by Alex Gerlis
‘Presumably he was after money?’
‘Yes, and he also asked for immunity from prosecution. Barrow says the material is excellent – he has details of some of the other documents the man photographed: lists of senior Nazi Party members, serious crimes committed, SS officers, names of scientists… The Nazis destroyed so many of these records that to have these copies is remarkable. It’s perfect material for the Counter Intelligence Corps, like we stumbled across a gold mine.’
‘How do you know this chap’s genuine? The films he gave you could be all that he has, assuming they’re not fakes.’
‘Our assessment is that both he and the films are genuine. He’s smart, too. We have to get our hands on those films. And there’s something else: as a way of showing we could trust him, he told us where we could find a Nazi war criminal high up on our watch list, a man called Gustav Wagner, a former Gauleiter wanted for war crimes in Poland and Hungary. He was exactly where he told us he’d be.’
‘So what’s stopping you doing the deal with him, Joe? You give him some money and immunity from prosecution and he gives you the rest of the films? I hardly think you need our permission, though it’s awfully nice of you to ask.’
‘It’s not as straightforward as that, Tom. There’s a further condition he’s set before he hands over the rest of the films, and we need your cooperation.’
Jenkins looked more nervous now, running a hand over his cropped hair and wiping perspiration from his brow.
‘The man has a son who’s wanted by you guys. As a condition of him handing over the rest of the films, he wants you to abandon the hunt for his son.’
‘What’s the man’s name, Joe?’
‘Wolfgang Steiner. His son’s name is Friedrich. We want you to call off the hunt for Friedrich Steiner and forget about the Kestrel Line. Letting a minor Nazi go free is a very small price to pay for us getting access to such invaluable intelligence.’
Which was when Tom Gilbey responded by telling the American it was a good try but was completely out of the question. Sir Roland Pearson let out a weary sigh. Jenkins sat defiantly with his arms crossed.
‘Leaving aside the not inconsequential fact that Friedrich Steiner is a war criminal who murdered British agents, there’s also the issue of the Kestrel Line. Not only do we think we’ll find the traitor Edward Palmer on it, but there’s also a distinct possibility that it could lead us to Martin Bormann!’
‘You’re not going to find Bormann, Gilbey; I don’t know why you guys believe that story.’
‘We have it from an excellent source.’
‘Russians – you trust the Russians?’
‘More than I’d trust a Nazi!’ Gilbey was shouting now, red-faced and clearly furious, and on the word ‘Nazi’, he slammed his hand on the table.
‘Bormann’s probably dead.’
‘There’s no proof of that, Joe’ said Sir Roland, speaking softly in an effort to calm things down. ‘We hear what you say regarding Friedrich Steiner, and my advice to Tom, should he seek it, would be for us to refer the matter up, but I would suggest you don’t hold out a lot of hope: we have a first-class team on the trail of Steiner and the Kestrel Line, and they’re very close to finding them.’
Joseph Jenkins shook his head and gathered up his papers. ‘It’s too late for that; I’m afraid. I was trying to be courteous. Ambassador Winant has already met with Foreign Secretary Bevin, and he agreed to our request. I think you’ll be ordered to call off the hunt any minute now.’
* * *
Messrs Bourne and Ridgeway had reached the limit of their endurance. They struggled to regain their breath as they crouched by the high laurel hedge while at the same time not taking their eyes off the side door of the large Victorian house.
They’d spotted a thin line of light behind a curtained bay window, and another light in a top-floor room, but the house was otherwise dark, its broad shape just visible in the half-moon, its array of chimneys silhouetted like turrets against the mottled sky. The world around them was as silent as the churchyard they’d crept through some twenty minutes earlier. An animal scurried behind them, and high above came the soft call of an owl.
Bourne was still breathing heavily and Ridgeway was concerned. ‘Are you all right, Bourne – you sound in difficulty?’
‘It’s the asthma. Spending the best part of an hour creeping through the countryside in the bloody damp isn’t good for it. Christ knows why people live in the middle of nowhere. And I’ve cut my hand on the brambles.’
