Читать книгу The Eagle Has Flown - Jack Higgins, Justin Richards - Страница 10

Brigadier Dougal Munro’s flat in Haston Place was only ten minutes’ walk from the London headquarters of SOE in Baker Street. As head of Section D, he needed to be on call twenty-four hours a day and besides the normal phone had a secure line routed directly to his office. It was that particular phone he answered on that late November evening as he sat by the fire working on some files.

‘Carter here, Brigadier. Just back from Norfolk.’

‘Good,’ Munro told him. ‘Call in on your way home and tell me about it.’

He put the phone down and went and got himself a malt whisky, a squat, powerful-looking man with white hair who wore steel-rimmed spectacles. Strictly a non-professional, his rank of brigadier was simply for purposes of authority in certain quarters and at sixty-five, an age when most men faced retirement, even at Oxford, the war had been the saving of him, that was the blunt truth. He was thinking about that when the doorbell rang and he admitted Captain Jack Carter.

‘You look frozen, Jack. Help yourself to a drink.’

Jack Carter leaned his walking stick against a chair and shrugged off his greatcoat. He was in the uniform of a captain in the Green Howards, the ribbon of the Military Cross on his battledress. His false leg was a legacy of Dunkirk and he limped noticeably as he went to the drinks cupboard and poured a whisky.

‘So, what’s the situation at Studley Constable?’ Munro asked.

‘Back to normal, sir. All the German paratroopers buried in a common grave in the churchyard.’

‘No marker of course?’

‘Not at the moment, but they’re a funny lot, those villagers. They actually seem to think quite highly of Steiner.’

‘Yes, well, one of his sergeants was killed saving the lives of two village children who fell into the mill race, remember. In fact, that single action was the one thing that blew their cover, caused the failure of the entire operation.’

‘And he did let the villagers go before the worst of the fighting started,’ Carter said.

‘Exactly. Have you got the file on him?’

Carter got his briefcase and extracted a couple of sheets stapled together. Munro examined it. ‘Oberstleutnant Kurt Steiner, age twenty-seven. Remarkable record. Crete, North Africa, Stalingrad. Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves.’

‘I’m always intrigued by his mother, sir. Boston socialite. What they call “Boston Brahmin”.’

‘All very fine, Jack, but don’t forget his father was a German general and a damn good one. Now, what about Steiner? How is he?’

‘There seems no reason to doubt a complete recovery. There’s an RAF hospital for bomber crews with burns problems just outside Norwich. Rather small. Used to be a nursing home. We have Steiner there under secure guard. The cover story is that he’s a downed Luftwaffe pilot. Rather convenient that German paratroopers and Luftwaffe aircrews wear roughly the same uniform.’

‘And his wounds?’

‘He was damn lucky there, sir. One round hit him in the right shoulder, at the rear. The second was a heart shot, but it turned on the breastbone. The surgeon doesn’t think it will take long, especially as he’s in remarkable physical shape.’

Munro went and got another small whisky. ‘Let’s go over what we know, Jack. The whole business, the plot to kidnap Churchill, the planning. Everything was done without Admiral Canaris’s knowledge?’

‘Apparently so, sir, all Himmler’s doing. He pressured Max Radl at Abwehr headquarters to plan it all behind the Admiral’s back. At least that’s what our sources in Berlin tell us.’

‘He knows all about it now, though?’ Munro said. ‘The Admiral I mean?’

‘Apparently, sir, and not best pleased, not that there’s anything he can do about it. Can’t exactly go running to the Führer.’

‘And neither can Himmler,’ Munro said. ‘Not when the whole project was mounted without the Führer’s knowledge.’

‘Of course Himmler did give Max Radl a letter of authorization signed by Hitler himself,’ Carter said.

‘Purporting to be signed by Hitler, Jack. I bet that was the first thing to go into the fire. No, Himmler won’t want to advertise this one.’

‘And we don’t exactly want it on the front of the Daily Express, sir. German paratroopers trying to grab the Prime Minister, battling it out with American Rangers in an English country village?’

‘Yes, it wouldn’t exactly help the war effort.’ Munro looked at the file again. ‘This IRA chap, Devlin. Quite a character. You say that your information is that he was wounded?’

‘That’s right, sir. He was in hospital in Holland and simply took off one night. We understand he’s in Lisbon.’

