“Do they realise they are putting their lives in danger?”
“No, no,” Berkeley pointed out. “It is Grippenheimer’s life that is in danger.”
She gulped. Her brain was obviously running round in circles, but at least she hadn’t thought to ask how he had known to come to Germany in the first place.
But Hitler! Yet there could be no question of what he had to do. His duty to his family came before his duty to anyone else . . . even if he had been paid in advance.
“Martina,” Berkeley said, “go and pack. We leave in an hour. Now, Alexandros, I would like you to stay here with Frau Lipschuetz, just in case she gets any odd ideas about leaving.”
“Suppose she tries?”
“I think you could break her arm.”
“You . . .” Frederika looked from face to face. “You would not dare! You would be arrested.”
“And you’d have a broken arm. You pay your money and you take your choice. Whereas all you have to do is sit tight . . .”
“You will take me to Berlin? That is kidnapping.”
“Only in a manner of speaking. Just behave. I won’t be five minutes, Alexandros.”
“Listen,” Frederika said. “I have to stay here. The Fuehrer is addressing a mass rally in the beer cellar on Thursday night. That is why I came back to Munich.”
“And tonight is Tuesday,” Berkeley said. “There is every possibility we will be back by then. But even if we’re not, I’m sure he won’t miss you. And I’m sure you’ve heard everything he has to say, a hundred times.”
He went upstairs to pack, was joined by Lockwood.
“Bit of a turn-up, isn’t it?”
“Shouldn’t be. We can come back here after we get Anna. It’s going our way, Harry. Hitler is going to be at a political rally on Thursday night, so we couldn’t possibly touch him then. He’ll be going up to Berchtesgaden after that, on the weekend. We’ll be back by then.”
“With Anna?”
“That’s something I shall have to work out. Once we get her back, I’m not keen on letting her out of my sight, except with someone entirely trustworthy.”
Lockwood gave him an old-fashioned look. “I assume you don’t have Savos in mind?”
“Not really.”
“My business is to back you up in this Hitler job.”
“I think Savos and Martina can do that.”
“And if there’s trouble in Berlin?”
“Let’s hope there isn’t. But . . . no one, and nothing, is going to stop me getting Anna.”
“Amen.” Lockwood agreed.
*
The car was a five-seater, so it was a fairly comfortable drive. Munich to Berlin was something over three hundred miles, and needing to stop for petrol more than once, and to have some dinner a few hours after leaving Munich, it was dawn before they reached the capital. Berkeley checked them in at an inexpensive hotel, told Lockwood and the Savoses to get some sleep, then, exhausted as he was, and as he knew she was too, took Frederika for a reconnaissance.
Grippenheimer’s house was a splendid, several-storeyed affair just off the Unter den Linden. And as Frederika had indicated, there was a man with bodyguard written all over him standing outside the front door.
“What about the back?”
“That is guarded too. It is not only Grippenheimer, you know. There is his art collection, and his porcelain . . .”
“And his girls.”
“Them too. Listen. You are determined to do this?”
“Of course I am. Anna is my daughter.”
“But if it could be done without a fuss . . .”
“I’m open to offers.”
“Will you trust me to see what I can do?”
He gazed at her. But he had very little choice. However much Grippenheimer’s house might actually be a brothel, it wasn’t a public one. There was no way he was going to get in without an invitation, save by storming the place, and that really wasn’t practical; his team might get in, but he didn’t see them getting back out again. And that wasn’t going to help Anna.
“What can you do?”
“If I can get you into Grippenheimer’s house, legitimately, will you let me go?”
“To go back to Munich and the beer cellar?” He shrugged. Frederika certainly couldn’t be trusted to back him up if there was trouble. “All right. How do you get us in?”
“There is to be a party here on Thursday night as well. A huge affair. Grippenheimer throws these every so often, inviting everyone his secretaries can think of, especially newcomers and visitors to Berlin. Most of these people he has never even seen, much less met. But I am sure he will wish to see you again, Berkeley, after meeting you in the Goering house in 1920. I can obtain an invitation for you.”
“I’ll need four.”
She shrugged. “I can do that. You will need evening dress.”
“Understood. Don’t let me down on this, Frederika.”
“I will not. I would only ask you to be careful . . . and under no circumstances involve me.”
“Won’t you be involved if you obtain those invitations?”
“You are an old acquaintance, as Grippenheimer knows. You are in Berlin, and you have requested an invitation to his party. I know nothing of your plans or your daughter. He will not consider me to have been involved, unless you tell him.”
Berkeley nodded. “I shall not. And thanks for everything.”
She regarded him for a few seconds. “Will I see you again?”
“I don’t really know. That depends on how things work out here. I may well return to Munich.”
“I should like that,” she said. “I know we have had our differences in the past, but I have a high regard for you.”
“Keep it that way,” Berkeley said. “Now, we both have things to do.”
He returned to the hotel, and went to bed. When he awoke, in time to join the others for lunch, he told them what had been arranged.
“Then what is your plan?” Savos asked.