‘I have too, and I fear I may have torn my trousers. Do you think we should go in? We’ve been waiting long enough. He said to be here by eight, and it’s already a quarter past.’
‘Our instructions were very clear, Ridgeway: to park at the back of the village pub and work our way through the woods, then take the footpath by the side of the field and enter the garden through the back. We’re to wait here until we see a light go on over that side door. We have to be patient, and in any case, it gives me a chance to get my breath back.’
Ten minutes later, a weak yellow light flickered into life above the side door and the two men walked nervously towards it. The door was unlocked as they’d been told it would be, and they moved carefully along a dark corridor until they came to a door opening into a kitchen area. Their host was standing there, nodding but saying nothing by way of greeting. They followed him into the library, where the heavy curtains were drawn. The room was lit by two lamps, one at either end.
‘I’ve given my man the evening off, so we’re alone until…’ their host glanced at his wristwatch, ‘ten thirty. That gives us two hours – more than enough time. You followed my instructions to the letter, I hope?’
‘Yes, Admiral, absolutely.’ Bourne’s breathing was still heavy.
‘And I trust you didn’t go anywhere near the front of the house or onto the lane? The bastards are still watching me, you know: I don’t know whether it’s MI5 or Special Branch, I think they maybe take it in turns. In the two years since I was released from prison, I don’t think they’ve missed a day.’
Bourne and Ridgeway both tutted and shook their heads. The two men had known the Admiral for some time and admired him enormously. As Bourne had said to Ridgeway during their otherwise silent drive up, the man was remarkable. To have someone of his stature and vision still involved in what remained of their movement had been an inspiration. Had it been a lesser person, they doubted the movement would have lasted much beyond 1939.
As it was, his loyalty to the cause had survived the test of the outbreak of war and indeed the difficult few months leading up to it. After the destruction of the synagogues in Germany in March 1938, many lesser folk had left the movement, but the Admiral had set a steadfast example for those resolved to stand by Germany. His network in Britain was impressive, as was people’s loyalty to him. Even more impressive were the contacts he had in Germany, which he’d managed to maintain both before and after his imprisonment.
They’d discussed the injustice of his imprisonment too. Defence Regulation 18B was a scandal, far worse than anything Nazi Germany was being accused of. It was used to throw patriots like the Admiral into prison – in his case for two years – without trial. It did rather vindicate though what the Admiral always said: that the war had been engineered by the Jews and the communists for their own benefit, and Germany should have been seen as Britain’s ally.
‘Notwithstanding the risk inherent in you coming here, I thought it would be useful for us to be clear as to where we are: we cannot afford any misunderstandings, can we?’
Both men said ‘No, Admiral’ at the same time, and jumped as a grandfather clock noisily struck nine o’clock.
‘Don’t worry about that; it’s five minutes fast. Well done for getting Palmer out of the country – and with all the money too.’
‘Much of that credit is due to Myrtle: for a woman she is remarkably calm and well organised. As far as we understand, they’ve left Turin and should be in Trieste an
y time now.’
‘And no sign of them being followed on the journey?’
‘Not as far as she’s aware. As you know, the plan is that once they get to Trieste, they’ll meet up with Friedrich, Ulrich and whoever else is there, and then catch the boat, which we understand you know more about than us.’
The Admiral stood up and straightened himself in the manner of someone with a painful back. ‘Sailed into Trieste once, strange place – one wasn’t too sure what country one was in. I’ve come across other places like that: Salonika, Barcelona, Odessa and Istanbul – too many bloody Jews if you ask me, though I doubt there are now!’
Bourne and Ridgeway laughed dutifully.
‘I have good news and bad news to impart. Prince and that Danish woman seem to have caught wind of what’s going on and have turned up in Trieste. Hang on, hang on… Overriding that is the fact that my very good friend Wolfgang has somehow managed to persuade the Americans to put pressure on MI6 to call off the hunt for Friedrich and forget about the Kestrel Line.’
