Jack clicked open his phone. ‘We have a dedicated MI6 contact. It’s the same as the one overseeing you.’
‘Done,’ Penn said. ‘I made the call the instant we worked out what had happened to Jones. I used our secure line, and gave a full situation report.’
‘Good,’ Jack said, clicking shut his phone. ‘I’ll use the same secure line before we leave, if you don’t mind. Doubtless Saumerre will have disappeared from Brussels by now too. We have to let MI6 find him and Auxelle. They still won’t want to put out a warrant for them, but if anyone’s going to catch up with them, they will. We have to bide our time but stay on maximum alert. Meanwhile Maurice and I have an invitation to Berlin to visit a bunker site that may have a connection with this place and what was stored inside. We’d benefit from your expertise.’
‘Maurice told me about it. I have to go to Wales to visit Jones’ wife and children. But I don’t want to let go of this. I’ll call you.’ Penn turned and began to walk back to the Portakabin, followed by the soldier. Jack thought for a moment, and then ran after him, catching up with him just before the entrance. ‘David,’ he exclaimed.
Penn stopped and turned around. ‘What is it?’
Jack unzipped the pocket of his khaki trousers, carefully pulled out a presentation case and opened it. Inside was a Military Cross, the silver of the cross tarnished and the mauve and white ribbon faded, but pinned carefully into the case. ‘I told you on the phone last week about Hugh Frazer, the army officer who’d been in the camp and was a friend of Major Mayne’s. Before Hugh died, I promised him that if we found Mayne’s body, I’d leave this with him. Mayne won it in North Africa when the two of them were together in the same unit, and Hugh kept hold of it when he dealt with Mayne’s effects after he’d gone missing. He said Mayne was a bloody good soldier, the best. I was wondering whether you could leave this with Sergeant Jones. Hugh would have liked to know that a fellow soldier like you was putting this where it belonged.’
He handed the medal to Penn, who stared at it for a moment and then gently closed the case. Jack could see that his face was taut with emotion. Penn nodded, and then clicked his heels. ‘I’ll see to it.’ He turned and walked up the steps and through the Portakabin door. Jack walked back quickly to Hiebermeyer, who was leaning forward on the bench with his head in his hands. Jack sat down beside him, put a hand on his shoulder and then stared forward himself, looking pensively at the bleak wasteland surrounding the runway. His dive to Atlantis seemed light years away, yet he remembered the extraordinary, harrowing image on the ROV monitor of that chamber in the volcano, and then Lanowski’s remarkable ideas about the Atlantis papyrus, something he would show Maurice when they had got away from this place. He peered with concern at his friend. He would also tell him about the exciting discovery of the Egyptian statue at Troy, but not now; that could be kept in reserve. He knew they had to do everything to keep from being overwhelmed by a sense of foreboding, a worst-case scenario with Saumerre and the Nazi weapon that could be playing out at this very moment. They needed to keep lifelines to the archaeological prizes beyond the darkness Jack knew lay ahead. He opened his phone, and looked in his inbox. Still no word from Katya about the ancient symbols.
Hiebermeyer straightened up, took off his glasses and wiped them on his shirt, then looked at Jack. ‘I’ve had an invitation from my Tante Heidi to visit her. She wants us to go to Wewelsburg Castle.’
‘Himmler’s SS headquarters?’
‘I don’t know why. But it was after I told her I was coming to the bunker. She insisted that she had something to tell me, and I called her from the decontamination room and told her you’d come along too. Okay?’
Jack gave him a tired smile. ‘I need to make that phone call to our MI6 contact in London, and then there’s a jeep waiting to take us off the airfield to a rental car I’d already got arranged in Bremen. We can drive from there to Wewelsburg. Are you all right?’
‘I’m supposed to be the one watching out for you, not the other way around.’
‘Now you see why I didn’t want you to come here.’