‘Probably hoping to make it to the States in some way. Are we keeping an eye on him? Who’s the SOE’s man in Lisbon?’

‘Major Arthur Frear, sir. Military attaché at the Embassy. He’s been notified,’ Carter told him.

‘Good.’ Munro nodded.

‘So what do we do about Steiner, sir?’

Munro frowned, thinking about it. ‘The moment he’s fit enough, bring him up to London. Do we still house German prisoners of war in the Tower?’

‘Only occasionally, sir, transients passing through the small hospital. Not like the early days of the war when most of the captured U-boat people were housed there.’

‘And Hess.’

‘A special case, sir?’

‘All right. We’ll have Steiner at the Tower. He can stay in the hospital till we decide on a safe house. Anything else?’

‘One development, sir. Steiner’s father was involved, as you know, in a series of army plots aimed at assassinating Hitler. The punishment is statutory. Hanging by piano wire and by the Führer’s orders the whole thing is recorded on film.’

‘How unpleasant,’ Munro said.

‘The thing is, sir, we’ve received a film of General Steiner’s death. One of our Berlin sources got it out via Sweden. I don’t know if you’ll want to see it. It’s not very nice.’

Munro was angry, got up and paced the room. He paused suddenly, a slight smile on his mouth. ‘Tell me, Jack, is that little toad Vargas still at the Spanish Embassy?’

‘José Vargas, sir, trade attaché. We haven’t used him in a while.’

‘But German Intelligence are convinced he’s on their side?’

‘The only side Vargas is on is the one with the biggest bank book, sir. Works through his cousin at the Spanish Embassy in Berlin.’

‘Excellent.’ Munro was smiling now. ‘Tell him to pass the word to Berlin that we have Kurt Steiner. Tell him to say in the Tower of London. Sounds very dramatic. Most important, he makes sure that both Canaris and Himmler get the information. That should get them stirred up.’

‘What on earth are you playing at, sir?’ Carter asked.

‘War, Jack, war. Now have another drink, then get yourself off home to bed. You’re going to have a full day tomorrow.’

Near Paderborn in Westphalia in the small town of Wewelsburg was the castle of that name which Heinrich Himmler had taken over from the local council in 1934. His original intention had been to convert it into a school for Reich SS leaders, but by the time the architects and builders had finished and many millions of marks had been spent, he had created a Gothic monstrosity worthy of stage six at MGM, a vast film set of the kind Hollywood was fond of when historical pictures were the vogue. The castle had three wings, towers, a moat and in the southern wing the Reichsführer had his own apartments and his especial pride, the enormous dining hall where selected members of the SS would meet in a kind of Court of Honour. The whole thing had been influenced by Himmler’s obsession with King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, with a liberal dose of occultism thrown in.

Ten miles away on that December evening, Walter Schellenberg lit a cigarette in the back of the Mercedes which was speeding him towards the castle. He’d received the order to meet the Reichsführer in Berlin that afternoon. The reason had not been specified. He certainly didn’t take it as any evidence of preferment.

He’d been to Wewelsburg on several occasions, had even inspected the castle’s plans at SD headquarters, so knew it well. He also knew that the only men to sit round that table with the Reichsführer were cranks like Himmler himself who believed all the dark-age twaddle about Saxon superiority, or time-servers who had their own chairs with names inscribed on a silver plate. The fact that King Arthur had been Romano-British and engaged in a struggle against Saxon invaders made the whole thing even more nonsensical, but Schellenberg had long since ceased to be amused by the excesses of the Third Reich.

In deference to the demands of Wewelsburg, he wore the black dress uniform of the SS, the Iron Cross First Class pinned to the left side of his tunic.

‘What a world we live in,’ he said softly as the car took the road up to the castle, snow falling gently. ‘I sometimes really do wonder who is running the lunatic asylum.’

He smiled as he sat back, looking suddenly quite charming although the duelling scar on one cheek hinted at a more ruthless side to his nature. It was a relic of student days at the University of Bonn. In spite of a gift for languages, he’d started in the Faculty of Medicine, had then switched to law. But in Germany in 1933 times were hard, even for well-qualified young men just out of university.

