Winter's Bullet (12 page)

It was a short trip from the underground laboratory to the nearby airfield at Linz and thankfully no daylight air raids to worry about. He had left Eva Braun and her sister Gretl there to have lunch. Gretl's husband, Hermann Fegelein, was the liaison officer between Hitler and Himmler.

The small convoy was waved through the police checkpoint at the airfield, and drove directly into a hangar where a bomber was waiting. Once again, Müller supervised the loading of the wonder weapon into the plane. It would take off later that day and fly to Peenemunde where it would pick up the rocket that would carry this precious payload. From there both bomb and rocket would be taken to the secret airfield outside Amsterdam, and then, finally, everything would be in place.

Müller checked his watch. There was just time for him to join the ladies for some strudel perhaps, and then they too must be on the road. He marched briskly across the snow-covered tarmac to the small canteen, smoke billowing from its cowled steel chimney.

The two women sat at a corner table, their lunch finished. A cosy fire blazed in the stove and pleasant folk music was playing on the radio.

Müller took off his hat. ‘Perhaps I might join you for a coffee?'

‘That would be delightful,' said Eva. ‘Did you conclude your business, Herr General?' Her eyes were bright and hard, her lips a line of deep vermilion.

Müller sat down. There was a small posy of flowers in a vase on the table, and a pretty linen tablecloth. He remembered the hell on earth for hundreds of thousands of prisoners just a few kilometres away, then shrugged.

‘Most satisfactorily,' he said.

CHAPTER 16

T
he thickset man, Tygo discovered, was called Pieter and he was the leader of this particular Resistance cell. He left them alone. Just the three of them. It was an emotional reunion, and for the first time in as long as Tygo could remember he had cried, broken down and really cried, great hacking sobs. He felt embarrassed that Willa was there, but he couldn't stop himself. It was like a great weight he hadn't realized was pressing down on him had been suddenly lifted.

After that, he felt calmer, and he and Willa sat together on a battered sofa. They listened as Alisa explained what had happened the day she was transported from the city.

‘After they had gathered us all together they marched
us out of the city to the east. All the men and boys in one column and the women and girls in another. We must have walked fifty kilometres that day. It was scorching hot and there was no water. Anyone who protested was shot. Anyone who stopped walking was shot. Finally we arrived at the railhead. They herded us into two sheds and left us there for twenty-four hours. Then the train arrived with the wooden boxcars. They had to hose the insides down and pour gasoline inside – it was horrible, God knows where they'd come from. They issued each of us with fresh identity papers and informed us we were being sent to Germany as “guest workers”. Well, that was when I knew I had to escape, or die trying.'

Tygo and Willa listened, wide-eyed.

‘Just as we were being loaded I saw my opportunity – there was a great crush around the loading ramp and I managed to roll underneath the wagon. Then I was able to wedge myself up over the wagon's axles, out of sight. They checked under the train before we left, but they didn't find me. It was night by the time we pulled out, and I managed to hang on for a few kilometres, then before the train could pick up speed I let go and fell into the middle of the tracks. Unfortunately I hit something in the dark – might have been a nail head – and sliced my face.' She pointed to the livid scar. ‘Anyway, I didn't hang about. I ran through the night and ended up hiding under a railway bridge. That was where the Resistance found me. They had come there to plant a bomb. That man, Pieter, he saved my life. He carried me all the way back to their safe house, got a doctor to stitch me up, found me
penicillin when the wound went septic, nursed me back to health. When I was better I knew two things: I couldn't go home, and I wanted to fight. I've been part of Pieter's unit ever since.'

She stood up. ‘So that's why you're here. I wanted to get you away from that criminal Krüger and protect you before some other Resistance group really does shoot you down in the street. The war is nearly over, Tygo, and accounts are going to be settled. I got Pieter to agree to do it for me a few days ago – you've been a hard man to track down, haven't you? Ursula nearly got you a couple of times, but Willa here proved to be the bait we needed.'

So Ursula was never going to kill him, Tygo realized. He didn't know how he felt about her now.

‘Krüger has been keeping you busy, has he?'

Tygo nodded again, then he stood up too. ‘Thank you, Alisa.' He stepped towards her and they hugged. ‘What you've done is amazing. You always protected me, didn't you?'

‘You're my little brother.' She pinched his cheek. ‘You're safe now – well, safer anyway.'

Tygo looked at her and shook his head. ‘If only that were true, Alisa, but Krüger has ordered me to do one last thing for him. If I don't, he'll hunt me down.'

‘Oh, Tygo . . .'

‘It's not my fault, and I need Willa with me – but I can't say why. I just need you to let us go. Please help me one more time.'

Alisa sighed. ‘All right, let me talk to Pieter.'

*

They found him down amongst the printing presses, cleaning a stripped-down Bren gun.

‘Why on earth would I let some Nazi collaborator slink back to his master only to tell him where he can find a group of Resistance fighters?' he said.

‘I wouldn't do that!' Tygo said indignantly.

‘And I'm supposed to take your word for it?'

‘Don't take my word, take my sister's. She'll vouch for me.'

‘Your sister is a very brave young woman and the only reason that you are still standing in front of me and not strung up from a lamp post!' Pieter withdrew the cleaning rod from the barrel and held it up to the light to check it was clean. Satisfied, he started to reassemble the light machine gun.

Tygo's mind raced; there had to be something he could offer this brute.

‘Information, what if I could get you some information?'

‘Like what?'

