The Serpent's Egg (12 page)

“You find him attractive, this Jürgen?”

“No, he’s creepy, but have you seen his eyes? They’re magnetic, and so difficult to avoid.”

Ebba smiled. “I noticed his eyes.”

They left the building together. Ebba said goodnight to Anna and went left, Anna turned right, rounded a corner, and found Jürgen leaning against a wall, waiting for her. He fell into step beside her. “I’ll walk you home. Where do you live?”

A shiver of fear ran up her spine. She didn’t want this Jürgen to know where she lived.

She gave him a weak smile. “There’s no need. I’m not going home. I’m meeting someone at a Brauhaus.”

“Who? Your boyfriend, Max-Christian?”

Another, more serious shiver of fear ran through her whole body. “How do you know my boyfriend’s name?”

He cupped her elbow. “I’ll walk with you to the Brauhaus. I’ll explain along the way.”

Jürgen seemed to know where they were going, and as he steered her along she realized he was heading to Max’s favorite Brauhaus in Paulusstrasss.

He reached into a jacket pocket and flashed a bronze disc. “I’m with the Gestapo investigation department. We know that your boyfriend is mixed up with the Communists.” She shook her head and would have objected but he said, “The Communists have been printing anti-German literature. We are aware of that and of Max’s involvement. We are also aware of other subversive activities, much more serious, that Max may have been involved with. You will help me to uncover these activities. You will keep your eyes and ears open and let me know when you hear anything that may be of interest to me.” He pressed a card into her hand. “This telephone number is attended day and night. As soon as you have anything of interest, no matter how small, ring this number.”

“I’m sorry, Herr Jürgen. I know nothing of these matters.”

“Let me be clear. There are men in Gestapo headquarters who would use other methods to obtain this information, men who are trained to beat the information from your boyfriend with ax handles. If you are unwilling to help me then I will not be able to keep Max from those men. Do you understand?”

#

Max made his scheduled trip to his mother’s house on Saturday December 24. Christmas Eve. She opened the door and let him in to a cold, dark house completely lacking any seasonal decorations – no tree, no
Adventskranz
candles, no lights, no color of any kind. He was alarmed. He had never known a Christmas that his mother had failed to celebrate in some way.

On his way in to the parlor, he tripped over a pair of boots. He recognized his father’s boots, covered in fresh mud.

“Are you all right, Mother? You do know it’s Christmas?”

He got no answer. His mother sat on the sofa, looking unusually downcast. Her demeanor, her clothes and general appearance suggested she was going through one of the infrequent bouts of depression that punctuated her life.

He offered her a couple of gifts – a headscarf and some bath salts that Anna had picked out for her. She flapped her hands impatiently. He put the gifts on top of the piano beside the picture of his father, taking a moment to peer at the picture, a faded sepia image of a stern-looking soldier in uniform.

He took his seat on the piano stool. “What have you been reading, Mother?” While waiting for a reply, Max was struck by a feeling of guilt. Could she be lonely? She’d never shown signs of loneliness before. “You should come to Berlin and spend some time with Anna and me in our apartment. We can make up a bed for you.”

“You don’t have to keep visiting, you know.” His mother spoke quietly, as if suppressing an urge to scream.

“I like visiting, Mother, and it is Christmas.”

“You have your own lives to lead. I don’t want to be a burden to you.”

“You’re not a burden, Mother. I just wish you’d get a telephone so that I can talk to you more often.”

On the way home on the autobus he reran the conversation in his head looking for clues to his mother’s impenetrable mental state. Then his mind turned to the muddy boots in the hall. Had she taken to wearing his father’s boots? In the garden, perhaps?

Chapter 33

December 1938

The Joint Forces Contingency Committee was in session on the third floor of the War Office. Seven men sat around the table. All seven were smoking, and the air was thick with smoke. Six of the seven were in uniform. The seventh wore an understated pinstripe.

At the head of the table, Air Commodore Frank Scott spoke in a sonorous tone. “A few of you have read the Assistant Director’s report on the Soviet Question, but I will ask him to take us through the main points. Briefly.”

