‘What do you think, sir?’
Schellenberg shrugged noncommittally. ‘Me, I don’t know. I’m not a soldier, I’m a spy. I still suspect that all of what we’re mixed up in, including yourself, is part of a huge deception operation, and with MI6 at the bottom of it. The ‘Rothermere’ report is genuine, as far as I can tell, in terms of the correct number of divisions the Allies have. I very much doubt that Patton has got another huge army or two in England ready to strike elsewhere.’ He smiled ruefully. ‘The trouble is, nobody else believes me.’ He quickly glanced at the door. He could hear Mobius’ voice outside.
‘That’s enough for now. I’ll see you later today.’ With that, he swept out of the room.
Simon gratefully closed his eyes. The debriefing was tiring enough, and he was glad that Schellenberg did not ask any more questions. Did his boss suspect that Simon had lied? That was the one redeeming feature of operating on your own in enemy territory. It was highly unlikely that Schellenberg would be able to confirm or refute the details of his story. Who else would be able to contact to corroborate Simon’s version of events? Not Simms. He was behind bars now, residing somewhere at His Majesty’s leisure. For a very long time.
The fake firing squad was just another of one of Menzies’ little perverse jokes, a trick to reinforce Simon’s absolute dependence on the MI6 chief’s largesse. That and the sleep deprivation period was only a minor foretaste of how rough things could get. Afterwards, over a healing gin back in the house, Menzies had given him a stark choice - work for MI6 as a double agent, or experience the real thing. All the guards were issued with blanks for the firing squad detail, but that could easily change. There were other inducements as well.
‘We can quite easily arrange for the wrong information to be delivered into Himmler’s hands. Provide certain facts about your father - and Canaris in particular - that could prove very damaging indeed. I think Himmler would take a rather dim view of the sort of revelations I have in mind.’ Menzies murmured, then he waited for a few moments, all the while watching the younger man’s face, ready to detect any weakness. ‘There is also one final item that you may find just as persuasive, perhaps even more so.’ His expression was remote, detached.
‘What’s that?’
‘The suit you were wearing when you were apprehended. It has a label on the inside. It was from a tailor in Saville Row. I should know - I use the same one myself. After that, it was an easy matter to track down the former owner - or, in this case, his widow…’ Menzies had left the rest unspoken, but the veiled threat was obvious. A look of dismay flitted across Simon’s face for a brief moment, before he was able to compose his features. Once again, his life was being directed by others, and there was nothing he could do about it. He rapidly made up his mind.
‘It seems that I have no option but to work for you,’ Simon said resignedly. ‘But this is a one-sided agreement. I think it only fair that in return for my services you give me an undertaking that you will leave that lady alone. The same applies to my father and Canaris. After all, I did cooperate voluntarily.’
The answer was abrupt, and chilling in its finality. ‘We would have got that information out of you sooner or later. Nobody resists prolonged interrogation of that sort. You know that just as well as we do.’ Menzies studied him, then paused for a while, as if he was struggling to make up his mind. ‘Alright, I’ll accept what you say. But bear in mind what I can do. I have no wish to compromise the work your father and Canaris have done. Nor do I wish to punish anyone, man or woman, without just cause.’ He looked at Simon for a long time, then smiled. ‘I think you’re an honourable man. So am I, in spite of what you may think. Just remember who you’re working for now.’
The arrangement was concluded. Simon would return to Germany. That evening they would travel back to Hanwell, arrest Simms, ‘repair’ the transmitter and use it to send the fake message back to Schellenberg, and arrange the return journey. It would all be under the closest of MI6 scrutiny of course. And on his return he would be contacted. Who that person or persons would be was not revealed, but the recognition passwords and phrases were drummed into him. Depending on his duties, at some stage in the future, he would be called on to pass on information that could be beneficial to the Allies. There might be other tasks, too, but again they were left unsaid.
