Shadows of War (6 page)

‘I know there have been some Gestapo agents operating in Holland,’ Theo said. ‘Mörz, for one.’

‘I’ll talk to Schellenberg, see if he knows anything.’ Canaris and the new young head of the foreign-intelligence section of the Gestapo were neighbours in the Berlin suburb of Schlachtensee, and occasionally rode together in the Tiergarten. Although Canaris held the Gestapo in contempt, he had some respect for Schellenberg. Theo had never met Schellenberg and found the Gestapo’s efforts at spying frustrating.

‘If it is a trap, we don’t want de Lancey caught in it,’ said Oster. ‘He knows too much about us.’

‘De Lancey won’t talk,’ Theo said. ‘I mean, he will talk, but not about us. He has outwitted the Gestapo before.’

‘That’s true,’ said the admiral. ‘But we don’t want to rely on anyone keeping quiet once Heydrich has his hands on them. Warn de Lancey to be careful, Theo, until we are sure who exactly this Schämmel is.’

‘Certainly, your excellency.’

‘And the other matter?’

‘I have been having some very interesting conversations with Mr Bedaux...’

After the meeting, Theo followed Oster to his office.

‘Do you think Halder really will move on the fifteenth?’ Theo asked the colonel.

‘He’s trying to persuade Hitler that the weather will be too bad to launch an offensive,’ Oster said. ‘But Hitler won’t listen.’

‘So the coup will go ahead?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Oster. ‘I mean, if Halder really wanted to overthrow Hitler he would be urging that Case Yellow would go ahead.’ Case Yellow was the general staff’s plan to invade the Low Countries and attack France from the north. ‘That’s what we were all hoping for last year.’

It was true. Theo remembered how the conspirators had prayed for Hitler to order the invasion of Czechoslovakia so they could launch their coup. When he had called it off at the last minute in response to Chamberlain’s peace overtures, they had all been devastated.

‘It’s more difficult now we are at war,’ Theo said.

‘It is,’ said Oster. ‘You know, Theo, strictly between us, in my view it would be a disaster for our country if France was knocked out of the war.’

Theo trusted his superior. Oster was the driving force behind the conspiracy. Canaris left Oster, and through him Theo, to do the organizing. Canaris was careful to preserve the delicate balance of loyalty to the Fatherland and willingness to overthrow its leader. Oster had fewer qualms.

Theo nodded. ‘I understand, Colonel.’ He also understood how Oster’s words would be seen as treason, not just by the Nazis, but by most German officers and by Admiral Canaris himself.

Theo had intended to tell no one what he had told Conrad. But somehow telling Oster made what Theo had done less treasonable. Like Theo, Oster believed that the most important thing for Germany, the only thing for Germany, was to get rid of Hitler by any possible means.

‘I gave de Lancey the date of Case Yellow,’ Theo said.

Oster looked at Theo gravely. And then a smile spread across his face. ‘And I told the Dutch military attaché last night that we would be invading his country next week. But let’s keep this to ourselves, eh, Theo? And now, isn’t it about time you went back to Holland?’

Munich

Fräulein Peters stared down at the Bavarian countryside flickering beneath the clouds below her and marvelled at her good fortune. It was her first time in an aeroplane and it ranked as one of the most exciting days of her twenty years. Not only was she a thousand metres up in the sky, but she was there with the Führer! Six months before, she would never have believed it. Then she had been transferred to the Reich Chancellery secretariat, and for the last three weeks she had been working for the Führer himself.

Fräulein Peters was doing a good job; she was an efficient and competent secretary, quick thinking and able to see one step ahead. The only trouble was her nerves. On those occasions when the Führer spoke to her directly, she could sense herself blushing. She could almost feel her tongue swelling in her mouth and she was sure that at some point soon she would garble her words and make a fool of herself. Fortunately, the Führer seemed to enjoy her blushes. She had blond hair, blue eyes and a very clear complexion. She was, she knew, a true German, and she was proud of it.

They were on their way to Munich, where Hitler was giving a speech to mark the sixteenth anniversary of the 1923 Beer Hall Putsch, in which he had led his National Socialist comrades in a failed attempt to take over the city.

