Traitor's Gate (33 page)

‘
If
the British and French stand by the Czechs,’ said Oster. ‘We sent someone over to speak to the British government. We have a letter from Churchill which states that he thinks a world war would very probably follow an invasion of Czechoslovakia, but Churchill isn’t the government. We don’t know what Chamber­lain is thinking.’

‘They
must
support the Czechs,’ said Halder. ‘Can’t they see that that is the only way of stopping the madman?’ The general got to his feet and began pacing. ‘Hitler is a fool!’ he said, his voice loaded with contempt and anger. ‘Not just a fool but a criminal. The man thrives on blood. He is mad, you know, criminally insane. I think a psychologist would have a field day with him; I believe he is sexually pathological. He has no idea of military strategy and his methods are inhuman. He must be stopped, and stopped soon, before he can drag Germany into a war we shall surely lose.’

Theo was impressed: the schoolmaster had a temper, although he wasn’t sure what he meant by ‘sexually pathological’.

‘So you would be prepared to lead a coup?’ asked Oster.

‘Absolutely,’ said Halder. ‘It is my duty as a German officer to do so.’

‘What about General von Brauchitsch?’ Oster asked.

‘Let’s leave him out of it for now,’ said Halder. ‘I will approach him when we are ready. Present him with a
fait accompli
when the easiest thing for him to do will be to go along with us. Now, tell me about von Witzleben?’

Von Witzleben was the general in command of Army District III, which encompassed Berlin. His active support was key to the success of any coup.

‘I have spoken to him in the broadest terms,’ said Oster. ‘He is sympathetic. But we haven’t discussed detailed plans yet.’

‘Well, we should. And the Berlin police?’

‘That’s a bit more difficult. We think they will support us, but we don’t know for sure.’

‘We must find out. Who are you suggesting would lead a new government? We need a civilian; it can’t be a general.’

‘Hjalmar Schacht,’ said Oster.

Halder nodded his approval. Schacht was probably the most respected politician in the Third Reich. Until the previous Novem­ber he had been Minister of Economics and he was still President of the Reichsbank. It was he who was credited with taming the hyperinflation of the 1920s, and dragging Germany out of the economic quagmire that had pulled it down at the beginning of the 1930s. His wizardry had brought about full employment and had financed Hitler’s rearmament programme. He commanded respect both inside Germany and abroad. ‘I would like to meet him,’ the general said.

‘Hertenberg will arrange it,’ said Oster.

‘Very good.’ Halder stopped pacing and stared at Oster. ‘The one thing that concerns me about this whole idea is that we must avoid creating a “Hitler myth”.’

‘What do you mean?’ asked Oster.

‘I mean that it must be absolutely clear that Hitler’s removal is necessary. If he is overthrown in peacetime by a group of generals, his followers will claim he was stabbed in the back, just as they claim the Kaiser was stabbed in the back in 1918. We must wait until he has actually taken the country to war. No one in Germany wants another war; only then will they understand that he must be deposed.’

Oster winced. ‘But surely it would be better to act before that? Then we retain control of events. If we wait for war to be declared we are at the mercy of decisions taken by Hitler and by Chamberlain. And who knows how the army will act when guns are being fired and soldiers are dying and Hitler is urging them to fight for their fatherland?’

Halder shook his head. ‘I am very firm on this point. We cannot act until the country is on the brink of disaster.’

There was silence in the room. Then Theo broke it. ‘You are familiar with Case Green, Herr General. Is there a window when it will be clear that Hitler has irrevocably launched an invasion, but before war has actually been declared?’

Halder frowned. ‘Yes. Yes, there is. Case Green requires forty-eight hours’ notice before the Czech border is actually crossed.’

‘Perhaps that is when we strike,’ said Theo. ‘As soon Hitler has given the order to move.’

Halder nodded. ‘Yes, that will work.’ He smiled and rubbed his hands. ‘Well, Oster, Hertenberg. We have some work to do.’

The Nazis had yet to eradicate all signs of Judaism from Berlin, and even in 1938 the words ‘N. Israel’ shone bold and large from a five-storey building of steel and glass opposite the town hall. This was Israel’s department store. Although not quite as large as Wertheim’s, it had a long history of serving the Prussian and Brandenburg landed families during their seasonal trips to Berlin. It was a store where good service was everything, and nothing was too much trouble to obtain; it was held in great affection by Berlin’s upper classes.