‘There's . . . there's a big operation being planned – it's called Black Sun. I've heard Krüger and General Müller, the head of the Gestapo, talking about it. Adolf Hitler is involved.'

‘Hitler!' Now Tygo had Pieter's interest. ‘Here?'

‘I think so. Krüger has papers in his safe – I can look at them, find out more about it.'

‘And how do you propose to get into his safe?'

Tygo dug into his pocket and produced the shiny new copy of the safe key.

Pieter glanced at Alisa, who nodded.

‘All right, Ferret, go and see what you can find. If it's any use I'll let you go.'

‘Thank you,' Tygo said.

‘But the girl stays here till you get back.'

Tygo frowned, but he knew there was nothing he could do. ‘All right, agreed.' He crossed to Willa. ‘I'll be back as quick as I can.'

Willa nodded and, to his surprise, quickly kissed him on the cheek.

‘What was that for?' Tygo said. He felt himself blush, and Alisa laughed.

Willa looked a bit awkward now. ‘Why do you care?' she said. ‘You're not my boyfriend.'

The light was beginning to fade in the sky as Tygo left the printing works on his bicycle. It must be almost four o'clock, he thought as he pedalled furiously through the deserted streets. A nearby clock tower confirmed that by striking the hour, and he made it back to HQ pretty fast, only being stopped twice and asked to produce his Gestapo warrant disc to Dutch and German police patrols. Tygo could see they were becoming more nervous, their tempers shorter. Since the New Year he felt an underlying anxiety running through the city. Everyone knew the end was near. The south of the country, beyond Antwerp, had been liberated since Christmas.

Once inside the headquarters he sprinted up to the third floor and along the corridor to Krüger's corner office. He hadn't quite worked out what he would do if
Krüger were there, but luck was finally on his side: the corridor was empty and the office was dark. Perhaps Krüger was down in the canteen, or resting after the rigours of the Barcelona trip and all the extra work of the last few days.

Tygo tried the office door. It was locked. He was carrying his set of picks as always, but his heart was going a mile a minute. He had the door open, and then closed and relocked from the inside, in a trice. He was behind Krüger's desk just as quickly, slotting his copied key into the safe. He took a deep breath and twisted it.

The lock flicked back and he turned the handle, sliding the bolt clear. He looked inside: there was the pouch of diamonds, some small ingots of gold, a large bag of gold sovereigns, and lots of documents and certificates. Tygo quickly shuffled through them until he found what he was looking for. Right in the middle of the paper pile was a slim manila folder with the Reich's eagle on it, and the German words for ‘Black Sun':
Schwarze Sonne
. Next to that were printed the words ‘Above Top Secret'. This was the information he wanted.

Tygo took the file and opened it on Krüger's desk. He scanned the pages as fast as he could, his heart pounding. If Krüger caught him now, no amount of excuses or pleading would save his skin. Inside were a series of typed sheets. Tygo flicked to the last page, a teletyped message on thin tissue-like paper.

Tygo stared at it, his heart slamming in his chest. It was a flight order of some sort, Tygo could understand that much. Something to do with the
geheime Flug
he'd
overheard General Müller mention. He looked at the bottom; the order was signed by Müller himself. There were two numbered sections. The first one read:

There it was, in black and white, a flight at midnight tomorrow with the Führer listed as a passenger. Not only him, but Bormann too – Tygo had heard of him, and knew he was very important. Krüger must have added his own name; it was handwritten.

He wondered where the co-ordinates could be. They must be close to Amsterdam if the flight was tomorrow – probably Schiphol, from where they had flown last night.

Tygo set the file on the desk and tried to deal with the
enormity of what he'd discovered. Slowly it began to sink in: the Führer was leaving tomorrow. He was going to fly to Barcelona from Amsterdam, and then escape from Europe – most probably, he realized, to Buenos Aires in Argentina, with the help of that rich woman Eva Duarte.

He scanned the rest of the file again, searching for more information. Another flight, he saw, was arriving at the same co-ordinates tomorrow night:
52–37 Nord 4–53 Ost
. But this plane's cargo was listed as just two items:
T-Waffe V6
and
Ur 234 Spezielle Formul.
So was the plane to Barcelona going to carry these as well? What were they?

Tygo stared at the words.
Waffe
meant ‘weapon', he knew that, and
Ur
– that was some sort of element, wasn't it? He remembered his periodic table from chemistry: Ur stood for uranium. It was radioactive; they had learnt about it, and about Marie Curie, in school. And here, it had the words ‘special formula' after it.

Together they had to be some sort of secret weapon, like the sort that Propaganda Minister Goebbels talked about in his radio broadcast. A weapon that could win the war decisively. What could uranium do to cause such destruction?

Tygo checked through the rest of the papers. Behind that order was another one; it was stamped ‘
Kriegsmarine'
and had the signature of an admiral called Dönitz at the bottom. It listed a U-2511 submarine, and next to it a place, Cádiz, which Tygo knew was in Spain. There was a long list of personnel and equipment as part of the submarine manifest. There it was again:
Ur 234 Spezielle Formul
. He jotted it down. So the weapon was going to be
taken from the Barcelona plane and transported on to the submarine at Cádiz – but where then? To Argentina, with the Führer? It all seemed so far-fetched.

Suddenly Tygo heard footsteps in the corridor. He closed the folder and put in back in the safe, his heart hammering. He got the safe shut and locked, then sprinted to the window. It was too late to get out by the door and there was nowhere to hide; it would have to be the window.