The Eye of the Abyss (23 page)

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Authors: Marshall Browne

BOOK: The Eye of the Abyss
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Had a man who
did
not love the Nazis found a tool to damage them? A tool of opportunity: himself! What if this was rubbish?! The product of his warped and wishful thinking? Tension crawled over him afresh; he'd lost his taste for the brandy. And Dietrich – at this moment? The thought scraped like a dead leaf blown over cobbles to a hidden corner. Did the Nazi suspect the forces running against him, was he engaged in counter-actions?
A sharp vision came, doubtless sponsored by innumerable newsreels, of the Fuehrer, quite alone, pacing back and forth in the shadowy great hall of the Berghof, his mind locked in fantastic thoughts. Schmidt felt he could reach out and tap him on the shoulder.
He cut this off and thought of Dresden, of Helga and Trudi. He glanced at his watch – pictured them in his mother-in-law's familiar house, storytime, bedtime. He heard his daughter's childish voice repeating her prayers.
N
EXT MORNING IT was windless, with fog. Walking quickly around the bend in the street Schmidt's eye went to the two flags drooping from the flagstaffs. The bank looked becalmed, waiting for a breeze, maybe a new course. The head messenger's hacking cough echoed in the foyer's gilded cupola. The auditor said, ‘You need medicine, Herr Berger.'
Berger nodded respectfully. ‘I'm taking medicine, Herr Schmidt.' Breathlessly he proceeded Schmidt to the lift.
The usual stack of post, the usual quiet room, the customary atmosphere. He swiftly opened and sorted the post. He glanced up at the clock: 8.45 am; for him, tension vibrated in the air. For others? His inner calm seemed to be faltering.
If
von Streck believed his story —
if
he chose to act – how long? The confidence he'd felt as he'd left the Nazi functionary's office had thinned. But hadn't the man sought him out for a watchdog role, presumably had his reasons for doing so? To this point, he'd given his plan a good chance of unfolding as it had, but everything now felt well beyond his control. In the hands of fate.
Was his nerve beginning to crack?
The morning stretched ahead. He went out into the corridors, and glanced in at Wagner's vacant room. Otto came out of his office and without a word or a look swaggered
from sight. The younger Wertheim's mind was focused on 11.00 am, on the brilliant accolade which he expected to receive from the Nazi leader.
Schmidt smelled the peculiar odour which Otto, frequently, left in his wake: a touch of normality.
 
 
Dietrich, shining with grooming and health, smoked a cigarette. Herr Health and Sunshine. The nickname hadn't reached his ears. The fingers of his right hand drummed softly on polished wood. The meeting at eleven was an enigma. Worriedly, he wondered why von Streck hadn't brought him into the picture. Von Streck's power-base was one of the Party's myriad secrets, but clearly formidable, given the fear which it generated. He'd heard he was a personal confidant of Himmler. That he was attached to the Chancellery of the Fuehrer. But one heard many things.
Still, he was lucky to be alive. That madman had killed six of the Gestapo, virtually wiped out the local post's operational group. His own standing must be enhanced by the way he'd dealt with the incident. Perhaps he was to be congratulated before the board; or Otto was, for his Aryanisation work. Otto would certainly be thinking along those lines. Perhaps they were both to be congratulated!
The Party moved in unpredictable ways.
He smiled tensely: Its façade was steel-clad, inspirational, but behind that it was relentlessly the sum of its human parts. You had to be a little cynical about certain things, alert for your own self-interest. He was confident of the good work he'd done, that it was being noticed in the right quarters. And – he'd six o'clock this evening to look forward to! He felt a stirring in his loins. He visualised Franz's body, smooth skin, his intriguing, mysterious personality. He was going to bust
that little virgin wide open in two ways.
Make him sing like a choir boy.
 