It was early evening, and Conrad asked for the office of the proprietor, Wilfrid Israel. To reach it he passed through the linen department, an elaborately decorated hall from which staircases and wrought-iron balconies rose up on all sides to a domed roof of stained glass. There he was shown into a lift and taken up to the fifth floor, where he was met by a tall, slim man of about forty, with thinning fair hair and a pale, fragile complexion. He had an air of elegant refinement about him; to Conrad he had the appearance of an art collector rather than a businessman or a shopkeeper. Indeed, modern expensive-looking paintings adorned the walls of his office, and a glass cabinet displayed a collection of oriental statues. A frail pink orchid bloomed in a pot behind his desk.

‘Ah, Mr de Lancey, what a pleasure to meet you,’ Israel said in good English.

‘Thank you for seeing me,’ said Conrad.

‘Not at all,’ said Israel. ‘Captain Foley sent me a note to expect you just before he left for London.’ He smiled. ‘I’m always eager to help Captain Foley if I can.’

A butler came in with some coffee on a tray. Israel sipped his, exposing jade cufflinks as he did so. His suit, Conrad was sure, came from Savile Row, not his own shop.

‘You know I met your father on a number of occasions, Mr de Lancey?’

‘Really?’ Conrad was used to people telling him they knew his father, but this man surprised him. ‘Where was that?’

‘It was just after the war. I was working with the Quaker Emergency Committee trying to get powdered milk to babies in Germany. Your father was very helpful. Of course I was only a young man then, young and idealistic, but I like to think that he and I got on rather well.’

‘He always believed that the Allies treated the Germans rather shabbily after the war. As do I.’

‘Fortunately, I missed the war. I was just old enough, but my health wasn’t very good then. It still isn’t,’ said Israel. ‘Anyway, how can I help you?’

‘I have a friend who has been taken into protective custody. Or at least I think she has.’ Conrad briefly explained what had happened to Anneliese, and described her relationship to Klaus and to himself.

‘Ah, yes, I remember her. Her father was the Jewish doctor arrested for giving blood to a gentile, wasn’t he? I helped get him out of Sachsenhausen.’

‘Can you help me find her?’

‘Probably,’ said Israel. ‘Most women from Berlin are sent to Lichtenburg, but my understanding is that it’s almost full now and they are taking some women to the men’s camp at Sachsenhausen while they build a new all-female camp nearby. I can have a word with some of my contacts.’

‘And if you find her, can you get her out?’

‘If she is in Sachsenhausen we have a good chance. The camp commandant has unlimited credit at Israel’s. It’s his wife’s favourite store.’

‘I can give you some money to cover expenses,’ said Conrad.

Israel smiled. ‘I seem to remember your father is a banker, isn’t he?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well, what we really need is foreign currency. If you speak to Lionel de Rothschild in London, he’ll tell you where a donation can be of most use.’

‘I’ll do that,’ said Conrad.

Israel put down his coffee cup. ‘I’m afraid I have a lot to attend to these days.’ He shook Conrad’s hand. ‘I’ll see what I can do for Anneliese. And don’t give up. There’s always hope. However bad things look, however mad the world seems to have become, there is always hope.’

Conrad closed his eyes, sat back on the bench and let the soft late-afternoon sunlight caress his cheeks. He could hear the distant hum of the city around him, the chirp of a blackbird going about its business in the bushes, the gentle murmur and occasional girlish laugh of the lovers on other benches around the Rosengarten. A breath of gentle breeze brought with it the blended scent of a dozen different varieties of rose. With his eyes shut, he could almost feel Anneliese next to him, silent, smiling gently to herself, happy.

His meeting with Wilfrid Israel had encouraged him; the man exuded a quiet confidence. But all Conrad could do now was wait. Wait and think of Anneliese. If he closed his eyes he could hear her voice, her laugh, even her silence. For a few moments a feeling of calm would overwhelm him. And then it would be dispelled by a tumult of violent emotions: anxiety for Anneliese amidst the unknown horrors of a concentration camp; anger at Klaus who he was sure was responsible for her arrest; anger with the whole Nazi edifice which locked up people like her for simply being who they were; guilt that it was his relationship with her that had roused Klaus’s jealousy. But unlike in July, when bitterness had caused him to hide in the Stabi and deny the evil that was swirling around him, this time he was determined to do something, to get Anneliese out of whatever concentration camp she was in and then out of the country, and to do whatever he could, however small, to help Theo and his friends rid Germany of Hitler.

