The Doomsday Decree

by Peter MacAlan

  Heiden was staring at von Knilling thoughtfully. ‘Stenzel? Sturmann Stenzel?’

  Suddenly Heiden banged his fist on his desk.

  ‘That’s the connection!’ He began to burrow in his papers and found what he was looking for. ‘Stenzel went to Münster on a pass and was admitted to the Frederick the Great Hospital. He died there. We had to clean up the mess, the doctor in charge had begun to ask too many questions about the manner of his death. Frederick the Great Hospital! The civilian doctor with whom you were found last night was from that very hospital.’

  He stared up into von Knilling’s eyes. ‘I do not believe in coincidences, Herr Professor. Do you know this Doctor Paul Horder? Was last night’s meeting arranged?’

  Von Knilling shook his head bewilderedly. ‘I don’t understand.’

  Heiden’s mouth was a thin line. ‘When I put two and two together and they make four, then I believe I have done my sums correctly.’ He was reaching for the telephone.

  ‘Security? Heiden here. Get me the record of the interrogation of that civilian doctor, Paul Horder. Oh, and security, I am sending Professor von Knilling across to you. Persuade him to tell you what he knows about Doctor Horder … but be reasonable. He is still needed to work on the project.’

  Von Knilling was white. ‘I know nothing about this doctor,’ he whispered.

  ‘Nothing?’ Heiden smiled thinly. ‘We shall soon find out. In the meantime I am not prepared to accept your attempts to close down this project because of your wild fantasies.’

  He gestured for the guards to take the man out and then reached again for the telephone.

  ‘Get me Berlin,’ he said. After a while he spoke again: ‘Heiden here. Your consignment of liquid oxygen arrived safely from Peenemunde, but where is the supply of alcohol?’

  He paused, listening to the voice at the other end, then said angrily, ‘Excuses will not suffice. The Führer is waiting for the outcome of this project and I shall not be found wanting because of a mix-up about transportation. I want that alcohol here immediately.’

  He slammed down the telephone, paused, then picked it up and demanded a line to the Chancellery. A moment later he was through to the Deputy Leader of the Party and explaining his predicament. Reichsleiter Bormann was sympathetic and promised to do his best to expedite the supply of alcohol for the fuelling systems. He also had some unexpected news.

  ‘By the way, Heiden, the Führer is asking for another personal report from you. He wants you in Berlin the day after tomorrow.’

  Heiden’s jaw dropped.

  ‘But, Herr Reichsleiter, I was in Berlin only … ’

  ‘Nevertheless, Heiden, I think you should come here with a favourable progress report for the Führer. Understand?’

  ‘Yes, Herr Reichsleiter.’

  ‘Excellent.’

  There was a burst of static on the line to announce that Bormann had hung up.

  Heiden replaced the receiver and cursed fluently for five minutes. Then his eyes caught the piece of paper on his desk. Doctor Paul Horder. Frederick the Great Hospital. Stenzel. There was a link. He would find it.

  *

  Paul was conscious of Ilse getting up. He tried to hang onto his dream but could not. Ilse had been asleep when he returned to the apartment at midnight the previous evening. He had felt a twinge of guilt as he slipped off his clothes and went into the bathroom to wash. He had eased into the bed without waking her. She had simply turned and moaned softly in her sleep as Paul snuggled into the warmth of the blankets. Strangely, he found himself feeling no desire for her. Now he heard her filling a kettle and preparing coffee.

  ‘Why are you up so early?’ he protested, reaching for his wristwatch. ‘Jesus! It’s only eight-thirty and it’s Sunday morning.’

  ‘I promised Herr Schoerner I would do some work for him today,’ replied Ilse. ‘And where were you yesterday? I thought we were going out in that new car of yours.’

  ‘I had some emergency work,’ Paul lied.

  Ilse sniffed. ‘Well, you’ll have to cater for yourself today. I won’t be back until late.’

  He had no time to reply before she flounced out of the apartment, slamming the door after her.

  He must have gone back to sleep because some time later he was woken by a tapping at the door. Outside stood a small boy.

  ‘Are you Doctor Horder?’

  Paul nodded.

  The boy thrust a piece of paper into his hand, turned and went scuttling down the stairs.

  Curiously, Paul unfolded the paper and read: ‘Heidsieck. Twelve-Thirty. Urgent. U.’

  It was a note from Ulrich. The Heidsieck was a small cafe on the quayside. Paul glanced at his watch. He was able to wash and dress and reach the cafe with a couple of minutes to spare. Ulrich was already seated at a corner table. He looked nervous.

  ‘The General wants to see you tonight. It’s very urgent.’

  Paul blinked. ‘It’s also very dangerous,’ he protested. ‘I can’t keep getting petrol to go to Dortmund.’

  Ulrich reached into his pocket and slipped an envelope across the table. ‘Coupons for petrol. That’s all I can do for you. They aren’t traceable.’

  Paul still felt ill at ease. ‘Do you know what the General wants?’

