Traitor's Gate (32 page)

‘Where is she?’ Conrad repeated more urgently, only just managing to restrain himself from shaking the woman.

‘It was last night they came. They took her away.’

‘Who? Who took her away?’

‘The Gestapo.’

‘Was it Schalke?’

‘No. But it was another one I recognized. The one with red hair who arrested you.’

‘Dressel. Where did they take her?’

‘I don’t know. I asked them, but all they said was: “You won’t be seeing her for a long while.”’

Conrad closed his eyes. He had never anticipated that Anne­liese would be arrested before he could get her out of the country. How foolish he had been! ‘Did they hurt her?’

‘I don’t think so. But she looked very frightened.’ The land­lady sniffed. ‘She did shout something to me.’

‘What was that?’

‘She said, “Tell Herr de Lancey I love him.” So I am telling you that now. Oh, Herr de Lancey, do you think they have taken her to a camp?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Conrad. ‘I just don’t know.’

Conrad reeled out on to the street. Klaus! Klaus must have been behind it; he had sent his henchman Dressel because he didn’t have the guts to arrest Anneliese face-to-face.

 But why? Why would he harm her when he was so obsessed with her? Perhaps it was some bizarre kidnap attempt. Perhaps love had turned to hate. Conrad had no idea: it was yet another example of the illogical behaviour of this insane country. Perhaps they had already let her go and she was making her way back home. Or perhaps she was at that moment locked up in a concentration camp.

Conrad felt a surge of hot anger rush through his body. Klaus was playing with Anneliese’s life, toying with it. He had no damn right to do that! Impotence and frustration stoked up his rage. He stumbled towards Oranienburger Strasse in search of a cab. He would go straight to Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse and confront Klaus, demand Anneliese’s release. He didn’t care what the Gestapo did to him, he had to show them that they couldn’t push around the little people with impunity, that Klaus couldn’t hurt Anneliese, his Anneliese, and get away with it.

After a minute or so of frantic waving, a taxi stopped and Conrad climbed in and flopped into the back seat.

‘Where to, chief?’ the driver asked in his Berliner accent.

 Conrad took a deep breath and tried to calm himself down. He had to think this through. Anneliese’s life was too important to jeopardize through his desire to make a point. Going to Gestapo HQ was a waste of time; he knew that. It might make him feel better, but that wasn’t important. What was important was to find out where Anneliese was and get her out of there.

‘Chief?’

‘Tiergartenstrasse,’ Conrad said. ‘Number seventeen.’

Foley would be able to discover where the Gestapo had taken Anneliese, or at least he would know whom Conrad could speak to to find out.

The parade had finished, but it took the taxi half an hour to fight its way through the crowds of people streaming home, their faces still flushed with the exhilaration of the afternoon. It was early evening, so there were no queues outside the Passport Control Office, but inside the building there was chaos. Foley was carrying a box stuffed full of papers through the entrance hall. When he saw Conrad, he put the box down. ‘De Lancey! You catch us at a very bad moment. But I’m glad you’re here, I need a quick word with you. Come on through.’

Conrad followed Foley into his office, which was strewn with more papers, tea chests and boxes.

‘What’s going on here?’

‘Some of us are leaving,’ Foley said. ‘In a hurry.’

‘Why?’

‘Did you see something in the paper about a British diplomat arrested in Austria? A Captain Kendrick?’

‘Yes, I did.’

‘He was our Passport Control Officer in Vienna.’

‘You mean...’

‘I mean he had the same hobby as me and all the other British Passport Control Officers in Europe. The Germans and everyone else have known for years that the title is just a cover for other activities, but London are concerned that now they are going to round some of us up. So we have been recalled immediately. We’ll leave a skeleton staff of genuine passport officials to deal with the mess here.’

‘Will you be coming back?’

‘Your guess is as good as mine. If everything blows over, perhaps. But if Germany invades Czechoslovakia and the balloon goes up, probably not. Which is why I wanted to speak to you.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Yes. No one staying on here knows anything about intelli­gence work. But if you come across anything you think I should know, look me up when you are in London. Your father will be able to find me.’

‘My father?’

‘He’s well connected, he’ll know how to track me down.’