The SS were recruiting gifted young scholars for their upper echelons. Like many others, Schellenberg had seen it as employment, not as a political ideal, and his rise had been astonishing. Because of his language ability, Heydrich himself had pulled him into the Sicherheitsdienst, the SS security service, known as the SD. His main responsibility had always been intelligence work, abroad, often a conflict with the Abwehr, although his personal relationship with Canaris was excellent. A series of brilliant intelligence coups had pushed him up the ladder rapidly. By the age of thirty, he was an SS Brigadeführer and Major General of Police.

The really astonishing thing was that Walter Schellenberg didn’t consider himself a Nazi, looked on the Third Reich as a sorry charade, its main protagonists actors of a very low order indeed. There were Jews who owed their survival to him, intended victims of the concentration camps rerouted to Sweden and safety. A dangerous game, a sop to his conscience, he told himself, and he had his enemies. He had survived for one reason only. Himmler needed his brains and his considerable talents and that was enough.

There was only a powdering of snow in the moat, no water. As the Mercedes crossed the bridge to the gate, he leaned back and said softly, ‘Too late to get off the roundabout now, Walter, far too late.’

Himmler received him in his private sitting room in the south wing. Schellenberg was escorted there by an SS sergeant in dress uniform and found Himmler’s personal aide, a Sturmbannführer named Rossman, sitting at a table outside the door, also in dress uniform.

‘Major.’ Schellenberg nodded.

Rossman dismissed the sergeant. ‘A pleasure to see you, General. He’s waiting. The mood isn’t good, by the way.’

‘I’ll remember that.’

Rossman opened the door and Schellenberg entered a large room with a vaulted ceiling and flagged floor. There were tapestries on the walls and lots of dark oak furniture. A log fire burned on a great stone hearth. The Reichsführer sat at an oak table working his way through a mound of papers. He was not in uniform, unusual for him, wore a tweed suit, white shirt and black tie. The silver pince-nez gave him the air of a rather unpleasant schoolmaster.

Unlike Heydrich who had always addressed Schellenberg by his Christian name, Himmler was invariably formal. ‘General Schellenberg.’ He looked up. ‘You got here.’

There was an implied rebuke and Schellenberg said, ‘I left Berlin the moment I received your message, Reichsführer. In what way can I serve you?’

‘Operation Eagle, the Churchill affair. I didn’t employ you on that business because you had other duties. However, by now you will be familiar with most of the details.’

‘Of course, Reichsführer.’

Himmler abruptly changed the subject. ‘Schellenberg, I am increasingly concerned at the treasonable activities of many members of the High Command. As you know, some wretched young major was blown up in his car outside the entrance to the Führer’s headquarters at Rastenburg last week. Obviously another attempt on our Führer’s life.’

‘I’m afraid so, Reichsführer.’

Himmler stood up and put a hand on his shoulder. ‘You and I, General, are bound by a common brotherhood, the SS. We are sworn to protect the Führer and yet are constantly threatened by this conspiracy of generals.’

‘There is no direct proof, Reichsführer,’ Schellenberg said, which was not strictly true.

Himmler said, ‘General von Stulpnagel, von Falk-enhausen, Stief, Wagner and others, even your good friend Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, Schellenberg. Would that surprise you?’

Schellenberg tried to stay calm, envisaging the distinct possibility that he might be named next. ‘What can I say, Reichsführer?’

‘And Rommel, General, the Desert Fox himself. The people’s hero.’

‘My God!’ Schellenberg gasped, mainly because it seemed the right thing to do.

‘Proof.’ Himmler snorted. ‘I’ll have my proof before I’m done. They have a date with the hangman, all of them. But to other things.’ He returned to the table and sat. ‘Have you ever had any dealings with an agent named Vargas?’ He examined a paper in front of him. ‘José Vargas.’

‘I know of him. An Abwehr contact. A commercial attaché at the Spanish Embassy in London. As far as I know, he has only been used occasionally.’

‘He has a cousin who is also a commercial attaché at the Spanish Embassy here in Berlin. One Juan Rivera.’ Himmler glanced up. ‘Am I right?’

‘So I understand, Reichsführer. Vargas would use the Spanish diplomatic bag from London. Most messages would reach his cousin here in Berlin within thirty-six hours. Highly illegal, of course.’

‘And thank God for it,’ Himmler said. ‘This Operation Eagle affair. You say you are familiar with the details?’

‘I am, Reichsführer,’ Schellenberg said smoothly.

