The Grave of Truth (15 page)

Josef Franke's face had reddened. He leaned forward and slapped Max on the knee. Beer breathed over him.

‘About time! It's about time someone put over our side of it. The Yids have been yelling their dirty heads off ever since the end of the war! I'd like to see an article like yours—telling the world we weren't all swine and sadists, just patriotic Germans fighting for our country against the bloody Reds! Isn't that so, Ilse?' She had come behind him, her hand resting on his shoulder. Her pale eyes burned.

‘My God, I'll say it is! They've got their Russians now, haven't they? Breathing down their necks! Serves the bloody Western world right—they destroyed us when we were fighting Communism! Now they can get on with it. I hope you say the lot!' She came and sat beside her husband. ‘I'm sorry I was rude,' she said to Max. ‘But if you knew what we went through because Josef had served in SS.… Another glass of beer?'

Max shook his head. ‘No, thanks. I'm going to do quite a piece on the Bunker itself. The way people stayed with the Führer right to the end. I won't mention ourselves, just generalities. I want to convey the atmosphere at the end. It was a real “Twilight of the Gods”.'

He had won them completely; he felt a qualm of guilt about deceiving them when he owed them so much, but it jarred him to find that neither had changed their old attitudes, or faced the reality of what they had brought upon their country and themselves. The
Heil Hitlers
were vibrating in the air.

He turned to Ilse. ‘You remember they shot Fegelein that morning,' he said. ‘You said something about it to me. Didn't he have Eva Braun's diamonds and a lot of money stacked away?'

‘Those were the rumours,' she said. ‘But Josef would know more about that.'

‘I was in on the interrogation for a bit,' Franke said. ‘Standartenführer Helm was in charge. I thought he'd kill Fegelein the way he was going at him.' He grinned, and the last twinge of guilt at his deception left Max as he saw it. ‘He had her jewels all right, and money. But what Helm was really giving it to him for was something he'd told Obergruppenführer Mühlhauser. He punched Fegelein in the charlies, and yelled at him that he'd betrayed the future of Germany. I didn't know what it was all about.'

Max finished the last of the beer. Fegelein had betrayed the future of Germany. That meant he had told Gunther Mühlhauser about the existence of Janus. Or where he was hidden. Josef looked at him, and shook his head. ‘You're not going to mention that, are you?'

‘Why should I?' Max said. ‘I'm interested in the heroes of Berlin and the Bunker, not the rats like Fegelein.' He stood up and shook hands with them. They came to the door with him, and as he turned to say good-bye again, Josef Franke straightened and brought his heels together. ‘
Heil Hitler
, comrade. I know you'll do us justice.' He raised his right arm to shoulder level, in the old salute.

Max didn't answer. He nodded at both of them and hurried out into the passage and the lift. He breathed in the cool air, and began to walk at a fast pace as if he were trying to leave something behind. Franke had given him a clue, when he had chanced a question without expecting an answer. Herman Fegelein had passed the secret of Janus on to Himmler's aide and confidant; that was why Hitler had ordered his death and Eva Braun had at last accepted it. He had told Mühlhauser about Janus, as part of the package Himmler was assembling to make peace with the Allies and divide the West from Soviet Russia. Only no one had considered making peace with Himmler, and he had fled, only to be arrested by a British patrol and commit suicide like the leader he had at last betrayed. But Günther Mühlhauser had been captured in Berlin. By the Russians. He went on walking, making his way back to Minna Walther's house; he had lost the sense of time. A clock chimed midnight, and he stopped suddenly, checking his watch. He had been walking through the city for almost two hours.

He found a cruising taxi-cab and gave the address. He felt tired and jaded, and his spirits were low. Mühlhauser knew about the child. He could well have been told where to find it. And it was beyond reason to hope that he hadn't passed that information to the Russians, in exchange for his life and ultimate release.

