Hitler's Secret (24 page)

“No one could have survived that.” Müller was walking just ahead of Heydrich and Straniak. They had passed through the ravine and continued up the track. From there they had watched the avalanche swallow first the troops and then, seemingly, the children.

“They seem to have survived a great deal,” Heydrich said.

He was not leaving this mountain without them, dead or alive.

He trained his binoculars on the glacier above, checking one last time for any sign of life from the Alpine troops. There was none. Only a few minutes earlier he had watched through the binoculars as the boy and girl had fired the grenades up the mountain. They had acted decisively and ruthlessly, wiping out an entire company of elite SS Mountain Infantry not long returned from Greece, battle hardened. Capturing
three children should have been nothing to them. For the first time Heydrich considered the possibility of keeping the two teenagers alive when he had caught them. Their talents as double agents might be highly useful to the Reich and once he had established their true identities, Heydrich was sure the right pressure could be brought to bear to obtain their willing and faithful cooperation.

He set off again, maintaining his fast pace, the flesh wound on his thigh no longer troubling him. His Schmeisser was slung loosely around his neck, swinging like one of Straniak’s pendulums. Below him on the valley floor, the Fieseler Stork was just visible, its white wings standing out against the green of the summer pasture. Straniak struggled to keep up, mopping his brow with a large spotted handkerchief. He was sweating profusely despite the colder air, and breathing heavily.

After some time, the three men crossed over a second ravine spanned by a rope bridge, which swayed under their weight. Below was a thundering torrent of glacier meltwater. Once over, they continued to follow the track to the right. Just before they reached the trees they came upon two men.

They were squat farmer types in traditional lederhosen shorts with bib fronts, carrying bolt-action hunting rifles under their arms. One of them had a dead mountain goat wrapped around his neck. It was dripping blood from a wound through the center of its forehead.

Heydrich didn’t slacken his pace but his black-gloved hand tightened on the Schmeisser’s grip. “We are searching for three children, lost on the mountain,” he said. “Have you seen them?”

The two men shook their heads.

“There’s been an avalanche,” one of them said.

“I am aware of that.” Heydrich could see they would be of no help.

The taller of the two was now frowning. His colleague slowly raised his rifle.

“You are SS, I think. Do you know where you are?” the farmer asked.

“I believe I do, thank you,” said Heydrich. “Let us pass. We are in a great deal of a hurry.”

The farmer raised his own rifle. “Don’t come any closer.”

“As you wish.” Heydrich stood in front of them.

“This is Swiss territory. My brother and I will escort you to the police chief in Klosters.”

Heydrich interrupted the man. “As I have explained, this is a rescue mission for three children who are on this mountain, possibly injured.”

The men glanced at each other, uncertain.

“Explain your story to the police chief,” the farmer said doggedly.

“I explain myself to only one person …”

Heydrich emptied the magazine’s thirty-two bullets into the men’s bodies in a little under four seconds. The two men spun and twisted like marionettes, before crumpling to the ground. Heydrich changed the magazine.

“And that person is Adolf Hitler.”

The staccato chatter of the submachine gun echoed up the mountain, sending Otto and the girls diving for cover. They’d reached the edge of the trees and were about to take a path that appeared to lead down to the valley floor. Huddled behind a large boulder, they sat and waited and listened. Eventually Otto snaked forward on his stomach to take a look. He was back in a minute or so.

“It’s Heydrich with the two others. About five hundred yards down the path, heading this way.” His face was as white as the snow above them.

“So? We fight our way down.” Leni was gripping her pistol tightly in one hand.

“Yes,” said Angelika. “Leni still has a grenade.” She was flushed in the face. Otto knew she must be scared, but she was showing immense courage. He shook his head. Better to
get the girls down to safety while he led Heydrich on a wild-goose chase around the mountain.

“You’re a very brave girl, Angelika, but no.”

“So what are we going to do?” she asked.

“We’ve got to be clever now, use our heads.”

Leni nodded. “Otto’s right.”

“So, here’s what we do,” he said firmly. “We split up.”

“No!” Both girls spoke as one.

“Wait, just hear me out.” Otto could see he would have to be at his most persuasive. He spoke quietly, seriously. “Splitting up is the only way. Let me lead them up higher and away from the track. You wait until they have gone and then go down as fast as you can to the nearest village. Run the whole way if it’s possible. It shouldn’t take you more than thirty minutes.” He leaned forward and pointed to the valley below. “Don’t stop, don’t look back, just go. There’s the village, see?”

“They’ll kill you,” Leni said, her voice flat.

“Only if they catch me. And they’re not going to do that, I promise you.”

“What about last time?”

“Last time I was stuck in a cow barn. This time I’ve got the whole mountain to hide on. I’ll see you down there for lunch. I’m going to have an enormous bratwurst and an orange soda.” His voice was calm. He looked at her patiently.

“I’ll do it,” said Leni. “It’s my turn.”