‘There is a problem here, General. Although the idea was suggested by the Führer, it was, how shall I put it, more a flight of fancy than anything else? One couldn’t rely on Canaris to do anything about it. I’m afraid that total victory for the Third Reich is low on his list of priorities. That is why I personally put the plan into operation, aided by Colonel Radl of the Abwehr, who’s had a heart attack, I understand, and is not expected to live.’

Schellenberg said cautiously, ‘So the Führer knows nothing of the affair?’

‘My dear Schellenberg, he carries the responsibility for the war, its every aspect, on his own shoulders. It is our duty to lighten that load as much as possible.’

‘Of course, Reichsführer.’

‘Operation Eagle, however brilliantly conceived, ended in failure, and who would wish to take failure into the Führer’s office and place it on his desk?’ Before Schellenberg could reply, he carried on. ‘Which brings me to this report which has reached me from Vargas in London via his cousin here in Berlin, the man Rivera.’

He handed across a signal flimsy and Schellenberg glanced at it. ‘Incredible!’ he said. ‘Kurt Steiner alive.’

‘And in the Tower of London.’ Himmler took the signal back.

‘They won’t keep him there for very long,’ Schellenberg said. ‘It may sound dramatic, but the Tower isn’t really suitable to house high-security prisoners long term. They’ll move him to some safe house just as they did with Hess.’

‘Have you any other opinion in the matter?’

‘Only that the British will keep quiet about the fact that he’s in their hands.’

‘Why do you say that?’

‘Operation Eagle almost succeeded.’

‘But Churchill wasn’t Churchill,’ Himmler reminded him. ‘Our Intelligence people discovered that.’

‘Of course, Reichsführer, but German paratroopers did land on English soil and fought a bloody battle. If the story was publicized, the effect on the British people at this stage of the war would be appalling. The very fact that it’s SOE and their Brigadier Munro who are handling the matter, is further proof.’

‘You know the man?’

‘Know of him only, Reichsführer. A highly capable intelligence officer.’

Himmler said, ‘My sources indicate that Rivera has also passed this news on to Canaris. How do you think he will react?’

‘I’ve no idea, Reichsführer.’

‘You can see him when you get back to Berlin. Find out. My opinion is that he will do nothing. He certainly won’t go running to the Führer.’ Himmler examined another sheet in front of him. ‘I’ll never understand men like Steiner. A war hero. Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves, a brilliant soldier, and yet he ruined his career, risked failure, everything, for the sake of some little Jewish bitch he tried to help in Warsaw. It was only Operation Eagle that saved him and his men from the penal unit they were serving in.’ He put the sheet down. ‘The Irishman, of course, is a different matter.’

‘Devlin, Reichsführer?’

‘Yes, a thoroughly obnoxious man. You know what the Irish are like, Schellenberg? Everything a joke.’

‘I must say that from all reports he seems to know his business.’

‘I agree, but then he was only in it for the money. Someone was singularly careless to allow him to walk out of that hospital in Holland.’

‘I agree, Reichsführer.’

‘My reports indicate that he’s in Lisbon now,’ Himmler said. He pushed another sheet across. ‘You’ll find the details there. He’s trying to get to America, but no money. According to that, he’s been working as a barman.’

Schellenberg examined the signal quickly then said, ‘What would you like me to do on this matter, Reichsführer?’

‘You’ll return to Berlin tonight, fly to Lisbon tomorrow. Persuade this rogue Devlin to return with you. I shouldn’t think that would prove too difficult. Radl gave him twenty thousand pounds for taking part in Operation Eagle. It was paid into a numbered account in Geneva.’ Himmler smiled thinly. ‘He’ll do anything for money. He’s that sort. Offer him the same – more if you have to. I’ll authorize payments up to thirty thousand pounds.’

‘But for what, Reichsführer?’

‘Why, to arrange Steiner’s escape, of course. I should have thought that’s obvious. The man is a hero of the Reich, a true hero. We can’t leave him in British hands.’

Remembering how General Steiner had met his end in the Gestapo cellars at Prinz Albrechtstrasse, it seemed likely to Schellenberg that Himmler might have other reasons. He said calmly, ‘I take your point, Reichsführer.’

‘You know the confidence I repose in you, General,’ Himmler said. ‘And you’ve never let me down. I leave the whole matter in your capable hands.’ He passed an envelope across. ‘You’ll find a letter of authorization in there that should take care of all contingencies.’