Albert Kramer had kissed her hand and then her cheek. She disliked the smell of his aftershave; it was musty and rather strong. It lingered wherever he had been, advertising his presence. She had mentioned it once to her husband, who laughed and said it was supposed to attract women. Minna had wrinkled her nose and said it had the very opposite effect on her. It was the only fault she could find with Albert Kramer; he was a loyal supporter of Sigmund in politics and a charming, intelligent friend of the family, who exerted himself to win her affection. Sitting in the pleasant drawing room, sleek and blonde and handsome as ever, he looked at her and shook his head.

‘You're pale,' he said gently. ‘And a little too thin. You mustn't grieve, Minna; Sigmund wouldn't want that.'

‘I'm all right,' she said. ‘You mustn't worry about me.' He had been married and divorced in the ten years she had known him. His wife was a bright, hectic girl, with a doting father who had made a fortune out of textiles since the war. She had a child by a previous marriage, and a dubious reputation which Albert chose to ignore. He had waited six years and had a three-year-old son before he divorced her. By that time he had become one of the richest and most influential industrialists in West Germany. His enemies attributed his forebearance towards his wife with the use he made of her father, and its sudden ending with his emergence as a power figure in his own right. Minna didn't listen to gossip; she hadn't liked his wife because they had little in common, but she had accepted her because she was a part of Albert. He had been very tactful when he arrived; his mention of Sigmund was brief and gentle. He talked about the children, asking after her eldest son Helmut, and she knew this was an effort, because Helmut was opinionated and abrasive, and Albert instinctively reacted against him.

‘He's a clever fellow,' he said. ‘Remember, Minna, I've got interests all over the world, and if Helmut wants to start with any of my organizations, I'd be only too delighted. I mentioned this to Sigmund before.'

She smiled in gratitude and shook her head. ‘It's very sweet of you, Albert, but I don't see my son settling down to capitalism for a long time. His head is full of notions and ideals, and he thinks making money is a crime.'

‘I wonder how he came to terms with his father's fortune, then?' He lit a cigarette, and offered one to her. He carried a heavy gold case, long out of fashion.

‘Everything Sigmund did was perfect,' she said. ‘If he made money it was only to finance his political career and advance his plans for Germany. Helmut worshipped him. He wants to go into politics, and before that, he's determined to be a journalist. He was terribly upset by his father's death; it was harder for him than any of the other children. Unfortunately, I'm no substitute; we've never been close.'

‘That's surprising,' Albert Kramer said. ‘I hoped he'd be a support to you. Do you want me to talk to him?' She saw the hard line of his mouth and the glint in his eyes, and imagined the furious confrontation that would take place if he tried to lecture her son.

‘No, thank you, Albert. Helmut will settle down in time.'

‘And you,' he asked her, ‘what will you do now, my dear?'

She didn't answer immediately; she hesitated. Sigmund had often spoken of Albert as one of his closest friends. She didn't know whether that friendship extended to telling him about the secret of Janus.

‘I shall go on with Sigmund's work,' she said, and she watched his face for a sign. There was none. Only a faint surprise that irritated her.

‘You're not thinking of politics, surely—Minna, that kind of world isn't suited to women, at least not to ladies.'

‘I don't see why not,' she said. ‘Women have to live with political decisions made by men; why shouldn't they have a say in what affects them?'

He smiled, and there was a gentle condescension in it, which made her suddenly very angry. ‘I never thought of you as a feminist,' he said. ‘Or a militant.'

‘How did you think of me?' she asked him. ‘As some kind of ornament?'

‘Not at all,' Albert said. He thought how desirable she looked, with the angry colour in her cheeks. ‘I thought of you as a perfect wife and mother, and Sigmund as the luckiest man in Germany. How
do
you intend to carry on his work?—please, I'm being quite serious. I'd like to know, and maybe I could help.'

‘I'm going to commission a biography,' she said. ‘And there's a journalist who wants to do a series about him. I've got to keep his name alive, until someone comes forward to take up his work for the reunification of our country.'

‘Have you someone in mind?' He was taking her seriously, as he'd said; there was no male chauvinism in his attitude now.'

‘Sigmund had a lot of colleagues with the same ideas. But the man has got to be politically reliable. He's got to have authority in the world outside Germany, like Sigmund.'

