Authors: James Holland
The contrast could not have been greater. Josef Terboven was
immaculate. It was indeed warm in the room, but there was not even the hint of
a sheen on his smooth forehead. The fair hair was combed back perfectly from a
pointed widow's peak. The gold-framed round spectacles sat neatly on his nose,
while his narrow eyes watched the Norwegian with piercing intent. His
double-breasted black suit revealed no insignia of rank, but was beautifully
tailored and fitted its wearer like a second skin. The shoes were polished to
glass, the shirt cuffs starched white cotton. Terboven exuded confidence,
command and control. It was a Party rule that Scheidt had learnt well: look
superior, feel superior. It was why he himself had spent so much at one of
Berlin's finest tailors; it was why he took such trouble over his personal
grooming. For all Quisling's professed admiration of Germany and all things
German, sartorial pride was one lesson he had failed to grasp.
Scheidt
recrossed his legs, his Louis XIV chair creaking gently. A large lacquered
walnut desk stood by the large window, an art-deco drinks cabinet in the corner
beside it. Even Terboven's choice of the Bristol made an important statement:
it was not necessarily the best hotel in Oslo in which to make his temporary
base, but certainly the most stylish.
Terboven raised a hand. 'Stop, please, Herr Quisling. For a moment.' He
closed his eyes briefly, as though in deep thought, then opened them again and
said, 'Another drink?' He signalled to an aide as Quisling nodded.
Another mistake
, thought Scheidt, watching the man pour the Norwegian
another whisky as Terboven placed a hand over the top of his own tumbler. 'No,
not for me,' he said. Scheidt also knew to refuse.
'All you say may be true, Herr Quisling,' said the Reichskommissar,
'but what about the King - who, it must be said, has shown nothing but contempt
for your political ambitions?'
Scheidt smiled to himself at this flagrant criticism of the man sitting
next to him.
Quisling shifted in his chair. 'The King fears his position, his
authority,' he said. 'It is why he must be captured and brought back to Oslo.
I'm sure with a little coercion he can be persuaded to co-operate. For the
greater good of Norway.'
Terboven put his hands together as though in prayer and rubbed his
chin. 'Hm. It probably won't surprise you, Herr Quisling, to know that I'm no
admirer of the King - or any royalty, for that matter. Neither, it should be
said, is the Fuhrer.'
'The King must be captured,' said Quisling. 'The Norwegians love him.
We voted for him in 1905 when we split from Sweden and since that time he has
proved a diligent and extraordinarily popular monarch. He must return to Oslo.
Once in the Royal Palace and publicly supporting the National Party, Norway
will be the friend and partner Germany wants - indeed needs, Herr
Reichskommissar. But so long as King Hakon remains at large, his colours tied
to the British mast, there will always be Norwegian resistance to Germany. You
must -
must
-
find him. Not only that, Herr Reichskommissar, it is imperative you also find
the nation's bullion and the Crown Jewels. The King and the former government
took them when they fled the capital. So long as the King has money and funds,
he will be able to feed resistance. Without them, his task will be that much
more difficult.' He took a gulp of whisky, then leant forward and said, 'My
dear Terboven, I really cannot stress enough the importance of capturing the
King - before it is too late.'
'He and Prince Olaf are reported to be on the coast now,' said Scheidt.
'At Molde.'
'Thank you, I have read the reports,' said Terboven. He turned back to
Quisling. 'Yes, well, thank you, Herr Quisling. We will speak again, but now,
if you don't mind, I will bid you good night. As you can imagine, there is much
to be done, not least a battle to be won.'
He stood up, signalled Scheidt to remain, and led Quisling to the door.
Scheidt watched him shake the Norwegian's hand. It had been a masterly
performance: Terboven had shown himself to be well informed yet had listened to
the Norwegian; he had been cool and authoritative, but gracious too. He was,
Scheidt realized, a formidable opponent.