Schellenberg didn’t open it. Instead he said, ‘You said you wanted me to go to Lisbon tomorrow, Reichsführer. May I remind you it’s Christmas Eve?’

‘What on earth has that got to do with anything?’ Himmler seemed genuinely surprised. ‘Speed is of the essence here, Schellenberg, and reminding you of your oath as a member of the SS, I will now tell you why. In approximately four weeks, the Führer will fly to Cherbourg in Normandy. January twenty-first. I shall accompany him. From there, we proceed to a chateau on the coast. Belle Ile. Such strange names the French employ.’

‘May I ask the purpose of the visit?’

‘The Führer intends to meet with Field Marshal Rommel personally, to confirm his appointment as Commander of Army Group B. This will give him direct responsibility for the Atlantic Wall defences. The meeting will be concerned with the strategy necessary if our enemies decide to invade next year. The Führer has given to me the honour of organizing the conference and, of course, responsibility for his safety. It will be purely an SS matter. As I’ve said, Rommel will be there, probably Canaris. The Führer particularly asked for him.’

He started to sort his papers into a neat pile, putting some of them into a briefcase. Schellenberg said, ‘But the urgency on the Steiner affair, Reichsführer, I don’t understand.’

‘I intend to introduce him to the Führer at that meeting, General. A great coup for the SS, his escape and near victory. His presence, of course, will make things rather difficult for Canaris which will be all to the good.’ He closed the briefcase and his eyes narrowed. ‘That is all you need to know.’

Schellenberg, who felt that he was only hanging on to his sanity by his fingernails, said, ‘But, Reichsführer, what if Devlin doesn’t wish to be persuaded?’

‘Then you must take appropriate action. To that end, I have selected a Gestapo man I wish to accompany you to Lisbon as your bodyguard.’ He rang a bell on the desk and Rossman entered. ‘Ah, Rossman. I’ll see Sturmbannführer Berger now.’

Schellenberg waited, desperate for a cigarette, but aware also of how totally Himmler disapproved of smoking and then the door opened and Rossman appeared with another man. Something of a surprise, this one. A young man, only twenty-five or -six, with blond hair that was almost white. Good-looking once, but one side of his face had been badly burned. Schellenberg could see where the skin graft stretched tightly.

He held out his hand. ‘General Schellenberg. Horst Berger. A pleasure to work with you.’

He smiled, looking with that marred face like the Devil himself and Schellenberg said, ‘Major.’ He turned to Himmler. ‘May I get started, Reichsführer?’

‘Of course. Berger will join you in the courtyard. Send Rossman in.’ Schellenberg got the door open and Himmler added, ‘One more thing. Canaris is to know nothing. Not Devlin, not our intentions regarding Steiner and for the moment, no mention of Belle Ile. You understand the importance of this?’

‘Of course, Reichsführer.’

Schellenberg told Rossman to go in and walked along the corridor. On the next floor, he found a toilet, slipped in and lit a cigarette, then took the envelope Himmler had given him from his pocket and opened it.

FROM THE LEADER AND CHANCELLOR OF THE STATE

General Schellenberg acts upon my direct and personal orders in a matter of the utmost importance to the Reich. He is answerable only to me. All personnel, military and civil, without distinction of rank will assist him in any way he sees fit.

Adolf Hitler

Schellenberg shivered and put it back in the envelope. The signature certainly looked right, he’d seen it often enough, but then it would be easy for Himmler to get the Führer’s signature on something, just one document amongst many.

So, Himmler was giving him the same powers as he had given Max Radl for Operation Eagle. But why? Why was it so important to get Steiner back and in the time scale indicated?

There had to be more to the whole business than Himmler was telling him, that much was obvious. He lit another cigarette and left, losing his way at the end of the corridor. He hesitated, uncertain, then realized that the archway at the end led on to the balcony above the great hall. He was about to turn and go the other way when he heard voices. Intrigued, he moved forward on to the balcony and peered down cautiously. Himmler was standing at the head of the great table flanked by Rossman and Berger. The Reichsführer was speaking.

‘There are those, Berger, who are more concerned with people than ideas. They became sentimental too easily. I do not think you are one of them.’

‘No, Reichsführer,’ Berger said.

