The Leader And The Damned (14 page)

'Oh, you flew direct from Britain to Africa and then on to the Berghof?'

He didn't reply to the question. He was beginning to change his mind about Christa being a pawn sent to find out all she could and then report back her findings to Bormann or someone else. He sensed that she was in a nervy, jumpy mood, that she was deeply concerned about her own safety.

Christa Lundt attended all the military conferences. Christa Lundt recorded all the Fuhrer's instructions - she had said.so earlier in the canteen. She was the ideal person to provide the answer to the second question which had brought him to Germany. He decided to take the gamble.

'One thing intrigues me,' he began. 'Is the Fuhrer really the military genius he poses as? Or is there some brilliant general directing the armies? Keitel? Jodl?'

'You're joking, I assume.' Her tone was full of contempt. 'I thought you would have spotted those two are Hitler's obedient satellites. The Fuhrer alone is in command. Throughout the war so far he has taken all the crucial decisions which brought us so many victories. He is his own mastermind..'

'You admire him?' he suggested.

'We all do. And not only for his genius. He's considerate - especially with women. He can be very gentle and understanding. And it's fascinating to watch the way he manipulates his generals, all of whom are highly educated while he rose from the bottom..'

Lindsay was still leaning back in his chair when he threw the question at her. 'What are you so nervous about? Don't deny it - you crept about like a phantom on the way back here from Jodl's quarters. You kidded me it was all for my sake - it was for your own. You weren't scared someone would spot me - you were scared someone would spot you! Why?'

She stood up and began walking round the room slowly, interlacing her fingers, kneading them restlessly. She gave the impression of a woman struggling to take a major decision. She stopped in front of Lindsay and looked down at him through her lashes.

'Bormann is going to make me his scapegoat. I know it! The Fuhrer keeps on and on about this hidden traitor at the Wolf's Lair - Bormann always provides the Fuhrer with what he wants - that's how he got where he is. He's going to denounce me as the Soviet spy. It's just a question of when. I need an escape route.'

'You know something?' Lindsay adopted her own tactic of talking very slowly. 'You're good - you're very good, indeed. I'll give you that..'

'What the hell do you mean?'

Her face was white with anger. She clenched her knuckles and he sensed she was on the verge of attacking him. He remained still, silent. She couldn't stand the silence.

'I said what the hell do you mean?'

'That stuff about Bormann making you a scapegoat is a load of rubbish. He'd need evidence. And you know it. But the second part intrigues me - the escape route bit, that you feel you're going to need. And soon. Why?'

Christa Lundt had cracked up. She sat on the sofa shuddering. It was an unnerving, pathetic sight. She sat very erect, staring in front of her, like a person under hypnosis. From her hips upward her body quivered like a sick person with the fever. In her lap she clenched her hands tightly, the knuckles white and bloodless. For a whole minute she uttered no sound.

At the other end of the sofa Lindsay sat without reacting, his face expressionless. He watched her closely. He could hear Colonel Browne giving the warning in faraway Ryder Street.

'It may all go wrong. You may never reach the Fuhrer. Then you will be subjected to every trick in the book - and they have a very big book. Torture cannot be ruled out. But they can be more subtle.
They may use a woman to undermine your defences
..'

Still gazing fixedly ahead, she gripped her graceful hands as though fighting for control. A tear appeared at the corner of her right eye, rolled down her cheek. He waited for the handkerchief to appear. She opened her trembling lips, closed them and then the words came through teeth clenched as tightly as the fingers.

'Bormann, Jodl, Keitel - they know they have to be suspects.
I take down the Fuhrer's bloody minutes for his military directives
. I'm made to order for the scapegoat. I have to get away from this place, for Christ's sake..'

'Why consult me?'

Her voice was low, little more than a whisper. So quiet he had to lean an arm across the top of the sofa and bend closer to hear her next words.

'Because I'm convinced you've come here to find out something. When you've found it out you'll leave. Oh, yes, you'll escape. You're that sort of man, I can sense it...'

For the first time since the paroxysm had begun she looked at him. She had spoken the last sentence calmly. The fever of fear - if that was what it had been passed as swiftly as it had appeared. She produced a handkerchief from somewhere - he was too intent on studying her to notice from where - and wiped her face. That was when someone tapped gently on the outer door.

'I am Major Gustav Hartmann of the Abwehr. May I come inside. The weather is rather inclement tonight...'

Lindsay froze. A whole chain of events had been stage-managed. First, Christa Lundt had waited for him outside Jodl's but to coax him back to her own quarters. She had then tried to trap him - to throw him off balance by creating an extreme, emotional atmosphere. He had not reacted to that. Now the Abwehr had arrived.

Lindsay was certain that someone was desperate to discredit him before he ever talked to the Fuhrer. The question he needed an answer to was the identity of the stage-manager of the series of events he was being subjected to. Bormann, Keitel - or Jodl?

Hartmann was a large man. Over six feet tall, well built, he wore a military greatcoat with wide lapels. In his late thirties he had a well-shaped head, a small, trim moustache, strong features and watchful eyes. He removed his peaked cap, still waiting in the open doorway. The aroma of fog mingled with damp pine-woods lingered about him.

