*
The airfield was utterly dark, save for the searchlights criss-crossing the sky and the flashing lights from the explosions of the bombs. Anna, wrapped in her sable, sat in the command car alongside Hotten, watching the patterns. ‘Are you afraid?’ he asked.
‘Should I be?’
He considered. ‘I suppose not, if what they say of you is correct.’
She squeezed his arm. ‘I am human, General. Therefore I am afraid. But I have often been afraid in the past, and I am still here.’
‘To be afraid, and still carry out your orders or your duty, is the highest form of courage.’
‘You say the sweetest things.’
An officer appeared beside the window. ‘A signal from the Luftwaffe pilot, Herr General. He will be down in five minutes, and requests that the landing lights be switched on. It should be safe: the raid is over.’
Behind them the All Clear was wailing.
The general got out of the car, as did Anna. ‘I see nothing,’ Hotten remarked.
‘Well, I suppose he isn’t showing lights,’ Anna ventured.
She stared into the darkness, but there seemed nothing there, and then . . . wumpff. She saw the parachute ballooning behind the aircraft before she saw the plane itself, a blacker image than the darkness, identified only by the sparks issuing from its wheels as the brakes were applied.
‘What in the name of God is that?’ Hotten enquired at large.
Anna felt inclined to ask the same question as the machine taxied towards them, only a low rumble, while in the distance there was another rolling rumble, like thunder.
The machine stopped, the engine was quiet, and the pilot swung himself from the cockpit. Anna stared in consternation; she had never seen anything like it in her life.
‘Repack that chute,’ the pilot said. ‘We must be out of here in fifteen minutes.’ He stood to attention in front of the general. ‘Heil Hitler! I am to take the Countess von Widerstand to Berlin.’ He bowed to Anna. ‘Countess! Captain Joachim Rudent, at your service.’
The name was familiar, although she could not immediately place it. ‘Herr Captain. You are going to take me to Berlin in this contraption?’
‘That is correct.’
‘But . . . it has no propeller. And the wings are too short.’
‘It is the 262,’ Rudent explained proudly. ‘Our latest fighter. You see –’ he indicated what looked like two large barrels, one attached to the underside of each wing – ‘it is jet propelled. It flies at nine hundred kilometres an hour. That is faster than any other airplane in the world, and so it cannot be caught. You will be in Berlin in forty-five minutes.’
Anna stared at it, and him. If she did not like flying in the first place, the idea of flying without a propeller, and at some unbelievable speed, was terrifying.
‘So if you are ready,’ Rudent said.
‘Well . . .’ she turned to Hotten. ‘I must thank you again, Herr General, and Frau Hotten, for your assistance.’
‘Meeting you, Countess, has been an unforgettable experience. But . . . do you think you will be safe in that machine?’
‘No,’ Anna said. ‘But it seems I have no choice. Tell me how I get on board, Captain.’
‘Ah. There is one small problem.’
‘Only one?’
‘It is a single-seater, you see.’
‘I’m afraid I do not see. Where do I sit?’
‘Well . . .’ He was embarrassed. ‘I will get on board first, and you will have to sit on my lap.’
‘I see. And you will still be able to fly the machine?’
‘Of course. It is very simple. But you must be careful not to touch anything.’
‘I don’t think I am going to be the one doing the touching. And you say the Reichsführer sent you?’
‘The jet is the only way we can guarantee you safe passage to Berlin. The Reichsführer called for a volunteer to make the flight. I was the first to step forward,’ he added, again proudly.
‘You were prepared to risk your life so that you could have me sitting on your lap for three quarters of an hour?’
‘No, no, Countess. So that I may do something for you. I had the great privilege of knowing your sister.’
Of course, Anna remembered: Katherine’s boyfriend. She rested her glove on his arm, ‘Then you will know . . .’
‘That is why I am here, Countess. Now, if you will take off your coat and hat . . .’
‘I will freeze.’
‘Only for five minutes. The cockpit is heated. And your clothes and your bag can be stored behind the seat.’