‘Unfortunately, General Schellenberg is. That’s why I’m sending you with him to Lisbon. The man, Devlin, comes whether he likes it or not. I look to you to see to it.’

‘Is the Reichsführer doubting General Schellenberg’s loyalty?’ Rossman asked.

‘He has been of great service to the Reich,’ Himmler said. ‘Probably the most gifted officer to serve under my command, but I’ve always doubted his loyalty to the Party. But there is no problem here, Rossman. He is too useful for me to discard at the present time. We must put all our energies into the preparation for Belle Ile while Schellenberg busies himself with the Steiner affair.’ He turned to Berger. ‘You’d better be off.’

‘Reichsführer.’

Berger clicked his heels and turned away. When he was halfway across the hall, Himmler called, ‘Show me what you can do, Sturmbannführer.’

Berger had the flap of his holster open, turned with incredible speed, arm extended. There was a fresco of knights on the far wall done in medieval style in plaster. He fired three times very fast and three heads disintegrated. The shots echoed through the hall as he replaced his weapon.

‘Excellent,’ Himmler said.

Schellenberg was already on his way. He was good himself, maybe as good as Berger, but that wasn’t the point. In the hall he retrieved his greatcoat and cap, was sitting in the rear of the Mercedes when Berger joined him five minutes later.

‘Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, General,’ he said as he got in.

‘No problem,’ Schellenberg said and nodded to the driver who drove away. ‘Smoke if you like.’

‘No vices, I’m afraid,’ Berger said.

‘Really? Now that is interesting.’ Schellenberg turned up the collar of his greatcoat and leaned back in the corner pulling the peak of his cap over his eyes. ‘A long way to Berlin. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get some sleep.’

He did just that. Berger watched him for a while, and then he also pulled up the collar of his greatcoat and turned into the corner.

Schellenberg’s office at Prinz Albrechtstrasse had a military camp bed in one corner for he often spent the night there. He was in the small bathroom adjacent to it shaving when his secretary, Ilse Huber, entered. She was forty-one at that time, already a war widow, a sensual, attractive woman in white blouse and black skirt. She had once been Heydrich’s secretary and Schellenberg, to whom she was devoted, had inherited her.

‘He’s here,’ she said.

‘Rivera?’ Schellenberg wiped soap from his face. ‘And Canaris?’

‘The Herr Admiral will be riding in the Tiergarten at ten o’clock as usual. Will you join him?’

Schellenberg frequently did, but when he went to the window and saw the powdering of snow in the streets he laughed. ‘Not this morning, thank you, but I must see him.’

Dedicated as she was to Schellenberg’s welfare, she had an instinct about things. She went and poured coffee from the pot on the tray she had put on his desk. ‘Trouble, General?’

‘In a way, my love.’ He drank some of the coffee and smiled, that ruthless, dangerous smile of his that made the heart turn over in her. ‘But don’t worry. Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll fill you in on the details before I leave. I’m going to need your help with this one. Where’s Berger, by the way?’

‘Downstairs in the canteen, last I saw of him.’

‘All right. I’ll see Rivera now.’

She paused at the door and turned. ‘He frightens me that one. Berger, I mean.’

Schellenberg went and put an arm around her. ‘I told you not to worry. After all, when has the great Schellenberg ever failed to manage?’

His self-mockery, as always, made her laugh. He gave her a squeeze and she was out of the door smiling. Schellenberg buttoned his tunic and sat down. A moment later the door opened and Rivera came in.

He wore a dark brown suit, an overcoat over one arm, a small man, sallow skin, black hair carefully parted. Just now he looked decidedly anxious.

‘You know who I am?’ Schellenberg asked him.

‘Of course, General. An honour to meet you.’

Schellenberg held up a piece of paper which was actually some stationery from the hotel he’d stayed at in Vienna the previous week. ‘This message you received from your cousin, Vargas, at the London Embassy concerning the whereabouts of a certain Colonel Steiner. Have you discussed it with anyone?’

Rivera seemed genuinely shocked. ‘Not a living soul, General. Before God I swear this.’ He spread his hands dramatically. ‘On my mother’s life.’

‘Oh, I don’t think we need to bring her into it. She’s quite comfortable in that little villa you bought her in San Carlos.’ Rivera looked startled and Schellenberg said, ‘You see, there is nothing about you I don’t know. There is no place you could go where I couldn’t reach you. Do you understand me?’

