by Andrew Wood
Until he obtained an identification of whoever it was that he had killed, or some photos that he could show Pichon, Marner had nothing more than a small collection of dead-ends regarding the identity of Schull’s murderer. Which left him with just one option and that was to follow the trail that Schull had been following. Due to the fact that Schull had left behind no notes or clues regarding his line of investigation or findings, Marner had to assume that it was the submarine transports.
A call to Hoffman elicited no response, his assistant stating only that Hoffman was busy in meetings and could not even define when he might be free. Marner’s frustration translated itself into a need to do something, anything, even if just to provoke a reaction and therefore he decided to make another visit to Kriegsmarine.
Under no urgency to be there at an allotted time he elected to walk, which would both burn some pent up energy and also permit Paris to sooth his nerves. Exiting the building onto Foch, he moved immediately out onto the central avenue and set off towards the Arc. The view of the avenue from here at the west end soothed him as it always did, its wide panorama stretching away in a near parody of artistic perspective that even a cultural philistine like him could appreciate. He passed the junction of Rue Pergolese which swerved off at an acute angle from Foch, on the corner of which was his favourite building, a sharp wedge of a building on the sliver of land there. Only four storeys high, it was dwarfed by its neighbours. What made it special was the balconied terrace ten metres high atop the end of the ground level, jutting out into the small corner garden. This gave the distinct impression of it being the prow of a grand ocean going ship, with its steel railings around the edge of the terrace, the floors above rising up vertically to a very ornate double window and balcony that could have been the bridge deck. It reminded him of a childhood visit to the docks of Rostock during a summer holiday on the Baltic coast of Germany. Just six or seven years old, he had been awed by the incredible size of the luxury liners berthed there, standing there on the dockside with his young neck tilted all the way back to peer up the towering steel sides. He had dreamed through his childhood that he would one day roam the vast oceans of the world at the helm of one of these, even considering applying to the Kriegsmarine on the outbreak of war.
An early patrol of troops clattered past him on their horses, the sight and sound thrusting him forward in time to his first days in Paris. As well as his reasonable French language skills, it had been a rising tide of attacks against German military personnel that had led to him being posted here. In those initial months he had often worked undercover amongst the crowds lining the avenue during the frequent military parades of German men, armour and horse-mounted guards on the Champs-Élysées. His mission had been to watch for any potential insurgent action against the parade. There had been none, although he had heard jeers from the crowd over the thundering vibration and noise of the machines and horses’ hooves. There were always numerous calls and looks of contempt and hatred, as well as both men and women openly weeping whilst their children gaped and pointed at the spectacle.
At that time he had partly believed what he had heard quoted of the French: that by declaring Paris an open city in response to the German invasion, they had demonstrated that they were a weak and decadent people who deserved to be subjugated. He no longer credited any truth to this, but what to conclude about the German army now ceding Rome in the same way?
He had to admit that he had been proud to be German in those heady days, proud of the display of conquering might, even as he had acknowledged the grain of truth in his ex-wife’s words. Katrin had been an open critic of the war, had clashed furiously with Marner’s father on the subject, eroding the last tenuous strands holding their young marriage together. She had declared the aggression and ambition of Germany to be unjust, criminal, and was convinced that they would one day be called to account.
Marner had succeeded in resisting the military for two years, aided by his record and reputation in the detectives’ brigade in Berlin, protected by his necessary civilian job. It had become increasingly certain that he would have to submit to either forced conscription or voluntary application and his superior officer in the bureau had prevailed on him and secured him a logical place in the Kripo. The obligation to join the SS had been the only sour note in his natural transfer from the civilian version of the police to its military analogue. He had been wary of the stupidity and fanaticism he had seen through the ‘30’s, but had told himself that he was still just a policeman, albeit in a uniform once more.
It was this twist of fate that meant that he was now posted here in Paris, had been since late 1941 when he had graduated from the military academy. He was amazed that this city and its incredible architecture and culture had been spared thus far from the ravages of war, a peaceful and elegant oasis at the centre of, but barely touched by, the tornado of death and destruction sweeping across Europe. He wondered how his family were faring now under the nightly onslaught of bombings in Berlin.
He shook off this gloomy thought as he traversed the circus around the grey granite bulk of the Arc and set off down the Champs-Élysées. Forcing his mind to shift to the present issue, he considered again whether Schull’s murder might be politically motivated. Odewald was a Nazi party man through and through and often spouted the standard rhetoric about communist and Jewish terrorists and agitators, but no one believed that nonsense now. The early Resistance activity may have sprung from a groundswell of anger of French communists to the German invasion of Russia. This had been the motivation behind the shooting of Kriegsmarine officer Alfons Moser in August 1941 by the communist Pierre Georges in the Barbès metro station. It had certainly raised the alert level in German high command. Most of Marner’s initial work here in Paris had been tracking and monitoring such activity. But hundreds of communist dissidents had been caught and executed at Fort Mont-Valérien and the communists were now largely a spent force. Quite simply, the resurgence of resistance activity now under way in France was by ordinary French people who had endured an occupation and were sensing the weakening of the occupiers. Yes, weakening, he admitted.