  ‘Only that he wants to see you about six o’clock at Linsenbuschstrasse. Number Forty-one. Apartment Five.’

  Paul repeated the address and Ulrich nodded.

  ‘All I can say is that it is urgent enough for the General to risk telephoning me.’

  Ulrich stood up, smiled tightly at Paul and left the cafe. Paul stayed for a bowl of watery vegetable soup, for which no coupons were necessary, and some black bread. It would do for his lunch. Afterwards he made his way to Magda’s apartment. She greeted him with a smile of genuine pleasure and prepared some coffee.

  He told her what had happened to him the previous evening.

  ‘I thought you were going to try something like that.’ She was very serious. ‘The SS are no fools, Paul. They will pass your name over to the Gestapo. The Gestapo will realize that you work at the same hospital as Doctor Klaus.’

  Paul shook his head. ‘They aren’t that clever,’ he assured her. ‘I think you are worrying too much.’

  Sipping his coffee he suddenly asked: ‘Does the name von Knilling mean anything to you? Professor Ludwig von Knilling?’

  She thought a while and then shook her head.

  ‘The name seems so damned familiar,’ Paul said. ‘It’s beginning to irritate me that I can’t place it.’

  ‘Maybe he was a doctor you knew in your student days or something?’ Magda hazarded.

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘How about checking in the Almanac de Gotha? There is a pre-war edition in the Records Department. Von Knilling is an unusual name.’

  ‘Brilliant!’ Paul exclaimed. ‘Let’s go down there right away. I could use the walk anyway.’

  They strolled to the hospital. Magda knew the nurse on duty and they had no difficulties in obtaining the volume. They were lucky.

  ‘Von Knilling … Ludwig!’ Paul exclaimed in triumph as he ran his finger down the columns of the directory. He read the small type of the entry and his eyes grew wide.

  ‘What does it say?’ asked Magda, trying to read his facial expression.

  ‘I knew I’d heard the name before. Von Knilling was at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute in Berlin. He is one of Germany’s leading physicists.’

  ‘A scientist?’

  ‘Yes. A specialist in atomic research.’

  ‘What’s that?’ asked Magda.

  ‘I don’t know much about it,’ confessed Paul. ‘I think Democritus enunciated a theory that the ultimate constituents of all things were tiny particles he called atoms, particles of matter so small that they could not be cut or divided. But physicists like von Knilling have argued that an atom can be split, and if this is done in a controlled way it can release some great force of energy. I’m very hazy on it, but I think t
hat was the basic argument.’

  ‘And this von Knilling is working on Project Wotan?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then where do we go from here?’

  Paul returned the reference book and they made their way out of the hospital.

  ‘You don’t go anywhere, Magda,’ Paul said firmly. ‘There’s no need for you to be mixed up in this any further.’

  The girl pouted. ‘I think I am mixed up in it enough so I should continue to be involved.’

  Paul sighed. ‘Well, the next step is mine. I have to go and see my Widerstand contact in Dortmund. Then I want to try to contact von Knilling and find out what is happening on the project. I want to see how much he said last night was the alcohol talking and how much was genuine fear about some new kind of bomb.’

  ‘But will you be able to find von Knilling?’

  ‘I don’t know. First things first.’

  He suddenly smiled. ‘I don’t have to go to Dortmund until this evening. How about going to a movie and then finding somewhere for a cheap meal?’

  ‘That sounds marvellous. Perhaps we can forget this damned war for a few hours.’

  *

  It was exactly seven o’clock when Paul braked the Porsche in the Linsenbuschstrasse opposite number 41. A man emerged from the shadows, came up to the car and peered into his face.

  ‘Doctor Horder?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Give me your ignition key. I’ll park your car in a safe place.’

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘Just a friend. There are some garages at the back of the houses here. I shall put your car inside one of them and leave the key under the seat. We don’t want any inquisitive patrols coming by and making a note of your vehicle.’

  ‘I suppose that makes good sense.’

  ‘You’ll find your car in a garage marked with a triangle. It won’t be locked.’

  Paul handed over the key and walked up the steps of number 41. It had been a nice house once. He crossed the marble-flagged hallway and began to ascend the stairs. In the darkness of the first landing someone struck a match to light a cigarette. The flame revealed a broad-shouldered man in a soft felt hat and raincoat. He did not speak, so Paul kept climbing until he came to the second landing. Apartment 5 was marked with a small porcelain number plate. He knocked.

  The General opened the door himself. ‘Come in, my boy. Come in.’

  Paul allowed the elderly man to remove his overcoat and present him with a glass of Schnapps. The General gestured for him to be seated.

  ‘First, tell me your news,’ the General invited. ‘Were you able to follow the convoy?’

  Paul told him what had happened.

  ‘Damn!’ The General looked worried. ‘That was bad luck, being picked up by the SS.’

  ‘Yes. But at least I have identified von Knilling. I think that if I can see him again for a few moments I might be able to clear up the entire mystery.’