‘Really – how on earth did he manage that?’
‘Don’t ask me, but I’m not surprised. When I first met Wolfgang in Berlin in 1938, I realised he was one of the most intelligent men I’d ever come across – and that’s saying something: the whole city was full of impressive and clever men. I’m just pleased I’ve been able to maintain contact with him and that we’ve been of some help to him and the cause. He’s still optimistic that he’ll find Martin Bormann alive, you know – imagine that, eh?’
‘And do you think we can count on Palmer to behave?’
‘You’ll know that I’ve had my doubts about him, even though I had a hand in his recruitment. I know he was a first-class agent for the Reich during the war, but once he disappeared, I thought that either they’d catch him or he’d be found dead, and I have to say it would have been safer for us had it been the latter. I was most surprised, as you were, when he turned up at your gallery in August. My instinct was to finish him off, you know – I realise that would have been ungrateful after everything he’d done, but I felt he knew too much, and there can be no room for sentimentality. I asked Myrtle to see to it, but she took the view that it would be too risky. She thought there was a possibility he might have put something in place to protect himself, something that would have come out if he was killed – you know what I mean: a solicitor being instructed to forward an incriminating letter from him to the authorities after they’d not heard from him for an agreed period of time.’
‘So sending him on the Kestrel Line makes sense.’
The Admiral nodded and checked his watch. ‘Yes, gets him away from here. The ship’s going to South Africa, you know. Most of the German escape lines end up in South America, but I know a chap in Durban who’ll look after them. He’ll send the Germans to Windhoek, which is pretty much a German city, and he’ll sort Palmer out too.’
‘And Myrtle?’
The Admiral stood up and walked towards the door, making it clear to his visitors that their time was up. ‘Myrtle will stand on the quayside and wave them off. Then I want her back here.’
Chapter 26
Trieste, Austria, and Berlin, December 1945
‘Gilbey wants you back as soon as possible.’
Two pairs of eyes scowled at Bartholomew. Hanne sat red-faced, her nails drumming on the table, while Prince was very still with his back to the open window: behind him the early-morning mist had lifted and the blinking lights of a ship on the Gulf of Trieste was just visible over the rooftops, the muffled sound of its horn breaking the silence.
‘You heard what I said? You’re to return to London. Please don’t look at me like that; I’m simply the humble messenger here.’
Prince said yes, he understood, and he was sorry for his reaction but this did feel rather personal actually, and after chasing all over Europe and putting one’s life at risk, well… it was rather a kick in the stomach for the hunt to be called off at the last minute.
Bartholomew said he understood too. It was always a disappointment when something like this happened, but he was well used to operations being called off just as they reached their conclusion.
‘You’ll fly back from Klagenfurt. The RAF has daily transport flights from there into Munich, and there are plenty of flights home from Neubiberg.’
‘When do we leave?’ Hanne sounded less conciliatory than her husband.
‘Straight away: London isn’t keen on you hanging around in Trieste.’
‘They obviously don’t trust us,’ said Prince. ‘And what about you, Bartholomew: staying behind to check we don’t sneak back in?’
Bartholomew said he’d follow them in due course. Evans would look after them on their journey to Klagenfurt.
‘And you’ve no idea why they’ve called the whole thing off just when we have them in our sights?’
‘I’ve told you, Prince: it’s not my decision. I daresay Gilbey will enlighten you when you’re back in London, but…’ Bartholomew hesitated and adjusted his tie. He was a man who chose his few words carefully.
‘But what, Bartholomew?’
‘It doesn’t matter, Prince. This is Gilbey’s show.’
‘I think we have some role in it, don’t you agree, Mr Bartholomew?’ Hanne sounded less obviously angry than she had been. She even smiled at Bartholomew.
‘Look… this may just be gossip, and I’m only sharing it because I admire you both enormously and because…’
‘…because we are on the same side?’