Otto shook his head vigorously. “It’s not about turns, Leni, you know that. It’s about her. Giving her the best chance. I thought you’d made that clear a while ago.” He could see that at last his words had hit home. “We’re wasting time now. You know there’s no other way.”

Finally Leni nodded and took Angelika’s hand. “He’s right.”

Angelika looked as if she might cry.

“Take this,” Leni said. She reached inside her pocket and pulled out the remaining grenade.

“I was hoping it might be chocolate,” said Otto.

“No such luck.” She smiled tightly back at him. That moment when Otto had scolded her for a Hershey’s wrapper seemed such a long time ago.

“You keep the gun and grenade. Just in case.” He leaned forward and gave Angelika a tight hug. “Angelika, there’s something I have to tell Leni, in private.”

“You mean like a secret?”

“Yes, sort of.”

Angelika nodded and moved away.

Otto lowered his voice to a whisper. “Have you thought where you’ll take her?” He didn’t say the words “if I don’t make it down,” but he could see Leni knew that was what he meant.

“Then we’re agreed. We won’t hand her over to MacPherson.” Leni searched Otto’s face.

“Yes, we’re agreed.” Otto said it firmly.

“I’ve been thinking, I’ve got some distant relations in Switzerland, in Berne. It’s not too far from here. Cousins on my mother’s side. I’m sure they would help us.”

Otto nodded. “That sounds a good idea. Yes, that really does.” He smiled at the idea of Angelika living with a Jewish family. No one would ever think of looking for her there. Perhaps he’d even live to visit. “Be careful,” he added quickly, and then he was on his feet and moving away.

“Wait!” said Leni, but he was already out of sight.

Angelika hurried back over. “He didn’t say good-bye,” she said.

“That’s because he’s meeting us later for lunch, remember?”

Angelika nodded. Then she smiled. “I know what secret he told you.”

“Oh, really? And what’s that?”

“He told you he’s in love with you, didn’t he?”

Leni looked at Angelika, so sure she knew the truth.

“Something like that.”

“Do you love him?”

Leni dropped the grenade back into her pocket.

“Now that’s
my
secret, isn’t it?” she said.

MacPherson hurried as fast as he could down the main street of Davos without drawing attention to himself. In an ideal world he would have been sprinting, barging everyone out of the way, racing flat out for the waiting Rolls-Royce. But it had been worth the stop. He’d got more accurate information from his contact in Berne. The Germans had landed troops on the south side of Piz Buin, a well-known mountain peak right on the border, not far from the town. He wrenched the door to the rear of the limousine open and dived in.

“Piz Buin? How long?” he yelled. Durand had already started the engine.

“Leave it with me, sir,” she said simply, and the car rocketed forward, barreling down the street. Less than thirty minutes later the car had climbed high up into the hills,
MacPherson feeling more nauseous than he did on the roughest of seas.

They reached a fork in the road. The Rolls-Royce hit the humpback bridge just before it and flew majestically through the air for at least sixty feet. It smashed down on the rutted track, chrome hubcaps exploding off the wheels.

“Over there!” MacPherson barked, pointing at the Stork parked in the meadow about half a mile away. He had recognized it immediately as a German plane.

Seconds later the car had demolished a five-bar gate and was careening across the meadow, slipping and sliding on the morning dew. MacPherson clung on to the straps stitched into the ceiling lining as the car bounced over the grass, the engine roaring.

Durand slammed on the brakes and the big car slewed to a halt, hurling MacPherson into the rosewood dashboard for the final time.

“Well done, Durand,” he managed to say as a cloud of fine dust enveloped the Rolls. A thin trail of steam was hissing from the radiator. MacPherson threw open his door and staggered out, making for the car’s trunk.

He grabbed one of the Thompson submachine guns before scooping up a couple of magazines. The dust around the car had started to settle.

“Looks like my source was correct.” MacPherson slapped
a magazine into the gun and racked the slide. The plane itself was empty.

“So it would seem.” Durand had lit a cigarette and was smoking it fast. MacPherson handed her the other Thompson and she flicked the cigarette away, the deadweight of the machine gun requiring both hands.

“I’ve shot plenty of birds in my time, but I’ve never downed a Stork. Care to join me?” He glanced at the young woman. “Safety catch on the side there, flick it down to
A
.”

Durand raised her eyebrows. She had already done it.

MacPherson nodded ruefully. “Ladies first,” he said.

Durand pulled the trigger. A six-inch tongue of fire spat from the end of the barrel, empty brass bullet casings fountaining out of the side of the gun. MacPherson opened up with his own gun, hitting the canopy, the engine covering, and then — bingo! — the fuel tank. A satisfyingly large explosion enveloped the plane and it split in two, its wings folding up and inwards. Within a couple of minutes the whole thing had been consumed by flames. Only the crumpled steel tubing of the frame was left. A column of black oily smoke rose up in the morning air.

“Golly,” said Durand. “Looks like it’s the long way home for someone.”

MacPherson glanced up at the mountain. It was time to get this girl.