocked. She pulled the door open and stepped out into the suite.
Four men were sitting at the long mahogany table, eating breakfast. One of them was Hans from the day before. The other three Johanna didn't recognize. They were dressed in suits as civilians, like Hans.
"Good morning, Dr. Falck," Hans said, standing up. "Please, won't you join us?" He gestured to an empty chair beside him.
Johanna took the seat without a word. The other three men smiled and nodded to her and resumed eating. She was opening her mouth to ask their names when there was a knock at the suite's door.
"Ah, there they are," Hans said. He pushed his chair back and went to the door. The other three men followed behind him.
Hans opened the door, revealing two men standing out in the hall. They entered the suite.
Johanna stared at the first of the two men, a glimmer of recognition forming in her mind. I know him from somewhere. That silver hair and those blue eyes.
Her breath stuck in her throat as she realized who it was.
William Donovan. Head of COI. FDR's personal intelligence advisor.
His companion Johanna didn't recognize, with his tousled white hair and bushy mustache. He adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses and nodded to Hans who showed them in.
The theories that Johanna had formed to explain the mysteries of Hagen, the SS and the Lindbergh assassination plot dissolved once she saw Donovan enter the suite. Now, she felt like she was starting all over again, with no idea what was happening.
Donovan and his companion walked into the dining area, with Hans and his three men in tow.
Donovan looked at Johanna. She saw that he recognized her straight away.
"Dr. Falck?" he asked with furrowed brow, looking around at his hosts. "What's she doing here?"
Hans smiled and gestured for them to sit.
"All in good time," Hans replied in English. "Would you gentlemen like some breakfast?"
They refused, but Johanna helped herself to a pastry and some fruit. Everyone took their seat at the table.
At the head of the table, a serious-looking man in a blue suit cleared his throat.
"Gentlemen," he said in heavily German-accented English. "Perhaps we start with introductions? Hans, will you begin?"
"Certainly, General." Johanna started at the title. "My name is Hans Gisevius. I am attaché for German Military Intelligence, the Abwehr." He nodded to the man sitting at his left. The man adjusted his glasses and looked around the table.
"I am Dr. Hans von Dohnanyi, chief of special projects for Abwehr."
To his left, a man with a heavily starched collar spoke in a booming voice.
"Dr. Carl Goerdeler. Former mayor, Leipzig."
The man Gisevius had addressed as General folded his hands on the table.
"I am Major-General Hans Oster, Deputy Chief of Abwehr."
Johanna sat stunned, a half-eaten orange wedge in her hand. The high-level titles were unexpected. She knew that Hagen was an officer for the Abwehr. Their involvement was not a surprise, but the presence of the deputy chief was.
Donovan nodded to Oster.
"My name is General William Donovan. I am President Roosevelt's Coordinator of Information."
Donovan's companion pulled his pipe out of a jacket pocket and clenched it between his teeth. He produced a leather pouch, unzipped it and took out a pinch of tobacco.
"Allen Dulles, I work for General Donovan."
Everyone at the table then looked at Johanna. She sat silent until she saw Donovan raise his eyebrows.
"Oh… my name is Johanna Falck. I work for General Donovan, too."
Gisevius looked to Oster, who nodded.
"Since my English is perhaps the best, General Oster has asked me to speak for the group."
"Please do," Donovan replied. Dulles struck a match and lit his pipe.
"Gentlemen," Gisevius continued. "Assembled here before you is the senior leadership of the German anti-Nazi Resistance."
Donovan and Dulles sat impassive, but Johanna gasped.
Everything that she believed told her that not only was their no organized resistance to Hitler and the Nazis, but if there were it would never form in the heart of the Wehrmacht. Now, sitting here in front of her, were high-ranking officials from German military intelligence telling her she was wrong.
Could it be that the image of a nation united behind Hitler was an illusion?
Dulles puffed on his pipe, emitting a dense cloud of smoke.
"I'm not aware that such a Resistance exists," he replied, looking Gisevius in the eye.
Gisevius made a grim face and nodded.
"Yes, I would suspect that to be the case." He took a sip of water. "I think a little background would be in order."
Johanna sat in rapt attention as Gisevius spoke.
"The world has been presented a meticulously crafted fiction that Hitler enjoys the total support of sixty million Germans in his quest to rule Europe. Gentlemen, this is simply not true.
"Yes, the Nazis do have the support of many, either through ignorance or venality, but there are many decent Germans left who wish to stop Hitler before he ruins us all. Despite the threat of the concentration camps or a bullet to the brain, we stand before you as representatives of a committed group of conspirators. We draw from the military, from the clergy and from the public…"
"You say you are committed," Donovan interrupted. "Do you have some tangible proof of that commitment?"
"Proof?" Gisevius replied. "In September 1938, General Oster, General Beck, General Brockdorff and I organized a plan to imprison Hitler and his men and restore human decency to Germany. Major Wilhelm Heinz had a group of commandos ready to storm the Chancellery. We were to take advantage of the Czechoslovakian crisis to make our move. His rantings were not popular, especially with the Army. When Hitler gave the order for war, we
would strike.
"And then Munich happened. We made contact with the British and the French and tried to persuade them that Hitler was playing them for fools, that war was coming whatever happened with the Sudetenland. We were told that as we were not sanctioned representatives of the German government, we were not to be dealt with. Once the Western Allies failed to stand up to Hitler, our chance was lost.
"But we were not to be dissuaded by the failure of the Allies. In September 1939, we tried again, but failed. When the war plans against Poland and the West became known, we reassembled our former group of conspirators for another try. This time, the generals failed us. They viewed the cause of ridding Germany of Hitler as hopeless and simply gave up. Worse, they felt honor bound by their oath to Hitler not to overthrow him. When Hitler's control over the military became complete, he replaced the soldier's oath to Germany with one sworn to him personally."
Fifth Column Page 30