And right now he was an opponent. It was how it worked in the Party as
Scheidt had learnt early in his career. Climbing the ladder was about jockeying
for position, backing the right horse, and outmanoeuvring potential rivals. So
far it had worked: he had patrons high up in Berlin and had been given the
backing to groom Quisling - backing that had come with the Fuhrer's personal
support for the Norwegian. Two weeks before, on the eve of the German invasion,
Scheidt had believed everything was in place, and that nothing could go wrong.
Quisling would be the new prime minister in name, but as Scheidt had known all
along, the Norwegian was far too indecisive and lacked the charisma to be
anything more than a German puppet. Scheidt would pull his strings.
But Ambassador Brauer had lost his nerve and messed everything up. How
that fool could have expected the King to roll over, Scheidt still struggled to
understand. The days that had followed the invasion had required resolve and
cool nerve, but Brauer had panicked, sacking Quisling as prime minister and
bringing in the ludicrously ineffective Administrative Council in the false
hope that this would satisfy the King. It had achieved no such thing. And in
doing so, he had committed the biggest mistake of all: he had angered the
Fiihrer and been recalled to Berlin, his political career finished.
Scheidt knew that he himself was hanging by a thread, but he had not
crawled up the Party hierarchy without learning two other golden rules: to
trust no one, and always to keep something up one's sleeve. Terboven was in
Norway with far-ranging powers - powers that Scheidt could not hope to
undermine. However, in this new regime there was still a part for him to
perform - an important one, if he played his hand correctly.
With Quisling gone, the new Reichskommissar wandered over to the window
and looked out over the city. 'Not an impressive man,' said Terboven, 'and yet,
as his political adviser, you pushed for him to remain as prime minister.'
Scheidt remained seated. 'I never viewed him as anything more than a
malleable stooge,' he said, after a moment's pause. 'What one has to remember
is that Quisling, for all his obvious failings, has unwavering loyalty to
Germany, as the Fiihrer clearly recognizes. He is, you know, a devout Christian
and a highly regarded academic. He passionately
believes
, Herr Reichskommissar. This is what Brauer
failed to appreciate. Quisling lacks resolve and charisma, but his assessment
was right. The Administrative Council is a disaster. Devious and not to be
trusted.'
'They sound like perfect Party members.' A thin smile. Terboven came
back to his chair opposite Scheidt. 'And what about the King? Is he right about
him? Should we worry, or should we simply announce the abolition of the
monarchy?'
'In my opinion,' said Scheidt, carefully, 'he is right.'
'And about the bullion and jewels?'
'Resistance needs funding. So yes.' Scheidt shifted in his seat. Was
this the time to reveal his hand? Timing was everything, yet Terboven's
implacable face was so hard to judge.
'There's something more, isn't there, Herr Scheidt?'
He smiled again. 'It's all right. Feel free to speak
frankly.'
By God he's good,
thought Scheidt. 'The bullion and Crown Jewels are
not with the King,' he said at length.
'Go on.'
'There are more than fifty tons of gold. I'm afraid we've lost track of
it - we were not quick enough off the mark when the Norwegian government fled
Oslo. It's been hidden, I'm certain, but they have to move it in bulk because
if they try to split it up it will never be brought back together. Too many
people will have to become involved and they cannot risk that.' He shrugged.
'People will steal it - that's human nature. I have no doubt that at some point
an attempt will be made to smuggle it out of the country - but we will catch
them. We have complete mastery of the skies and the Norwegians cannot hope to
move fifty tons of gold without being spotted.'
'You sound very confident.'
'Fifty tons would require a special train or a convoy of trucks to move
it. Of course we will find it. It's just a matter of time. And patience.'
Terboven had not taken his eyes from his. 'Some of the important Crown Jewels,
however, are with a small group of the King's Royal Guard led by a certain
Colonel Peder Gulbrand, and we have been tracking them more closely. We lost
them a few days ago, but have now located them again.'
'And why are these men not accompanying the King?'
'They were. I saw them with Brauer on the tenth of April at Elverum.
But they
came back
to Oslo.'