‘Perfectly, General.’ Rivera was sweating.

‘You belong to the SD now and Reichsführer Himmler, but it is me you answer to and no one else, so to start with: this message from your cousin in London. Why did you also send it to Admiral Canaris?’

‘My cousin’s orders, General. In these matters there is always the question of payment and in this case …’ He shrugged.

‘He thought you might get paid twice?’ Schellenberg nodded. It made sense and yet he had learned never to take anything for granted in this game. ‘Tell me about your cousin.’

‘What can I say that the General doesn’t know? José’s parents died in the influenza epidemic just after the First World War. My parents raised him. We were like brothers. Went to the University of Madrid together. Fought in the same regiment in the Civil War. He’s one year older than me, thirty-three.’

‘He isn’t married, you are,’ Schellenberg said. ‘Does he have a girlfriend in London?’

Rivera spread his hands. ‘As it happens, José’s tastes do not run to women, General.’

‘I see.’ Schellenberg brooded about it for a moment. He had nothing against homosexuals, but such people were susceptible to blackmail and that was a weakness for anyone engaged in intelligence work. A point against Vargas, then.

‘You know London?’

Rivera nodded. ‘I served at the Embassy there with José in thirty-nine for one year. I left my wife in Madrid.’

‘I know London also,’ Schellenberg said. ‘Tell me about his life. Does he live at the Embassy?’

‘Officially he does, General, but for the purposes of his private life he has a small apartment, a flat as the English call it. He took a seven-year lease on the place while I was there so he must still have it.’

‘Where would that be?’

‘Stanley Mews, quite close to Westminster Abbey.’

‘And convenient for the Houses of Parliament. A good address. I’m impressed.’

‘José always did like the best.’

‘Which must be paid for.’ Schellenberg got up and went to the window. It was snowing lightly. He said, ‘Is he reliable, this cousin of yours? Any question of him ever having had any dealings with our British friends?’

Rivera looked shocked again. ‘General Schellenberg, I assure you, José, like me, is a good Fascist. We fought together with General Franco in the Civil War. We …’

‘All right, I was just making the point. Now listen to me carefully. We may well decide to attempt to rescue Colonel Steiner.’

‘From the Tower of London, señor?’ Rivera’s eyes bulged.

‘In my opinion, they’ll move him to some sort of safe house. May well have done so already. You will send a message to your cousin today asking for all possible information.’

‘Of course, General.’

‘Get on with it then.’ As Rivera reached the door Schellenberg added, ‘I need hardly say that if one word of this leaks out you will end up in the River Spree, my friend, and your cousin in the Thames. I have an extraordinarily long arm.’

‘General, I beg of you.’ Rivera started to protest again.

‘Spare me all that stuff about what a good Fascist you are. Just think about how generous I’m going to be. A much sounder basis for our relationship.’

Rivera departed and Schellenberg phoned down for his car, pulled on his overcoat and went out.

Admiral Wilhelm Canaris was fifty-six. A U-boat captain of distinction in the First World War, he had headed the Abwehr since 1935 and despite being a loyal German had always been unhappy with National Socialism. Although he was opposed to any plan to assassinate Hitler, he had been involved with the German resistance movement for some years, treading a dangerous path that was eventually to lead to his downfall and death.

That morning, as he galloped along the ride between the trees in the Tiergarten, his horse’s hooves kicked up the powdered snow filling him with a fierce joy. The two dachshunds which accompanied him everywhere, followed with surprising speed. He saw Schellenberg standing beside his Mercedes, waved and turned towards him.

‘Good morning, Walter. You should be with me.’

‘Not this morning,’ Schellenberg told him. ‘I’m off on my travels again.’

Canaris dismounted and Schellenberg’s driver held the horse’s reins. Canaris offered Schellenberg a cigarette and they went and leaned on a parapet overlooking the lake.

‘Anywhere interesting?’ Canaris asked.

‘No, just routine,’ Schellenberg said.

‘Come on, Walter, out with it. There’s something on your mind.’

‘All right. The Operation Eagle affair.’

‘Nothing to do with me,’ Canaris told him. ‘The Führer came up with the idea. What nonsense! Kill Churchill when we’ve already lost the war.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t say that sort of thing out loud,’ Schellenberg said gently.