The files that he had already reviewed had plenty of potential leads, primarily furnished by the informants and collaborators feeding the various sections of the RHSA. The problem was with the staggering amount of raw and unprocessed information; it was unsurprising that he had found nothing that seemed linked. Most likely the break in this case would entail finding the right informant, for which he would undoubtedly need Boris.
At the lower end of the Champs-Élysées he crossed the wide arena of Place de la Concorde that was dominated by the towering needle of the Obélisque, this place where Madame la Guillotine had despatched the aristocracy with such great élan and efficiency. How crazy the activity of humans appears to be when viewed from the lofty vantage point of hundreds of years of history, he thought; what would the citizens of the world have to say about the events of this century, two hundred years from now?
The imposing twin façades of the Hotel Crillon and the Ministère de la Marine entirely dominated the northern perimeter of the Place. The hotel had been the first headquarters of the German military command following the fall of France in 1940. Entering the Ministère, Marner realised that he had no contact within Kriegsmarine headquarters to help him, no idea even of which department or group within the organisation would have the information that he wanted. Therefore he went directly to Hoffman’s office, but this time it was the aide that he wanted, not Hoffman.
The aide, Staff Sergeant Lesemann, was a classic career administrator and had little enthusiasm or courage for making decisions or taking responsibility, other than wielding the authority to be able to deny access to his boss. When Marner demanded information or files regarding the submarines that had transported these special shipments, Lesemann replied curtly that he neither knew of them nor could help.
Marner made his play. “I am investigating the murder of a senior Kriegsmarine officer, under the
full authority of both Hoffman and the Reich Security Services. This is urgent, because we believe that other personnel are at imminent risk. So either give me what I need, or get me Hoffman, but if you don’t help me one way or the other, I will ensure that you are held responsible for the obstruction of this investigation.”
Lesemann blanched under this onslaught, gulped a few times and then lunged for the telephone. He barked a quick command into the phone and even before the receiver was back in its cradle an underling burst through a side door and snapped to attention in front of them.
“This is Corporal Beele, he will take you to the relevant section and ensure that you are put in contact with the relevant officer,” said Lesemann. Marner thanked him and followed Beele.
----
The submarine command group occupied an extensive wing of the building. Marner was led into an outer office that contained a dozen personnel, an even mix of male and female junior officers all intently hammering on typewriters or shuffling files. Beele circulated amongst them, trying to find someone who knew anything about ‘special transports’. Finally a lead was forthcoming and Marner was once again motioned to follow, through a set of ornately panelled double doors and into a large, high-ceilinged chamber. It could once have been a meeting room that would have easily accommodated sixty or more around a large table; now it had been converted to a chaotic operations room.
Waiting patiently while yet another conversation took place in hushed tones in one corner of the room, Marner had time to examine the large operational maps on the walls, one of the Mediterranean, one of the Atlantic. Examining the Atlantic map, he quickly surmised that the red pins were enemy convoy groups, this from the streaks of ribbons extending from the pins towards the British Isles. The ribbons must be the intended or assumed course of the ships. Some were long and stretched all of the way to England and Scotland, so possibly the intended route of the convoy was fully known? He wondered how. Probably one of the activities of this office was to collate the information from their spies in America and Britain. Some of the pins had very short ribbons attached, so possibly the planned route of these was based upon information from u-boats stalking them. The u-boats were identified by blue pins and Marner noted that there were very few of them in number relative to the allied convoys. There must be a lot of materiel still getting through, he concluded.
Another vast wall had boards that seemed to be some method of planning for provisioning and fuelling, but it made little sense to him. The centre of the room was jammed with desks, each piled with files and papers, each manned by an officer who paid no attention to the sudden presence of an SS officer in their midst.
The officer with whom Beele had been conferring turned to Marner and eyed him suspiciously. After a further brief argument Marner was beckoned to cross the room and led through another large office full of frenetic activity and into a small office that smelt heavily of sweat and garlic. Just as they entered, a short, thin, pale man with receding hair that was carefully combed across his pale pink scalp appeared. Beele introduced Marner to Captain Graf, who motioning wordlessly for Beele to leave them alone.
Marner was offered coffee or schnapps, both of which he declined, instead sitting uninvited in the chair opposite Graf’s meticulously tidy desk, waiting patiently until Graf was seated to explain that he was investigating the murder of Captain Schull. Graf confirmed that yes, Hoffman had told him of Schull’s death and that he, Graf, had met Schull when he had visited the office on two occasions.
“What specific information was Captain Schull seeking and who was he dealing with here in this office?” asked Marner.
Graf frowned. “My dear Lieutenant, it was I who was helping Captain Schull with his enquiries. I am obliged to state that the nature of his business here is, or perhaps I should now say ‘was’, highly confidential and therefore I really cannot share this information with you,” he finished in an insistent tone and with a shrug of his thin shoulders, trying to give the impression that he really would love to be of help, but....
