The Leader And The Damned (13 page)

'Perhaps you would explain that to me?'

Bormann was still standing. But the Fuhrer had not suggested that he sit down. His mind was a whirl, fogged in a kind of hypnotic daze as the Fuhrer pressed on.

'The Big Lie. Who would ever dream that a man who looks just like the Fuhrer, who acts just like the Fuhrer, who
speaks
just like the Fuhrer can be anyone
but the Fuhrer?
'

Hitler jumped up suddenly in a characteristic burst of energy and again began pacing the room. His harsh tone mellowed and he became the soul of amiability.

'Bormann, I need your help. I want you always by my side. I can count on you, can I not?'

'Of course,
mein Fuhrer! Always!
'

The small, stocky Bormann found himself stiffening to attention. He gave the Nazi salute. Hitler stopped pacing and grasped him fondly by the arm. He smiled again and there was a film of moistness in his prominent eyes.

'May I mention the problem of the dog?' Bormann suggested.

'There is no problem - I made friends with Blondi during his visits to the Berghof. He trusts me - I have a rapport with dogs.'

'The only other problem,' Bormann began hesitantly, 'would appear to be insoluble - if you ever visit the Berghof again. I refer to Eva Braun..'

'The lady is one problem you do not have to worry your head about,' Hitler assured him, a humorous glint in his eyes. 'And I shall certainly visit the Berghof. Considering my life was confined there for so many years that is where I feel most at home.. ' He paused. 'I am glad you brought that up, Bormann. Until people get used to me, a change of scene should throw them off balance. So, in the near future we
will
all go to the Berghof - I need a rest from my arduous months of labour at the Wolf's Lair. I think that is all for now..'

Bormann returned to his own quarters, trudging slowly through the snow, in a state of turmoil. The past few days had been the busiest of his life. He had taken decision after decision, his mind too full of the present to look into the future.

Vaguely he had assumed that Heinz Kuby would be putty in his hands, to be moulded in any shape he wished. Now the 'robot' he had created was taking on a life and will of its own - and there was nothing he could do about it.

From the outbreak of World War Two, Adolf Hitler had demonstrated he was a military genius - fit to rank with Caesar, Frederick the Great and Wellington. In half-a-dozen crises he had proved his enormously superior flair.

April 1940
. It was Hitler who had enthusiastically approved and backed the audacious invasion of Denmark and Norway. While his generals wrung their hands and predicted disaster, Hitler had ordered that the plans devised by Admiral Raeder should proceed.

Norway!
A thousand miles of open sea and coastline.from its southern tip of North Cape — with the British Navy based at nearby Scapa Flow. Madness! Hitler had contemptuously waved aside all objections. Go ahead! Invade, General Falkenhorst! The plan had succeeded.

France!
It was Hitler who put all his authority behind one general's crazy operation — Guderian's fantastic panzer drive through the 'impassable' roads of, the Ardennes, bursting out into the open country beyond, thundering across the Meuse bridges at Sedan. On and on towards the Channel while, again, his general staff shivered in their shoes and repeated their forecasts of disaster!

That was until the British were driven back across the water inside their inland fortress — and France fell within weeks. It was such brilliant successes which had cowed the High Command, which had led to Hitler being able to appoint his own tame men, Keitel and Jodl, to the peak of the command structure.

All this passed through Bormann's mind as, bleak- faced, he walked alone on that fateful afternoon under lowering skies in March 1943. What did the future hold? This was what obsessed him.

The plans of the Allied military dispositions in North Africa lay spread out on Colonel-General Jodl's desk. They had been delivered to him two hours earlier at his request by Ian Lindsay. Now the Englishman sat waiting and wondering as he struggled to conceal the tension inside him.

Jodl had time to communicate with the German High Command in Tunis - whose forces faced those of General Alexander. What would the verdict be? The Englishman was becoming aware there was something devious in Alfred Jodl's expression and nature. It would take an agile mind to survive the domestic warfare of the Wolf's Lair.

'I have communicated the contents of these plans to Tunis. I have further had their reaction to what you say purports to be the Allied order of battle..'

Jodl paused, tapping a pencil gently on his desk. A naked bulb shed a harsh light over the military documents. It was early in the evening, as black as pitch in the compound outside, where dense mist blotted out the masked lights. Jodl was playing with him - Lindsay could sense it as he was careful to resist the overwhelming temptation to say something - anything - to break the loaded silence.

'In a way these documents are a dile as to your
bona fides
- is that not so?' Jodl enquired eventually.

Lindsay shrugged, a gesture of complete indifference. 'That is for others to decide. I simply await my interview with the Fuhrer

'You may have to wait a long time, the German said sharply.

Lindsay's stomach revolved. God, something was wrong with the bloody documents. He wanted to reach for the pack of cigarettes in his pocket. Again he resisted temptation since Jodl, he felt certain, was waiting for the slightest sign of nerves.

The pencil continued tapping its tattoo. Lindsay could have wrenched it out of Jodl's hands and snapped the thing in two. Instead, he leaned back further in his chair and clasped his hands lightly in his lap.