The ground was pressing up towards the underbelly of the aircraft. The machine juddered and Fräulein Peters was alarmed to see outside her window part of the wing detach itself and droop downwards. There was a grinding beneath her feet. She braced herself as the runway rushed upwards beneath the wings, and then they were down with barely a bump.

The machine turned towards the airport terminal building and jolted to a stop. The pilot came through to the cabin.

Hitler, who was sitting only two rows from Fräulein Peters, greeted him. ‘I need to be in Berlin tomorrow morning, Baur. Can you guarantee we can leave early? What’s the weather forecast?’

‘At the moment they are saying visibility will be good, my Führer, but it is November and fog is always a possibility. If that was to happen, there’s a chance we could be delayed for a few hours until it clears. If you have to be sure of getting to Berlin tomorrow morning I recommend you take the train tonight.’

Hitler nodded. ‘Fräulein Peters,’ he said. ‘Please arrange a train back to Berlin after the speech. It is imperative I am back there tomorrow morning. I have a meeting at ten o’clock.’

‘Certainly, my Führer,’ said Fräulein Peters. She had no idea how she would arrange it, but she was confident she would work it out. If the Führer wanted something done, it was done.

She wondered what the meeting was. She knew it wasn’t in his diary, but the whole concept of a diary when it came to the Führer’s schedule was a joke. Flexibility was the watchword.

Düsseldorf

Schellenberg paced up and down the small lounge of the
pension
. He had had virtually no sleep the night before. This was turning into one of the most difficult operations in his short but eventful career at the Gestapo. He was still only twenty-nine, but Heydrich had just entrusted him with the new foreign-intelligence branch of the organization, known as the Amt VI. He knew he was up to the job, but he also knew that if he screwed this operation up, it would be a high-profile failure.

Those were best avoided in Germany these days.

He heard a commotion and a familiar voice in the lobby of the
pension
. Familiar, but unwelcome.

‘Naujocks!’ Schellenberg exclaimed. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’

Alfred Naujocks was a colleague and rival to Schellenberg in Heydrich’s intelligence-gathering apparatus. Where Schellenberg was subtle, Naujocks was brutal. Where Schellenberg could charm, Naujocks could intimidate. Which wasn’t to say that Naujocks wasn’t cunning. He was. Cunning and dangerous.

‘The boss sent me to protect you,’ Naujocks said. ‘I’ve brought a dozen SS troopers with me.’

‘I don’t need a nursemaid!’ protested Schellenberg. ‘I’ve told Heydrich the British believe me. The last thing I want is a bunch of thugs watching my every move.’

‘Heydrich thinks the Dutch might snatch you tomorrow,’ said Naujocks. ‘You are far too important for us to lose. At least that’s what he says. We’ll be watching the meeting from the border. If the Dutch try anything, we’ll come and snatch you back.’

‘Very well,’ said Schellenberg. ‘But don’t do anything unless you are sure that there is trouble.’

Schellenberg left the
pension
and went for a stroll around the block. This latest development worried him. Did Heydrich know something he didn’t? Heydrich usually knew something other people didn’t. Perhaps the deception was blown. Or perhaps Heydrich just didn’t trust Schellenberg not to negotiate his own deal with the British. If anything, that was more worrying.

You didn’t want Heydrich to distrust you.

Schellenberg would just have to keep his eyes open and rely on his wits. They had served him well in the past and they would in the future.

He entered the front door of the
pension
and bumped into a Gestapo Kriminalassistent. ‘Herr Sturmbannführer, Admiral Canaris has been trying to get hold of you in Berlin.’

What the hell did he want? The Abwehr was not a part of this operation, and Schellenberg knew that Heydrich would require it kept that way. But if Canaris had gone to the trouble to track Schellenberg down it must be important.

Schellenberg went to the room that served as a communications centre in the
pension
and put through a phone call to the Tirpitzufer.

‘Ah, Walter, thank you for getting back to me,’ Canaris said. ‘How are you?’

‘Very well, Herr Admiral. Our soldiers might be sitting on their arses, but there seems plenty for us to do.’

‘That’s certainly true,’ said Canaris. ‘I wonder if you can enlighten me? Our people in Holland have come across an army captain named Schämmel. Do you know him?’

Schellenberg thought quickly. If he denied knowledge of Schämmel and Canaris discovered later that the captain and Schellenberg were one and the same person, he would have blown his credibility with the Chief of the Abwehr. And that credibility was important. So he had to admit some knowledge.

