Orders from Berlin (41 page)

BOOK: Orders from Berlin

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BERCHTESGADEN

Eight hundred miles away on that same October afternoon, Heydrich sat rigid in the back seat of the staff car that was taking him to Berchtesgaden. He was passing some of the most beautiful scenery in Germany as the road climbed into the Bavarian Alps, but he might as well have been in his office back at Gestapo headquarters in Berlin for how much notice he was taking of it.

His mind was entirely concentrated on the approaching interview with the Führer, who had sent orders that morning for him to present himself at the Berghof at precisely three o’clock. Two weeks of total silence since their last meeting in the Reich Chancellery and now this. No questions about what had happened in London, no reprimand, nothing, although Heydrich wouldn’t have been able to tell Hitler anything concrete even if he’d asked. There had been no word of any kind from D. Heydrich knew from the news that Churchill was still alive, and by now he presumed the worst. He had been able to verify from his agent in the Portuguese embassy in London that D had collected the package nine days earlier – more than enough time for him to have reported back on any problems he’d encountered with executing the assassination plan. No, Heydrich was certain that D was dead, and he feared that soon he would suffer the same fate. As Hitler’s executioner, Heydrich knew only too well that death was the price of failure in the Third Reich.

His worst suspicions were confirmed when he was met at the foot of the steps leading up to the residence by an SS major and two soldiers from Hitler’s personal bodyguard.

‘You will please come with us,’ said the major after
saluting Heydrich, and they set off away from the Berghof in
the direction of the Führer’s teahouse on the Mooslahnerkopf Hill.

The major stopped as they came to the beginning of the path through the woods and demanded that Heydrich hand over his Walther P38 pistol. Heydrich had no choice but to comply when the major told him that he was acting on the direct orders of the Führer, but he felt stripped and defenceless without his weapon.

They walked on in silence and in only a few minutes came to the observation point with the extraordinary view across the Berchtesgaden valley towards the snow-capped mountains. Heydrich looked down at lakes and pine forests and green pastures and remembered the last time he had been here with Hitler, when he’d felt he held the future in the palm of his hand. And yet his dream of eliminating Churchill had turned out to be a fantasy, an intoxication of the giddy mountain air. Instead Heydrich thought now of the Roman emperor Tiberius, who had taken such pleasure in pushing unsuspecting victims off the steps leading down from his high palace at Capri and watching them break to pieces on the rocks below. Heydrich wondered whether he was about to suffer a similar fate. Was Hitler watching him from some hidden vantage point in the trees, waiting to see the soldiers manhandle him over to the railings and throw him off the precipice? Would he cry out as he fell that unimaginable distance to his death?

Heydrich trembled, but nothing happened. He walked on through the woods, turned the corner, and caught sight of the round white wall and turreted roof of the teahouse. And coming through the open door, Heydrich could hear music floating towards him on the cold autumn air. He recognized it almost immediately: Furtwängler’s recording of Siegfried’s funeral march from Wagner’s
Götterdämmerung
,
Twilight of the Gods
. It was Heydrich’s favourite movement in the
Ring cycle
. As always when he heard it, he felt the music transcend Siegfried’s individual death and look forward to a heroic human world purged of false gods; an Aryan paradise. He felt a surge of hope as he mounted the steps, flanked by the bodyguards, and went inside.

A manservant was standing motionless against the far wall, but otherwise Hitler was alone. He was sitting in the centre of a sofa upholstered with a floral pattern, with his head resting against the back and his eyes closed. He looked up when Heydrich came in, smiled, and with a gesture signalled to the servant to stop the gramophone.

‘Welcome, Reinhard,’ he said, looking hard at Heydrich as he sat in the chair opposite. ‘You see, I have not forgotten. I promised to bring you to my teahouse when you were last at the Berghof and I am true to my word.’

Heydrich didn’t know what to say. He remembered Hitler’s promise, but the invitation had been to discuss the plan to assassinate Churchill. He wondered whether the Führer was making fun of him.

‘I am sorry,’ he began tentatively. ‘I have heard nothing from our agent in London …’

But Hitler forestalled him, holding up his hand. ‘It doesn’t matter, because Churchill doesn’t matter,’ he declared, sitting up straight as if to emphasize that he was stating a fact, not an opinion. ‘The fool can rattle his rusty sabre all he wants, but he cannot do us any harm. The British are broken and alone and defeated, and behind all his speechifying Churchill knows it. Let us leave them to Goering’s bombs. Sooner or later they will have to come to terms. We have other, more important things to think about, you and I. Do you remember what I told you before about our destiny?’

