Party for nothing. It’s never been policy that matters, or ideas; only action counts. And that’s not about what the Fuhrer tells you to do, it’s about what you think he wants you to do. It’s called working towards the Fuhrer, yes? Doing what Hitler can’t because of political expediency, or the cowardice of the people around him, or because sometimes it’s just better to lie through your teeth. So if you can’t take the Free City democratically, why not have the streets running with blood instead? If you can create enough mayhem and slaughter, Germany will have to invade to save Danzig and keep the peace. That’s what assassinating Bishop O’Rourke is about. And if you really don’t know, I don’t think it should take you very long to work out the consequences.’
‘This is madness. I shall be reporting every word of this — ’
‘No, unless you find a way to stop it, I shall. I will be sending a report to the League in Geneva and to every head of government I can. I will also send it to the Vatican. I will speak to as many people as possible by phone as soon as I leave this office. I will make it public that I have passed this information on to you and you have refused to act. You don’t have the power to stop me, yet. Try and you’ll make matters worse. I will also ensure that the details reach the press. It can still make waves outside Germany.’
There was silence in the room. Greiser had no doubt now the High Commissioner meant everything he said. There was a definite shift of gear.
‘And this man is your witness, is that what I’m supposed to believe?’
Greiser was looking at Stefan now. It was the first time he had registered his presence since he had entered the room with Sean Lester.
‘Some of the information has come from Herr Gillespie. But I don’t need a witness. Call it propaganda if you like. That’s something you can understand. If anything happens to Edward O’Rourke any attempt to claim somebody else killed him is simply going to prove what I’ve said is true.’
‘You’re threatening me?’
‘There’s no threat if he’s safe. But, yes, if you like it’s a threat.’
‘How do you think you can keep your job here after that?’
‘I’m a lot less interested in keeping my job than you are. I might get a bollocking in Geneva. The worst that could happen is that I end up back in Ireland with a lot more time to spend fishing. That’s not necessarily how it turns out when you make a mistake that embarrasses the Fuhrer, is it?’
Greiser’s fury was deeper than ever but he was running out of words.
‘Working towards the Fuhrer is all well and good when it works.’
‘Are these mad allegations an accusation against me as well?’
‘I don’t know. Probably not. But not everyone would believe that.’
Greiser and Lester gazed at each other. It was the man in the uniform, surrounded by his flags and photographs, who was most uncomfortable now. The next words were meant to sound like a sneer, but they were a question.
‘So who are these hypothetical renegades?’
‘Do you need to know them to stop them?’
‘You’re supposed to have evidence, aren’t you?’ Greiser scowled at Stefan again. ‘Who are they? If these people exist, who the fuck are they?’
‘I only know the dead ones. But Hugo Keller was taking orders from the Gestapo and the SS.’
Lester glanced round at Stefan and nodded.
‘So, should I question everyone in the SS?’
‘If you can’t control the SS, Herr Senatsprasident, a phone call to Himmler — ’ Lester smiled.
‘If I need to talk to Reichsfuhrer Himmler, I can assure you I will!’
‘No, I meant I might call him. If his men are out of control here — ’
Arthur Greiser had been glancing at the silver tray on his desk for some time. There was a decanter of golden brandy, a sparkling brandy glass. The idea of Heinrich Himmler’s response to what he now believed the High Commissioner was thoroughly capable of doing was the tipping point. He reached across the desk and poured himself a brandy. By the time Stefan Gillespie and Sean Lester left shortly afterwards the Senate President was pouring a second. He knew he would be quietly congratulated by the hierarchy in Berlin for preventing a foreign policy disaster in Danzig, but the same people who congratulated him would always remember what he had stopped; they would never forgive him.
Stefan and the High Commissioner sat in the cafe opposite the senate building in Neugarten. Sean Lester finished a black coffee and called for another one. He had said very little since they walked out of Greiser’s office. He felt as if he had done almost nothing, yet there was almost nothing else he could do. He had made his decision. Now he had to trust Senatsprasident Greiser. He had to trust that open windows and clean air would work. The Party was a hornets’ nest of fear and deceit; sometimes, if you didn’t get stung, you could play those things off against each other. He hoped he’d kicked that nest hard enough. As Lester drank the second cup of coffee Stefan saw that the High Commissioner’s hands were shaking, very slightly. He looked older than his years. Stefan could sense the weight of this place on him. Lester took a sip of water from a glass the waiter had put down. He smiled a wry smile that didn’t quite hide how drained he was.
‘I think under the circumstances he took it very well.’
They got up and headed for the door. Three boys in Hitler Youth uniforms, fifteen or sixteen, were coming in carrying handfuls of election leaflets. They recognised the High Commissioner. Their hands shot up in the air. ‘Heil Hitler!’ Sean Lester smiled amiably at them. One of them smiled back, holding the door open. As Lester walked past, the boy spat in his face.
20. The Dead Vistula
By the time Stefan Gillespie arrived at the cathedral, the Schutzpolizei were there too. They were patrolling the park and a truckload of officers stood around the cathedral doors, smoking. Arthur Greiser had done what he could to put a positive spin on the matter. The police had been told they were there because of a threat to the bishop from unspecified anti-social elements, code for communists, socialists and the opposition in general. That wouldn’t convince anyone but the Party faithful. As it was, the Schutzpolizei assumed they were just there to intimidate the opposition as usual. But orders and threats had filtered down through the Gestapo, the SS and the SA to ensure that anyone who knew anything no longer knew anything, and that nothing that had been planned had ever been planned after all. The death of Kriminaloberassistent Rothe was proving unexpectedly useful. Most of those involved in the plot assumed he had been shot by the Party, to make the point that Arthur Greiser meant business. It was how things were done.
Stefan didn’t know any of that. But if it had felt like it was all over, sitting in the Senate President’s office with Sean Lester, it didn’t seem that simple as he walked past the police guns into the cathedral that evening. He still had a job to do. He still had to get Hannah out of Danzig.
The cathedral was crowded for vespers. Over the slow reverberation of the great organ the choir sang the Magnificat. He recognised Mozart’s music, though he had last heard it when he sang in St Patrick’s at barely eleven years old. There were some things that stayed inside you. ‘Magnificat anima mea Dominum.’ My soul doth magnify the Lord. ‘Et exultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo.’ And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. ‘Suscepit Israel puerum suum recordatus misericordiae suae.’ He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel. Stefan looked at the Nazi uniforms scattered through the congregation around him. Beside him two men in brown shirts gazed towards the high altar, their lips moving silently, almost in unison, as rosary beads slipped through their fingers. It was not usual for the Bishop of Danzig to lead vespers, but he was here as he had been at every Mass throughout that election day. If all he could do was to stand he would stand; nothing that had happened would change his mind about doing so, not even the threat of an assassin’s bullet. When he stepped forward to speak the final prayer and bless his people there were many who spoke the words with him. ‘A cunctis nos, quaesumus, Domine, defende perculis.’ Defend us we beseech thee, O Lord, from all dangers. It was a prayer the Nazis in the cathedral heard only as familiar ritual. There were others in the congregation that evening who heard it very differently.
The cathedral cleared slowly. The men in uniform were the first to leave with their families, hurrying back into the city for the end of the election and the celebrations that would follow. The overwhelming feeling that this
