Improbable Nazi

by Ward Wagher

  “You have accomplished much in the past year.”

  Schloss shook his head. “I still cannot believe it, when I think about it.”

  “But, you belong here,” she said.

  “But, I belong here. I do not know how, or why, but I have to agree with you.”

  “The Creator God placed you here, Herr Schloss. That takes care of the where or why.”

  “I am glad you are so sure of things, Frau Marsden. I try to take a practical view of events.”

  She snorted. “In any case, the children are waiting to join you for supper.”

  “Peter and Renate had a reception of some kind at Peter’s office,” Schloss said. “Where is Gisela?”

  “She called to say she had to work late at the paper.”

  “I will be glad when she is done there,” Schloss said. “The wedding can’t come soon enough.”

  “As I have often said, Herr Schloss.” She had a triumphal look in her eye.

  “Do not push it,” Schloss said. “You are not right all the time.”

  “But I am right often enough,” she said.

  “I think I want to go greet the children.”

  “Of course, Herr Schloss.”

  Some day that old woman is going to go too far.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  March 11, 1942; 8AM

  Munich Hauptbahnhof

  Munich Germany

  Misty Simpson looked around the Munich Main train station after she stepped off the train from Berlin. While she would have rather flown aboard one of the Lufthansa Junkers, the train was civilized and comfortable, if slow. The sleeping compartment was surprisingly luxurious, and the meals decent. She arrived refreshed after the all-night trip.

  She wondered if she would be met at the station or elsewhere. She collected her suitcase and slung her purse over her shoulder. The walk out to the curb was not long, but the handle of the suitcase began digging into her hand. She walked to the third taxi cab waiting at the curb. Her tradecraft had reminded her to never take the first cab in the line. The driver put her suitcase into the boot of the Borgward and opened the door for her to climb into the back seat.

  “And where will Fraulein wish to go?” the driver asked. He seemed solicitous, but once again she paid attention to her surroundings.

  “Frau wishes to travel to the Vier Jahrezeiten if you please.”

  She saw the back of the driver’s neck blush slightly. “The Vier Jahrezeiten it is,” he said.

  She hoped she had established that she was not someone to trifle with. She had experienced New York cabbies who attempted to drive her all over mid-town Manhattan and run the meter all the while. She didn’t tolerate it there, and would not here, either.

  Fortunately, the driver apparently selected the shortest route and they arrived at the hotel within ten minutes. When she checked in she had to produce her papers in and surrender her passport. This was normal practice in Germany. Her diplomatic carnet ensured polite attention and good service. Word had gotten around that the Americans were no longer hostile to Germany, and were possibly friendly. And the German people had traditionally liked the Americans.

  The trainer at the OSS Country Club, as the training camp was known, had emphasized the importance of not seeming to be searching for something while in the field. It was better to let the quarry come to the agent. She made her way to the hotel dining room and ordered breakfast. Besides she was hungry.

  “Would Frau Simpson care for some company at breakfast?”

  She looked up at the medium height man standing next to the table. He had the anonymous face prized by agents everywhere. He was also impeccably dressed.

  “Of course, Herr...”

  “You can call me Herr Schmidt,” he said as he slid into the seat on the other side of the booth. “You will, of course, forgive me if I do not share my real name. We wish to maintain a low profile. We know who you are, of course.”

  “Third taxi?” she asked.

  The waiter came to the table. “Just coffee, please,” Schmidt said.

  After the waiter left he looked back at her. “Your tradecraft is good. You would be more than just the first secretary of the American consulate.”

  “And, I represent the American government,” She said.

  “What is your interest in our movement?”

  They had certainly established her bona fides in a hurry, she thought. But, then, she had not gone to any great efforts to hide what she did. What did surprise her was that she had not been able to spot her SS tail when she traveled to Munich. If this Schmidt was confident enough to meet her in the hotel restaurant, then she must have shaken her escort without really knowing it. This was puzzling.

  “My government is trying to gain a picture of the overall political climate in Germany. We are, of course, talking to the German government. But, no government is monolithic. I am tasked with learning as much as I can about any possible opposition groups. The leadership changed hands in December. It might happen again. We want to know with whom we are dealing.”

  “That is very interesting,” he said. “We are concerned that anything we tell you will go from my mouth to Rainer’s ears.”

  “I have met Herr Rainer,” she said.

  “And...” he drew the word out.

  “If I shared my confidences with him, neither you nor I would be here this morning.”

  “I am not sure I would agree with that conclusion. Nevertheless, we are satisfied you will not betray us. You understand doing so would be fatal for you?”

  She looked up as the waiter delivered her breakfast as well as a cup of coffee for Herr Schmidt. She then looked at the other man.

  “The United States has a justly earned reputation for upholding its honor in its dealings with foreign nationals,” she said. “On the other hand, Herr Schmidt, rest assured that if I decided to betray you, there would be nothing you could do about it.”

  “That does not reassure me, Frau Simpson,” Schmidt said coldly.