They both stood up. Hiebermeyer winced as he tried to flex his injured wrist, and then relaxed his arm in the sling. The jeep that had brought Jack from the Tornado was waiting again outside the Portakabin, and they walked towards it. Jack looked at the bubble over the bunker, trying to imagine what lay inside. Hiebermeyer stopped and stared at it. ‘This place,’ he jerked his head, ‘this is what most people imagine the worst of war is all about. This is war spread beyond the battlefield to its worst excess, to genocide. But the place we’re going to now, to the heart of Nazi Germany, we have a word in German for what went on there. We call it Gesamtkrieg.’
Jack nodded. He knew what that meant.
Total war.
PART 2
12
Berlin, the Zoo flak tower, 0930 hours, 1 May 1945
Oberstleutnant Ernst Hoffman put down his pencil and clapped his hands over his ears, waiting for the terrible vibration to pass. Each time the flak guns on the roof fired a salvo they sent a titanic groan through the structure, and then an aftershock that seemed to set on edge every iron bar in the thousands of tons of ferroconcrete that made up the walls. It had been just about bearable while the guns were doing the job for which they had been designed, firing up at the waves of enemy bombers that had pounded Berlin for months, but now that the barrels were depressed to aim into the city at the advancing Russians they were straining the tolerance level of the gun platforms. The engineers who had built the tower could never have imagined that the defence of Berlin would come to this. The tower itself might survive the onslaught, a gargantuan five-storey structure like a medieval keep, but for the thousands of desperate people cowering inside, survival could only mean a matter of hours, a day or two at most. Here in this chamber on the second floor, Hoffman was insulated from the worst of the vibration, but the noise in the open stairways was appalling, shattering eardrums and shaking the fillings from teeth. To those trapped below it must have seemed like the final act of the apocalypse, a ghastly orchestral denouement to the Third Reich.
They called it the Zoo tower because it stood in the grounds of the Berlin Zoo, now a scorched battleground on the edge of the Tiergarten, the huge park in the centre of Berlin. On the other side of the Tiergarten lay the Reich Chancellery, with the Fuhrerbunker beneath it, and north of that the Reichstag and Gestapo headquarters. Together they formed the last bastions of the Third Reich. The Zoo tower even had its own water reservoir, dug deep into the bedrock, and secret tunnels leading out under the Tiergarten. The garrison commander had told him that the tower could last for weeks, even months. But his calculation had been based on the normal garrison of 350: the Luftwaffe flak gunners and the medical staff in the eighty-bed hospital on the floor above Hoffman. The hospital now held more than a thousand wounded and sick, and the lower floor and stairwells were crammed with more than thirty thousand civilians. Hoffman shook his head. Thirty thousand men, women and children.
He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the polished metal of the crate beside him. His face looked long, angular, distorted by a dent in the metal, almost as if he had taken on the features of the Stuka dive-bomber that had been his home for almost five years, from his first missions over England in 1940 to the flaming wreck in Poland six months before, from Blitzkrieg to Gotterdammerung. He had grown from youth to man in that machine, from innocent to killer. A man becomes one with his weapon. He shifted slightly, wondering if that reflection could really be him. His skin was pale beneath his swept-back hair, ghostly in this light. Ever since being grounded and arriving in Berlin five months ago, he had felt as if the blood had been sucked from him. He flexed his fingers, feeling their strength. At least he had not gone to pieces like so many of his comrades in his Stuka squadron. And there was still one final task to carry out.
He watched the shadows cast by the candle tremble on the walls. The room was large, sepulchral, the walls of stark concrete, in places flaked with paint that had been shaken loose by the vibrations. Directly in front of him a closed door opened on to a spiral staircase that led up to the gun platform on the roof and down to the seething mass of humanity below. When the order had reached him two days ago from Gestapo headquarters to report to the tower, they had offered him Goebbels’ rooms next door, where the propaganda minister had briefly held court as Reich Commissar for the Defence of Berlin before running to hide in the Fuhrerbunker. Hoffman had refused, on the grounds that Goebbels might return, but in truth he could not bear to have his command post where that
