Authors: Richard D. Handy
‘I am sorry, that’s confidential. Business is competitive, as I am sure you understand.’ Heinkel forced a neutral expression.
‘Yep, South Africa is dead keen on keeping things confidential. I am sure our Minister for Trade would be the first to confirm that… ’ Temple leant forward and exhaled a huge cloud of smoke into Heinkel’s face, ‘… but I
still
need to know where you came from in the USA and your route to Cape Town.’
Heinkel’s lungs surged with irritation at the smoke, but he forced himself to keep still.
‘I have come from the Rockefeller Foundation in New York.’ Heinkel gave a wry smile. ‘There is a letter of invitation in my jacket pocket. If I could take it out.’ He gestured towards his own pocket.
Temple nodded and the German produced the letter. It was an embossed letter, inviting him to New York. The letter was genuine. It seemed that Heinkel was an industrialist doing some research on some new engineering techniques for manufacturing. The Rockefeller Foundation was partly sponsoring his research. It was possible. The Rockefeller Foundation was set up in 1913 by the immensely wealthy and philanthropic Rockefeller family. It was well known for sponsoring good causes all over the world, including scientific research.
The Rockefellers were also of German descent, so they probably had some legitimate ties with Germany. They were also immensely powerful, owning half the banking sector of America, and international companies, including ones in South Africa. If this German was really a friend of the Rockefellers, then he might have friends in high places in Cape Town as well.
‘Do you know Mr Rockefeller then?’
‘I have met with him on behalf of the Weimar Republic. My business with Mr Rockefeller brings me here. An errand on my way home, if you like.’
‘I see.’ He nodded slowly.
This was no time for a diplomatic incident with Germany.
‘An errand you say?’
Heinkel maintained a steady tone in his voice. ‘As I mentioned, Germany has interests in the USA and now I have business in Cape Town.’
Temple suddenly spoke with polite formality. ‘Thank you Mr Heinkel. It seems that everything is in order. You’re free to go about your business in Cape Town, for now. However, since you are visiting on behalf of Germany, I am unable to return your passport just yet. Protocol you understand.’
Heinkel gave a hard stare. ‘I appreciate your concern, but I will not be staying long.’
‘Like I said, stick around and you’ll get your documents back when you need to leave.’ Temple drew on the cheroot and exhaled another thick smog.
Heinkel stood slowly and held out his hand. ‘Please, my component… ’
Temple handed over the lump. ‘Stay in town, please, Mr Heinkel… for your own safety of course. The natives… ’
Heinkel gave a blank look. ‘You can count on it.’
‘You are free to go.’ Temple gestured towards the door.
Heinkel gathered his papers, and carefully closed the satchel. ‘I will be back for my documents in a day or so… ’ He turned on his heels and headed for the door.
Heinkel paced briskly into the baking sun, moving up the hill away from the customs house. It was interesting that no one else had been stopped. Did the Africaan know he was coming? If so, how? Was there a security leak or was it really just chance? Some prejudice against the superior German race was to be expected from officials. After all, the German colony of West Africa had been handed over to the South Africans after the last war. The damned Africaans had rubbed salt in the wounds ever since. German settlers in South Africa were on hard times; but not for much longer. The influence and power of the Reich was rising and, with these new weapons, the South Africans and their British puppet masters would be crushed.
Rudy Temple considered the situation. He had no choice. There was no evidence to detain the German; but he was a spy alright! It all made sense. If the Germans were making weapons and getting special materials, what better cover than a German industrialist with influential contacts of the likes of Rockefeller, one of the most powerful men in the world, and with some big investments in mining rights around the globe, including Africa. The Rockefeller connection was worrying. In fact, it changed the game completely. Either the heart of America’s Wall Street was being conned, or the Rockefellers were in on it. The Rockefellers as German agents! Was that really possible? Either way, this German network was bigger and much more powerful than anyone had estimated. It might even explain the Nazi gold being deposited in banks around Southern Africa. Were the Rockefellers buying up Nazi reserves in exchange for industrial favours?