Canaris ignored him. ‘I was ordered to prepare a feasibility study. I knew the Führer would forget it within a matter of days and he did, only Himmler didn’t. Wanted to make life disagreeable for me as usual. Went behind my back, suborned Max Radl, one of my most trusted aides. And the whole thing turned out to be the shambles I knew it would.’

‘Of course Steiner almost pulled it off,’ Schellenberg said.

‘Pulled what off? Come off it, Walter, I’m not denying Steiner’s audacity and bravery, but the man they were after wasn’t even Churchill. Would have been quite something if they’d brought him back. The look on Himmler’s face would have been a joy to see.’

‘And now we hear that Steiner didn’t die,’ Schellenberg said. ‘That they have him in the Tower of London.’

‘Ah, so Rivera has passed on his dear cousin’s message to the Reichsführer also?’ Canaris smiled cynically. ‘Doubling up their reward as usual.’

‘What do you think the British will do?’

‘With Steiner? Lock him up tight until the end of the war like Hess, only they’ll keep quiet about it. Wouldn’t look too good, just as it wouldn’t look too good to the Führer if the facts came to his attention.’

‘Do you think they’re likely to?’ Schellenberg asked.

Canaris laughed out loud. ‘You mean from me? So that’s what all this is about? No, Walter, I’m in enough trouble these days without looking for more. You can tell the Reichsführer that I’ll keep quiet if he will.’

They started to walk back to the Mercedes. Schellenberg said, ‘I suppose he’s to be trusted, this Vargas? We can believe him?’

Canaris took the point seriously. ‘I’m the first to admit our operations in England have gone badly. The British secret service came up with a stroke of some genius when they stopped having our operatives shot when they caught them and simply turned them into double agents.’

‘And Vargas?’

‘One can never be sure, but I don’t think so. His position at the Spanish Embassy, the fact that he has only worked occasionally and as a freelance. No contacts with any other agents in England, you see.’ They had reached the car. He smiled, ‘Anything else?’

Schellenberg couldn’t help saying it, he liked the man so much. ‘As you well know, there was another attempt on the Führer’s life at Rastenburg. As it happened, the bombs the young officer involved was carrying, went off prematurely.’

‘Very careless of him. What’s your point, Walter?’

‘Take care, for God’s sake. These are dangerous times.’

‘Walter. I have never condoned the idea of assassinating the Führer.’ The Admiral climbed back into the saddle and gathered his reins. ‘However desirable that possibility may seem to some people, and shall I tell you why, Walter?’

‘I’m sure you’re going to.’

‘Stalingrad, thanks to the Führer’s stupidity, lost us more than three hundred thousand dead. Ninety-one thousand taken prisoner including twenty-four generals. The greatest defeat we’ve ever known. One balls-up after another, thanks to the Führer.’ He laughed harshly. ‘Don’t you realize the truth of it, my friend? His continued existence actually shortens the war for us.’

He put his spurs to his horse, the dachshunds yapping at his heels, and galloped into the trees.

Back at the office, Schellenberg changed into a light grey flannel suit in the bathroom, speaking through the other door to Ilse Huber as he dressed, filling her in on the whole business.

‘What do you think?’ he asked as he emerged. ‘Like a fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm?’

‘More like a horror story,’ she said as she held his black leather coat for him.

‘We’ll refuel in Madrid and carry straight on. Should be in Lisbon by late afternoon.’

He pulled on the coat, adjusted a slouch hat and picked up the overnight bag she had prepared. ‘I expect news from Rivera within two days at the outside. Give him thirty-six hours then apply pressure.’ He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Take care, Ilse. See you soon,’ and he was gone.

The plane was a JU52 with its famous three engines and corrugated metal skin. As it lifted from the Luftwaffe fighter base outside Berlin, Schellenberg undid his seat belt and reached for his briefcase. Berger, on the other side of the aisle, smiled.

‘The Herr Admiral was well, General?’

Now that isn’t very clever, Schellenberg thought. You weren’t supposed to know I was seeing him.

He smiled back. ‘He seemed his usual self.’

He opened his briefcase, started to read Devlin’s background report and examined a photo of him. After a while he stopped and looked out of the window remembering what Canaris had said about Hitler.

His continued existence actually shortens the war for us.

Strange how that thought went round and round in his brain and wouldn’t go away.