mirrors.
Lindsay watched, fascinated, then a wrinkle of doubt appeared on his ample forehead. His memory for people was encyclopaedic and highly visual, a memory finely honed by his experience as an actor. There was something horrific and yet unreal about the six Hitlers he could see from various angles.
Not daring to risk a second movement of the door he left it at the point he had pushed it open and, light- footed, skipped back up the staircase. The girl appeared as he was re-entering his room.
'I'm Eva Braun. And who might you be?'
The girl patted her fair hair and studied Lindsay frankly. It occurred to him that she was a bit of a flirt. He had performed another stage trick – swivelling on his heel in the doorway to his room as though just leaving rather than re-entering it. Not too intelligent, he summed her up, but possessed of a certain native shrewdness where men were concerned.
'I'm the Magic Man,' he responded humorously. 'I've just flown in to see the Fuhrer..'
'He's away at that awful place, the Wolf's Lair. Come and keep me company.' She led the way down the corridor in the opposite direction from the staircase and into a comfortably furnished living room, chattering all the time. 'I get so bored here while he's at Rastenburg – sit down on this sofa with me. I've just made some coffee – it's the real thing..'
Rastenburg? That was in East Prussia. Had he found the location of Hitler's secret headquarters? And there was something strange going on. Kranz might just have been unaware of the Fuhrer's presence at the Berghof – but Eva Braun, rumoured to be the Fuhrer's mistress, was bound to know his whereabouts. So who was the man pirouetting downstairs surrounded by mirrors? Lindsay was confused as Eva brought two cups, placed them on a low table and joined him on the sofa.
'I haven't seen' you before, Magic Man, she remarked, enjoying his little game. Intuitively he had sensed this rather childish approach would appeal to her. She was a girl who liked constant amusement. 'Does your crystal ball tell you the Fuhrer is coming here soon…?'
Lindsay never replied. The door was flung open and slammed back against the wall. The room was filled with SS armed with Schmeisser machine-pistols. Seven of them led by a Colonel in ordinary army uniform. Kranz hovered in the doorway.
'Excuse us, Fraulein,' the army Colonel said deferentially, 'I think this man is suspect.' His tone changed as he addressed Lindsay. 'Now who are you and where have you come from? I'm Muller, Commandant of the Berghof. We received no signals about you…'
Muller was a far more dangerous man than Kranz. Lindsay stood up slowly and studied the erect, stern- faced German from head to foot. His tone was quiet, almost offhand when he replied.
'I cannot see you remaining Commandant much longer – I am here on a special mission which concerns the Fuhrer and no one else..'
Muller took three quick paces forward, grabbed Lindsay's SS uniform by the collar and ripped it open. The RAF uniform beneath was exposed. The Commandant placed his hands on his hips.
'I thought there was something wrong about you.
A session in the cellars should prove rewarding. 'Hardly for you – once the Fuhrer arrives..' Outraged at this insolence, an SS man hefted his machine-pistol and lunged with the -butt, striking Lindsay on the jaw. The Englishman fell backwards and hit the wall and slithered to a sitting position as Eva ran from the room. He wiped blood from his mouth. At the last second he had moved; the butt had only grazed his jaw. hope the wound is still visible when the Fuhrer sees me,' he commented:
A flicker of uncertainty crossed Muller's eyes. His prisoner's calm reaction worried him. Behind the Commandant, Kranz took a few tentative steps into the room, speaking hesitantly.
'There is a safe in his room. I gave him the key – he spoke of secret papers..
'I am Wing Commander Ian Lindsay,' the Englishman said quickly. 'Nephew of the Duke of Dunkeith. I knew the Fuhrer before the war. Those documents are for his eyes only – I stole a plane and flew here from Algiers. You think I wanted to commit suicide? I was a member of the Anglo-German Fellowship. And that's all I'm going to tell you until I see the Fuhrer. If you value your cushy job here you'd better signal the Wolf's Lair informing them of my arrival. Meantime, I'd like to go back to my room..'
