“It sounds to me as if you’ve been reading Der Pimpf, ” Himmler told Schellenberg. Der Pimpf — The Squirt- was the monthly periodical for young boys in the Hitler Youth organization. It contained a mixture of high adventure and propaganda. “Assassinate the Big Three? Are you mad? Really, Schellenberg, I’m surprised at a man of your obvious intelligence coming up with a harebrained scheme like this. What on earth made you think of such an idea?”
“You did, Herr Reichsfuhrer.”
“Me?”
“Your speech at Posen. It made quite an impression on me. You said that it’s faith that wins battles, and that you didn’t want pessimists in our ranks, or people who have lost their faith in the Fatherland. I thought to myself that if Skorzeny could pull off something like the rescue of Mussolini, then, perhaps, something even more daring might be achieved.”
“Pessimism is one thing, Schellenberg, but reckless optimism is quite another. And so is realism. I expect realism from a man of your abilities. As we both know, Skorzeny’s mission was carried out at the Fuhrer’s request. It was an absurd idea and achieved nothing of any practical use. Did you even hear me mention the name of Skorzeny at Posen? No. You did not. Normally, given enough time, I could have killed off Hitler’s idea of rescuing Mussolini, in the same way that I’ve killed off a lot of other idiotic schemes. But he kept on and on about this one until I could see no way of avoiding it. And, my God, whoever expected the fool to succeed?”
They were in Himmler’s new office at the Ministry of the Interior on Unter den Linden, next to the old Greek embassy. From the double-height first-floor windows, recently made bombproof, Schellenberg could see the Adlon Hotel and the very window of the room where he had made love to Lina the previous Saturday.
“Realism demands that we pursue peace with the Allies, not try to assassinate their leaders.”
Schellenberg nodded but quietly marveled at the many contradictions that were evident in Himmler’s character and conduct. The Himmler now talking peace was the very same Himmler who, on August 25, the day he had taken over from Wilhelm Frick as minister of the interior, had sentenced a government councillor to the guillotine for “defeatist talk.” The councillor’s execution could only have been for show, thought Schellenberg; to encourage the others. The Reichsfuhrer’s remark seemed to confirm what he had learned from the two Gestapo men he’d been obliged to murder: that Himmler was indeed conducting some kind of private peace negotiations that might leave him at the head of a post-Hitler government.
“No,” said the Reichsfuhrer. “I don’t think they would take kindly to that. Not while we’re trying to talk peace.”
So there it was, thought Schellenberg. He’d admitted it. Of course in Himmler’s arrogance it would probably never have crossed his mind that the Gestapo might properly regard this as treason. That they would actually have the audacity to spy on him, the Reichsfuhrer-SS, would be quite unthinkable.
“You don’t look surprised, Schellenberg,” observed Himmler.
“That we’re trying to talk peace? If you recall, Herr Reichsfuhrer, it was I who suggested the need for an alternative strategy to end the war in August last year. At the time, I believe you told me I was being defeatist.”
Schellenberg could see that Himmler hardly cared to be reminded of this. “So what’s this, then?” Himmler said, brandishing the dossier containing details of Operation Long Jump, irritably. “Another alternative?”
“Exactly that, Herr Reichsfuhrer. Another alternative. I’m afraid I wasn’t aware of your own peace initiative.”
“You are now. As a matter of fact, that’s why I summoned you here this morning.”
“I see. And is Felix Kersten involved?”
“Yes. How did you know?”
“It was a guess.”
“Well, it’s a damned good one.” Himmler sounded irritated again.
Schellenberg shrugged apologetically, but inside he felt his stomach sink. He was all for talking peace with the Allies, but he had hardly supposed that the Gestapo could have been right about Felix Kersten: that a Finnish masseur should have been entrusted with negotiating Germany’s fate seemed beyond all common sense. He didn’t disagree with Gestapo Muller in that regard, anyway.
“I don’t know what plans you’ve made for the evening,” said Himmler, “but I’m afraid you’ll have to cancel them. I’m sending you to Stockholm right away. My personal plane is waiting for you at Tempelhof. You’ll be in Sweden by lunchtime. There’s a suite booked for you at the Grand Hotel, which is where Felix will meet you.”
Himmler produced a key chain from his trouser pocket and rose from his chair; he unlocked a wall-mounted Stockinger safe from which he removed a thin-looking official briefcase with a pair of handcuffs attached to the handle. “You’ll have full diplomatic status, so there should be no reason for the Swedes to ask you to open this briefcase. But I’m opening it now in order to impress on you the need for absolute secrecy. There are only five people who know about this mission: the Fuhrer, myself, von Ribbentrop, Felix Kersten, and now you. You’ll need to change out of uniform, of course. You can do that when you return home to collect your passport and some clothes for your stay. Oberleutnant Wagner will escort you to the cash office, where you can collect some Swedish money.” Himmler handcuffed the briefcase to Schellenberg’s wrist, handed him the key, and then unbuckled the flap to reveal three white envelopes, each of them protected by several sheets of cellophane plastic, and a cigarette lighter. Schellenberg guessed that the purpose of the cellophane sheets was not to stop the envelopes from getting dirty but to enable them to burn more quickly if he needed to destroy them.
“Each letter has been written by the Fuhrer himself,” explained Himmler. “One is addressed to President Roosevelt, another to Joseph Stalin, and the third to Prime Minister Churchill. You will hand this bag to Dr. Kersten, who will put each letter into the hands of the appropriate person in Stockholm, during which time you will offer him any assistance he might require. Is that clear?”
Schellenberg clicked his heels and bowed his head obediently. “Quite clear, Herr Reichsfuhrer. Might I be allowed to inquire as to the contents of the Fuhrer’s letters to the Big Three?”
“Even I don’t know precisely what has been written,” said Himmler. “But I believe that the Fuhrer has sought a clarification of the Allied declarations regarding unconditional surrender. He wishes to find out if the Allies really do not want a negotiated peace and points out that such a demand, if it is genuine, would be unprecedented in the annals of modern war.”
“So,” said Schellenberg, “nothing very important, then.”
Himmler smiled thinly. “I fail to see the funny side of this, Schellenberg, really I do. The future of Germany and the lives of millions of people might easily depend on the contents of this briefcase. Do you not agree?”
“Yes, Herr Reichsfuhrer. I am sorry.”
Oberleutnant Wagner escorted Schellenberg to the cash office in the ministry’s basement. Not that this was necessary. Schellenberg had started his SS career at the Ministry of the Interior and knew very well where the cash office was. Fiddling his expenses had always been one of Schellenberg’s major accomplishments.
“How’s Colonel Tschierschky, sir?” asked Wagner. “Still got that blue BMW Roadster, has he? Just the car I’d be driving if I could afford it.”
Schellenberg, who wasn’t much interested in cars, grunted without much enthusiasm as the cashier counted a sizable wad of Swedish kronor onto the counter in front of him. Wagner eyed the money greedily as Schellenberg tossed the wads of cash into the briefcase still handcuffed to his wrist, and then locked it again. Together, he and Wagner walked to the front door of the ministry.
“You and Tschierschky were in a special action group, weren’t you, Wagner?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And before that?”
“I was a lawyer, sir. With the Criminal Police, in Munich.”
Another damned lawyer. Schellenberg’s nose wrinkled with distaste as he left the ministry. It was hard to believe that he himself had given up medicine to become a lawyer, of all things. He hated lawyers. It had been a mistake to try to kill all the Jews when there were still so many lawyers.
He drove back to his apartment and changed out of uniform. Then he threw some things into an overnight
