“Route two, and I believe this is the favoured option, is to travel down through Austria into Italy, and I’m nearly certain that the port used is Genoa.”
“I need to get on that Austrian route,” said Kelly decisively. “We’ve reconnoitred the Spanish option and pretty well ruled that out. He must have gone to Italy. Perhaps I could pose as one of your transportees, Horst?”
“Absolutely no chance!” responded Horst. “Dan, your German is excellent, but it wouldn’t fool a German, and they wouldn’t touch anyone who spoke English. Not even an Irishman!” he said pointedly. It was as an Irishman that Kelly had fooled Horst into taking him to Müller.
“What about a Croatian? If I posed as an ex-member of the Ustase, trying to get away from Europe. Would they accept that?”
Horst pondered for a moment. “I doubt it. They made it clear to me that they would only accept Thule members, but I wonder. I could make enquiries, but that would mean going into the East again, to one of the farms.”
“You’d be taking one hell of a risk. Let’s park it for now—there are other issues I want to explore.”
Kelly shuffled through his papers. “You told me, when you were in Plötzensee, that you became convinced there was either a treasure actually in the Führerbunker, or that someone in the bunker knew of its location. What made you think that?”
“I heard Fräulein Braun mention it on two occasions. As well as being a guard commander, I had gained a reputation in the bunker as a Handlanger—what the English call a handyman. I was asked one day to look at the cooker, which wasn’t working properly, and while lying on my side on the floor in the kitchen examining the connections, Fräulein Braun and General Müller walked in in mid conversation. I of course immediately sprang up and saluted, which instantly stopped their conversation, but not before I had heard Fräulein Braun say, ‘… and you can get me and the treasure out of Berlin …’
“General Müller gave me one of his famous smiles, which is, I think, the nearest thing you can have to a death sentence. ‘Stabsfeldwebel, what are you doing here?’
“I explained that I was attempting to repair the cooker. ‘If you and Fräulein Braun are looking for coffee, Herr General, there is a pot on the side, but it’s not very warm, I’m afraid.’
“‘It will have to do, Stabsfeldwebel, thank you. Please continue with your repair—you are probably doing the most important job in the bunker at this moment. We cannot survive without coffee!’
“After they poured themselves a cup of coffee each, they headed for the door. As they were leaving, I heard Müller say, ‘Don’t worry, everything is arranged.’”
“When was this?” asked Kelly.
“It would have been about mid-April. The next time was a few days later when I was collecting files from the secretaries’ office, another of my many jobs, and there was a group of women in there talking together. This was not unusual, as it was the unofficial meeting place for the women in the bunker when they wanted to chat. Among them was Fräulein Braun talking to Constanze Manziarly, Hitler’s cook and dietician. They often chatted together and seemed very close. I heard Fräulein Braun mention ‘treasure’ and ‘names on the wall’. I didn’t know what this meant until, on a visit to Fräulein Braun’s room to secure a length of electrical conduit that had become loose, I noticed the names and immediately made the connection to the treasure.”
“Let’s consider those names now, Horst, alongside those you wrote down for me of the people who were in the bunker at some time or other in the final couple of weeks. How sure are you of the accuracy of your list?”
“Very sure,” responded Horst. “It was my duty to write the names of everyone who entered in the logbook. I remember them well.”
“Good! We’ll see if we can find any kind of correlation between the two lists. So, if I read out the names on the wall, you can perhaps tell me if anyone by that name was in the bunker, and what their role was.”
“Fire away!” said Horst.
“I’ll read the crossed-out ones as well. Alois?”
There was a pause as Horst considered his list. “No.”
“Bernt?”
“Bernd Freytag von Loringhoven.”
“Oh, it’s okay Horst, I know about this man. He was captured by the British in 1945 and thoroughly interrogated. After he was released, he moved to Munich. He has never shown any interest in the past.”
“Frida?” continued Kelly.
“No, and no Alfrida.”
“Georgina?”
“No!”
“Helmut?”
“A Helmut and a Helmuth. The Helmuth is General Weidling. He was commander of the Berlin Defence Force. My understanding is that after the surrender he was shipped to Moscow.”
“That’s correct,” confirmed Kelly, “and as far as we know, he is still there. What about the other Helmut?”
“Helmut Kunz, he was a dentist,” said Horst.
“Ah, yes, I remember this one,” said Kelly. “Implicated in the murder of the Goebbels children, I believe. He is in prison in Russia. Klaus?”
“No!”
“Someone keeps calling my name.” It was Hellie, standing at the door of the living room carrying his model three-tonner, built for him by one of Horst’s friends, a mechanic in the REME Field Workshop in Spandau.
“Sorry, Hellie, we were talking about another Helmut,” said his father.
“Can I play in here now, Papa?”
“Yes, of course you can, Hellie, you’ve been really good, but Onkel Dan and I have to carry on working, don’t mind us.”
“Sybille?” continued Kelly.
“No!”
“Another crossed out one here: Wilhelm?”
“Wilhelm Zander, Bormann’s secretary. Wasn’t he found with Hitler’s will?”
“Yes, that’s right. He was working as a gardener in West Germany. I think we can rule him out.”
“Willy Johannmeyer, he was Hitler’s adjutant.”
“Yes!” nodded Kelly.
