The City of Shadows (40 page)

Seán Lester said nothing. Now it all made sense. And the sense it made was far more frightening than the death of a man he regarded as a friend.

‘I'd say this is the SS. Not from the top, but it's got SS all over it,' said Lange.

‘Is it coming from Berlin?' asked the High Commissioner.

‘Not necessarily. They need to force Hitler's hand. I don't know, but I wouldn't think it's what he wants right now. But if the Free City collapses into chaos, he'll have to do it anyway. He'd look too weak if he didn't.'

‘Will the police protect the bishop, Reinhold?'

‘They'll do what they're told. It all depends who's giving the orders.'

The High Commissioner said nothing. He gazed across the Westerplatte towards the Baltic Sea. He turned back. His voice was lighter all of a sudden. He looked from Stefan Gillespie to Oberleutnant Lange, but his whimsical words didn't disguise how seriously he took this, and how much it mattered.

‘My mother always used to say that the best way to deal with something unpleasant is to open all the windows and let God's clean air in. She had a habit of doing it on the coldest days, and the threat of that had a powerful effect on family rows when I was young, at least in the winter.'

Neither Stefan nor Oberleutnant Lange understood.

Lester looked out to sea again. ‘There's quite a breeze today.'

*

Behind the great oak desk of the Senatspräsident there was a small plaque that bore the arms of the Free City, the crown and the two white crosses. Above it a swastika flag stretched almost to the ceiling. Next to it was a framed photograph of Adolf Hitler, signed at the bottom. Arthur Greiser could have taken the plaque off the wall long ago, but its diminutive size made a point. Sitting opposite him were Seán Lester and Stefan Gillespie. The president had been surprised by Lester's visit. He avoided the High Commissioner as far as possible, and their meetings usually took place when he had been summoned to Lester's office to hear a catalogue of complaints that he had no intention of taking any notice of. He had assumed, for a moment at least, that this rare visit by Lester was some kind of recognition of the imminent and sweeping victory of the Nazi Party after the day's elections. Even the irritating and pedantic Irishman had to recognise that the rules would change once the Party had a two-thirds majority in the senate. The constitution forced on Danzig by the League of Nations could be torn up for all practical purposes. If the High Commissioner adjusted to the new situation in the right way, they might wait a while before kicking him out, but if he wanted to be difficult his days in the Free City were numbered.

However it was quickly evident that Seán Lester had not come to kowtow. He demanded a private conversation, with no one else present, except for the man Greiser remembered meeting on the plane from Berlin. Greiser might have been pleased to see Stefan Gillespie again, especially when he was looking forward to the mother and father of all celebrations that night, in the bar under the town hall in the Lange Markt, the Ratskeller. Now, out of nowhere, Lester was in his office, spouting some incoherent nonsense about a plot to kill the Bishop of Danzig. It was a desperate attempt to rain on his parade, but it could hardly be taken seriously. He barely took in the details. He despised Lester. He didn't know why the High Commissioner had brought this other Irishman with him, but it didn't matter. He had better things to do. Lester was a stooge for the English; always polite, always smiling, always lying. But he would keep his temper. The League's days were almost over anyway. He would enjoy kicking Sean Lester out of Danzig. He couldn't help thinking that whatever anyone said to the contrary there was a bit too much of the English about the Irish.

‘You don't expect me to believe this, High Commissioner?'

‘I think you would be very wise to, Herr Senatspräsident.'

‘It's preposterous. It's absurd. What evidence do you have?'

‘If you contact the Gestapo you'll find they are investigating three deaths in Langfuhr. That was this morning. Obviously I can't tell you who else is involved in the plan to assassinate the bishop, but one of the dead men is a Gestapo officer, Kriminaloberassistent Rothe. He
was
involved. I suppose that might be a good place to start. The bishop is aware of the situation of course, but if I were in your shoes I wouldn't spend any time sitting on my backside.' Lester spoke in a quiet voice, as if he was following the diplomatic niceties that usually marked his conversations with Greiser.

‘I have put up with your interference in the day to day running of the city for long enough,' growled the Senate President, ‘your contempt for its elected government, your disdain for the principles of the Party. I'm sure you know that you won't be playing that tune after the count tonight. This is beyond patience, High Commissioner, with or without the election. Even your colleagues in Geneva will find these allegations outrageous. Do you think you can walk in here and accuse us all of murder? I'm speechless!'