  “It was intended as a warning. I will not betray you. However, the United States is not able to extend its protection to you in the event Rainer catches you. Do not relax your security.”

  She picked up fork and knife and cut into the breakfast sausage. Taking a bite, she frowned. The food in the German restaurants was better than what could be found in the United Kingdom. But, one had to travel to New York City to find food that was properly prepared.

  Schmidt studied her for a while as she ate. He took a sip of coffee and pondered the contradictions offered by Frau Simpson. She was not any more married than he was, but she otherwise made no attempt to hide her background. He knew he was far less versed in diplomatic culture than others, and assumed that in her position she had no need of cover. She had said as much. He considered that, and then made up his mind.

  “Very well. I represent a faction within the Nazi party. We are a minority, but still numerous. The party has abandoned its heritage. We seek to preserve it.”

  “That is interesting,” she said. “What are your goals, then?”

  “Obviously we wish to restore the Fatherland to the Fuhrer’s ideals. No one wants to accuse the Reichschancellor of not being a good man. But after the death of the Fuhrer we have lost our way. We think Schloss has been listening to Rainer. The party needs strong individuals like Himmler and Hess. We bide our time until we can identify a new leader.”

  Misty continued working on her breakfast as the man spoke. He had the tone and fervency of the true believer. She wondered how big his organization was.

  “Are you planning a coup d’etat?” she asked.

  He frowned, and then shook his head. “We hope to call a party congress where we can place these issues in the agenda. I am sure that when presented with these truths the party will make the correct decisions. However, we are not ready to move as yet.”

  She wondered if this was the same splinter that had made the attempt on Schloss back in January. Then she wondered if Schmidt knew of th
eir involvement… and whether Schmidt was being totally honest with her. This is why she found the foreign intelligence game so fascinating. Wheels always moved within wheels, within wheels. Her instructor at the country club had commented once that if the game were easy, anyone could play.

  “The United States will be bound to recognize any legitimate government,” she said. “We do not automatically recognize rebel groups.”

  “How long after taking over a government is it recognized as legitimate?” Schmidt asked.

  “A very good question, Herr Schmidt,” she said. “If a change in government occurs through normal avenues, such as elections, or through one of the ruling bodies, we usually recognize it immediately. If one party takes over the government by force, we normally wait for the dust to settle. Internally the State Department will have discussions on how to approach this.”

  “Do you have such an example?” he asked.

  “For example, when Salazar took over in Portugal. The methods were somewhat irregular. We eventually recognized the new government, even though we were not entirely pleased with the process.”

  “I see,” Schmidt said. “What do you need from me?”

  “Frankly, we need some reasons to take your group seriously,” she immediately replied. “While we have heard rumors of such a group, we do not know yet whether it consists of four men and a printing press, or something more.”

  “I can assure you it is something more.”

  “And how can you assure me of that?”

  Schmidt studied her for a while. He picked up his coffee cup and sipped it again, then stood up.

  “Thank you for your time this morning. We must review this before we initiate further contact.”

  “When can I expect to hear from you again?” she asked.

  “It will be before you leave Munich.”

  With that, Schmidt walked quickly out of the restaurant.

  § § §

  March 11, 1942; 2PM

  Hotel Vier Jahrezeiten

  Munich Germany

  “I suppose returning to the Gasthaus Bavaria is out of the question,” Schloss commented.

  “What do you think?” Rainer replied.

  The security was obvious, impressive and efficient as it fanned out around the car that brought Schloss and Rainer from the airport. Following the assassination attempt in January, no one was disposed to take chances with the life of the Reichschancellor, especially in Munich.

  “Herr Mittner will be disappointed. On the other hand, I wonder if we might decide that the political impact of my staying in such a humble place would be a net positive.”

  “I am afraid you would impress the wrong people, Herr Schloss,” Rainer said.

  “I have fond memories of Herr Mittner’s place, though.”

  During his first trip to Munich the previous summer he had stayed at Mittner’s Gasthaus Bavaria, and discovered Gisela in his bed when it had come time for him to retire for the night. This was shortly after his involuntary trip to 1941 Germany and he had no idea who she was. He had quickly reached the conclusion that the Alter-Schloss was keeping Gisela as his mistress.

  “And times have changed,” Rainer said.

  “Just so,” Schloss said as he climbed out of the Mercedes. “I suspect the party functionaries would look down upon my spending time in Herr Mittner’s establishment.”

  “The beds are more comfortable here,” Rainer commented as they walked up the steps.

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Rainer looked at him in bland innocence. “Only that this hotel is much more comfortable.”

  “That’s what I thought you meant.”

  A row of guards provided a pathway to the elevator, and it was held in readiness for the visit. About halfway across the lobby Rainer suddenly said, “If you will excuse me for a few moments, Herr Schloss, I will be up to the suite shortly.”

  Schloss merely nodded and proceeded to the elevator. Rainer slipped around the perimeter of the lobby and stopped next to the young woman who was watching the entourage.

  “You are a bit far from Berlin, Fraulein,” he said.