Anna sighed, but took off her coat and handed over her shoulder bag and hat; her hair flowed in the breeze and she became a vast shudder. A mechanic clambered on to the wing and put her stuff away, then he came down and fitted a leather helmet over her head and ears. Rudent got in and settled himself. ‘Now, Countess.’
The mechanic gave Anna a boost on to the wing. She hitched her skirt to her thighs, got one leg over, and then the other, sat on Rudent’s lap.
The mechanic had followed her on to the wing and now he leaned into the cockpit to pass the belt round Anna’s waist and over her shoulders. ‘This is very tight,’ she remarked.
‘That is because we are sharing the same belt,’ Rudent explained.
Her back was firmly wedged against his front. ‘Next you’ll be telling me that if something goes wrong, we share the same parachute.’
‘Yes, we do.’
‘You cannot be serious.’
‘But nothing is going to go wrong.’ The mechanic withdrew and Rudent closed the canopy; it brushed the top of her head. ‘Just enough room. Now, Countess, normally we fly at a minimum of ten thousand metres, but as we have only the one oxygen mask we will make this journey at five thousand. Please do not worry about this; we are still too fast for any enemy interception.’
‘Isn’t my hair in your face?’ His mask had touched the back of her neck as he put it on.
‘Yes, it is. But I can see through it. All set?’
‘I have a feeling,’ Anna said, ‘that by the time this flight ends, you and I are going to be very good friends.’
*
It was the most exhilarating feeling she had ever known. Further conversation was impossible owing to the screaming noise, but the sensation of speed and power was mind-bending. As for the sensation of nearness to the man . . . it came as a surprise for her to realize that she had actually spent very little of even her sexually active life sitting on a man’s lap; her partners had invariably been thinking further ahead virtually from the moment of their first meeting.
What made it more interesting was that because of his heavy flying suit she couldn’t tell what effect, if any, she was having on him, although from time to time he slightly shifted his position, and while his arms were round her the entire time, his gloved thumbs occasionally touching her breasts as he altered course or adjusted a control, these could not be considered as anything more than inadvertent. But by the time he landed, she felt that she had known him a long time.
Gutemann was waiting for her at Rangsdorf. Since the Warsaw incident he had treated her with almost comical deference, but as he still obviously remained overwhelmed by her beauty and personality, she had allowed him the odd night. As with all the men who claimed to worship her, she could never tell when one of them might be of vital use to her. Rudent had made no such statement, but she had a hunch he might be more useful than anyone else. She held his hand. ‘May I thank you for a most enjoyable flight, Herr Captain. Or may I call you Joachim?’
‘I would be flattered, Countess. And I would like to apologize for any discomfort.’
‘There was no discomfort at all. I think, when next you have leave, you should call on me. I would like to talk about Katherine.’
‘Call on you, Countess?’
‘You can reach me at Gestapo Headquarters.’
He gulped, and she squeezed his fingers. ‘It’s in the book.’
‘He was a perfect gentleman,’ Anna assured him. ‘Now I suppose you are taking me to the Reichsführer?’
‘No. He said that if you came in after ten he would see you tomorrow.’
Anna looked at her watch; it was just after midnight. ‘There’s a relief. Then I will see you also, tomorrow, Gunther.’
‘Ah . . . yes, Countess. As you wish.’
A bleary-eyed Birgit emerged from her bedroom as Anna entered the apartment. ‘Countess! I didn’t expect you back so soon. Did you have a good trip?’
‘It was interesting,’ Anna said.
*
‘What an experience,’ Himmler remarked. ‘You have nine lives.’
‘I think you mean that I once had nine lives,’ Anna pointed out. ‘I am not sure how many I have left.’
‘Ha ha. Your wit is as sharp as your mind. But I am so very pleased. You say that Bernadotte is prepared to come to Germany to discuss the situation? That is tremendous news. He didn’t . . . ah . . .’