 
With the forcefulness of a gale coming onto the Baltic coast, von Streck, at the head of four black-uniformed SS men, boots clattering, strode into General-Director Wertheim's anteroom. The SS were a head taller than he, but his muscular body was broader than any of them. He glanced back, as if to confirm the aggressive suspicion set on their faces.
He swept past Fräulein Blum, who stood by her desk, gave her a grin, and arrived at the double doors at the precise instant that they sprang open, orchestrated by Dietrich, who'd been standing by.
Herr Wertheim to the fore, the directors stood in a crescent in the inner sanctum. They sprang to attention, startled at the velocity of the visitors' entrance. Von Streck pulled up, beaming.
‘Heil Hitler!'
‘Heil Hitler!' — a ragged chorus rang out.
‘Good morning, gentlemen! Herr Wertheim a pleasure … Everyone may go – with the exception of yourself, Herr Otto Wertheim and Herr Dietrich.' Methodically, he stripped off the black gloves.
Wertheim showed polite surprise. Something
highly
unusual was in the air.
‘Of course …' He turned to the other directors. ‘Mein herren?'They took their cue and filed out with palpable relief, led by the formidable Director Schloss, who darted a concerned look at the G-D.
The doors swung shut. Von Streck, his olive features still wreathed in a smile, standing at the head of the SS, said, ‘Now to business. I'm here to personally audit the Party's portfolio
of bonds. Please make arrangements.'
Wertheim's surprise went up a notch; he tilted his head in a calculating way. After a moment's silence, he said, ‘I assure you—'
‘Immediately,' von Streck said, his eyes narrowing.
‘Of course, if that is your wish.'The general-director turned to a stunned Otto.
‘They're kept in the vault,' the younger director stammered, disappointment plain on his face.
‘We'll go there,' von Streck said. He was a reasonable man again.
Otto advanced with sudden energy. ‘I am a custodian, and I will summon our auditor. The third custodian is absent on duty, we've his safe-combination in a sealed envelope under double custody. I will get it.' He hurried out as though his commitment to this errand, this inexplicable situation, would win back his accolade.
Von Streck watched Otto leave, raised an eyebrow, glanced around the room. ‘Mmm. You've an interesting taste in art, Herr Wertheim.‘The G-D bowed slightly. He thought: Yes, I do. I doubt it has a high priority in your mind this morning. ‘What is the architecture of your fine building. Baroque classicism?'
Wertheim nodded. He said, ‘Shall we go to the vault?'
Searching his mind for a gleam of light, Dietrich had been a silent witness to these exchanges. He was staggered by the development, by its implications, though his face remained calm and he was keeping quiet. What, in God's name, was it all about? Whatever it was, it reflected disastrously on his supervisory status, his standing at the bank. He, the director seconded by the Party, totally ignorant of what was afoot! Grimly, he thought of enemies he'd made, felt his apprehension rising.
Yet, everything would be in order.
The iron cage arrived with a clank and a shudder, and
politely Wertheim ushered von Streck and Dietrich into it. Dismissively, the high Nazi signalled the SS to take the stairs.
‘Quite an antique,' von Streck said, nodding benevolently at the lift. He'd become an instant connoisseur of the Wertheim province; but the general-director detected a mocking edge. His father had installed the lift in 1902, and to the despair of the manufacturer's mechanics, he insisted on its preservation.
He bowed again, thought:
Yes, he's playing with us. But which of us doesn't have our secret games?
He was impervious to such tactics, found at some point he could often turn the tables. Again he went over his knowledge of von Streck – but abortively – much as Dietrich had done. Again that whiff of mystery.
If
the Nazi had worked behind the scenes to effect the transfer of the NSDAP business, what were the implications of that? What suspicions had now been raised in his mind? The bank's systems were as good as any for security, everything would be in order.
Otto and Schmidt were waiting in the vault; the auditor had placed the big ledger on the table. The party from the lift entered and in a wind of body odour the SS came clattering down the stairs.
Dietrich flicked his eyes at them, and continued to analyse the situation. Why did von Streck have the SS on hand? Grounded in the party's ways he didn't like this one bit. He glanced at sober-faced Schmidt, then stared at the safe.
At a stroke, Schmidt's overnight and early-morning doubts had been swept away. His heart had soared when Otto had burst into his room and demanded his presence in the vault. Von Streck had acted! Now they stood before the safe like an assemblage of city dignitaries at the unveiling of a plaque.
