A Prince and a Spy

by Rory Clements

  ‘Well, this isn’t a bloody archive, so infer nothing. Just listen.’

  ‘But he knew you would be there, yes? Too big a coincidence otherwise . . .’

  ‘That’s enough. All you need to know is that he got a message to my room to slip away and meet him. He had something to tell me – something extremely important. But first, let me tell you a little bit about him. Rudi used to be a ferocious Nazi. All Blut und Boden – blood and soil. To be honest, I rather went off him towards the end of his year at Athelstans because he was forever ranting about how wonderful Herr sodding Hitler was and how the Aryan race would rise again. Not that he was the only anti-Semite at the school! But anyway, I was rather pleased when his father had him taken away from Athelstans at the end of the year and plonked him into one of those Nazi schools. Napolas or Ordensburgen, I think they’re called – training the future SS in arrogance and the finer points of cruelty.’

  ‘You said he used to be a Nazi? That sounds as if he’s changed his mind.’

  ‘He says his eyes have been opened. He saw something so terrible that even he was shocked. And now he is desperate for the world to know about it.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Right, here goes. He told me that the Nazis have built abattoirs to slaughter the Jews – Rudi has seen one of them with his own eyes. Men, women and children are herded like cattle into sealed rooms where they are gassed with carbon monoxide, pumped from an infernal engine, and then their corpses are relieved of gold teeth and wedding rings before being tossed, naked, into enormous pits.’

  Was he hearing this? The words were plain enough, but the vision they conveyed was outside his comprehension.

  ‘Thousands upon thousands of them are being murdered in this way, deep in the forests of Poland, away from prying eyes. Production line murder.’

  He was silent for a few moments, trying to compute this information. Was this some sort of metaphor? ‘You don’t mean this literally, do you? You mean he is rounding them up in ghettos and keeping them short of food, with devastating consequences?’

  ‘No, I mean he is killing them, choking every last one of them to death with poison gas. Every woman, every child, every baby, every man.’

  ‘That’s preposterous!’

  ‘Yes, it is. But it happens to be true.’

  ‘No. I don’t believe it. Human beings don’t do things like that to each other.’

  ‘Of course you don’t believe it – no one decent could believe such a thing. I didn’t believe it either, because it’s totally insane and disgustingly obscene. But now I do believe it and I wake up in the morning in a cold sweat. I think of it by day and dream of it by night. I am cursed with this photographic memory, so I recall every single word Rudi told me and I recall the fear and horror in his eyes and in his voice, and I know that he was telling the absolute truth. He would have to be an Olivier to be acting. But he isn’t – and anyway he doesn’t have the imagination. Every word he told me was the truth – and he will tell you exactly the same things.’

  Wilde shook his head again. ‘No, Harriet, I can’t buy this. It’s anti-Nazi propaganda.’

  ‘I wish it was, but it’s not – and I will prove it to you. Or, rather, Rudi will.’

  ‘Then he’s here in England?’

  ‘No, he’s in Sweden. He wanted to come back on the flying boat with us. Georgie agreed, but he was advised against.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘His aides. Perhaps they were right. Anyway, Georgie said he would arrange a special flight for him once we were home. But of course he never made it home, so now it falls to me. I am going to get Rudi Coburg to England, along with his evidence. He is an eyewitness to the greatest atrocity the world has ever known – perhaps the only witness who will ever have the chance to talk because all the others will be dead. What’s more, he has physical evidence – official documents – to back him up. And those papers are vital, because without them the Nazis would laugh off his testimony – just as you are now. And the world wouldn’t believe it.’

  ‘How does he know all this?’ Wilde demanded, still refusing to believe it but fearing deep in his heart that it might just be true. ‘What is his evidence? You said he saw something.’

  ‘He knows it because he was directly involved in it.’

  ‘You’d better explain.’

  She had been sitting against a tree. Now she got to her feet and began to pace about. Wilde watched her, entranced. The afternoon was dry and sunny, but he felt a chill in the air, the first intimation of summer’s end and the long descent into autumn and winter.

