‘There was more to the story than that.’ Her mouth twitched suddenly. Then she pressed his hand with surprising strength. ‘Be careful.’
‘I’ve been careful for years.’
‘I know.’ Natalia bit her lip, then rolled up the window again and drove slowly away.
GUNTHER CALLED SENATE HOUSE from a telephone box just outside Birmingham, leaving Syme in the car. Gessler had been waiting for the call, and told him to report for a full debriefing immediately when he returned to London. A little over two hours later, Syme dropped him off at the embassy and Gunther went straight up to Gessler’s office. The senior man listened while Gunther gave his impressions of Muncaster, as a man consumed by fear but evasive and secretive. He told him, too, about Muncaster’s other visitors, who had been at the flat before them and, he believed, had searched it.
Gessler frowned, his black eyebrows almost meeting in the middle. He was worried. ‘Were they Resistance?’
‘I think they could be. Why else carry out a search of the flat?’ Gunther laid the photographs he had removed on the table and pointed. ‘If they were university friends, they’re in there.’
‘Damn it!’ Gessler burst out. Gunther was surprised; on Friday he had seemed like a man who kept his emotions in check. He told Gunther to write his report, then go home and return early the following morning. Gessler himself would talk to Berlin overnight.
Gunther sat in the little office he had been given along the corridor and wrote quietly and steadily in his small, neat hand. The office was bare apart from the obligatory desk, chairs and filing cabinets, and a wardrobe where he kept his Gestapo uniform. He wore it seldom, thought he looked fat in it, the puffy shapelessness of his face emphasized by the uniform’s clean, hard lines. He resented that Gessler looked trim in his SS uniform, though he was ten years older. There were pictures of Hitler and Himmler on the walls, photographs of his brother and his son on his desk. The window behind the desk had a panoramic view of London, the same as Gessler’s office. After an hour he walked back to the flat, dead tired.
He had something to eat and watched the news, followed by a repeat of Mosley’s broadcast. It was good the British had done this at last, but Gunther wondered why now. Before going to bed he read his son’s letter again. Gunther had been to Krimea to visit Michael last summer, two days on the train clacking through the Belorussian forests and swamps then across the Ukrainian plains, manned concrete guard-posts at every mile on the track. Michael had been happy to see his father again, and they had gone to the beach almost every day. His son was energetic and enthusiastic, blond and athletic. He had Hans’ undisciplined enthusiasm too and, perhaps, the beginnings of his dead twin’s physical grace. Michael had turned eleven in October; all he had been able to do was send a present and a card. He went to bed and slept uneasily, tossing and turning. He had a confused dream of being with his brother again in the forest, the night Heydrich had addressed them by the lake. Hans was looking away from him, over the water, infinite sadness in his handsome face.
He returned to the embassy at eight the next morning. When he entered Gessler’s office the SS man was staring out of his window, down over the city. His eyes were bloodshot and, remarkably for such a neat man, he was unshaven. He must have been up all night. There was a cold, leaden sky again today, a touch of fog in the air. Gessler waved him to a chair. He was frowning, tense with anxiety and excitement, quite different from Friday.
Gunther still felt the flat sadness of the evening before in himself. He didn’t try to fight it; it helped him stay distanced, objective. He noticed that the report he had prepared last night was lying on Gessler’s desk, alongside the photograph of Muncaster’s university group.
To break the silence, he said, ‘The papers this morning are full of the Jews being moved. The government are congratulating themselves on a smooth operation.’
Gessler turned and gave him a nod and a thin smile, like a stern schoolteacher acknowledging a pupil whose work was good. ‘That is your line of business at home, isn’t it? From what I understand the British operation wasn’t entirely without problems. And of course,’ he added contemptuously, ‘some of the preachers are making a fuss, trying to organize protests. If only England were Catholic; the Pope knows the Communists are his real enemy.’
‘But they’ve all been gathered in?’
‘Nearly all. Almost 150,000. I knew it was going to happen, of course, but unfortunately I couldn’t tell you.’ The old self-importance was back in Gessler’s voice. ‘The operation had to be kept very secret for it to succeed.’
‘Of course, sir.’
‘It was part of a larger deal between the governments. Up to now the British have always resisted our pressure. But now –’ he gave a wintry smile – ‘we may be able to get a Jew-free Europe at last. We’re talking with the French, too, about a final clear-up over there.’
Gunther nodded. ‘What’s going to happen to the British Jews now?’
‘They’ll be sent to the Isle of Wight, then out East. Hopefully soon. Arrangements are being made for their reception in Poland. Getting the Auschwitz ovens up to full capacity.’ He smiled again. ‘Beaverbrook’s never been that much of an anti-Semite, but he knows what side his bread’s buttered on.’
‘He’s effete and corrupt. Like Laval, like Quisling. We’ll need better men to build the new Europe.’
Gessler nodded agreement. ‘Yes. General Franco’s the only one with any real spine. He shot all his enemies at the first chance.’ He sighed and scratched the bald crown of his head. Then he said quietly, ‘I spent a lot of time talking to Berlin last night. The Fuhrer is very ill indeed. I was told he could die at any time.’ He leaned forward. ‘I’m authorized to tell you this because when he does die there will be a struggle for control. Those loyal to the SS must be ready.’
Gunther suddenly felt cold. ‘Ready for what, sir?’ he asked.
‘A power struggle between us and the army. Things aren’t good in Russia, and we think the Russian winter offensive this year will be a big one. And there’s been an outbreak of bubonic plague among our troops in the Caucasus. The army want a settlement, the Russians keeping everywhere east of Moscow and north of the Caucasus.’
‘What? With the Communists? Zhukov and Khrushchev?’ Gunther answered bitterly. ‘Because that’s what they are, however they fudge it and talk about their Great Patriotic War.’
‘No. SS Intelligence think the army are already lining up other factions in Russia. The criminal element that’s always existed under the Communist state – some of them have made money now the Russians have brought limited markets back. And some in the Russian Security Police, old NKVD people who made friends in our army during the Nazi-Soviet Pact. It’ll be a criminal state, ruling the old Russian ethnic areas.’
‘We’ll be in eternal danger.’ He thought of his brother Hans. ‘Is that what five million Germans have died for?’
‘That’s why we have to be ready. In case, God forbid, the SS has to fight the army.’
‘What about the Party?’
Gessler shook his head. ‘Divided. Speer is with the army. Reichsfuhrer Goebbels is the biggest Party figure now Goring’s dead and poor Rudolf Hess is in a madhouse: he’s the Fuhrer’s nominated successor. He could make things go one way or the other. He’s strengthening his position. That’s what this deal with Beaverbrook is all about. Strengthening his ties with Britain, giving them economic support we can’t afford in exchange for getting rid of the Jews.’
‘Goebbels has always been totally sound on the Jews.’
‘He’s wobbly on Russia, though. This could be a manoeuvre to link Germany to England and through them to the US. There’s talk that Stevenson might embargo trade relations with Europe; if he does it would hit us hard. Goebbels is loyal to the Fuhrer but with the Fuhrer gone—’
Gunther considered. ‘With the British Jews actually deported, the Americans would have no choice but to accept that reality. They would no longer be a possible bargaining issue for them.’
Gessler said, ‘If there is a battle for control of Germany it could ripple through this embassy.’ He shook his head. ‘After all our victories, I thought, we can’t lose, we’re omnipotent. But now—’
‘We still can be, if we keep our courage,’ Gunther countered. ‘SS power has been growing for twenty years.’