“Herr Captain, I have just come directly from Hoffman’s office and have been given the Konteradmiral’s assurance of total assistance and authority to investigate this matter. Konteradmiral Hoffman has fully informed me about the gold shipments that were being transported by submarine, and the issue of the missing gold that Schull was investigating.” Marner paused, picked up the receiver of the telephone on Graf’s desk and proffered it to him. “So I am already briefed on the confidential stuff, directly from Hoffman. If you would just care to call him and verify, and then stop wasting my time!”
Marner continued to hold the receiver in mid-air, banking on the fact that no one several ranks below the station chief would want to be brought to his attention, especially as the object of a disgruntled SS officer. Graf held Marner’s gaze for a few moments, not intimidated by this ploy, seeming to prefer to determine if Marner were bluffing or not, like two players in a show down over a hand of poker.
Finally Graf sighed, took the receiver and gently replaced it on its cradle. He settled back in his chair, shuffled a few papers to ensure that they were perfectly and symmetrically aligned and then asked, “May I first enquire if you have any ideas who killed Schull, and why? Was it linked to his activities here in Paris?”
“There are some theories, and there are some irregularities,” responded Marner cryptically, “So at this moment I have to consider that his death may be linked to his mission. Therefore, I need further details on his investigation.”
“Such as?”
“He was investigating whether the theft of the gold happened whilst it was being transported by Kriegsmarine. I will need a list of each of the shipments, with details of the vessel, routes, dates etcetera, from the point that it was handed over to Kriegsmarine by the Japanese, up until the point that it was delivered into the vaults at the Chancellery or Japanese embassy in Berlin.”
Graf blew out his lips. “That is a lot of details. You are aware that the gold was handed over to Gestapo at point of docking by u-boat?” Marner nodded and confirmed that Hoffman had apprised him of this point. Graf continued, “Yes, all overland shipping from the port to the final destination was organised by Gestapo each time. So I can only give you the information up until the port of offloading. For the rest, it is your own colleagues that you need to ask and, if I may add, should be investigating,” finished Graf with a smirk.
Marner was unsurprised that both Hoffman and now Graf had mentioned it since they would be keen to deflect suspicion from their own organisation. The involvement of the Gestapo was a fact that he could not ignore, added to which he had the involvement of the Carlingue and the extremely close ties between the two. He nodded his head. “Of course, I am looking into that too. You met with Schull. What lines of investigation was he following?”
“I really don’t know. I gave him access to the records of the transports, exactly the same as you have just asked for. If he had any other information, if he had any ideas or leads, he did not share them with me. Very tight-lipped was our Captain Schull.”
“Did he show you any documents that he brought with him?”
“None. I only met Schull briefly and provided him with the relevant files. That was the limit of my dealings with him.”
“Okay. In that case I’ll have to start where he did, with the transport records.”
Graf sat for a moment frowning, which Marner interpreted to be his displeasure at having to go through all of this yet again. Wearily Graf rose and led him to an office nearby, a tiny closet with just a bare desk and single wooden chair, no window. Graf indicated that Marner should sit and wait and then departed without a further word. Finally, after fifteen minutes of waiting, Graf returned with a pile of documents in numerous individual folders. “These are the voyage reports for each of the submarine transports. They are transcripts of the commander’s log book, so they contain the details for the entire voyage and certainly within them you’ll find the details of loading and
off-loading of the special shipments.”
Regarding the thick stack of folders with dismay, Marner was on the point of asking for a simple synopsis of the necessary points, but then reconsidered. He was not really sure what he was looking for. It might take him time to work through the full files, but maybe only by doing so would he would find an essential clue that Schull had picked up on and followed. Marner had to be sure to find it too.
----
A growl of hunger from his stomach made him suddenly aware of how long he had been sitting examining the files. His watch told him that it was now early afternoon and that he had entirely bypassed lunch, closeted in the tiny, windowless cell. If he had hoped that Graf might send some coffee or even sandwiches to him as a courtesy, it had not been realised.
He had an acute ache in his buttocks and legs from four hours of sitting on the hard chair. And had it been worth it? The vast majority of the files were simply a typewritten copy of the captain’s logs, defining every tiny detail of the daily operations of the submarines during voyages that spanned months in some instances. Everything was there, including comments on sightings of other craft, actions, navigation, cargoes, fuelling, mechanical and technical issues, discipline and more. Marner could not understand how the captain would find the time to operate the vessel and yet still manage to document it all in such minutiae.
What was clear was that only two German submarines were involved in the transports, the U-180 and the U-195. Based upon what he had read in the voyage records, they had avoided contact with other vessels, except in the earliest voyages during which they had sunk a couple of enemy ships. This lack of ‘combat’ activity was explained by the later files which showed that both vessels had been heavily modified after the initial missions. These modifications had included the removal of the torpedo tubes and some of the electrical batteries used to power the vessel when submerged, the objective being to increase their cargo carrying capacity. Marner could see that the captains were patently unhappy with this from various disparaging comments about the poor manoeuvrability when fully laden and the need to spend more time on the surface recharging the reduced battery capacity. As a consequence, their recent ‘combat’ activity was entirely evasive and the logs held the accounts of several emergency dives after having been spotted by enemy ships or planes.
