'Words are strange things, Field Marshal, especially when reported second-hand to a third party. I should know – I am a professional interrogator. Was it not Richelieu who said, give me six lines any man has written and I will hang him?'
`You were pointing the finger at Fraulein Lundt,' Keitel snapped.
'No – with respect, you first mentioned the girl. As to her age, my organization is convinced any Soviet spy who has penetrated this far must be much older – someone planted by the Soviet underground years ago in the hope that one day they would reach the dizzy heights. You suffer from vertigo, Field Marshal?'
'Certainly not, and this interview..
'Is now at an end,' Hartmann broke in quickly as he stood up and collected cap and coat from the wall- rack. 'I shall, of course, in due course inform the Fuhrer of our interview. May I bid you good night?'
It was the perfect note on which to take his leave, Hartmann reflected as he walked into the clammy cold of the compound outside and closed the door behind him. Keitel would remember most vividly the Abwehr man's last enigmatic remark – a remark calculated to disturb any man with a guilty conscience.
'Mein Fuhrer,' said Bormann, 'your predecessor has made arrangements for an Abwehr officer to be brought in from outside to check security here. The officer has arrived, a Major Hartmann. He is now prowling round the encampment..'
'Security here needs checking?' demanded Hitler. suggest we have this Hartmann flown straight back to Berlin,' Bormann said. 'He could be dangerous to you – he is the Abwehr's cleverest agent..'
It was one o'clock in the morning and the second Hitler paced back and forth inside his room listening without commenting – a favourite technique of the Fuhrer's until his guest ran out of words. He would then deliver his own views in a non-stop monologue.
'There have been rumours of a Soviet agent infiltrating the Wolf's Lair,' Bormann continued. 'Your predecessor intuitively sensed that something was wrong…'
'So! You suggest we send this Hartmann back as soon as he arrives? You further suggest I turn the Englishman, Lindsay, over to the Gestapo? I cancel two major decisions the Fuhrer took within hours of my landing – thus creating a hotbed of gossip and rumour just when we are fighting to make everything appear normal?'
Bormann was appalled and amazed. Appalled at his own lack of foresight. Amazed at Heinz Kuby's reaction – which would have been the same mental process followed by the Fuhrer who had recently died during the explosion of the plane from Smolensk. Kuby continued pacing as he built up his monologue.
'We shall do the exact opposite of what you suggest. Lindsay is to remain here – treated with all due consideration – until I am ready to interview him. Before that – possibly tomorrow afternoon when I have taken my nap – I want to see Hartmann. Meantime, he is to continue his investigation..'
'The Fuhrer armed him with a document which confers plenipotentiary powers. He can question any one – even men like Jodl…'
'Better and better! I must urge him to pursue his interrogations at length and with the utmost vigour! Don't you see, Bormann, this is a further distraction which will keep people occupied until they accept me for ever! No more argument! I have spoken. By order of the Fuhrer!'
'I will see to it at once..'
'If he has plenipotentiary powers, Bormann…' A half-smile on Hitler's face held a touch of malice as he glanced at the small, plump man – an expression which further startled Bormann since it was so characteristic of the Fuhrer in a certain mood when no one was safe from his victims. '… then,' Hitler continued, 'Hartmann can, if he is so minded, question you.'
'As the repository of your secrets, that I would resist..'
'The document specifically excludes you then from this security investigation?'
'Well, no..'
'Let us hope he does not end up by arresting you!'
Bormann subsided, stupefied by the way Hitler was exploiting all possible circumstances to mask his own impersonation.
Chapter Thirteen
Locate the secret headquarters of the Fuhrer..
Identify who is directing the German military machine…'
This was the scenario Lindsay had been given before he left the haven of Ryder Street, London, by Colonel Browne of the SIS. Lindsay found himself using the word scenario in his thinking because the whole atmosphere at the Wolf's Lair was so theatrical – all the chief characters seemed to be playing a part.
A fortnight after his arrival he had positive answers to the two questions London was so anxious to know. The Wolf's Lair was hidden in the horrific pine-woods of East Prussia where the mist never seemed to lift, turning day into night.
From his conversations with Guensche, the Fuhrer's Adjutant; the mysterious Christa Lundt; from remarks dropped by Martin Bormann and his own observations of the submissive attitudes of Keitel and Jodl – from all these indications the Englishman now knew Hitler himself personally took every major decision.
'When you have obtained this information,' Browne had informed him blandly, 'you make your way to Munich and contact our agent. You go to the front of the Frauenkirche at exactly eleven o'clock in the morning on a Monday. You light a cigarette and put it in your mouth with your left hand. After a few puffs you throw it away and crush out the stub with your left foot. The agent will introduce his presence – or her presence – by telling you his name, Paco. You reply, 'When in Rome'. You will then be under the control of Paco who will pass you across the Swiss border..'
'And supposing I have been taken there by the Gestapo?' Lindsay had queried.
Browne had fiddled with objects on his desk before replying. It was a contingency he had not overlooked, but Browne preferred to wrap up unpleasant topics in oblique language. He had never been in the field.
'That possibility has been catered for,' he said, not looking at Lindsay. Browne was conscious of the fact that, however long the war lasted, he, personally, would never be sent 'over the top' – would never be dropped behind enemy lines and maybe end his life tortured to extinction slowly in some filthy Gestapo cell; which was the prospect facing the man who sat opposite him. He cleared his throat and continued.
'If it came to that – and you have revealed the existence of our agent, Paco – they might take you to the Frauenkirche to keep the rendezvous. You would simply light the cigarette with your right hand. After all, you are right-handed. You take a few puffs and then crush it under your right foot. The use of the wrong hand and foot will alert Paco. Our agent would remain under cover…'
'Rather clever.' Lindsay automatically reached for a cigarette and inserted it in his mouth with his right hand. Suddenly conscious of his action he paused in the act of lighting up and looked at Browne. The Colonel was staring at the cigarette as though hypnotized.
'Paco,' Lindsay went on, lighting the cigarette, 'is a man – or a woman?'
'Better you do not have that information,' Browne said tersely.
Lying sprawled on his bunk inside the but allocated to him at the Wolf's Lair, Lindsay recalled with great clarity Browne's petrified expression over the cigarette incident.
God, how straightforward it had all seemed in the cosy environs of Ryder Street! Lindsay would fly – as he had done – to the area of the Berghof and make his parachute drop. With skill and luck he would obtain the information needed at the very top – Downing Street, he suspected – and make his escape to Munich.
He had spent hours studying the rail maps and street plans prior to his departure. There was a direct main- line rail route from Salzburg – close to Berchtesgaden – to Munich, which, in normal times took something over an hour. He carried the whole street plan of Munich in his head. Arriving in Munich he would keep the rendezvous with Paco at the earliest possible moment. Then via the underground to
Switzerland…