  Misty Simpson jumped, and turned. “Herr Reichsprotektor! You surprised me. I wasn’t aware you were visiting Munich this week.”

  “It seems we both get around,” Rainer said with a smile. “I wish you had notified me ahead of time. I could have arranged for introductions.”

  “Oh, that would not have been necessary,” she said quickly. “I am researching the German culture, and that generally works better for me if I am informal.”

  “I see.” Rainer stood watching the lobby. “Very well. I trust the trip will be profitable for you.”

  “Thank you, Herr Reichsprotektor.”

  “I would also suggest you exercise some caution.”

  “How so, Herr Reichsprotektor?”

  “There are people in this city who do not consider themselves friends of the Americans,” he said.

  “I am always careful,” she replied.

  He nodded and walked over to the elevator. Once on the fifth floor, he walked to the Reichschancellor’s suite.

  “Herr Kirche, we have a guest in the hotel, Misty Simpson.”

  “Oh, yes, the First Secretary of the American Consulate. I know who she is.”

  “Please that she receives an invitation to the Reichschancellor’s reception tonight.”

  “I should check with the Reichschancellor on this.”

  “Willem, Herr Schloss does not need to worry about this.”

  Kircke stared at Rainer for a long moment. “Very well, Herr Rainer.”

  Rainer watched as Kircke entered the suite. He then turned to his personal guard. “Please task several people to keep an eye on Fraulein Simpson. Unobtrusively. This is not a safe city.”

  “At once, Herr Reichsprotektor,” the man said.

  Rainer retreated to his suite where he sat down to deal with the day’s paperwork. Schloss complained all the time about being covered up with paper. Rainer considered his workload to be even worse. While the others on the council actively worked at their jobs, and managed their domains well, being part of the triumvirate ensured an extra level of work. He, along with the Reichschancellor, and Peter Schreiber had plenty to do.

  He pondered briefly the purpose of Misty Simpson’s trip to Munich. He had little doubt she was trying to meet with the opposition. It was part of her job, he knew. But, he was concerned about her safety in this town. Things could get dangerous quickly, without her realizing it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  March 13, 1942; 3PM

  Imperial General Headquarters

  Tokyo, Japan

  Vice-Admiral Chuichi Nagumo looked around the room and wondered how he had come to be in such a presence. Not only that, but he was invited to sit at the table. Also at the table were Admiral Isoruku Yamamoto and Hideki Tojo, the prime minister. Nagumo was not only highly honored, but was also terrified. Worse yet, it seemed they were planning an audience with the emperor. This was all because he had simply done his duty.

  He had made a name for himself in the Japanese navy by his daring attack on Pearl Harbor. He had caught the bulk of the American fleet at anchor, including the aircraft carriers. He had then taken his task force and scored a series of attacks up and down the American west coast, causing serious damage to naval facilities and aircraft manufacturing plants.

  Nagumo was now famous in Japan and considered a national hero. He had protested, saying he had only done his duty. The successes were due to careful planning and thorough execution by his pilots.

  “We have a new mission for you,” Yamamoto said. “We have exceeded our planned accomplishments at the stage of the war, and that is largely due to your fine work.”

  “You have honored the entire Japanese people with your actions,” Tojo said. “We want you to demonstrate your prowess once again.”

  “I am honored by your confidence,” Nagumo said. And truthfully, he was relying on his ho
nor and his training to get him through this meeting with these incredibly important people without embarrassing himself or everyone else.

  “The naval intelligence people have discovered that the Americans are purchasing a fleet of submarines from the back-stabbing Germans. The Germans, of course, have no honor. They betrayed us by not joining us in our crusade against the Americans. And now they have compounded their treachery by selling weapons to our enemy.”

  “That alone shows our war against the Americans is righteous,” Nagumo said.

  “Just so,” Tojo said. “And we must continue to punish the Americans. And when the opportunity presents itself, as it surely will, we will punish the Germans.”

  “What do you want me to do?” Nagumo asked.

  “We will augment your task force so you can accomplish part of a two-pronged effort. Our goal is to close the Panama Canal. We have a small team that will work to destroy locks on the eastern side. Your task force will directly attack the western terminus of the canal.”

  “That is audacious,” Nagumo said.

  “Indeed,” Yamamoto said. “It is also risky. The Americans are fully aware of the importance of the canal. They will not be casual in their defense.”

  “I understand,” Nagumo said. “So far the Americans have been valiant in their defense. However, their equipment is inferior. We will continue to take advantage of that.”

  “One must beware of over-confidence,” Yamamoto said. “Some of their equipment is as good as or better than ours.”

  Nagumo bowed his head. “I, of course, defer to your superior judgment.”

  Yamamoto tapped his finger on the table. “Do not blindly follow my advice, Admiral. You have been successful because of your able thinking. When you receive advice from me, or others, you will fit that into your understanding of the tactical situation, and consider it. When you are, once again, off the coast of the Americas, you will depend upon your own wits.”