According to Theo, the plans for the coup were developing; support was hardening within the army and without. The con­spirators had appreciated Churchill’s letter, but they needed a firmer commitment from someone in government. Conrad had suggested that they focus on Lord Halifax, and a meeting between Theo Kordt, an official at the German Embassy in London, and the British Foreign Secretary was being arranged.

It was very difficult for Conrad to control his agitation. If things went according to plan, within a month Anneliese would be out of the concentration camp and Hitler would be out of power. If things didn’t, well, he would never see her again.

Klaus walked rapidly through the familiar streets of Halle from the train station to the town hall. His colleagues at Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse thought he was in Magdeburg, and indeed he would drop into the Gestapo office there on his way back to Berlin. It was vital that no one should know he was in his old home town.

He felt better now that Anneliese was safe in Sachsenhausen. He had found it unbearable when she was free, free to see de Lancey whenever she wanted. She was probably suffering in the camp, but that would be as nothing compared to all the suffering she had put him through. He wasn’t sure how long he should keep her there. At least until de Lancey was out of the way.

De Lancey’s continued existence troubled Klaus. Direct action against him was out of the question now he had Canaris’s protection; Heydrich would never stand for it. Unless, that is, Heydrich came to believe that de Lancey was a threat, not in some general way to the Third Reich, but to Heydrich personally. Which was why Klaus was in Halle. But Heydrich would be suspicious of Klaus, so it was important that doubts about de Lancey were planted indirectly.

Klaus reached the medieval Market Square, dominated by its massive gothic Red Tower, and slipped into the town hall, where he asked for a Herr Eckert. Klaus and Herr Eckert had spent quite a lot of time together three years before when Klaus was doing some sensitive work for Heydrich. Now he wanted Herr Eckert to perform a further small task for him. On the train down to Halle Klaus had mulled over what encouragement he would give to Herr Eckert to ensure his cooperation. He decided that the threat of a painful death should be simple and effective enough.

An hour later, Klaus took the train to Magdeburg to drop in on the Gestapo office there and establish his alibi, and then back to Berlin. There he lurked outside de Lancey’s apartment until he saw him leave, whereupon he nipped inside and had a quick word with the superintendent of the building. Using the superintendent’s keys he let himself into de Lancey’s apartment. Five minutes later, pausing only to issue pointed threats to the superintendent if he should breathe a word of Klaus’s presence to anyone, he was gone.

Anneliese felt light-headed as she stood in the queue for the lavatories. There were only two of them for a hundred women, and there was always a rush for them first thing in the morning before roll call. She was worried that she was getting sick; it was never a good idea to get sick in a camp. She hoped it was just the hunger.

She had been in Sachsenhausen now for just over a week and it was definitely tougher than Moringen, the women-only camp near Hanover she had been sent to in 1933. There the guards were drawn from the local Nazi Women’s League. They had seemed harsh enough, but the Sachsenhausen overseers had been recruited directly by the SS for their brutality. A tempor­ary women’s sub-camp had been erected near the main men’s camp: the male prisoners were busy building a more permanent complex for the women at Ravensbrück. The two largest groups of inmates were the Jehovah’s Witnesses and the communists, although the number of Jewish women prisoners was increasing fast. There were also prostitutes, drunkards, vagrants and petty thieves. At Moringen, Anneliese had been labelled a communist. This time, a yellow triangle sown on the left arm of her dress identified her as a Jew.

The queue was moving slowly, despite the urging of the wait­ing women. No one wanted to be late for roll call. At last Anne­liese’s turn came, and she just made it out to the yard before the guard, whom the prisoners nicknamed the Scorpion, read out the roll. Anneliese was finding it difficult to stand, and could barely shout her response to her name loudly enough.

As the prisoners were dismissed to go to their breakfast of stale bread and turnip jam, she and two other women were asked to stay behind. The Scorpion – none of the inmates knew her real name – was a thin woman of about thirty with a long ugly nose. She always seemed to pick the same three women for punishment: Anneliese, a petite blonde communist named Andrea, and Sylvia, a statuesque Jehovah’s Witness whose head had been shaved because she had been discovered with lice. The other two had told Anneliese that before her arrival in the camp the Scorpion used to pick on another Jewish girl, pretty and defiant. The girl had stood it well at first, but then had committed suicide. Anneliese was her replacement.