Finally, before sleep took him, he wondered, as he had often done before, just how many agents did Menzies have inside Germany? Who were they, and at what level did they operate? He chuckled grimly to himself. After all, he was hardly in a fit state to pass information back to England, nor would he be able to for at least six months. Then a sudden anxiety gripped him-would Menzies keep his word? Would his MI6 agents be able to find out where he was, and report back his condition? There was nothing he could do about it, so why worry. With that his eyes became heavy and shortly afterwards the mantle of sleep washed over his senses.
The Wolfsschanze, Rastenburg forest, East Prussia 1305 20/7/1944
Oberst Graf Claus von Stauffenberg sat attentively in his car and watched while the Führer and the rest of his entourage walked out from the main bunker complex and along a path into a nearby wooden hut. He cursed his misfortune bitterly, but quietly and to himself. This was his fourth journey in the last few weeks to Hitler’s field HQ. Each time he had travelled with a bomb hidden inside his private brief case. The other three visits had been aborted for a variety of reasons. Today would almost certainly be his last chance. If he did not act now, then the incipient military disasters that threatened to collapse both the Eastern and Western fronts would weaken any bargaining position that a new German government might gain.
The first piece of bad luck was that two of his intended targets were absent, busy elsewhere on duties of their own. The whole point of the assassination plot was to deprive Nazi Germany of all her top leadership at one stroke, seize control of the essential organs of government using units loyal to the plotters, and change the course of the war by negotiating a peace with the West. Where were Himmler and Goering? Both of them had their own private armies, but it was Himmler’s SS that the plotters were most concerned about. The SS would be most likely to act the quickest in protecting their Führer in case of an emergency. Still, he grumbled to himself, if it had to be Hitler alone, then that hopefully should be enough. Stauffenberg had plenty of loyal fellow officers and government officials scattered across Europe who were opposed to the Nazis and longed to be rid of them. These men would act on the secret code signal to disarm and arrest supporters of the Führer. In addition, local Wehrmacht units would neutralize their SS counterparts in the field. The Gestapo would be hunted down and imprisoned, to await a suitable fate. That should be enough to win the day and change history.
However, the absence of Himmler and Goering was not the only thing that made him swear. Instead of the normal concrete bunker today’s conference was being held inside a temporary, flimsier structure. If the bomb was to have exploded inside the usual conference room, then everybody at the scene would be dead - instantly, smashed to pulp by the reverberating shock waves reflected off the concrete walls. But for some unknown reason the Führer’s bunker was undergoing repairs today and this hut would have to serve as a one-off change of venue. To make matters worse the day was hot, and the heat was amplified by the dark, oppressive woods that surrounded the complex. Someone had thrown open the windows to provide extra cooling and ventilation. Stauffenberg, with his trained soldier’s eye, suspected that the combination of the wooden hut and open windows would diminish the effect of the blast, but there was nothing he could do about that. The trick would be to get the briefcase as close to Hitler as possible. The subsequent explosion should take care of every other detail.
He looked at his watch. Time ticked past slowly. He would give it another five minutes, more than enough for the conference to get going. Then he would slip quietly in, place his brief case as close as possible to where the Führer was speaking, and make a suitable exit. The fuse wou
ld give him a few minutes to make his excuses and get clear. His heart began to race; he trembled with excitement, the adrenaline surging through his body. The palm of his left hand became moist as he perspired, and not just from the early afternoon heat. He had seen more than his share of combat and although he was well used to the stress of battle the situation he was in now was tenser than anything he had ever experienced before. After all he was about to kill Hitler and most of the top generals at OKH - all in a single blow. Hopefully he would save his country from utter destruction and rid the world of a deranged menace at the same time. A few deep breaths would help to calm his nerves.
It was ten past one, his watch told him. It was time to arm the bomb, fused to explode in five minutes - giving enough time to get in and out. Stauffenberg made a rapid, furtive scan of the surrounding area. Good - nobody was watching. He lifted the brief case up in his left hand, bent forward and pulled the fuse pin out with his teeth. He would have used his right hand, but that was not possible. The explosion in Tunisia over a year ago had robbed him of his right arm, right eye and two fingers of his left hand. It had taken him nearly nine months to recover from his wounds, and he knew he would never again be judged fit enough to serve in the field. And if, for whatever reason, he would die today, then at least it would be for a worthy cause. Someday his wife and his four children might understand.