Temple smiled to himself. He would follow this Heinkel, if that was his real name, on his little tour of Cape Town. Then, it would be time to head back to London and break the good news to his buddies at SIS. Sinclair would be overjoyed at this latest revelation.
C
olonel Dornberger paced the room, perplexed by the events of the last twenty-four hours.
Somebody had attempted to abduct one of the scientists, but why?… And how? How in damnation
did
this happen? This was supposed to be one of the most secure military establishments in Germany: but evidently not!
‘Commandant Kessler, tell me again, what happened last night.’ Dornberger needed to understand. The implications could be critical to the rocket programme. Had the secrets of the German rocket programme been revealed?… And why Mayer? What was so special about Mayer? It didn’t make any sense.
‘My investigation is still underway, Colonel, but this is what I have so far.’ Kessler tried to focus on the facts, the taste of failure stuck in his throat – it was strange and uncomfortable. He felt… emotions… felt… unusual… even a little human weakness… a blood-soaked iron cross flashed in front of his eyes.
Kessler dismissed his strange mood and snapped into report mode.
‘My men are still sifting through the debris at the crash site, but at least I have a sequence of events. It was clearly a well organised attempt at abduction, and targeted at Professor Mayer.’
‘Are you sure that Mayer was singled out?’
‘Absolutely, the intruder had asked for him by name, specifically for him and no one else. The orderly on duty had taken the intruder, who he thought to be an officer, directly to the living quarters.’
‘Surely, the orderly would have thought this irregular?’
‘No, it was a professional job. The intruder had a genuine officer’s uniform, and had spoken with authority.’
‘In German, with no unusual accent?’
‘Yes, fluent. His ID had even fooled the guards on the main gate.’
Dornberger could not blame the young soldier for unwittingly helping the intruder find his target.
But who was this imposter?
This was clearly not the work of local partisans or communists. He let his thoughts drift aloud. ‘So, this was a professional soldier. Someone well trained – from the intelligence services perhaps?’
‘All the evidence points to this, but there is more… ’ Kessler paused to drop the next bombshell ‘… The way he handled himself, acquired the uniforms… our man is more than just a soldier. I would say he is a
trained assassin
.’
‘Your friend from the train?’ Dornberger could not see the connection.
‘Yes, from the description; definitely the same man.’
‘Well, the intruder clearly wasn’t German. Who does he work for? The Americans, the Russians, the British?’
‘We don’t know yet, sir, at least not for certain.’
There were so many unanswered questions. How did the pieces of the puzzle fit together? None of this could be a coincidence. In all probability the intrusion on the base was linked to events in Leipzig, and the unfortunate incident on the train to Berlin. The explosion on the train had damaged some of the Professor’s belongings and Kessler had also been attacked by a well-trained assassin – the
same
man. This assassin had taken papers. Why? Was there some secret that the Professor was keeping, or something in his notes of great importance?
‘Commandant, tell me about the train, the explosive device – what do we know?’
‘Well sir, a thorough forensic investigation of the explosive device and the train was carried out and has yielded some useful information. The explosive is a fairly common industrial mix that is used by any number of mining companies, and the like. I am afraid it provides no clues as to the perpetrator. However, we also recovered fragments of the timing device; and that was much more revealing.’ Kessler at last had some good news to report. ‘The device itself was simple and reliable. But whoever planted the bomb had made a mistake – the choice of materials for the timing device. It was made of some fairly sophisticated laminates; an unusual combination of materials. The outer casing was made of Bakelite, but inside there was also a thin layer of a new polymer called nylon. This is far from routine.’
‘What are you saying? Are we dealing with a government-sponsored assassin?’ Dornberger could not believe his ears.
‘Yes, almost certainly.’ Kessler was confident of the forensics. ‘The Bakelite material was identified as British in origin, and is now also used in specialist industrial components. It will not be too difficult to source. Only a handful of companies use this particular type of Bakelite in Europe. The nylon composite was very novel. Only government-sponsored organisations have access to such materials. It must have come from either the British, or perhaps the Americans. Certainly both would have this technology.’ Kessler concluded his report.