  Harriet stopped right in front of Wilde. He could not take his eyes off her. Beauty can fade with familiarity; hers just grew. And as it did, so did the contrast with the depravity of her message. He looked away, aware of what she had said earlier, about the way men looked at her.

  She didn’t seem to have noticed this time, because she continued telling him about Coburg. ‘He worked in a senior capacity in the department that is organising the logistics of the slaughter. The RSHA Referat IV B4, to be precise – that’s the office of Jewish affairs and evacuation in the Reich Main Security Office. It is run by a man named Adolf Eichmann, who is answerable to Heinrich Müller, the Gestapo chief, and then upwards to Himmler and Hitler himself. The department organises the trains in which these poor people are conveyed to their doom. Scores of trains, each one packed with thousands of innocent Jews, clattering day and night from the cities and towns of Poland and the other occupied territories, through the forests of Poland to lonely outposts which have but one purpose: slaughter. Total annihilation of a whole race.’

  ‘And your friend Coburg was doing this?’

  ‘Yes, and now he is in despair. He was always an anti-Semite and he wanted the Jews out of Germany, but he denies that he wanted them murdered. He insists he didn’t know what they were doing when they organised these trains. He thought these places were transit camps before the Jews were resettled in the East. But now he has been there and he has seen one of the camps in operation – and so he knows the truth. These places – these slaughterhouses – are the end of the line. And he has the evidence: names, maps, official written orders . . . if the Nazis do one thing well, it’s bureaucracy. They keep records of everything.’

  ‘Good God.’

  ‘I must be honest with you, Tom. I still don’t like Rudi very much. And I certainly loathe his politics. But in a way, that makes his testimony all the more believable. That and the fact that having betrayed his masters he knows he is a dead man.’

  ‘You say he is in Sweden – but where exactly?’

  ‘He has been concealed on a small island, one of thousands, in the middle of nowhere. Only Axel Anton knows its precise location, and so I must contact him. But before I do so, I need to get to Churchill to organise a safe way to get Rudi to England, to testify to the world and hand over his evidence. With Georgie dead, there is no other way. No one else I can trust.’

  ‘I still don’t really understand why you’re being hunted in this country and what the Athels could have to do with it all.’

  She laughed without a trace of humour. ‘The Athels want a deal with Hitler, don’t you see? This is the way they protect themselves from the threat of revolution or conquest. It has been the same for almost 150 years. They weigh up the threats – Nazism or Communism – and see Stalin as the greater danger. And so to preserve themselves, they decide on a joint Anglo-German enterprise against the Bolsheviks. They have but one policy – preserve themselves.’

  ‘No political allegiance then?’

  ‘Maintain the status quo. Whatever it takes. Nothing else. And so they can’t allow the Nazis’ reputation to be damaged by Rudi’s testimony. I suspect, too, that they will have been contacted by Berlin to do their dirty work. Rudi must die, so must I. And I fear, Tom, that you will now be added to their list.’

  ‘And you think it is the Athels hunting you?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘And the plane crash – th
ey thought Rudi Coburg was aboard and they were trying to kill him?’

  ‘They wanted to kill both of us – all of us. That’s why I need to get to Churchill. I trust no one else. I have made that mistake once already, you see.’

  ‘Peter Cazerove?’

  She nodded. ‘I contacted him from Sweden. I confided in him. He betrayed me.’

  Chapter 25

  Heinrich Müller found Prince Philipp von Hessen in his immaculate quarters at the Wolfsschanze – the Wolf’s Lair – in East Prussia from where Hitler directed the war. He knew he would not have long with him alone, because the Führer had demanded the presence of both of them at lunch.

  ‘Herr Prince,’ he said, not quite sure of the proper way to address a prince, ‘it is very good of you to see me at such short notice.’ Müller smiled, laughing inside – as if anyone but Hitler himself would refuse to meet the generalleutnant of the Gestapo at any moment of day or night.

  ‘It is my pleasure as always, Herr Gruppenführer. How can I help you?’