'You may have to wait a long time,' Jodl repeated. 'You see, I happen to know the Fuhrer has a list of appointments as long as your arm.'

Lindsay nodded, no particular expression showing in his reaction as he concealed the shock of relief. Jodl's manner, his choice of words, had convinced him he was about to be arrested and interrogated.

'Tunis,' Jodl said suddenly, still staring hard at Lindsay, 'tells me all the present data as to the Allied dispositions on the African front coincides with the documents you brought us..'

For the second time the Englishman forced himself to hide his relief. This really was a tricky bastard - he was convinced Jodl had been testing him. He watched while the German arranged the documents tidily, returned them to the thick envelope and pushed the package across the desk.

'Your passport to the Wolf's Lair. Guard them well.'

His expression was ironic and even when he left the but Lindsay was uncertain whether he had gained the man's confidence - or at least his neutrality. An enigmatic personality, Colonel-General Alfred Jodl.

He closed the door behind him and stopped. Dense fog was rolling into the compound, an icy fog which penetrated his greatcoat and reached for his bones. The leaden silence - no, it was the complete absence of sound - bothered him.

Then he realized it was not the atmosphere which had alerted him. A shoe or boot had squeaked nearby. Standing quite still in the grey blanket of vapour he knew he was not alone. A hand grasped his arm.

'Don't make a sound!'

It was the soft, sleepy voice of Christa Lundt - he had already guessed her identity from the smallness of the hand which gripped his arm.

'I want to talk to you,' she went on, 'but we must not be seen. You know you are being watched? Don't let's go into that now - just concentrate on not making a noise. We'll go to my quarters.'

Still holding on to him, she led the way across the compound. Lindsay was disturbed by the way she drifted through the fog like a wraith. Only a professional could move so silently. Who was Christa Lundt?'

'We're here. Wait while I open the door.

He listened and watched. Not a hint of a sound as she inserted a key inside the lock, turned and withdrew it. Recently she must have oiled the lock for it to operate so noiselessly. She gently pulled him inside the darkness of the interior and asked him to stay still.

Again the door was closed with great skill, the lock turned, a light switched on. They were standing in a narrow corridor. No carpet on the bare floorboards. She ushered him inside a room, switched on another light and went immediately to check the curtain drawn over the window.

'Coffee?'

'Maybe later, thank you.' He sat in an armchair she indicated with a graceful gesture. 'You said
 
something about my being watched..'

'Martin Bormann. It would be, of course. He has allocated an SS man to follow you and report all your movements. I met the SS chap - who'd lost you.' She sounded amused as she sat close to him, crossed her shapely legs and used both hands to loosen her glossy hair. 'He was in a bit of a panic. I told him I was sure I'd seen you going to see Keitel. So now he's freezing outside our respected Field Marshal's hut. With a bit of luck he should be there all night...'

'Why would it be Bormann who set the dogs on me? "Of course", I think you said..

'Because he's suspicious of everyone.' She grinned. 'Sometimes I think he wonders about himself. He thinks you're a British spy - he's furious that the Fuhrer has agreed to see you.' She had gone to the kitchen area. She was boiling water for the coffee on a stove. As she spoke she glanced at Lindsay as though to assess his reaction. He turned the direction of the conversation away from himself.

'There certainly seems to be a case of spy mania,' Lindsay observed. 'I recall you said there was a Soviet agent inside the Wolf's Lair..

'I said the
Fuhrer
is convinced a Soviet agent has penetrated the security system,' she corrected him. 'Someone at the very top..

'You get that sort of thing in wartime.'

The Englishman introduced a hint of disbelief into his assertion and it provoked a reaction. She began straining the coffee as she replied.

'He does have grounds for thinking that way. Every time the Wehrmacht launches an offensive the Russians have troops ready to meet it. The curious thing is they don't launch offensives themselves. If they did know our order of battle, you'd think they would take us by surprise. Here you are — real coffee. Not that acorn muck we drank in the canteen..

`Who exactly does know the order of battle?'

She perched on the arm of a chair and sipped at her coffee as though she hadn't heard the question. Had he probed too far? The girl puzzled him and he was irked that he couldn't weigh her up. The obvious explanation was that she had been instructed to find out all she could about him and then report back to... Bormann? The Fuhrer himself? She surprised him again by replying.

'Only a very few people know the daily order of battle - the Fuhrer himself, of course, since he takes all the major operational decisions. Field Marshal Keitel is another. Martin Bormann is present at every conference. Then there's Colonel-General Jodl.' The latter seemed to be an afterthought. 'That's about it.'

'The short list of suspects is a trio, then. Bormann, Keitel and Jodl.' Lindsay leaned his head against the back of the arm chair and appeared to relax completely as he stretched out his legs and crossed his ankles. 'This coffee is very good.'

'And your trio is ridiculous. All of them are so high up they are above suspicion..

'The most successful spies in history have always been so high they had access to really vital information - and were, as you say, above suspicion. In the old Austro-Hungarian Empire their chief of counter-espionage, Colonel Raedl, was eventually caught passing secrets to the other side by the trainload.'

'Why have you flown to Germany, Ian?'

'I like to travel. I was getting a hemmed-in feeling back in Britain..