‘With friends in the right places,' Albert Kramer said. ‘Yes, a man with a sound political record, and independent of the party machine. Rich, like Sigmund, so nobody could buy him.' He stood up, brought out his gold case and lit another cigarette. He had a good figure; he and Sigmund used to play squash together. She sat still and watched him; there was tension in the atmosphere and it was growing.

‘Minna,' his voice was low, but emotion made it deeper, ‘Minna, I want to ask you a question. A very important question, and very personal to me. I loved Sigmund as much as I admired him. I believe in his ideals and I want what he wanted for my country. A united, free Germany. If I offered myself as his successor, would you give me your support?'

‘You mean go into politics full time? Give up your businesses?'

‘I've done all I can do,' he said. ‘I want to serve my country now, out in the open. I'll seek election to the Bundestag next spring, on the same platform as he did.
Détente
with the East German government and ultimate reunification. I can do it, Minna; I've been thinking about it for a long time. I can gather his supporters together and I've a lot of influence in the government itself. I'd be a force to reckon with. But I need you to give your blessing. And more than that, I'd need your help in co-ordinating Sigmund's policies through his personal papers. I'd have to think through his brain to start with.'

‘Yes,' she said, ‘I see. I think I'd like a drink. Will you have one with me?'

She got up and went to the trolley, and poured herself a whisky. Albert shook his head and frowned.

He didn't approve of women drinking spirits like that. And she hadn't answered his question. He came and stood close to her, so that she was looking up. It gave him an advantage. ‘What do you say, Minna? Can I count on you?'

He had hot blue eyes, and there was something besides ambition and urgency in them; she knew that he was bidding for more than her dead husband's political career. He wanted her, too, and she had always sensed that, even when Sigmund was alive. She had a flash of memory, and the hand holding the glass of whisky tightened. Sigmund saying to her one night as they undressed for bed after a party, where Albert Kramer had been the host, ‘Such a pity he won't join with us—we could do with his influence and his brains. But he says politics bore him. I had a good go at him this evening to try and make him change his mind, but not a hope of it.…' That had been less than two months ago. She put down the glass and stood up slowly; they were face to face and he was close enough to touch her.

‘Let me think about it,' she said. ‘Give me a few days. I'll telephone you, Albert. Now, please forgive me, but I'm rather tired.'

He held out his hand and she had to take it. His lips pressed hard against her skin and they were moist.

‘I'll wait to hear from you,' he said. ‘And I shall hope. Goodnight, my dear.'

She closed the door on him, and waited until she heard the sound of his car starting outside. Then she went back to the room and sat down, with the glass in both hands. His name was on Max Steiner's list. He hadn't told her why.

She was still sitting there when Max came in, and she called out to him. He looked tired and downcast. He came and sat in the chair Albert Kramer had used.

‘What happened?' she asked him. ‘You've been such a long time.'

‘I was walking,' he said. ‘I saw the Frankes; they didn't give me good news. I had to think out what it meant, that's why I went on walking.'

‘What did it mean?'

‘Fegelein was shot for telling a man called Gunther Mühlhauser about Janus. Josef Franke was in the room during the interrogation. He didn't know what it was all about, but I believe Fegelein told Mühlhauser that Hitler had a child. Mühlhauser was Himmler's personal aide. And he was captured by the Russians. You know, his name's on my list and he's living here in Hamburg. If the Russians released him, he must have told them what Fegelein told him. Which means, if the boy is alive at all, he's in Russian hands.'

Minna Walther shook her head; the light behind gleamed in the blonde hair, turning it into a halo.

‘They got their information from the autopsy on Eva Braun,' she said. ‘They may have got confirmation from this Mühlhauser but I don't believe for a moment that they got the child.' Max raised his head and looked at her; he felt weary and pessimistic. He didn't recognize it but the pessimism stemmed from that moment in the Frankes' flat when he heard once more the words
Heil Hitler
spoken in modern Germany.

‘Why?' he said. ‘Why are you so sure?'