“Once we are in the house, at this party, I propose to, firstly, make sure that Anna is there, and secondly, to have a chat with Grippenheimer. What we do will be as a result of that chat, but I wish you all to be ready to shoot your way out if necessary. One shot from me will be the signal. Then we get out, with Anna, and drive for the border into Poland. It is the closest. Once we are in Poland, we can reassess our situation.”
“You say we must wear evening dress,” Martina said. “I have no evening dress.”
“You will go out and buy one, this afternoon. I will give you the money.”
She clapped her hands in delight.
*
“You’re meaning to go back to Munich,” Lockwood said.
“That’s right. There’s time, if Hitler isn’t going up to Berchtesgaden until Friday or Saturday.”
“But you’re not taking Anna.”
“No. As I told you, you will take Anna back to England.”
“You will still need a back-up.”
“I’ll have a chat with Savos. After we get Anna.”
“And if he won’t play?”
“Then I’ll do it on my own. But as I told you, I know he’ll play.”
“You’d be committing suicide.”
Berkeley grinned. “Now, how many times have I been told that? Now let’s go and get ourselves togged up. With Alexandros.”
When they returned to the hotel that evening there was an envelope waiting for them, and inside, as Frederika had promised, there were four invitations to Herr von Grippenheimer’s party, with only the names to be filled in.
“Good old Frederika,” Berkeley said. “She’s come up trumps.”
She’d be on her way back to Munich now, he supposed. He wondered if she’d mention his presence in Germany to anyone? But of course, both Hess and Carin Goering already knew that.
Their suits had necessarily been ready-to-wear, and had required some alterations in each case, but they would be ready the next morn
ing. Martina’s dress, however, was a perfect fit, and she paraded before them in her bedroom; it was off the shoulder and deep crimson, fitting perfectly with her dark hair.
“I wouldn’t be surprised if Grippenheimer offers to accept you in exchange for Anna,” Berkeley remarked.
“In that case, I will personally shoot him in the balls,” Savos said.
“Just remember, no shooting until I do,” Berkeley said.
Was he still hoping for a miracle?
It was a long Thursday. The four of them wandered about the city, visited the Zoo, did everything tourists were supposed to do. And collected their dinner suits. In the early evening they returned to the hotel, bathed and dressed, and inspected each other.
“Weapons,” Berkeley said.
Savos had an automatic pistol of Austrian manufacture, small and neat, which fitted into his hip pocket with hardly a bulge. Martina’s was of the same design, and she had bought herself a deep red handbag to go with her gown and shoes, in which she would carry the gun.
“But I have no jewellery,” she complained. “I should have jewellery.”
“I don’t think anyone is going to notice,” Berkeley said, regarding her decolletage.
He and Lockwood had slightly more difficulty with the somewhat large Brownings, but these were tucked into the back of their waistbands. They put a spare magazine each in their jacket pockets.
At eight o’clock, they loaded the car with their gear, Berkeley paid the bill, and they drove to the Grippenheimer mansion. Berkeley left the car parked down a side street; this was some distance away, but he regarded that as a better situation than to be caught up in the thick traffic proceeding in and out of the mansion yard.
They then walked round the corner to the house.
“My God, it is cold,” Martina complained.
“It was your idea to be half-naked,” Berkeley pointed out.
“I should have bought a wrap,” Martina said. “But you did not give me enough money.”
“Think of all that champagne,” Berkeley said, and then hoped she wouldn’t drink too much of it.
The forecourt was as crowded as he had expected it to be, with cars parked bumper to bumper. That was all to the good, as his wasn’t involved; it would take any pursuers some time to extricate themselves. The doormen, of whom there were several, made no comment at the four guests turning up on foot, no doubt assuming their taxi had dropped them on the street rather than risk entanglement in the chaos inside the gates.
Their invitations were scrutinised, and then they found themselves in a vast parquet-floored lobby, from which a broad double staircase led up to the first floor. A flunkey hurried forward to take their hats and coats, and did a double-take when he realised that there were only hats.
“The weather is so good,” Berkeley told him.
That brought another double-take; it was just starting to drizzle outside.
They escorted Martina up the stairs, at the top of which there was a major-domo, who took their invitations, and announced them: “Colonel Berkeley Townsend, Mr Harry Lockwood, Colonel Alexandros Savos, and Mrs Savos.”
Heads turned politely; inside there was a considerable throng of elegant men and women, in keeping with the room itself, a vast area of parquet flooring, in the centre of which there was an ornamental fountain, occupied by a Cupid who constantly flowed water. The ceiling was high, the drapes over the huge windows vastly expensive; a small orchestra played quietly in a far corner, while against the walls had been pushed numbers of settees and comfortable chairs to suggest that the room might be quite habitable in normal circumstances. The walls themselves were lined with paintings, as well as cabinets containing the famous collection of porcelain. More to Berkeley’s interest, amongst the guests there circulated several quite beautiful girls, also wearing evening gowns; at a first, quick inspection, Anna was not to be seen.
But Grippenheimer was. He hurried towards them, unceremoniously pushing his guests aside.
“Colonel Townsend,” he gushed. “How good to see you, after all these years. And Mr Lockwood. And . . .” he peered at Savos and Martina.