He was escorted back and, inside his room, Muller watched while he was searched. They found nothing of interest, except the key to the wall-safe and his RAF identity papers. Muller looked at the papers, returned them to their owner and balanced the safe- key in the palm of his hand as though trying to come to a decision. Lindsay, getting himself dressed again, began needling Muller to help him make up his mind.
'Go on! Do it! Open that safe! Open the package inside so you're privy to what it contains. Once the Fuhrer realizes you have seen its contents you'll be standing in front of a firing squad within the hour..
Lindsay was gambling on his assessment of Muller's character. An old war-horse put out to grass, stolid and unimaginative and serving out his time, waiting for his-army pension. The SS man who had hit him earlier lifted his machine-pistol. Muller barked the order.
'Klaus! I give the orders here! You have already assaulted the prisoner once without my permission..
And Lindsay knew he had won his gamble. Mailer was already disassociating himself from Klaus's impetuous action – and until Hitler arrived the last thing he would do would be to open the safe. He pocketed the key and Lindsay spoke again.
'If you keep that key I must remain in this room..
'God in Heaven! Why?'
For your own sake, dumb-head! That is the only way I will be able to assure the Fuhrer no one else has seen the contents of the package – by telling him I was here all the time! And that means I shall need meals sent up to me – three hot cooked meals a day. I eat breakfast at…'
Muller was beaten. After Lindsay finished speaking the Commandant and his unit left the room. The Englishman heard someone lock the door on the outside. He wiped the moisture off his palms onto his trousers. He was now gambling on something he had carefully not brought up during the confrontation.
The Commandant would worry about his presence, would be terribly anxious to pass on to the Wolf's Lair the responsibility for what action should be taken next. Once the signal about his arrival reached Rastenburg the Fuhrer would be curious about this strange development. And Lindsay was gambling everything on Hitler's reputed fabulous memory – that he would recall his meeting with the young pro-Nazi Englishman in Berlin before the war.
As he sat in a chair and felt waves of fatigue – reaction – sweeping over him, he began to worry about something else. His stay at AFHQ – Allied Forces Headquarters in the Central Mediterranean – had been brief and General Alexander had seemed a man who was the soul of discretion.
But there was a Russian military liaison mission with AFHQ and whatever other disaster might lie ahead one thing was vital. The Soviets must never catch a whisper of his existence, let alone the purpose of his mission.
Commandant Muller slept on the decision as to whether or not to inform the Wolf's Lair about the Berghof's enigmatic visitor. So it was near midday on 13 March when he personally 'phoned the HQ in East Prussia and asked to speak to the Fuhrer. As usual, Martin Bormann intercepted the call and insisted that Miller speak to him.
'You think this Englishman might have flown to see the Fuhrer on a peace mission?' Bormann asked after a few minutes.
'I can't be sure of anything, Reichsleiter,' Muller covered himself quickly. 'I felt you should know of his presence..
'Quite right! A good decision, Muller – to inform me. I like to know all that is going on – so I can keep the Fuhrer himself informed when the matter merits his attention. Continue to keep Lindsay under close guard. Heil Hitler! '
Inside the signals office at the Wolf's Lair Bormann replaced the receiver and took a quick decision. The Fuhrer was visiting Field Marshal von Kluge's front at Smolensk. A signal must be sent telling him about the Englishman.
Bormann composed the signal himself. This extraordinary event could have incalculable possibilities. The nephew of the Duke of Dunkeith! He could be bringing peace proposals – if he delayed reporting Lindsay's landing the Fuhrer would never forgive him.
After despatching the signal to Smolensk Bormann mentioned the news to Jodl who immediately told Keitel. Within hours the Wolfsschanze was buzzing with rumours and it was the main topic of conversation.
Hitler's response arrived almost by return. It was terse and to the point. Clearly he had remembered his