The high-ranking Nazi, as he'd been shown in, ignored the auditor, and didn't appear to notice the G-D's polite introduction.
‘Go ahead, gentlemen,' Wertheim said.
Breathing audibly, Otto stepped forward to the safe, peered hard at the calibrated marks, turned the tumbler. Success first time! His several chins were atremble as he stepped back from the ordeal. He produced a sealed envelope and presented it with a flourish to Schmidt. ‘Herr Deputy Foreign Manager Wagner's combination,' he announced.
This seemed to amuse von Streck. Schmidt opened the envelope and extracted a sheet of paper. He read the numbers, removed Wagner's combination. He took off his own, and swung open the safe door.
He thought:
Now, we'll see what we'll see
. Behind his mechanical actions he was amazed how suddenly calm he felt. He retrieved the sealed packet and carried it to the table, obliging the SS to make two crab-like jumps, aside. One of them stepped to the table but von Streck waved him back airily.
‘I'll do this myself,' he said. He consulted a notebook, produced a fountain pen, laid both on the table. ‘According to yesterday's report, after the Dortmund settlement, Reich bonds to the face value of 10,000,000 marks should be in sealed custody. And – nothing as of last night in the working stock.'
Dietrich nodded, deferentially. The funds that had come in this morning by mail and remittance hadn't been processed by Schloss's department yet.
With the knowingness of an illusionist about to perform, von Streck examined the assembled faces. He studied the seal on the big envelope.
‘This appears in order – sealed with the official seal, notated with a certificate for 10,000,000, signed by Herr Otto Wertheim and Herr Dietrich.' Dietrich and Otto exchanged confirmatory looks, relaxed perceptibly – though their attitudes said instantly: What was there to be worried about?
Von Streck looked up, caught this, smiled. He lifted the
envelope, examined the seal again, weighed it in his hand. He laid the packet down.
‘All in order, Herr Minister,' Dietrich suggested, his confidence flooding back.
Schmidt's heart had frozen. If the envelope wasn't opened … Von Streck didn't appear to hear Dietrich, seemed immersed in a complex calculation. Could
he
dare suggest it?
‘Do you think so, Herr Dietrich?' the high Nazi said very quietly.
‘Of course, Herr Minister!'
‘As safe and sound as Fort Knox in the USA, Herr Dietrich? '
Dietrich smiled. ‘Absolutely, Herr Minister!'
‘Even as clear cut as a legal lecture at the Order Castle in Marienburg?'
Dietrich smiled again, more warily. He remembered his days at Marienburg. What in hell
was
this all about?
Herr Wertheim and Otto were observing this by-play with mystification; Schmidt was identifying the sadistic nuances, broadening his picture of von Streck.
The Nazi functionary turned to Schmidt. ‘Herr Auditor, we'll open this packet and count the bonds.'
Thank God!
Schmidt stepped forward, took the envelope, and slit it open. He held the empty packet in one hand, and gazed at the thick sheaf of plain white paper which he held in the other. He looked up slowly, at the frozen tableau.
Thunderstruck, Otto's eyes were protruding, as if staring into a void; Dietrich's had narrowed to slits and his mouth had set involuntarily into its yellowish grin; the general-director had become deeply abstracted – as though he'd
The Eye
in his vision.
‘Jesus!'
Otto gasped, all the horror of the situation in the exclamation.
Von Streck took the sheaf of blank paper from Schmidt, let the sheets flick through his fingers. Otto tried to speak again, but produced only a strangled sound.
Von Streck surveyed everyone with hard, sardonic eyes. ‘
Who
is going to explain this to me? Much more importantly, to the Party?' Accustomed to observing persons in crisis he noted that the shock appeared genuine. Except for Chief Auditor Schmidt, whose face was as blank as the papers, and the senior Wertheim, who appeared to have gone to an elevated plane. The Nazi smiled thinly.
‘Herr Minister, this is a great shock.'The old banker had recovered first. His tenor voice was perfectly controlled. His intimations had been right, von Streck had expected to find this. What was the fellow up to? Using his urbanity as though pouring oil on a storm-tossed sea, he said, ‘Herr Minister, could you enlighten us as to how your suspicions were aroused?'
Von Streck had entered the Wertheim day with considerable velocity, then he'd changed the pace to a kind of amiably ironic event. In the crowded vault, another metamorphosis was under way: his deep-chested torso swelled, exuded its muscularity, the mole on his cheek was projected like a beacon. The olive skin had lightened – a strange, ominous effect; the brown eyes glittered menacingly.

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