A change in the sound of the vehicle and a number of gear changes roused them both from their nap. It must mean that they were now navigating in a built-up area. A glance at his watch told Manteufel that it was three and a half hours since they had left Nuremberg, so this must be Munich.
The vehicle seemed to spend an inordinate amount of time travelling slowly, surrounded by other vehicles, before they picked up speed again. They cruised for another ten minutes or so before they slowed and eventually turned sharply before stopping. Voices could be heard above the engine noise and, after a brief conversation between the driver and another person, they moved a short distance and stopped again. The driver killed the engine, signalling that they had reached their overnight stop.
When Kelly and Manteufel alighted from the vehicle, they found themselves in the compound of a warehouse not dissimilar to Gerda’s. The driver directed them into the warehouse where they were met by another suit who introduced himself as Sepp Hartmann. Manteufel was escorted away with the driver to ‘have a beer with the boys’, while Kelly was taken by Hartmann to a side office.
“Have a seat, Herr Novak. May I call you Dragan?”
“Of course,” said Kelly sitting.
Hartmann lounged in a tattered brown upholstered chair. “Please excuse the state of this office, it’s not mine,” he said, crossing his legs and resting his feet on the desk. “Call me Sepp, it’s my middle name. My first name is Maximillian, but I hate it. Half the men in Bavaria are called either Ludwig or Maximillian. What is this obsession Bavarian parents have in naming their poor innocent sons after long-forgotten kings? They weren’t exactly paragons to be respected—they were all mad, Dragan, completely mad. How embarrassing internationally to have your king declared insane by his own government! Ah well,” he sighed, “we all have a cross to bear. Could you use a beer?”
“I certainly could!” said Kelly smiling.
Hartmann sprang up and walked to the door. Opening it, he called, “Maxi! Any chance of a couple of cold Löwenbräu Pils, my friend?”
“See what I mean?” he asked as he returned to his chair. “Maxi. What did I say?” He raised his eyes to the ceiling.
After the beers had been delivered, Hartmann sat sipping his and looking rather contemplative. “Do you ever watch football, Dragan?”
Kelly thought quickly. I’d better be careful here, I’m not sure what this man is up to. He’s either a very accomplished interrogator or he’s as mad as one of his legendary kings.
“I’m not really a fan of football,” he said. “I did go to watch Gradanski a couple of times before the war, and I’ve watched a few games between different Ustase companies, but it’s not my thing. Two teams running around after the same ball? Why not give them a ball each? That would solve the problem!”
Hartmann nearly choked on his beer as he burst out laughing. “I like that solution!” he said. “You may have hit upon the answer to the world’s problems. Give everyone their own ball!”
“Tell me,” he added after a pause to compose himself, “Gradanski?”
“You probably know the team as Dinamo Zagreb. The original name was Gradanski, but after the war, Tito’s communists insisted that the name be changed. Too nationalistic, I assume.”
“I confess to being a fanatical FC Bayern fan. A bit sluggish at the moment, but they will go on to great things, you can be sure of that,” said Hartmann with conviction. “I suppose we ought to talk business. You will leave in the same vehicle early tomorrow, after the driver has had a night’s rest. He will drop you at a warehouse on the outskirts of Salzburg, where you will be picked up by a car and driven to the central distribution point. From there, our sister organisation takes over. It’s known as ‘The Spider’ and is controlled by someone you may have heard of before: Obersturmbannführer Otto Skorzeny?”
Kelly’s gasp of surprise was not feigned. “Skorzeny?” he repeated incredulously.
“Quite so,” confirmed Hartmann. “I take it you have heard of him then.”
“Heard of him? I should say I’ve heard of him! Every member of every Ustase battalion has heard of Skorzeny! Even my unit, the Black Legion, that considered itself the best, held Skorzeny and his commandos in awe.”
“Indeed! Well, you will have your chance to meet the gallant commando tomorrow. All that remains for me is to wish you luck and trust that you find peace and happiness in South America.”
Kelly left the meeting feeling very unsure of exactly what had taken place—a friendly chat or a very clever interrogation—and it left him feeling distinctly uneasy. At the first opportunity he sought out Manteufel, or rather he made it seem that Manteufel had sought him out, and they moved to a point in the yard where he was sure they were not being overheard.
“Get anything?” Kelly asked quietly.
Manteufel nodded. “The three boys I was having a drink with all work for Thule. I’m not sure about our driver, but in any case, they trust him. They seemed to think I was also a member of the Society, and needless to say I did nothing to disabuse them of that notion. Consequently, they talked very freely. I listened and said little, only speaking when not to have done so would have looked odd.
“They started by talking about you. This is the first time they’ve had an Ustase down the line and were clearly not comfortable with it. I, of course, confirmed that I wouldn’t trust you a centimetre, and said I was concerned that you were out of my sight. They assured me that Hartmann and Maxi would be able to handle any