Stefan smiled. Greiser didn't seem to be speechless.

The High Commissioner shook his head.

‘What happens if you don't get your majority today, Herr Greiser?'

‘Now you're grasping at straws. The victory is already ours.'

‘Not everyone in the Party has your faith.'

‘Are you going to attack the Party too?'

‘Ninety per cent, that's right, isn't it? That's what you promised Herr Hitler. Who takes the blame if it doesn't come off? You or the Gauleiter? I'm sure Herr Forster will claim a victory if there's one going. If there isn't he'll put it down to you. And he's the one with the Führer's ear, I think.'

‘The Party will claim the victory. Individuals only serve the Party.'

‘Forster's the Party leader. You're only head of government. I'm not up on Party etiquette but won't the first phone call from Berlin go to him?'

Greiser didn't like it. The conflict between him and the man who was his Party boss in Danzig was common knowledge but no one talked about it to his face. Lester seemed to have abandoned all the diplomacy he usually worked so hard at; first the insane allegations and now the snide comments. Dignity mattered a great deal to Arthur Greiser. Lester was sneering at him.

‘We have treated each other with courtesy in the past, Herr Lester, whatever our differences. I have never heard you speak to me like this.'

‘This is not a conversation either of us will need to remember, Herr Senatspräsident, but let me make something clear. I do have a little understanding of how the Nazi Party works. You don't call yourselves a Führer Party for nothing. It's never been policy that matters, or ideas; only action counts. And that's not about what the Führer tells you to do, it's about what you think he wants you to do. It's called working towards the Führer, yes? Doing what Hitler can't because of political expediency, or the cowardice of the people around him, or because sometimes it's just better to lie through your teeth. So if you can't take the Free City democratically, why not have the streets running with blood instead? If you can create enough mayhem and slaughter, Germany will have to invade to save Danzig and keep the peace. That's what assassinating Bishop O'Rourke is about. And if you really don't know, I don't think it should take you very long to work out the consequences.'

‘This is madness. I shall be reporting every word of this –'

‘No, unless you find a way to stop it, I shall. I will be sending a report to the League in Geneva and to every head of government I can. I will also send it to the Vatican. I will speak to as many people as possible by phone as soon as I leave this office. I will make it public that I have passed this information on to you and you have refused to act. You don't have the power to stop me, yet. Try and you'll make matters worse. I will also ensure that the details reach the press. It can still make waves outside Germany.'

There was silence in the room. Greiser had no doubt now the High Commissioner meant everything he said. There was a definite shift of gear.

‘And this man is your witness, is that what I'm supposed to believe?'

Greiser was looking at Stefan now. It was the first time he had registered his presence since he had entered the room with Seán Lester.

‘Some of the information has come from Herr Gillespie. But I don't need a witness. Call it propaganda if you like. That's something you can understand. If anything happens to Edward O'Rourke any attempt to claim somebody else killed him is simply going to prove what I've said is true.'

‘You're threatening me?'

‘There's no threat if he's safe. But, yes, if you like it's a threat.'

‘How do you think you can keep your job here after that?'

‘I'm a lot less interested in keeping my job than you are. I might get a bollocking in Geneva. The worst that could happen is that I end up back in Ireland with a lot more time to spend fishing. That's not necessarily how it turns out when you make a mistake that embarrasses the Führer, is it?'

Greiser's fury was deeper than ever but he was running out of words.

‘Working towards the Führer is all well and good when it works.'

‘Are these mad allegations an accusation against me as well?'

‘I don't know. Probably not. But not everyone would believe that.'

Greiser and Lester gazed at each other. It was the man in the uniform, surrounded by his flags and photographs, who was most uncomfortable now. The next words were meant to sound like a sneer, but they were a question.

‘So who are these hypothetical renegades?'

‘Do you need to know them to stop them?'

‘You're supposed to have evidence, aren't you?' Greiser scowled at Stefan again. ‘Who are they? If these people exist, who the fuck are they?'

‘I only know the dead ones. But Hugo Keller was taking orders from the Gestapo and the SS.'

Lester glanced round at Stefan and nodded.

‘So, should I question everyone in the SS?'