As soon as Stauffenberg armed the bomb he got out of his car and walked over to the wooden hut, entering through the open main door. The room was dominated by a large, chunky oak table, supported not by four legs but by a central thick block of wood. Stout beams ran off to each corner. Most of the participants had gathered on one side, the better able to see the maps that were spread out across the top, depicting the latest situation reports on critical sectors of the Eastern front. Even from where he stood he could make out the seriousness of the situation - large, thick red arrows denoted the latest advances made by the Soviets, casually brushing past the German dispositions, thinner marks depicted in blue. Hitler was speaking. The angry rash of enemy markings seemed to match the Führer’s mood. He was evidently unimpressed with the defensive efforts made by all the forces in the East and made his feelings quite clear to all present, gesticulating and shouting in an impetuous, irritated manner.
Stauffenberg knew from past experience that this could go on for quite some time. Quietly he moved around the table and took up a position not far from the door. After a few minutes of listening to Hitler’s harangue, he moved his briefcase off the table and onto the floor, pushing it as far as he could in the direction of the Führer.
Stauffenberg turned towards his neighbour. It was Brandt, deputy to the Chief of OKH’s Operations Staff. ‘Excuse me,’ he whispered. ‘I must go and use the telephone. Keep an eye on my brief case. There are secret papers inside.’
Brandt nodded. Stauffenberg quietly made his exit and walked away from the hut. He had gone no more than sixty metres when there was a sudden blast that almost knocked him off his feet. Looking back all that he could see of the hut was a dense cloud of smoke and dust. Debris flew all over the area, some of it landing near him. The destruction looked impressive. Nobody could possibly have survived that explosion. Without waiting to assess how successful the bomb had been, he turned away and hurried quickly back to his car. He needed to get back to Berlin and help set the revolt in motion.
As he drove off nobody paid him the slightest attention. All the guards were running towards where the hut had been, still shrouded in smoke and dust. There was only the guard post at the gate four kilometers away to get through, and then he would be at the airfield. He hoped that Fellgiebel, Hitler’s personal Signals Officer and the only conspirator on Hitler’s personal staff, would perform his part of the job properly and send off the code word ‘Valkyrie’- the signal that Hitler was dead. If so, by the time his plane reached Berlin the revolt would be in full swing and the Nazis would soon be history.
The Wolfsschanze 2100 21/7/1944
Hitler sat slumped in a comfortable leather sofa. He looked pale and tired. The events of the last two days were exhausting enough, but at least the revolt had been put down, and the Nazi domination of the Reich remained unchanged. All the leading conspirators, those that they knew about, were caught. Most of them, including von Stauffenberg, were dead. They had all been summarily executed by firing squads. Some of those who had ordered the immediate shootings were now being questioned themselves. Himmler had suspected that a certain number of killings were ordered just a little bit too quickly for his liking. The Reichsführer had been denied the opportunity to extract information under prolonged and heightened interrogation, as he liked to put it. Now the main task ahead was to root out all the conspirators’ accomplices, no matter where they were- in the Wehrmacht, and at all levels of government. Nobody would get away. After all, Hitler was the embodiment of Nazi Germany. To strike at him was to strike at the state and all it stood for. It was an absolutely unforgivable crime, for which there could only be one penalty.
The euphoria at having survived the explosion had long since gone. What remained was a cold, implacable anger. Although the circle of leading conspirators was now known to be small, no one could be sure of how far the roots of the conspiracy had spread. He needed to take measures to ensure that absolute loyalty to the Nazi cause was the order of the day, at all levels of life throughout the Reich. He had already spoken to Goering and Goebbels. They were summoned to attend instantly. Both were given extensions to their already wide powers. Total obedience to the war effort must be the order of the day throughout every facet of life in the Reich- from this time on, and with no exceptions. And now Himmler, the most important of his top three aides, was sat in front of him awaiting his orders.