‘Exactly. You didn’t hear this from me, understand?’
They both nodded and moved closer.
‘There’s talk that the Americans have signed up Wolfgang Steiner.’
‘What do you mean, “signed up”?’
‘Recruited him.’
‘To work for them?’
Bartholomew was still playing with his tie. ‘They’re up to it all over Europe, seeking out Nazis they think can help them: senior military types, rocket and aircraft scientists… From what I’ve been told, even before the Germans surrendered, the United States were clear that their enemy was now the Soviet Union and started recruiting Nazis to work for them on the basis that their enemy’s enemy is their friend.’
‘That’s outrageous! So because the Americans have recruited Wolfgang Steiner, they’re leaning on Gilbey to call off the chase for his son? Steiner’s a bloody Nazi, and his son’s a…’
Bartholomew said nothing, but did raise his eyebrows. ‘I know, Prince, I know… But as I say, once you’re in London, Gilbey will tell you more.’
‘By which time it will be too late.’
Bartholomew shrugged and made a gesture with his hands to indicate he’d said enough.
‘We’ll need to go back to the hotel to collect our things,’ said Hanne. She was standing up and buttoning her raincoat.
‘Evans will meet you outside the hotel in, what… ten minutes?’
‘Make it twenty,’ said Prince.
‘Fifteen – and nothing clever, understand? The Field Security Section is still watching the warehouse, in case you had any ideas. And one other thing…’
‘Go on.’
‘Don’t take it out on Evans. This isn’t his fault either.’
* * *
‘We’re being followed, Richard.’
‘Of course we are. What should we do, Hanne? We can’t just allow Friedrich to go free… and what about Bormann? You don’t seem to be as angry as I’d thought you’d be.’
The rain had now turned into sleet, and Hanne linked her arm into her husband’s and moved closer to him. ‘The Slovenians are here.’
‘Who?’
‘The Slovenian partisans, the ones who were in Villach: they followed us to Trieste. When I said I went out for some fresh air this morning, I actually met Jožef and told him the Germans were in a warehouse in Porto Vecchio and we were going in this morning. I didn’t want them to stop us arresting the Germans, but of course now… If I can somehow ge
t a message to them, maybe they can…’
‘What are you saying, Hanne?’
‘You know full well.’ They’d reached the hotel entrance and watched as the two men who’d been following them carried on past.
Prince nodded. Hanne said he should go up to the room and collect their things. ‘I’ll meet you down here. I just need ten minutes.’
‘Hanne, be…’
‘What Richard – careful? Come on, we don’t want Friedrich Steiner to escape, do we?’
‘I don’t want your Slovenians to be too rash. In any case, I have another plan.’
* * *
The journey to Klagenfurt was a largely silent one, other than the near-constant sound of Evans blowing his nose. Hanne and Prince were in the back of the British army car, Evans in the front next to the driver. When Hanne had returned to the hotel, she’d just had time to whisper to her husband that everything was fine and he wasn’t to worry before Evans bustled into the reception area.
They crossed the Southern Alps from Slovenia into Austria on the precarious Loibl Pass. An hour later, they stopped to refuel at the British base in Ferlach, south of Klagenfurt. When Evans went to find a toilet, Prince and Hanne left the car and made sure they were out of earshot of the driver.
‘I was thinking during that drive, Hanne.’
‘Thinking? I thought you were sleeping!’
‘We agree we can’t let these people get away with it – Friedrich Steiner, Palmer, Myrtle Carter, Bormann… maybe. I know who can help us.’
‘Who?’
‘Remember I mentioned before we left Trieste that I had another plan? When I met Iosif in Vienna, he told me about the Slovenians and how he’d tipped them off about Villach. He also gave me a telephone number in Vienna to use if I needed to contact him. Now we’re in Austria, I should call that number.’
‘I thought he was in Berlin?’
‘I don’t know – I just need to be able to get to a telephone. If the Russians hear the British are letting Nazis go free just to please the Americans, they’re bound to intervene.’