‘I suppose so. Look, Captain Foley, I know you’re frantically busy, but Anneliese has been arrested by the Gestapo. I don’t know where she has been taken, and I hoped you could find out.’

Foley frowned. ‘I’m sorry to hear that, de Lancey. As you can see, I can’t help you myself.’

‘What do you want me to do with the Mayer file?’ Conrad turned to see a young secretary at the door clutching a thick manila folder. ‘Oh, I’m sorry, Captain Foley, I didn’t know you were with someone.’

‘That should go in the diplomatic bag, thank you, Margaret,’ said Foley. ‘Give us a couple of minutes.’

‘Certainly, Captain Foley,’ the woman said and withdrew.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Foley. ‘You can try this man.’ He scrib­bled a name on a piece of paper and passed it to Conrad.
Wilfrid Israel.
‘You can find him at N. Israel.’

N. Israel was one of Berlin’s smartest department stores. Remarkably, it was still open despite its obviously Jewish name. ‘I take it he owns the place?’

‘He does. He helps me arrange things. Tell him I sent you. Oh, and when you do find Anneliese, the people here should still be able to issue her a visa for Britain, once she gets her papers together. There’s a note in her file.’

‘Thank you, Captain Foley.’

‘Anyway, must be getting on.’

Conrad left the Passport Control Office, crossed the road and went into the Tiergarten. There were still people making their way home from the parade along the main paths. He soon found himself at the Rosengarten, where he had been so many times before with Anneliese. He couldn’t bear the thought of her in a concentration camp. He remembered when she had first told him that she had been inside one and how inhuman it had been. Later she had recounted little anecdotes about her time there. Although the stories had had a certain black humour, there was always the background of starvation, sadism, torture and despair. He knew there were tens of thous­ands of Germans in the camps, but at that moment he only cared about one of them.

He sat on a bench in front of a yellow rose Anneliese particu­larly liked, and savoured the heavy scent of the blossom. A white butterfly skipped between the blooms, revelling in its freedom. He remembered her shouted message to Frau Goldstein. He couldn’t let her down.

But he felt despair close in around him. What chance did the ordinary person have in this new world of the Third Reich? Someone like Klaus Schalke, with his twisted obsessions, had the untrammelled power of the state at his disposal to toy with the lives of Conrad and Anneliese as he wished. Faced with such brazen evil, the German people had grumbled and then acquiesced. And what Klaus was doing to Anneliese, Hitler was doing to whole countries. The leaders of the other European powers, decent, nervous men who played by the rules, were setting themselves up to do the same thing: grumble and then acquiesce. Hitler understood this; he was counting on it.

There
were
some brave men scattered around Europe who were prepared to do something. Theo. Ewald von Kleist. Winston Churchill. Conrad knew then he had to do all he possibly could to help them. That way he had some hope of extracting Anneliese from the madness.

But if Hitler did invade Czechoslovakia at the end of Sep­tember there could well be war. Conrad would have to return to England, leaving Anneliese in Germany to God knows what fate.

That was only five weeks away.

Late August 1938

‘So what shall we do about Czechoslovakia, Edward?’

Neville Chamberlain was happiest sharing the unrelenting burden of running the British Empire with his closest supporters and confidants deep within No. 10 Downing Street. Once he had agreed a policy with them, then he would set about presenting the case to the wider Cabinet, knowing what outcome he was aiming to achieve. He was sixty-nine, at the end of a moderately distinguished political career, which had been overshadowed by the greater figures of his father Joseph and his brother Austen. Now, suddenly, he found himself Prime Minister, a position neither of them had been able to achieve. Not only that, but he held that office at one of the most difficult points in his country’s history. His achievements to date had been as Minister of Health and then as Chancellor of the Exchequer and he knew nothing about foreign affairs. But he was determined to prove himself up to the challenge. The Czech crisis had been brewing all summer, and he had been racking his brains for a solution. Now he thought he had one, and he was looking forward to telling his colleagues about it. It was quite brilliant.

There were three other men around the table: Sir John Simon, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, Lord Halifax, the Foreign Secretary, and Sir Horace Wilson, a civil servant who had been responsible for negotiating a solution to the General Strike in 1926 and who had helped smooth the abdication of Edward VIII two years before. Just the man to deal with a tricky customer like Herr Hitler.