'You want to see me, Major?' Christa demanded.

'I have a routine mission - to interrogate your guest...'

'You have papers? And how did you know he was here?'

She was giving a convincing demonstration that she had never met Hartmann before. The Abwehr man produced a folder, showed it to her while he studied the Englishman. She returned the folder after checking it.

'You'd better come in. You do understand security is tight at the Wolf's Lair?'

'I have found that out since I flew in from Berlin.' There was an ironical note in the German's voice. 'I was informed that the Englishman was being interviewed by Colonel-General Jodl...'

'You followed us here and then waited,' the girl said sharply.

'It seemed discourteous to intrude immediately,' Hartmann replied smoothly. 'I went to the canteen and then came back..'

Hartmann was unbuttoning his greatcoat when Lindsay decided he had had enough. This charade between Lundt and Hartmann - with the girl pretending the Abwehr officer was a stranger - had to be blown sky-high. He stood up.

'You can keep your coat on, Hartmann. No one is interrogating me until I've seen the Fuhrer. And who the hell gave you authority to ask me questions first?'

'I am not at liberty to reveal the identity of my superior,' the German said stiffly, but he stopped taking off his coat.

'Then I'm not at liberty to tell you anything. If you persist I shall go straight to the top and complain...'

Lindsay's manner was brusque, almost arrogant. He stood erect and outwardly confident as he waited to see whether his bluff had worked. Once caught up in the coils of the lower echelons there was a great danger he would never reach the Fuhrer.

'The interrogation has to be purely voluntary, Hartmann said quietly, his dark eyes still studying the Englishman. 'So...'

He buttoned up his coat again slowly. Christa had closed the outer door and Hartmann held his peaked cap in his hand as he took a few steps closer to both of them, his voice confidential.

'It is very much in Wing Commander Lindsay's interest - even his safety could be involved - if neither of you say a word about my visiting you.' He bowed to Christa, put on his cap and said, 'I repeat, my presence here should remain a secret between us. Should anyone confront you with the fact of my visit you simply deny all knowledge of it..'

'I don't understand you...' Christa began.

'Which is my intention. Good night..'

Lindsay waited until Christa had closed the door again and they were alone. She leaned back against the door, her brow furrowed.

'He's Section Three of the Abwehr - counter-espionage. Creepy.'

'I thought you'd never seen him before,' Lindsay rapped. 'How do you know what section he's attached to?'

'Because I examined his papers, idiot!' She folded her arms and walked slowly towards the coffee pot. 'They're all around us, Wing Commander - and closing in..'

Chapter Twelve

'Who the devil are you?'

'Major Hartmann. Abwehr

The question had been arrogant, overbearing in tone. Hartmann's reply was brusque, abrupt. On leaving Fraulein Lundt's quarters he had moved across the fog-bound compound and was passing under a high overhead light beamed downwards when accosted.

Field Marshal Keitel gripped his baton more tightly as he summoned a nearby guard to join him. The uniformed soldier came running, his rifle held ready for action in both hands. The powerful light was blurred in the swirling grey vapour as the three men faced one another, the soldier staring at the Field Marshal as he waited for the next instruction.

'Are you carrying a weapon?' Keitel demanded.

'Only a 9-mm. Luger,' Hartmann replied. 'And before you ask, yes, the weapon.is fully loaded. An empty pistol is rather pointless, would you not agree?'

Keitel was almost speechless with fury. No more than the mouthpiece of the Fuhrer - 'the ventriloquist's solid wooden dummy' as one battle-weary general commented after a visit to Rastenburg, he compensated by bullying all those of inferior rank or influence.

'Disarm him!' Keitel ordered.

Hartmann's movement would have seemed like a conjurer's sleight of hand in broad daylight; in the murk of the night beneath the dim lamp it seemed little short of miraculous. Before the soldier had even begun to react, the Luger appeared in Hartmann's hand. It was aimed point-blank at the soldier's chest.

'
Drop the rifle!
'

In the soundless compound there was a clatter as the weapon left the soldier's nerveless fingers and fell to the ground. There had been a grim urgency in Hartmann's voice which made his action a reflex. Keitel, astounded, made several attempts before he managed coherent speech.

'Do you realize whom you are addressing?'

'No.' A pause. 'In this benighted fog how the hell could anyone? I have identified myself. Kindly repay the compliment before I lower this pistol. You could be bluffing — it's the oldest trick in the world to assume an autocratic tone. And I have come here because this place is crawling with treachery...'

'Field Marshal Keitel! I am Keitel...'

'You look like anyone in this lousy light. If we are to talk, may I suggest you dismiss this soldier — who, incidentally, does not handle his weapon very impressively. Security here appears lax..'

'You can go!' Keitel snapped at the guard. 'Don't forget your weapon — not that the bloody thing is any use.' He turned to the Abwehr officer. 'Kindly accompany me to my hut. I want to talk to you..

Walking slowly behind the ramrod back, Hartmann smiled to himself as he extracted a pipe after returning the Luger to its holster. Without lighting it, he clenched the much-used pipe between his teeth.