‘That we must go east to find
Lebensraum
?’

‘Yes, and soon – before it is too late, before Stalin is ready for us.’

Heydrich nodded. He looked into the Führer’s steel blue eyes and felt the same inspiration he’d experienced outside when he heard the music coming towards him through the pine trees. With Hitler’s leadership, anything was possible.

‘Well, the time has almost come,’ Hitler went on. ‘We will take the land we need to build the new Reich, and you will make it clean and fit to use. That will be your task, and it is one to which you are uniquely suited. You will do all that is necessary, and you will eliminate anyone who stands in your way. You will brew them a devil’s drink. Do you understand me, Reinhard? A devil’s drink?’

‘Yes,’ said Heydrich, keeping his eyes fixed on the Führer’s. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Good, I am glad to hear it. And now let us have some tea,’ said Hitler, beckoning to his manservant. He smiled, revealing his teeth in a wolflike grin.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I wish to thank the following people who have helped me with the writing and publication of this book – David Brawn, John Garth, Gina Rozner, Natasha Hughes, Andy Phipps, Kevin Sweeney, Sarah Melnyk, Sona Vogel, Marly Rusoff, Michael Radulescu, Danny Baror, Heather Baror-Shapiro, Lizzy Kremer, Kathleen Zrelak, Lynn Goldberg, Mark Kryzan, Mark Steinberg, Todd Hoffman, and Tom Johnson.

I am lucky to have a very good editor – the suggestions of Peter Wolverton and his associate, Anne Bensson, have done much to improve
Orders from Berlin.
I also appreciate the contributions of everyone else at St Martin’s, HarperCollins UK, and Michel Lafon who has worked on the book.

My wife, Tracy Tolkien, has been a pillar of support and provided an excellent sounding board for many of my ideas, good and bad. Tracy and my two wonderful children, Nicholas and Anna, have been patient with my self-absorption and have encouraged me throughout.

Simon Tolkien

Santa Barbara, California

June 2012

About the Author

Simon Tolkien is the grandson of J.R.R. Tolkien. After studying modern history at Oxford he went on to become a barrister specializing in serious crime. He now lives in California with his wife and their two children.

www.simontolkien.com

ALSO BY SIMON TOLKIEN
THE INHERITANCE

An art historian is found dead in his study and all the evidence points to his estranged son, Stephen. As his trial unfolds, it is revealed that Stephen’s father was involved in a deadly hunt for a priceless relic in northern France. Inspector Trave of the Oxford police decides he must go to France to find out what happened in 1944. What artefact could be so valuable it would be worth killing for?

‘A fine novel. A thinking person’s
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.’

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Convicted murderer David Swain escapes prison on the night his ex-girlfriend is found murdered in her rich uncle’s home. Once recaptured, a guilty verdict for Swain seems guaranteed. But Inspector Trave is convinced there has been a conspiracy to arrest the wrong man, orchestrated by his estranged wife’s lover, a wealthy diamond dealer with a murky past. Trave’s motives are suspect as he risks everything to bring his own unlikely target to justice.

‘Compulsively readable. Crafted with cunning and imbued with menace.’

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ALSO BY SIMON TOLKIEN
FINAL WITNESS

Young Tom Robinson, son of Cabinet Minister Sir Peter Robinson, is thoroughly besotted by his father’s beautiful assistant, Greta. But when his mother is killed and Sir Peter marries Greta, it is Tom’s shocking testimony that puts her in the dock at the Old Bailey. Is Tom lying, or is the new Lady Robinson really a cold-blooded murderer? The trial rests on a knife edge when Sir Peter is called to give evidence – the final witness.

‘Makes you desperate to find out what happens in the end.’

Sunday Telegraph

Copyright

HarperCollins
Publishers

77–85 Fulham Palace Road

Hammersmith, London W6 8JB

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Published by HarperCollins
Publishers
2012

Simon Tolkien asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Source ISBN: 9780007459681

Ebook Edition © November 2012 ISBN: 9780007459704

Version 1

FIRST EDITION

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