Henri was of the same opinion as Rahn: if German war criminals were coming through France as a means of escape, then they would certainly not be using the Toulouse route which would be far too dangerous. He could understand why they would want to get to Spain. They would be feted and treated as heroes once across the border into Franco’s fascist ‘paradise’, contrary to the way the Spanish had treated British servicemen who were often thrown into jail and interrogated before being allowed to continue on to Gibraltar.
Henri felt that the Spanish would have preferred to hand the servicemen back to the Gestapo in France but were afraid of British reprisals if they did so. However, Spain was the only option open to the Resistance to get the servicemen to some sort of relative safety.
Henri was adamant that the only way for a German fugitive to get to Spain would have been through Marseilles by ship. But why, he had queried, would they go that way? The sensible option would be to go through Austria and into Italy where again they would be well received and hidden by fascist sympathisers. From Italy, they could be transported to Argentina or one of the other South American countries. It would be a much less hazardous journey. There would be no language problems in Austria and the people they met, if not entirely sympathetic, would at worst be indifferent, hence less risk of betrayal and capture.
Rahn asked Henri if he had heard of the Thule Society. Of course, he had responded. Who in Germany before the war had not? They were going to drag Germany out of the mess caused by the Versailles treaty, but somewhere along the line, something had gone radically wrong. Asked if there were Thule in Marseilles, Henri had shaken his head. Thule, he explained, was a very German society. It promises that German supermen will rule Europe, perhaps even the world, and subspecies such as Slavs and French would be under their command. Why would any self-respecting Frenchman join such a society, even if that society would deign to admit him, which is most unlikely. After which he smiled at me and told me that I would have no problem joining Thule. I wasn’t entirely convinced that I had been complimented.
Having tested all avenues and come up wanting, we decided to call time on our expedition. Agent Rahn drove me back to Sarreguemines, where I picked up my car from the gendarmerie and returned to Berlin.
Section 6 Conclusions
Heinrich Müller has not used the Sarreguemines-Strasbourg-Marseilles-Toulouse route to escape to Spain.
This escape route is now virtually closed. If Müller is still in Germany, he will be unable to use this route.
Though possible, it is unlikely that Müller escaped by ship from Marseilles. There is no evidence of his passing through either Sarreguemines or Strasbourg and there are no sightings in Marseilles.
Müller is more likely to make his way through Austria to Italy.
Müller is Bavarian, so he would easily pass as an Austrian. He would be able to affect a convincing Tyrolean accent and use the Bavarian dialect.
Kelly looked up from the report and rubbed his chin. She was right, of course, on every point. The French escape route had been a red herring, probably a deliberate one. He would need to investigate where that tip-off had come from, but that could wait. He could see why McFarlane would feel that this was now a waste of time—that Müller was gone—but he wasn’t convinced.
Kelly’s task was to try to locate the Nazi treasure, not to find Müller, but he was becoming increasingly convinced that the two were in some way linked. Find one, and you find the other.
When he had told Horst Manteufel, in strictest confidence, that he thought Müller might try to escape through France, he had been very sceptical. Perhaps he should have listened more carefully to what Horst had to say. He needed to speak to Horst again, as soon as possible.
Part II
Horst Manteufel
His story as told to Lt Colonel Kelly
A BRIXMIS Extraction
Nine-year-old Helmut Manteufel walked carefully out of the kitchen and into the lounge, skilfully balancing a cup in a saucer and beaming all over his face.
“What’s this, Hellie?” asked his father, Horst.
“It’s a cup of tea, Papa,” he said proudly. “Onkel Dan showed me how to make it.”
Dan Kelly emerged from the kitchen behind the boy, smiling broadly, his eyebrows raised.
“Why thank you, Hellie, that is very kind and very clever,” said Horst, smiling at the boy as he took the cup and saucer from him, then looked up at Kelly and grimaced.
“Try it!” said Kelly. “You might actually like it. It’s best quality NAAFI tea—you can’t buy that in Harrods, you can’t even get it in Fortnum and Masons! I’ve bought you two cups and saucers and a teapot, so you and Gudrun can enjoy tea and biscuits on a Sunday afternoon.”
“Wonderful?” said Horst, sounding anything but convinced.
“Oh, and I’ve put one spoonful of sugar in. I know you like sugar in your coffee, so I’ve assumed you would want it in your tea.”
“We haven’t got any sugar,” said Horst sounding surprised.
“You have now.”
Horst scowled at Kelly. “You’re spoiling us,” he growled.
“No,” said Kelly nonchalantly, “nothing in this world would make me spoil you, you reprobate, I’m spoiling Gudrun and the boys.”
“Ah, yes!” said Horst nodding gravely. “That makes more sense.”
Kelly had negotiated a one day paid leave of absence for Horst with his squadron commander so they could go over some of the issues arising from Sybilla’s report and revisit some of Horst’s statements
