south. Was the Fuhrer at the Berghof, he wondered? He hoped to God he was and that if so he would remember their pre-war meeting at the Chancellery in Berlin. Hitler had taken a distinct liking to the young Englishman who spoke fluent German and who was sympathetic to Nazi aims. For over four hours they had talked together alone.
The hard, snow-crusted ground of the valley was very close now – and he was going to land near the curving road which led up to the Berghof. What was it General Alexander had said? A Hess in reverse.
On Saturday 10 May 1941, Rudolf Hess, the Fuhrer's Deputy, had flown on his own to Scotland to meet the Duke of Hamilton on a 'peace mission' to Britain. On 12 March 1943, Ian Lindsay, nephew of the Duke of Dunkeith and a pre-war member of the Anglo-German Fellowship flew to Bavaria on a 'peace mission' to Bavaria.
A Hess in reverse?
Chapter Six
'Take me to the Berghof! Immediately! Heil Hitler! ' Lindsay rasped.
His right arm shot out in the Nazi salute as he stared arrogantly at the SS officer who had alighted from the military thick which had come racing and skidding down the road from the Berghof. Four other SS men armed with machine-pistols had emerged from the rear of the vehicle and they gazed curiously. at the German parachute billowing in the breeze on the slope below.
Lindsay noticed with satisfaction that he out-ranked the officer who automatically returned his salute and showed signs of hesitation. It was the first thirty seconds when you appeared on stage which counted – the Englishman had learned that from his pre-war experience in repertory, and he had learned a great deal more. He followed up his verbal offensive.
'What the hell are you standing about for? I'm frozen. Get me to the Berghof, I said..'
'Why did you not land at the airstrip?' the SS officer enquired. He was a slim, thin-faced man with full lips more appropriate for a girl.
'For Christ's sake!' Lindsay stormed. 'Do you think I enjoyed parachuting in weather like this? My engine stalled, of course, you bloody fool..
The question told him one thing for which he was much relieved. They had not observed the Mosquito until after it had exploded into pieces against the mountain wall. In due course a team would go to that remote area and identify the machine but by then he hoped to be grappling with other problems – breaking through security to see the Fuhrer, for example. He just hoped to God he was at the Berghof. He waited for the final question and it came.
'My name is Kranz,' the officer continued. 'There has been no notification to expect you. So, may I ask who you are and what is the purpose of your visit?'
'You may find yourself posted to the Russian front if you keep me hanging around here in this beastly cold,' Lindsay threatened. 'A signal was sent informing the Commandant of my arrival..
'From the Wolfsschanze?' Kranz asked tentatively.
'Of course! Has the damned system not worked, again? As to who I am, that is my business. As to the purpose of my visit that is top secret and I do not propose to discuss it in front of your men who, incidentally, are annoying me with their goggling…`
Kranz reacted at once ordering his men back inside the vehicle, and Lindsay knew he had won the first round. The idiot had not even demanded identification papers – which Lindsay could have produced if requested. But it was important to dominate the man from the first moment – like gripping an audience when you walk on to the stage – and showing him papers would have been a concession.
'You can sit with me in front with the driver,' Kranz suggested.
They had to drive downhill some distance before they came to a point where they could reverse and take the truck back on the long climb to the Berghof. As the wipers swept back and forth to clear the film of ice which kept forming on the windscreen Lindsay stared straight ahead without looking at Kranz. He was intrigued.
The Wolfsschanze. The Wolf's Lair – or Fort Wolf. He had never heard of the place and he was sure neither had anyone else in the Allied High Command or the intelligence services. The location of the Fuhrer's headquarters, the nerve centre of military operations, was a secret no one had penetrated.
Close to the Berghof they came to a checkpoint and the pole was raised as the truck arrived. Lousy security. Why, Lindsay wondered, did one always assume the enemy were supermen and only your own people were mental deficients? He took off his gloves and blew on his hands.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kranz glance at the ring on the fourth finger of his right hand, the ring embossed with the swastika. It seemed the right psychological moment to rush Kranz into a fresh decision which would delay discovery of his identity.
'When we get there give me a decent room where I can clean up and prepare myself before I see the Fuhrer. And it must have a safe where I can store secret papers..
`But the Fuhrer is at the Wolfsschanze; Kranz replied.
Lindsay swore inwardly as he sensed the twist of Kranz's head and heard the note of suspicion in his voice. First blunder – unavoidable but an unguarded remark which could betray him now. He responded instantly, still staring ahead, growling his reply.
'Kranz! Security – there is a driver with us in case you have overlooked that little fact..'
'I don't understand..'
Suspicion was giving way to bewilderment and Lindsay pressed his advantage home. He dropped his voice, without a glance towards Kranz, his expression bleak.
'He is expected,' he whispered. 'You know he never gives out advance warning of his intended movements – to foil any assassination attempt. Really, Kranz, I hardly like to hazard his reaction if I reported this conversation to him..'
'You have my full cooperation..'
Lindsay was unyielding. 'You are between the devil and the Lord none of us believes in. Russia or promotion stares you in the face. Don't forget that private room I asked for. Not a word to the Commandant concerning my arrival. And, preferably, not another word from you until I have rested.'
They could see the famous and vast picture window behind the terrace which had so impressed pre-war visitors to the Berghof. It was misted over with condensation which pleased Lindsay. Inside the place there would be terrible danger – but there would, also, thank God, be warmth. He was chilled to the bone – with the fatigue from the flight, lack of sleep, and, he admitted to himself, the most appalling drain on his nerves from the situation he had faced since landing in enemy territory.
Lindsay opened the door leading from his room inside the Berghof quietly after first checking the door frame. No alarm system to warn when the door opened. He peered out into an empty corridor. No guard outside. He had – by force of personality – frightened Kranz into accepting his presence.
How long that state of affairs would last was anyone's guess and he needed to explore the layout of the place before the inevitable unmasking of his true identity. Closing the door behind him, he padded silently along the polished woodblock floor. At the end a staircase led down to the next floor. He paused.
The whole place seemed deserted – not at all what he had anticipated. Then he heard the faint sound of a voice, a familiar voice. He moved down the carpeted staircase a step at a time. In the hall below a heavy wooden door was almost closed. The voice came from inside the room beyond.
As he approached the hall the voice became more distinct. Lindsay, puzzled, paused again. Kranz had quite positively told him the Fuhrer was at the Wolfsschanze and the Englishman was certain he had spoken the truth. So what – who – was behind that door?
The lower hallway was equally deserted, the heavy door open only a few inches – as though someone had omitted to close it properly. He recognized the voice now – there was only one man in the world who ranted and thundered in German in that fashion.
Cautiously, he gripped the handle and very slowly opened it a few more inches. He froze, stupefied at the spectacle inside. An assortment of large cheval mirrors stood arranged in a large circle. Inside the circle Adolf Hitler stood gesticulating, his forelock of hair drooped as he went on practising his speech and staring into the