“Two very old friends, who happen to be touring with me,” Berkeley explained. “Alexandros Savos and his wife, Martina.”
“Savos,” Grippennheimer said thoughtfully. “We have never met, have we, Herr Savos?”
“Not to my knowledge,” Savos said.
“There is something familiar about your name.”
As there would be, Berkeley thought, if Grippenheimer regularly raided Balkan brothels for his harem.
“It is a common name, in Serbia,” Savos said blandly.
“Well, you must circulate. Champagne.” He signalled a waiter. “I wish you had let me know you were coming,” he told Berkeley. “I would have made arrangements for your entertainment.”
“It is a flying visit,” Berkeley said.
“Still working for the British Government, eh?”
“Not tonight,” Berkeley said, with perfect truth. “I’m retired.”
“And you are so young. We must talk. Oh, yes, we must talk. Now come.” He personally escorted Berkeley into the throng, introduced people, leaving them in no doubt that Berkeley was an important friend. Why, he wondered?
“I never did find out,” he remarked. “Is there a Frau Grippenheimer?”
“No. Wives are a nuisance. My girls provide me with all the female company I require.” He beckoned one of them to come to him. She was black-haired and prettily plump. Grippenheimer put his arm round her shoulders to give her a squeeze and she kissed him on the cheek. But her eyes were dead. “You see?” Grippenheimer asked. “Listen. You will spend the night here, and I will let you sample them. Would you like this one?”
“Can’t I have a look at all of them first?” Berkeley asked.
“Ha ha. You are a connoisseur, eh? But of course. Later. When the party is over. Now let me see, this is . . .”
“Berkeley Townsend!” Julia Hudson said.
“Good lord,” Berkeley said.
“You two know each other?” Grippenheimer asked.
“We are old friends,” Julia said. “We virtually grew up together.”
“How very nice.” Grippenheimer’s expression indicated that there was no accounting for tastes; Julia, tall and gaunt, was obviously not to his. “I must leave you now; some more guests have arrived.”
“I would never have expected to see you at a gathering like this,” Julia remarked.
“Snap. But Hans and I are old friends.”
“I see. Dick and I are here because we’re on the embassy staff, I imagine. You do realise our host is a top Nazi?”
“Who isn’t?” Berkeley said. “Which would be your husband?”
“Over there.” She nodded her head in the direction of a group of men. “The tall one with the big nose.”
“Lucky for some,” Berkeley said. “I must circulate.”
He moved further into the room, looking over the appointments. There were double doors at the rear, but as he watched these swung open to admit various waiters with trays of canapes, so behind there were the kitchen and pantries, he estimated. To the right, another rather grand staircase climbed one wall. Getting up there shouldn’t be too difficult, he reckoned; it was simply a matter of going to the toilet.
He caught Lockwood’s eye on the far side of the room. Both men shook their heads at the same time. So where the devil was she?
Savos and Martina were being engaged in conversation by another couple, but Berkeley was pleased to see that Savos was also keeping his eye on the room.
But clearly none of them had yet seen Anna. To start something without knowing if she was actually here would be utterly senseless. And Grippenheimer had promised that he could see them all after the party. But he did not wish to wait until then, for two reasons. One was emotional; if he was really under the same roof as Anna he wanted to do something about it now. The second was practical; if he could find Anna, and confront
Grippenheimer and tell him he was taking the girl, he considered he would have a better chance of getting her, and the others, out of the house without violence while it was still packed with guests, than when it might be just the four of them, and Anna, facing a household that would be empty save for as many thugs as Grippenheimer had at his beck and call – he suspected there might be quite a few.
In any event, a reconnaissance could do no harm.
“Champagne, sir?”
Berkeley turned, frowning, and did a double-take of his own.
“Sir?” The waiter had recognised him as well.
“You . . .” Berkeley said. “Cohn! David Cohn!”
“The English gentleman!” David Cohn exclaimed.
“May I ask what you are doing here?”
“My wife and I operate a catering company,” Cohn explained. “We are handling the arrangements for this party.”
“But Grippenheimer is a Nazi, and you . . .”
Cohn shrugged. “I am a Jew. Herr Grippenheimer would not give me time on the street. But he likes good food, and ours is the best. But you, sir . . . I am so happy to see you again.”
“Are you? Then you can help me. Where are the girls’ rooms situated.”
“On the third floor.” Cohn’s frown was back. “But you should not go up there, sir. No one is allowed on that floor save by personal invitation from Herr Grippenheimer.”
“I think he’ll forgive me,” Berkeley said. “He’s been offering me his girls for years. Do give my regards to your wife.”
“She is here tonight. In the kitchen. She would love to meet you again, sir. But for your interference that night we might have been very badly beaten.”
“Then I’ll come out back to say hello. After I’ve had a look upstairs.”
Cohn was now both puzzled and worried. “Is there something specific you are looking for, sir?”
“Yes,” Berkeley said, and went to Lockwood. “I’m going to the toilet,” he said. “Just keep watching the stairs.”
Lockwood nodded.
Berkeley crossed the room, smiling at various people who would have spoken with him, went up the stairs. Halfway up he passed three women coming down, chattering animatedly to each other. But none of them could be described as girls.
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