‘I don’t understand, what’s the connection to Professor Mayer?’ Dornberger was lost. It didn’t make any sense; professional explosives experts, assassins, the theft of technical documents. Perhaps the papers taken from Commandant Kessler had much more significance? Dornberger followed the line of thought.
‘Is the Professor spying for the Americans? The British? Or does he have something they want?’
‘We do not know that yet sir, but we will when the Professor wakes up.’
‘
If
he wakes up… I understand his injuries were severe.’
Dornberger didn’t relish the situation. He much preferred life as a scientist but, nonetheless, as the base commander he was responsible for the security of the rocket programme. That had to come first. The Professor was connected to something unsavoury and this called for an experienced investigator.
‘I am making you personally responsible for the security of Professor Mayer. I need to know… ’ Dornberger paused with trepidation, he did not necessarily approve of the brutal methods that Kessler sometimes employed, but on this occasion he needed results. ‘… I need to know what the Professor knows, I need him awake and well enough for questioning.’
Kessler stood, and clicked his heels in salute. This was a task that Kessler accepted with enthusiasm; after all he had a score to settle.
The chief medical officer had just finished his examination. There was no change in the Professor’s condition. He remained deeply unconscious. The patient needed constant care, just to stay alive.
‘The news is not good, Commandant. His chances of survival remain less than fifty percent.’
This wasn’t what Kessler wanted to hear. ‘What of the Professor’s mental faculties? When can I question him?’
‘Well… ’ the doctor made his best guess, ‘… there’s no real way of telling until he wakes up.’
‘And when will that be?!’
He gave a shrug, ignoring Kessler’s impatience; he had no idea. ‘The Professor has broken some ribs, and his internal injuries will probably heal in time. However, there is a skull fracture; a nasty depressed fracture where parts of the broken skull are pushing into the brain. An operation is needed to rectify this. It is risky, it’s a very complex procedure; the patient could die on the operating table.’ The surgeon shuddered. If that happened, well, Kessler would not be happy. The alternative was just as grim. ‘Without an operation it is doubtful the patient will ever wake up, so I think the operation should be done.’
‘Well! Proceed with the operation!’ Kessler shook his head; he was surrounded by fools.
‘That is not so easy. He is alive and will need many weeks of rest to recover from his injuries. We have another operation to do on the abdomen to repair some tissue damage and stop some abdominal bleeding. That, I think will be fairly straightforward. Then, in an ideal world, he should recover some more strength. Only then will we see the final result.’
‘Spare
no expense
Doctor,
keep him alive
. Do you understand?’ Kessler hissed the words into the surgeon’s face – he didn’t need to – the surgeon was already terrified. Kessler’s reputation for brutality was well known.
‘Yes, of course Commandant, of course… but… I will need additional supplies… and the help of a specialist neurosurgeon. The head injury is complex. I have a colleague working at the main university hospital in Berlin. In fact, it may be better to move the patient to Berlin… ’
‘No! Absolutely not! For security reasons the Professor will remain here! My men will bring anything you need from the hospital in Berlin; anything at all. They are at your service.’
‘Then bring me a neurosurgeon… ’ The doctor paused, not sure whether he should break all of the bad news to Kessler. ‘We don’t have much time, perhaps only hours. We must do the operation on the skull this morning. Otherwise, the patient will certainly die.’
Kessler acknowledged the seriousness of the situation with a sharp nod, and then turned smartly towards the door. He headed back to his office and immediately set about the task, dispatching a fast car to collect the surgeon from Berlin and to bring any medical instruments that were needed. He would provide the Professor with the best possible medical care, for now at least.
The pigs squealed. Loud, shrill, urgent whining echoed around the damp concrete room. Chains rattled. Animals jostled for position, trying to escape the confined space, occasionally savaging each other, somehow sensing death. The smell of oil skins mixed with the metallic taste of fresh blood.