‘No, sir.’ Anna gazed into his eyes. ‘The count did not reveal the contents of your letter. I did not expect him to.
‘Of course. What was his attitude when he read it?’
‘It is difficult to say, sir. He seldom reveals any emotion.’
‘Yes, they are a dour people. The important thing is that he is willing to help. Although, of course, it may not really be necessary.’
‘Sir?’
‘Our campaign in Flanders. Our army there is achieving great things. The Americans have been completely surprised and are falling apart. The war in the West may well be over in the next fortnight.’
Shit, she thought. Shit, shit, shit. She hadn’t taken Hotten’s ebullient comments all that seriously. Not that the bastards didn’t deserve a bloody nose; but it was still essential for them to win in the end, because the alternative was unthinkable.
‘So,’ Himmler went on, ‘we will put the count on hold for the time being. He asked for a week or two, didn’t he? Now, Anna, there is a small problem as regards you.’
‘Sir?’
‘You understand that to extricate you from Königsberg, I had to turn to the Luftwaffe. To obtain a 262, which I was informed was the only machine that could safely bring you home, I had to see Goering himself. He gave permission for one of his aircraft to be used, but . . .’
‘Oh, shit!’ Anna commented.
Himmler raised his eyebrows, but he said, ‘I know exactly how you feel, my dear girl. However, it may not be as bad as you think. He wants you to have Christmas lunch with him. His wife is apparently at their country estate and has no intention of visiting Berlin at this time. He may just wish the pleasure of your company.’
Anna sighed. ‘I am sure you are right, sir.’
‘There is, however, another aspect of the situation.’
Oh, lord, Anna thought; what now?
‘As you are aware,’ Himmler went on, ‘it is absolutely essential that no one ever knows of your visits to Stockholm.’
‘With respect, sir, the Gestapo agents in Lubeck knew of them when I was using the Malmo ferry. That man Werter, in particular.’
‘I will keep my eye on him,’ Himmler assured her. ‘But you have never mentioned them to anyone of importance, I hope?’
He was thinking of Goebbels, she knew. ‘I have never discussed my duties for you with anyone, Herr Reichsführer.’ At least in Germany.
‘And of course it would be disastrous for the Reichsmarshal to learn of them.’
‘I appreciate that, sir.’
‘So I have told him that as Commander of the Home Army, and with a view to future dispositions, I sent you to Königsberg to find out the actual situation there. Neither you nor I had any idea that you might be trapped by the speed of the Russian advance. So, you made the journey by boat, and you began your return journey by the same means, and you were torpedoed just outside the harbour. I think you should tell him that you were terrified at the experience, and did not feel up to risking it again. Hence the necessity for flying you out.’
‘Yes, sir. Actually, I was terrified.’
‘You, Anna? Ha ha. Now go and rest up. I have an idea that great things lie ahead of us.’
Almost literally, she supposed. She had only a nodding acquaintance with Reichsmarshal Goering, had never been disturbed by the predatory nature of his eyes when he looked at her; all men who were the least interested in women looked at her like that. But he did not have a great reputation as a womanizer, although one could never be certain with a morphine addict. He did, however, have a reputation as an insatiable accumulator of every object, from paintings to houses, that he considered of value. Did that extend to women?
And could it possibly extend to her? Because she also knew that if at the beginning of the Nazi movement he had been Hitler’s closest associate – his drug habit had been a concomitant of the severe wound he had suffered when walking at the Führer’s side during the famous attempted putsch in Munich in 1923, when he had been put on a course of morphine to mask the pain – he had largely fallen from favour since the failure of his Luftwaffe either to defeat the RAF in 1940, or to sustain the garrison at Stalingrad, as he had boasted it would do, in the winter of 1942. On the other hand, she equally knew that he was a man of proven, almost reckless courage, who had been a legitimate fighter ace in World War One, and had, indeed, commanded the famous Richtofen Squadron after that hero had been shot down.