‘I do know of him,’ Schellenberg said.

‘Ah, good. He has apparently been claiming to be in touch with elements who wish to overthrow the Führer. Have you heard that?’

Now Schellenberg realized he would have to come clean, or else the Abwehr might disrupt the operation. Interesting they had found out. Never underestimate Canaris’s sources of information.

‘Actually, I know Schämmel well,’ said Schellenberg. ‘Extremely well.’

‘Really?’

‘In fact, he and I are the same man. We are running a little operation to draw out the English on whether they have been discussing such a plot with anyone within Germany.’

‘Hah! I like it!’ said Canaris. ‘So it’s you who has been in Holland talking to Payne Best and Stevens?’

‘That’s right. I’ve had several meetings with them, and in fact I am due to meet them tomorrow near the border. They appear to have fallen for it.’

‘And have they admitted to discussions with any conspirators?’

‘Not yet,’ said Schellenberg. ‘But they didn’t seem surprised at the idea that there might be some out there. I’m hoping to press them tomorrow.’

‘It’s a bold move, Walter, and I congratulate you. But it would have been courteous to let us know what you were doing. It’s dangerous to step on each other’s toes in a neutral country: it will lead to trouble.’

‘Of course, Herr Admiral.’ Schellenberg would have to play this next part carefully. ‘Heydrich was keen that this should be a Gestapo operation. Perhaps if we had bumped into each other in the Tiergarten, I might have mentioned something...’

‘Yes, Walter. I enjoy our little chats. Good luck tomorrow, and please keep me informed of developments.’

Schellenberg replaced the receiver. He thought he had done a reasonable job. He was pretty sure he had retained Canaris’s trust. And if he had denied all knowledge of Schämmel, the Abwehr would have taken action to find out about him of their own accord. It could all have turned very ugly.

Naujocks. Canaris. There were too many distractions. Schellenberg forced himself to focus on the task at hand, which was convincing the British that he and his general were genuine, and getting them to talk about other conspirators. He needed a good night’s sleep.

Munich

Fräulein Peters could listen to the Führer speak for hours. He had been talking for fifty minutes and they had flown by. He had seemed tired at the beginning of his speech, but his words and the adulation of his audience had lifted his spirits, as they always did. Fräulein Peters felt jealous of those comrades who in 1923 had gathered in this very hall and marched out into the streets to try to reclaim Germany for the Germans. They had failed, of course, but it was the first brave step on a glorious path.

Hitler was talking about Providence, how Providence was with the German people and with the National Socialists, how Providence was leading the German people – after centuries of bravery and spilling of blood – to their true destiny.

‘Fräulein Peters.’ It was Frau Kühn, the telephone operator. ‘Reichsminister von Ribbentrop.’

Fräulein Peters tore herself away from the Führer’s words and hurried to a small room just next to the hall.

‘Herr Reichsminister!’

‘Fräulein Peters, what time does the train leave for Berlin?’

‘Nine thirty-one, Herr Reichsminister.’

‘The Führer will want to talk, he always wants to talk. But it is essential that he is back in Berlin tonight. Give him a message from me to wind up his speech soon and make sure he catches that train. Put it under his nose.’

‘Yes, Herr Reichsminister!’

Fräulein Peters quelled a moment of panic at how she could tell the Führer to do anything. She scribbled out the message, making clear that it was from Ribbentrop. Then she summoned an SS trooper to deliver it: she knew that would look much better to the crowd than if she were to do it.

The trooper placed the note in front of the Führer as he was speaking. He paused, and during the applause, glanced at it. He concluded his speech: ‘Party Comrades! Long live National Socialism! Long live the German people! And especially today, long live our victorious army!’

The applause in the confines of the beer hall deafened her. Fräulein Peters checked her watch: 8.58 p.m. They would be all right so long as Hitler didn’t linger chatting, which he was very capable of doing. But he shook only a few hands and by 9.09 they were out of the hall. Fräulein Peters had arranged for an extra carriage to be placed on the Number 71 train leaving at 9.31, and they were all aboard with three minutes to go.

Relieved, Fräulein Peters settled into her seat and at 9.31 p.m. precisely the train left the station.