The Assistant Director of Military Intelligence, Sidney Blenkinsop-Smythe, or B-S as he was universally known, got to his feet. “Thank you, Air Commodore. Since the last meeting I have had a team working on an evaluation of the various possibilities with regard to the likely disposition of the Soviet Union in the event of a war with Germany. My report analyses each possible outcome and assigns a statistical probability to each. However, please be aware that this is far from an exact science. In the final analysis, the actual outcome will be decided by the actions of Hitler to the West and the Japanese to the East. But the most significant factor, the one that we cannot measure with any degree of certainty, is the mind of Joseph Stalin. Stalin’s is an erratic, mercurial personality, an impossible man to predict at the best of times. All we can do is weigh up the plusses and minuses of each possible outcome, viewed through the prism of military strategy and see what emerges.”

The Air Commodore glanced at his watch.

“First, we must consider how Germany and the Soviet Union will interact. Here we are faced with not one, but two unpredictable personalities, for Hitler has proven just as imponderable as Stalin. From Hitler’s speeches and the tone of his book, Mein Kampf, we know that he is intractably opposed to what he terms ‘Bolshevism.’ He hates Communism and has vowed to eliminate these two evils – as he sees them – from the face of the earth. We may assume that Stalin is just as antagonistic towards Fascism. However, the notion that either will attack the other is unthinkable. Each would have too much to lose. If Hitler starts a war in Europe, which, as we all know, is more than likely, we may expect the Soviets to remain neutral, at least until the final outcome has been decided. At that stage, we expect the Soviets to make land grabs in some of the smaller countries in Eastern Europe.

The Air Commodore caught B-S’s eye and tapped his watch.

“We must consider the position of the Japanese. It seems likely that they would invade Russian territory from the east at the earliest opportunity after the commencement of a European war. This would keep the Soviets busy for a protracted period and keep them out of our hair, so to speak.”

“If you could wind up…” said the Air Commodore.

“So there you have it. A Japanese invasion of the Soviet Union is the most likely outcome with a probability of 85%. The invasion of Germany by the Soviets is unlikely, say 10%, and an invasion of Soviet territory by Germany has a probability of less than 2%.”

One of the Committee members raised his hand. “Have you analyzed what might happen if the Japanese don’t invade from the East?”

“Yes. In that case we can expect the Soviets to invade Germany soon after the start of the war, probably through Finland and/or the Baltic States, with an 80% probability. They may react immediately to the expected invasion of Poland by a repulsing move to drive the Germans back out of Poland. My analysts have given that a 75% probability. Remember that Stalin regards Poland as an integral part of the Communist bloc.”

“Thank you, Director. You will circulate the report among the members here?”

“As you wish, Air Commodore. I would ask everyone to treat it as top secret.”

Chapter 34

January 1939

On the Wednesday before his trip to Belgium Max received a telephone call at work. A voice he didn’t recognize told him he should call in to the dentist’s surgery after work.

The tram journey passed in a daze as his trepidation took hold.

Dr. Himpel was waiting for him, and so was Peter Riese, the stick insect from Zurich in the ill-fitting 3-piece suit. Riese handed Max a packet containing a set of papers – passport, Party membership and travel permit all in the name Gunther Schlurr.

Max flicked through them. They were impeccable forgeries, dog-eared, worn, and grubby as if they’d been in use for years. He thanked the forger, and Riese left the surgery, leaving Max to the tender mercies of the dentist.

“Hop up on the chair. I have something for you.”

Max sat in the chair.

“Open wide.” Dr. Himpel checked the cavity he’d previously created. “How does it feel?”

“Sore.”

“It will be tender for a few week more, but it’s healing nicely. Now open wide again. This won’t take a moment.”

He inserted a strange object into the cavity. Max explored it with his tongue. It was softer than a tooth and rocked slightly when he pushed it.

“How does it feel?” said Himpel.

“Painful. And it’s loose.”