'Surely not to get the jewels?'
'No. To collect a man.'
'Who?'
'Someone more valuable than gold,' said Scheidt. He saw Terboven blink
then watched as the Reichskommissar removed his spectacles and carefully
cleaned them with a silk handkerchief. A chink at last, he thought.
'Are you going to tell me who this man is?' said Terboven, slowly. It
was couched as a question, but it might as well have been a direct order.
'We're not yet certain of his name,' Scheidt lied, 'but what he knows
is literally worth liquid gold.'
Terboven offered Scheidt a cigarette from a silver case, then took one
himself. The aide hurried over with a lighter and for a moment the
Reichskommissar's face was partly hidden in pirouetting smoke. 'Leave us a
moment, please,' he told the aide. When the two men were alone, Terboven said,
'Don't try to play games with me, Herr Scheidt.'
Scheidt took a deep breath. He could feel a line of sweat running down
his back. His heart thumped.
Keep calm
, he told himself. 'Herr
Reichskommissar,' he said slowly, 'you and I both know how precarious
intelligence can be. I ask you now to trust me to deliver this man, and to
believe me when I say that when I do so, we will have the eternal thanks of the
Fiihrer.'
Terboven drew on his cigarette, then tipped back his head and exhaled.
'And what measures are you taking to capture him?'
'It is in hand, Herr Reichskommissar.'
'I could have you arrested and tortured, you know.'
'Yes,' said Scheidt, 'and then you lose the source too.'
'You have
thought of everything, Herr Scheidt.'
'I think so.'
Terboven stubbed out his cigarette half smoked and stood up. 'Very
well. I shall give you a week. And I hope very much for your sake that you can
deliver on all counts - the man, the information and the jewels. A week, Herr
Scheidt, that is all. Clear?'
'Perfectly, Herr Reichskommissar.'
Scheidt felt the
tight grip of the Reichskommissar's hand and the narrow eyes boring into his,
then he was out of the room, walking down the corridor and being escorted into
the lift.
My God
,
he thought,
a week. But I must be able to find him.
How hard could it be? For God's sake, didn't he have them cornered already? He
just prayed his hand was as good as he hoped.
After a steep
climb through thick pines and birch, having passed numerous false summits, Sergeant
Jack Tanner and his patrol had reached the mountain plateau some two thousand
feet above the valley. Here, the air was noticeably colder, but so long as the
sun shone through the gauze of thin cloud, Tanner knew they had nothing to fear
from the temperature. More of a concern was the depth of the snow, which in
places, where there was a hidden hollow or it had drifted, was waist deep or
more. The difficulty was that these patches were hard to spot. Some of the men
found themselves taking a step forward only to sink. It was exhausting and
progress slowed. Then Sykes spotted what appeared to be a drover's track where
the snow had been compacted quite recently so Tanner directed the men towards
it. Although it was not on Lieutenant Dingwall's map, he guessed it ran over
the Balberkamp to the south and along the lip of the valley sides to the north.
'All right, we'll head southwards for a bit,' he told them. It meant
they could no longer spread out in the wide arrowhead formation he preferred,
but he reasoned that it was best to able to move easily. Ordering Privates Bell
and Chambers to walk ahead as scouts, he directed the rest to move in staggered
threes at either side of the track, so that the entire group was spread out
over almost a hundred yards.
The trees were thinner, and offered less cover, but Tanner was
surprised by how much they could see. The plateau now rose only gently; the
shallow summit of the Balberkamp was less than a mile ahead, while to the east,
the land fell away again only to climb gradually once more. Tanner paused to
scan the landscape around him. It was so still. Nothing stirred up there. He
thought of home, his village in the south of Wiltshire. The birds were
cacophonic at this time of year. And in India, even Palestine, they were always
singing, with a multitude of other noises: insects, cattle, sheep, men
shouting, the exotic wail of the
imam
calling the faithful to prayer. But here, high on
the mountains of Norway, nothing. Just the occasional explosion down in the
valley.