So . . . she wore a deep red woollen dress under the freshly cleaned sable as she presented herself at the door of his Berlin mansion. This was a case of had been, as like almost every other building in Berlin it had been hit by the British bombers, more than once she estimated as she looked at what was left of the sagging roof, the collapsed walls. Thus, like everyone else, the Reichsmarshal had removed himself to the cellars, and again like everyone else who could afford it, had turned them into a subterranean palace; the carpets and decorations excelled even those of the Chancellery. As there was not sufficient wall space for more than a handful of his paintings, the majority were stacked against the walls in the corridors; Anna did not care to speculate on the value of the Old Masters she glimpsed as she was led, by a tail-coated major-domo, to the ‘drawing room’, situated two flights down from the street.
Here the Reichsmarshal waited for her and, as she had both feared and anticipated, there were no other guests. His uniform was even more gaudy than usual, and his medals presented such a glittering array of gold and silver that she suspected, were he to hug her, he might do her a mortal injury. But for the moment, he preferred to kiss her hand. ‘Countess!’ he said. ‘Anna! It is so good of you to come to see me.’
‘I was informed that it was a requirement, Herr Reichsmarshal,’ she riposted.
His eyes narrowed for a moment, then he beamed again. ‘I was told that your tongue was as sharp as it was sweet. But not so sweet as your twat, eh?’
‘Is it to be so immediate, sir? Or may we have lunch first? Or at least a drink?’
Goering snapped his fingers and champagne was brought. ‘Merry Christmas!’
‘And to you, Herr Reichsmarshal.’
He escorted her to a settee, sat beside her. ‘Do your private conversations with the Führer follow these lines?’
‘Of course not, sir. The Führer is a gentleman.’
Another long stare. Then he said, ‘I would like to tie you naked to a post and whip you till you bleed.’
Anna refused to blink or move her gaze. ‘I think that would be very unwise, sir.’
‘Because you belong to the Führer. You are a very fortunate young woman. But one should always remember that no fortune lasts for ever.’
‘I am sure that is something all of us need to bear in mind, Herr Reichsmarshal.’
He finished his champagne. ‘I think we should have lunch.’
*
‘Y
ou never did tell me how you got on with Goering,’ Himmler remarked, coming into Anna’s office.
‘Sir?’ Anna, sifting through various papers – her current duties consisted in destroying most of the files which could be regarded as incriminating for the SD, a sure sign of the way Himmler’s mind was going – looked up in surprise. It was six weeks since Christmas, and he had not raised the subject before.
But equally to her surprise, Himmler, after weeks of depression, was suddenly ebullient, which was difficult to understand, considering the circumstances. In February it was colder and bleaker than ever. Like everything else her office had had to be removed underground, and the true extent of the catastrophe in Flanders was just becoming apparent. After their seemingly immense success at the beginning of the attack the German forces had been shattered. Much of that early promise had been because of the low cloud cover that had prevented the Allied air forces from seeing, much less strafing, the panzer columns. Once the weather had cleared, the Germans had been cut to pieces, and their certainly gallant attempt to hold on to what they had gained had resulted in something close to annihilation. So, ten panzer divisions, the remaining flower of the Wehrmacht, had been squandered to absolutely no purpose.
The last month had been a sombre one in Berlin; Himmler had been the epitome of gloom, and she had not seen Hitler at all. And now this irrelevant question, out of the blue . . . ‘Do I have something to tell you, Herr Reichsführer?’
‘You had lunch with him on Christmas Day.’
‘Yes, sir. I did.’
‘What happened?’
‘We talked.’
‘Now, Anna, please do not play games with me.’
‘We talked, Herr Reichsführer. I believe the Reichsmarshal may have had some plans when he invited me, but he found my conversation off-putting.’
‘So what did you talk about?’
‘Himself, mainly.’
‘His plans?’ Suddenly his tone was eager.
‘Not really. The Luftwaffe. His new planes. He wanted to know what I thought of the 262.’
‘Hm. What did you think of it?’
Angel of Doom (Anna Fehrback Book 5) Page 22