“Open up. Let me take a look.” Himpel poked at the object. “You need a little flexibility. I’m not unhappy with that.”

You don’t have to carry it around in your mouth, thought Max. “It feels soft. What is it?”

“I told you, it’s a cyanide capsule. It’s designed to withstand normal everyday use. It will only break if you pop it out and bite down on it. Try it.”

“What?”

“Try popping it out. Don’t bite down on it, obviously. You should be able to pop it out with your tongue and slot it back into the cavity using your tongue and your cheek.”

The capsule resisted Max’s first efforts, but he soon discovered where to press and it popped out.

Putting it back was more tricky. Dr. Himpel had to help. “You may have to use your fingers to start with, but keep practicing with your tongue. Use your cheek to hold it in place and press it down. You’ll soon get the hang of it. How does it feel now?”

“It’s back in the cavity, but it’s quite sore.”

“Yes, I would have preferred to let it heal for another few weeks, but we had to get on with it. I’ll give you some painkillers.”

#

Anna frowned at him as he came through the door. “It’s late. Where have you been?”

“I had to go back to the dentist.”

Her frown deepened. “I met Odelette, the dentist’s assistant in the grocery shop the other day. She said she hasn’t seen you since last summer.”

“I went to a different dentist.”

“Why?”

“The pain was intense. Someone at work recommended a dentist close to the office.”

“Well, your supper is ruined. I’ll have to heat it up again.”

“Thank you, Anna. Sorry I couldn’t get word to you.”

In the bedroom he pulled a chair over to the wardrobe, stood on the chair and placed the rest of Herr Schlurr’s papers under the book.

Chapter 35

January 1939

Max and Vigo met at the Lehrter Bahnhof. Max suppressed a laugh when he saw Vigo. Dressed in a tweed jacket and corduroy trousers, the priest looked like a British tourist. They took an empty smoking compartment on the 7:05 am express from Berlin to Cologne and sat face to face by the window.

They spent the early part of the trip exchanging personal histories. Vigo was the youngest of five children, his mother German, his father Italian. He was fluent in both languages. Having studied and been ordained in a seminary in the Vatican, he had an abiding love for Rome, but his heart was in a small village in northern Italy.

Max asked Vigo who was minding the church while he was away. “Don’t you have to say mass on Sunday?”

Vigo laughed. “The parish priest, Father Zauffer will look after that. I’m not indispensible.”

Max told Vigo about Anna and their plans to marry. Vigo asked whether Anna was Roman Catholic. He offered to marry them in St. Angar’s church.

“I’ll have to ask Anna. She may have other plans.”

A couple of hours into the journey they were joined in the compartment by a woman and her son. That killed their conversation. Max amused himself by counting sheep in the fields and then trying to work out how fast the train was travelling by measuring the time between telegraphic poles. He estimated an astonishing 90-100 kph. He was asleep within minutes. 

By 3:00 pm, the train rolled into the main station in Cologne, right beside the cathedral. They had an hour to wait before their connecting train. Vigo insisted that Max use the time to visit Cologne Cathedral, Germany’s biggest and most impressive.

“Isn’t it magnificent? The foundation stone was laid in 1248, but the building wasn’t completed until 1880.”

The second part of their train journey took them from Cologne to the border where the train stopped and several teams of Schupo uniformed police came on board. They worked their way through the train checking the papers of every passenger.

As Max handed his false identity card to a couple of officers, his knees began to tremble. He forced them together in an effort to disguise the shake.

“Good day, Herr Pastor Schlurr. From what church?”

Max gave the name of the Lutheran church in Wittenberg that he’d attended as a child.

“You’re a long way from home.” The policeman handed the identity card back. “The purpose of your journey today?”

“I am visiting a sick relative in Brussels.”

And the policemen moved on.

Max planted his hands on his knees, horrified at the level of trepidation he’d felt during such a simple exchange.

The Schupo completed their checks and left the train. The driver gave two hoots on his whistle and the train lurched forward. Max stepped from the compartment and signaled to the priest to join him in the corridor.