‘If you can't control the SS, Herr Senatspräsident, a phone call to Himmler –' Lester smiled.

‘If I need to talk to Reichsführer Himmler, I can assure you I will!'

‘No, I meant I might call him. If his men are out of control here –'

Arthur Greiser had been glancing at the silver tray on his desk for some time. There was a decanter of golden brandy, a sparkling brandy glass. The idea of Heinrich Himmler's response to what he now believed the High Commissioner was thoroughly capable of doing was the tipping point. He reached across the desk and poured himself a brandy. By the time Stefan Gillespie and Seán Lester left shortly afterwards the Senate President was pouring a second. He knew he would be quietly congratulated by the hierarchy in Berlin for preventing a foreign policy disaster in Danzig, but the same people who congratulated him would always remember what he had stopped; they would never forgive him.

Stefan and the High Commissioner sat in the café opposite the senate building in Neugarten. Seán Lester finished a black coffee and called for another one. He had said very little since they walked out of Greiser's office. He felt as if he had done almost nothing, yet there was almost nothing else he could do. He had made his decision. Now he had to trust Senatspräsident Greiser. He had to trust that open windows and clean air would work. The Party was a hornets' nest of fear and deceit; sometimes, if you didn't get stung, you could play those things off against each other. He hoped he'd kicked that nest hard enough. As Lester drank the second cup of coffee Stefan saw that the High Commissioner's hands were shaking, very slightly. He looked older than his years. Stefan could sense the weight of this place on him. Lester took a sip of water from a glass the waiter had put down. He smiled a wry smile that didn't quite hide how drained he was.

‘I think under the circumstances he took it very well.'

They got up and headed for the door. Three boys in Hitler Youth uniforms, fifteen or sixteen, were coming in carrying handfuls of election leaflets. They recognised the High Commissioner. Their hands shot up in the air. ‘Heil Hitler!' Seán Lester smiled amiably at them. One of them smiled back, holding the door open. As Lester walked past, the boy spat in his face.

By the time Stefan Gillespie arrived at the cathedral, the Schutzpolizei were there too. They were patrolling the park and a truckload of officers stood around the cathedral doors, smoking. Arthur Greiser had done what he could to put a positive spin on the matter. The police had been told they were there because of a threat to the bishop from unspecified anti-social elements, code for communists, socialists and the opposition in general. That wouldn't convince anyone but the Party faithful. As it was, the Schutzpolizei assumed they were just there to intimidate the opposition as usual. But orders and threats had filtered down through the Gestapo, the SS and the SA to ensure that anyone who knew anything no longer knew anything, and that nothing that had been planned had ever been planned after all. The death of Kriminaloberassistent Rothe was proving unexpectedly useful. Most of those involved in the plot assumed he had been shot by the Party, to make the point that Arthur Greiser meant business. It was how things were done.

Stefan didn't know any of that. But if it had felt like it was all over, sitting in the Senate President's office with Seán Lester, it didn't seem that simple as he walked past the police guns into the cathedral that evening. He still had a job to do. He still had to get Hannah out of Danzig.

The cathedral was crowded for vespers. Over the slow reverberation of the great organ the choir sang the Magnificat. He recognised Mozart's music, though he had last heard it when he sang in St Patrick's at barely eleven years old. There were some things that stayed inside you. ‘Magnificat anima mea Dominum.' My soul doth magnify the Lord. ‘Et exultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo.' And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. ‘Suscepit Israel puerum suum recordatus misericordiae suae.' He remembering his mercy hath holpen his servant Israel. Stefan looked at the Nazi uniforms scattered through the congregation around him. Beside him two men in brown shirts gazed towards the high altar, their lips moving silently, almost in unison, as rosary beads slipped through their fingers. It was not usual for the Bishop of Danzig to lead vespers, but he was here as he had been at every Mass throughout that election day. If all he could do was to stand he would stand; nothing that had happened would change his mind about doing so, not even the threat of an assassin's bullet. When he stepped forward to speak the final prayer and bless his people there were many who spoke the words with him. ‘A cunctis nos, quaesumus, Domine, defende perculis.' Defend us we beseech thee, O Lord, from all dangers. It was a prayer the Nazis in the cathedral heard only as familiar ritual. There were others in the congregation that evening who heard it very differently.