  ‘Well, I was hoping I could ask you a few questions. We have a problem, you understand . . .’

  ‘This is about Rudi Coburg, I take it?’

  ‘Indeed, sir. Indeed it is. As you know, he went missing whilst a member of your mission to Stockholm. It is my task to find him. I’m sure you will think this a foolish question, but I have to ask it anyway: do you perchance have any idea where he might be?’

  The prince shook his head. His face was almost handsome, but not quite: vaguely Teutonic, but lacking strength, the moustache too insubstantial to add authority or gravitas, the features too pinched. ‘No, Herr Müller, it was an unpleasant shock to me when he disappeared. Indeed, I initially feared he had been abducted by enemy agents.’

  ‘Well, yes, of course that could have been a possibility given the nature of your meeting, but I am quite sure that that is not the case, for I have certain confidential information from agents of my own. The truth is, he is in the process of trying to defect. But I intend to stop him, if only I could find him.’

  ‘If I knew where he was, of course I would tell you.’

  ‘At first it seemed he might have died in the plane crash that killed your cousin, but now I know that was not so. It is my belief he is still in Sweden.’

  ‘Then you should talk to Axel Anton, Herr Gruppenführer.’

  As if he hadn’t already set the ball rolling in that direction. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘But that is not so easily done. Perhaps you could help me.’

  ‘There are always ways.’

  ‘Indeed.’ Müller reminded himself that this so-called prince was still close to Hitler, so he affected a smile and refrained from telling him what he thought of him. ‘I am glad we are as one on this. But to get back to your own relationship with Herr Coburg. I have to tell you that he is in possession of secrets which he intends to impart to our enemies, so I am keen to get his movements in Berlin absolutely clear. It is my belief that you requested his transfer from the Reich Main Security Office to your own staff, as chief aide. Is that correct?’

  Prince Philipp looked confused by the question. ‘Yes, broadly speaking that is so.’

  ‘And why exactly did you do that?’

  ‘Because he asked me to, and he is – was – an old family friend.’

  ‘Ah, this alters things. So it was Coburg himself who requested the transfer, not you?’

  ‘In effect, yes. He requested it of me, and I in turn requested it of Adolf Eichmann on his behalf.’

  ‘But he didn’t tell Herr Eichmann that that was the case. He made out that you were behind the move.’

  ‘As I said, it was Coburg who asked to join my staff. No, that is not quite correct – he begged me to get him transferred. He said he could not stand to work with Eichmann a moment longer. Did I do wrong in acceding to his request? Are you intimating that he had some darker motive – that his disappearance was planned in some way?’

  Müller was watching the prince closely, blue-grey eyes boring into the prince’s. Philipp’s forehead was beaded with sweat. As chief of the Gestapo, Müller knew when someone was about to piss himself with fear, and this prince of the blood royal – greasy with aristocratic vanity – was very close to that moment. ‘Time will tell, sir. But let us get on to other matters – in particular your own relationship with Rudolf Coburg. Clearly you have known him a long time. Tell me about him – his history. I would like to know all about his links to England and, indeed, to Sweden. Can you help me with all that?’

  ‘Of course. I will tell you everything – whatever you wish to know. If Coburg is a traitor he deserves everything that is coming to him. I will happily pull the lever on the guillotine myself.’

  ‘Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. First we must find him. So, his background. At what age did you meet?

  ‘I suppose I was in my mid-twenties and he was a small boy of five or six. I have always been like an uncle to him. Our parents were friends. You know his mother was English, I suppose?’

  ‘Some sort of titled lady, I believe.’

  ‘She was daughter of the Earl of Brandiston, a big landowner in the middle of England. She spent a lot of time in Germany before and during the Great War. In fact, she is still here – she considers herself German now and has always been a great supporter of the Party.’