‘Thank you for coming, Heinrich’, he began wearily. ‘I apologise for the delay in seeing you, but there have been so many matters to take care of since the events of yesterday. First, though, I want a report on what happened in Berlin, and your activities in the last twenty four hours.’
‘Certainly Führer. But first let me congratulate you on your good fortune.’
Himmler hoped that he would strike the appropriately fervent note. ‘I thank God that divine providence shielded you from the blast and foiled those malicious and irresponsible conspirators. It must be a sign from on high, considering how minor your injuries are.’ A few bruises, grazes and cuts, nothing worse than that. And the tremor that had affected Hitler’s left arm and leg over the last year seemed to have disappeared.
‘Yes, thank you.’ Hitler smiled wearily. He had heard this countless times
in the last day, most notably from Goering and Goebbels. They’d all said the same thing, almost parrot-fashion. It was proof, if any was needed, that God must surely be keeping an eye on the fortunes of the Reich. He was on their side; definitely against the godless Communists and the decadent West.
‘Some of my forensic men have had the chance to sift through the remains of the conference room,’ Himmler continued. ‘It seems you were saved by three things. First, most of the blast was deflected and absorbed by that heavy oak table, and in particular the wooden beams that supported it. It was another example of fine Reich workmanship if I may say so Führer.’ He smiled unctuously. ‘And to consider that you were only standing six feet away from where the bomb went off…Also, the doors and windows were open in view of the heat. Finally, the walls of the building gave way under the force of the blast. All these factors led to your survival. I shudder to think about what would have happened had the conference taken place in the usual location.’
‘Yes so do I.’ Hitler grimaced, then softened his features. ‘Your report, if you please.’
Himmler began by detailing a chronological record of events in Berlin and all the major European capitals in the last twenty- four hours and concluded with a summary of the main points. ‘We have apprehended all the plotters that are known to us so far. They are either dead or undergoing further intensive interrogation at P
rinz Albrecht Strasse as we speak. They will not resist our efforts, Führer.’
‘Good. We must get to the bottom of this, and find out just how far this conspiracy has spread. In addition to your other duties as Reichsführer SS, Chief of Police and Minister of the Interior, I now appoint you as Commander-in-Chief of the Home Army. This will place you in charge of all interior military and police forces inside the Reich. With these powers, I want you to be utterly ruthless in exposing and bringing to trial all those who have any association, in any way, with the attempted assassination. Set up People’s Courts to try their cases in public. They must be discredited and punished severely, as must their families. The law of Sippenhaft must apply. I know you will spare no effort in your customary zeal to hunt these traitors down.’
‘Yes, my Führer.’ Himmler beamed. This was excellent news. At one stroke he had become the second most powerful man in the Reich, far more powerful than those other two toadies, Goering and Goebbels. His personal power had now become awesome. And should anything happen to Hitler, well…
‘I want you to concentrate particularly on the Wehrmacht,’ Hitler continued, sitting up and raising his voice. ‘The conspirators would not have been able to get far without significant involvement of senior Army figures with enough power to disarm SS police units and fighting formations. I have always suspected that some of our generals are not totally committed to our cause. This is now our chance to root them out, once and for all, in the way we National Socialists are accustomed to.’
Himmler nodded diligently. It was a feeling he had shared with his leader for some time. The Army had always regarded the Nazis as second rate, political upstarts and lower-class guttersnipes. That would change. He would no doubt enjoy wiping the condescending smiles off their snobbish, patrician faces and watch some of them spit blood and teeth out on the cellar floors in Prinz Albrecht Strasse. Himmler clearly understood the hidden reference in the last part of the Führer’s instructions - he was referring to the Night of the Long Knives, Hitler’s purge back in June 1934. Ernst Röhm and other senior members of his upstart SA organization had become too self- important and dangerous to be allowed to carry on existing. All of them were ruthlessly eliminated in a single night’s orgy of extreme violence. A similar fate would apply now, no matter how senior these figures were, no matter how tenuous the link to the plotters. And if there weren’t any links then so much the better. He had in mind a few individuals who could quite easily be arrested on the flimsiest of excuses…
The Fall of the Father Land Page 3
