HHhH

A long moment passes.

“What are your orders, Herr Obergruppenfuhrer?”

“Take a detachment of men to the train station and remove the statue of Wilson.”

“…”

“I don’t expect to see that piece of crap there tomorrow morning. Do it, Major Pomme!”

140

President Benes knows that he will have to face up to his reponsibilities. Come what may, he must prepare for the mass reprisals that the Germans will undoubtedly unleash if Operation Anthropoid succeeds. To govern is to choose, and the decision has been made. But making a decision is one thing; taking responsibility for it is something else. And Benes—who founded Czechoslovakia with Tomas Masaryk in 1918 and who, twenty years later, was unable to avoid the disaster of Munich—knows that the pressure of history is enormous, and that the judgment of history is the most terrible of all. All his efforts from now on are aimed at restoring the integrity of the country he created. Unfortunately, the liberation of Czechoslovakia is not in his hands. The RAF and the Red Army will decide its fate. Admittedly, Benes has been able to provide seven times more pilots for the RAF than the French have. And the record for the highest number of enemy planes shot down is held by Josef Frantisek: the ace of British aviation is a Czech. Benes is more than a little proud of this. But he also knows that in times of war, the power of a head of state is measured only by the numbers of his divisions. For this reason, his activities have been almost entirely reduced to a humiliating diplomacy: he must give pledges of goodwill to the only two powers still resisting the Germans, without any certainty that those two powers will end up victorious. It’s true that, confronted by German bombardments in 1940, Britain was able to ride the blow and win the air battle—for the moment at least. It’s also true that the Red Army, having been pushed all the way back to Moscow, was able to stop the enemy advance just before it reached its goal. Britain and the USSR, having each barely avoided collapse, are today in a position to fight back against the Reich. But this is late 1941. The Wehrmacht is almost at the zenith of its power. It still hasn’t suffered any significant defeat to dent the myth of its invincibility. Stalingrad is still far off—we are a long way from seeing images of defeated German soldiers, eyes lowered to the snow. All Benes can do is gamble on an uncertain outcome. The entry of the United States into the war is naturally a source of great hope, but the GIs have yet to cross the Atlantic and they are still so busy fighting the Japanese that they pay no attention to the fate of a small country in central Europe. Thus Benes makes his own version of Pascal’s wager: his god is a god with two heads— Britain and the USSR—and he bets on their survival. But to keep two heads happy at the same time is not easy. Britain and the USSR are, of course, allies. And Churchill, despite his inborn anticommunism, will show an indestructible loyalty to the Soviet Union, in military terms, throughout the war. As for what happens after the war—if the war ends and if the Allies win—well, that is obviously another story.

With Anthropoid, Benes is attempting a great coup to impress these two European giants. London has given logistical backing and collaborated closely. But Benes has to be careful not to offend the Russians’ pride: that’s why he has decided to inform Moscow of the launch of the operation. So the pressure is now at its height: Churchill and Stalin are waiting. The future of Czechoslovakia is in their hands; best not disappoint them. Above all, if it’s the Red Army that liberates his country, Benes wants Stalin to regard him as a credible representative—all the more so given his fears of the Czech Communists’ influence.

Benes is probably thinking about all this when his secretary comes to warn him:

“Mr. President, Colonel Moravec is here with two young men. He says he’s got an appointment, but there’s nothing in today’s schedule about it.”

“Let them in.”

Gabcik and Kubis have been brought by taxi through the streets of London without any idea where they were going, and now they are received by the president himself. On his desk, the first thing they notice is a little tin replica of a Spitfire. They salute and stand to attention. Benes wanted to meet them before their departure but didn’t want to leave any official record of their visit—because to govern is also to take precautions. The two men stand before him. While he talks to them of their mission’s historic importance, he observes them carefully. He’s struck by how young they look—Kubis especially, although he’s only one year younger than Gabcik—and by the touching simplicity of their determination. For several minutes, he forgets all the geopolitical considerations. He no longer thinks of Britain and the USSR, nor of Munich, or Masaryk, or the Communists, or the Germans. He hardly even thinks of Heydrich. He is completely absorbed in the contemplation of these two soldiers, these two boys whom he knows—whatever the outcome of their mission—haven’t got a chance in hell of getting out alive.

I don’t know what his last words to them are. “Good luck,” or “God keep you,” or “The free world is counting on you,” or “You carry in your hands the honor of Czechoslovakia”… something like that, probably. According to Moravec, the president has tears in his eyes when Gabcik and Kubis leave his office. Perhaps he has a premonition of the terrible future. The impassive little Spitfire keeps its nose in the air.

141

Since joining her husband in Prague, Lina Heydrich is in heaven. She writes in her autobiography: “I am a princess and I live in a fairy-tale land.”

How come?

First, because Prague really is a fairy-tale city. Not for nothing did Walt Disney take his inspiration for the queen’s castle in Sleeping Beauty from Tyn Church.

Next, because in Prague she really is the queen. Overnight her husband has become almost a head of state. In this fairy-tale land, he is Hitler’s viceroy and his wife shares all the honors of his rank. As the Protector’s spouse, Lina enjoys an esteem that her parents—the von Ostens—never dreamed of, for her or for themselves. How long ago it seems that her father wanted to break off her engagement because Reinhard had been kicked out of the navy. Now, thanks to him, Lina’s life is an endless series of receptions, inaugurations, and official events where everyone shows her the greatest deference. I see her in a photo taken at a concert at the Rudolfinum to celebrate the anniversary of Mozart’s birth. Dolled up in a white evening dress, weighed down with rings, bracelets, and earrings, surrounded by men in smoking jackets all currying favor with her husband, who stands by her side… smiling, relaxed, and sure of herself, she stands with one hand resting chastely on top of the other and with a look of ecstatic happiness on her face.

But it’s not only Prague. From now on, her husband’s position allows her to mix with the Reich’s high society. Himmler is a long-standing friend, but she also knows the Goebbelses and the Speers, and she’s even had the supreme honor of meeting the Fuhrer, who, seeing her on her husband’s arm, remarked: “What a handsome couple!” Oh yes, she’s part of the upper crust now. And Hitler pays her compliments!

And she has her own castle: a palace confiscated from a Jew, twelve miles north of Prague, surrounded by a vast estate. Wildly enthusiastic, she gets to work on doing it up. She is the lady of the manor but, like the queen in Sleeping Beauty, she is also a nasty piece of work. She treats her staff harshly, and insults everyone when she’s in a bad mood—and when she’s in a good mood, she doesn’t speak to anyone. In order to perform the enormous amount of work required for her princely home, she makes use of the abundant manpower supplied by the concentration camps. She doesn’t treat these workers any better than the camps do. She supervises the renovation work dressed as a horsewoman, a riding crop in her hand. Hers is a reign of terror, sadism, and eroticism.

Apart from all that, she looks after her three children and congratulates herself on how affectionate Reinhard is with them. He particularly adores the youngest one, Silke. So much so that he impregnates his wife for the fourth time. Long gone are the days when she would sleep with Schellenberg, his right-hand man. Long gone the days when he was never home. Here in Prague, her husband returns almost every evening. He makes love to her, goes horse riding, and plays with the children.