  Müller already knew all this. He knew a great deal about Coburg, but he wanted to hear it from this decadent prince’s own lips. He knew a lot about both of them. They had both spent part of their childhoods in England and he had never trusted either man. The age gap between them was twenty years or so, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be warm brothers – homosexual lovers. Most likely, they were. God alone knew why Hitler ever allowed this dissolute aristocrat near him. Well, that would not last too much longer if he, Müller, had his way. And he would. He would destroy Philipp von Hessen and, if he could just run him to ground, Coburg too. First, he had a few more questions.

  ‘And Coburg was always an ambitious young man?’

  ‘Yes, that was always very obvious. He was one of the youngest graduates of the Ordensburg Vogelsang and was about to go on to Heidelberg University, but the war changed things and he quickly secured an excellent post within the Auswärtiges Amt in Berlin. Like many within the foreign service, he was wealthy in his own right but seemed to wish to do great work for the Reich. I don’t think promotion came quickly enough for him, though, and he was becoming frustrated, so he was delighted when Heydrich agreed that he be transferred to the RSHA. But clearly something happened between him and Herr Eichmann.’

  ‘I understand, so let us now move on. Your meeting with the King of England’s brother – was that conducted in good faith by our enemies? Because, you see, I have had my doubts ever since I heard of it.’

  The prince shook his head vigorously. ‘No, no, it was genuine. I am certain that Georgie – the Duke of Kent – would not have dealt with me falsely. Axel Anton had given us reason to understand that the British were interested in an honourable peace treaty. The Führer wished to hear what they had to say.’

  ‘But what happened to the plane this duke flew back to Scotland? That crash was no accident. And we didn’t destroy it – did we?’

  ‘I am as puzzled as you, Herr Müller.’

  The Gestapo man mulled this over. It pained him to wonder whether there might be other elements in Germany working on the case without his knowledge. The Abwehr, perhaps? Who knew with that devious, treacherous bastard Canaris? He moved back to the events at Drottningholm. ‘Now then, Herr von Hessen, I want full details surrounding the disappearance of Rudolf Coburg. Take me through it, hour by hour, if you would. Who was in the English prince’s delegation?’

  ‘Well, there was the crew of the plane – but they did not come to the palace. He had a team of four, as did I. His private secretary Crowther, his equerry Strutt, his valet and a woman.’

  ‘A woman! His mistress, no doubt. She does not appear in the British ne
wspapers.’

  ‘No, I noticed that. Perhaps she was the Duke’s mistress and so her presence had to be hushed up. At Drottningholm, he used her as his personal assistant at the first meeting, just as I used Rudi Coburg. We were both allowed just one aide. No notes were to be taken, no recordings made.’

  ‘How remarkable. And this woman, I’m sure she must have had a name.’ He already knew it, of course, but it suited his purpose to keep this from von Hessen.

  ‘Harriet Hartwell.’

  ‘Was she pretty and young?’

  ‘Well, yes, I would say she was.’

  ‘And were checks made? One must assume she was attached to the British secret services.’

  ‘Yes, I assumed that was possible – likely even.’

  ‘Anyway, you were all staying in the palace as guests of the King of Sweden. What time was this first meeting between you and the British prince?’

  ‘That was 3 p.m. The meeting lasted no more than a quarter of an hour, and then we agreed to meet in the evening alone, without aides. That meeting was more fruitful. It became clear to me that Georgie had some sympathy for the possibility of a peace deal, though he was reluctant to say it in so many words. That was understandable, I thought, for this was merely a tentative exploratory meeting. Though it was agreed there would be no recording devices, one can never be sure. I sincerely hoped it might lead to something more formal, a pact which would benefit both of our peoples.’

  ‘All very laudable, I’m sure. And while you and what do you call him – Georgie – were having your little fireside chat over a glass of schnapps, what was Herr Coburg up to?’

  ‘I thought he was either relaxing in his room or having a drink in one of the royal suites with the other members of our party. But when I emerged from the meeting, it became clear that they hadn’t seen him – and so we checked his room and he wasn’t there either.’

  ‘Where did you think he might be?’

  ‘I had no idea. All sorts of thoughts went through my mind. Initially I thought it was probably something innocent like a walk. Then I wondered if he was involved in a dalliance with a member of the palace staff?’