Lord Halifax’s long face was grimmer than usual as he replied. ‘The only deterrent likely to be effective in preventing Hitler invading the Sudetenland is an announcement that Britain will declare war on Germany if he does.’ Halifax pro­nounced the words ‘detewent’ and ‘pwevent’: he couldn’t say his ‘r’s properly. ‘There are two problems with this. One is that a significant proportion of public opinion both here and in the Empire is against such a course of action.’

‘And the other?’

‘The other is that if Hitler ignores us and invades Czecho­slovakia anyway we would face a dilemma. Either we fight a war which will almost certainly result in the loss of Czechoslovakia, or we back down, in which case all our diplomatic credibility will be destroyed.’

Heads nodded around the table in understanding. That, in a nutshell, was the difficulty with which Hitler was constantly presenting them.

Halifax continued. ‘We have received representations from some senior figures in Germany that they will launch a revo­lution against Hitler if he invades Czechoslovakia, but I am not sure how much weight we should give to that.’

Chamberlain snorted. ‘None at all. I am sure that this Herr von Kleist is personally opposed to Hitler and is trying to stir things up. He reminds me of the Jacobites at the court of France in King William’s time. I think we can discount a lot of what he says.’

‘Van is suspicious of him,’ Halifax said. ‘He thinks there wouldn’t be much difference between a Germany run by nation­alist monarchists and one run by Hitler. But Winston seems to feel that if we stand by Czechoslovakia, von Kleist and his friends will bring about a swift change of government and guarantee stability.’

‘Winston!’ Chamberlain muttered with impatience. ‘And what’s your view, Edward?’

‘I have my reservations.’

‘So do I,’ murmured Chamberlain.

‘It’s a question of whether it is justifiable to fight a certain war in order to forestall a possible war later,’ Halifax said. ‘Perhaps we should keep Hitler guessing.’

The time had come for Chamberlain’s plan. ‘I have been giving the matter much thought,’ he began. ‘And I have an idea. Let us call it Plan Z.’ He smiled at the small moment of melo­drama. ‘It will come into operation only in certain circum­stances, and for it to be effective it must be a complete surprise. So until then nothing should be said about it, even to Cabinet.’

Halifax raised his eyebrows. ‘And what is this Plan Z?’

Chamberlain could barely contain his excitement. ‘When it looks as if an invasion of Czechoslovakia is imminent, I fly to Germany, without any warning, and have talks with Herr Hitler, during which I force him to commit to peace. He will have no choice but to respond to such a dramatic gesture: the leader of one country cutting through all the diplomatic protocol and flying to see the leader of another. Once we are speaking man to man I’m sure we can hammer out a compromise; indeed I am determined that we shall. We shall secure peace in Europe for the foreseeable future. Eh, Edward?’

Lord Halifax’s jaw had dropped. ‘It’s certainly a bold idea, Prime Minister.’

‘Of course it is! And that’s why it will work. But not a word to anyone. As I said, it must be a total surprise.’

Theo’s first impression of General of Artillery Halder was not a good one. Short, with pince-nez spectacles, close-cropped grey hair and a stubbly moustache, he looked more like a fastidious schoolteacher than a German general. There he was, sitting in Beck’s chair, watched by the forbidding portrait of von Moltke, the fourth potential leader of a coup. Von Fritsch had been crushed by the humiliation of trumped-up charges, Beck had resigned in a fit of self-righteousness and von Brauchitsch took indecision to an art form. Now it was Halder’s turn. Not for the first time Theo wished that Oster was a general and not a lowly colonel.

The lowly colonel had arranged the meeting, bringing Theo along with him. The schoolmaster lost no time in getting to the point. ‘Well, Oster, may I speak frankly?’

‘Absolutely, Herr General. Lieutenant von Hertenberg is totally trustworthy. He has been involved in all our planning to date.’

Halder threw Theo a sharp, suspicious glance. For a moment Theo felt as if he had forgotten his Latin homework.

‘Very good,’ the new Chief of the General Staff said reluc­tantly. ‘General Beck has told me something of what you have been up to. The time for memoranda is over; now it is time for action. I have been working on the details of Case Green, and I can tell you Hitler is serious. The German army will invade Czechoslovakia and, if the British and French stand by the Czechs, that means war.’