  The general pursed his lips thoughtfully.

  ‘The main reason why I asked Ulrich to get you here tonight is that I have a way to get you into Project Wotan. However, I didn’t know that you had been questioned by their security. That might cause a problem.’

  Paul was puzzled. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Through our contacts we have discovered the exact location of the site. It is, as you suspected, in the heart of the Grunewald. Tomorrow evening I have someone coming here who will be able to drive directly to the main gate of the site.’

  ‘How?’ demanded Paul.

  ‘He was one of the construction truck drivers during the building of the installation there. He is now a Widerstand member. The plan I had was that you could go to the site pretending you were lost … but now … ’

  Paul was eager: ‘I’m willing to try it.’

  ‘The security might recognize you, and … ’The General paused a moment, gazing at Paul. Then he said: ‘Maybe all is not lost, though.’

  He suddenly strode to the door and called, ‘Hans!’

  A moment later the broad-shouldered man appeared in the doorway. The General held a hurried conversation with him, then turned back to Paul.

  ‘You say that you are prepared to take risks?’

  Paul nodded with a wry grin. ‘I thought that was what I had been doing.’

  ‘I mean real risks, like going back to Project Wotan and taking the chance that you might be recognized.’

  ‘I’m willing to do that.’

  The General nodded. ‘Then we can minimize the risk by providing you with a disguise and different papers. There is at least a chance … a chance of getting you into the project site so you could find and speak to von Knilling. If we can find out what is happening there it might be of tremendous importance.’

  ‘I’m willing,’ Paul said again.

  ‘Good!’ exclaimed the General. ‘You have just volunteered for a hazardous mission.’ He thrust a pencil and a sheet of paper toward Paul. ‘Write down your clothes measurements and then give me a sample of your handwriting: sign the name of … of Reinhold Geiber … That’s good.’

  The General took the sheet of paper and gave it to the impassive, burly man still standing at the door. After a brief conversation the man departed.

  ‘You must return here tomorrow evening, about the same time. Can you do that?’ asked the General, turning back to Paul.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Think?’ snapped the General.

  ‘I will be here.’

  ‘Good. Return home now. But be sure to be here tomorrow.’

  Paul stood up and put on his overcoat. At the door he hesitated. ‘Why is the Widerstand suddenly interested in this Project Wotan?’ he asked.

  The General met Paul’s gaze squarely. ‘We have been making some enquiries in Berlin. It seems that Wotan is a highly secret project. We could not find out the names of anyone involved until you came up with that of Professor von Knilling. I will send it off to Berlin immediately. It might lead to something. The only thing we know now is that Wotan has something to do with the development of one of the Führer’s vengeance weapons. Our leadership badly want to know what it is.’

  Paul hesitated, then nodded and said firmly, ‘I’ll be here tomorrow night, Herr Generaloberst.’

  Chapter Twelve

  The Brigadeführer had been kept waiting in the anteroom of the Chancellery for two hours under the watchful eyes of black-uniformed members of Hitler’s elite SS Leibstandarte bodyguard — two hours during which he silently fumed while outwardly trying to look nonchalant.

  Once again, on some whim of the Fuhrer, he had faced the perils of an early morning flight to Tempelhof and a drive across the ravaged capital to the Chancellery. Even during the week since he had last been in the capital things had changed. Deep craters were everywhere around the Chancellery building. Along Wilhelmstrasse there were fallen, scorched trees and masses of debris. Even the entrance to the Chancellery from Wilhelmstrasse was blocked with rubble and visitors had to use a side entrance. The Soviets were closing in from the east while the Allies were devastating the capital from the skies. It was such a wasteful trip, such a perilous journey, and for what? To be kept waiting, all day perhaps, until someone reminded the Fuhrer that he was there?

  He was examining his watch for the hundredth time when a door opened and the gross figure of Martin Bormann appeared.

  ‘Good to see you, Heiden. The Fuhrer is anxious to talk with you.’

  Heiden stood up, his lips compressed. ‘I have been waiting here two hours, Herr Reichsleiter,’ he protested.

  To his surprise Bormann merely grinned. The pudgy man took his arm in a friendly manner.

  ‘Well, as soon as you have answered the questions which the Führer wishes to put to you, we can despatch you back to Münster. You’ll be back at your project site by this evening.’

  He guided Heiden through a pair of doors into a large chamber beyond. The room had a gloomy atmosphere. Heavy curtains were drawn across the windo
ws. A battery of low-hung lamps illuminated a large table in the room on which several maps were spread.’ As Heiden entered he was aware of the thick-pile carpet, the dark oak panelling hung with tapestries, the paintings and the sculptures standing on plinths. Above a central fireplace, in which a blazing log fire burned, hung a sombre painting of a helmeted Bismarck. Heiden recognized the famous portrait by Lenbach, but it seemed to him that the old Chancellor and creator of Greater Germany stared down in disapproval on those below. Numerous generals, admirals and their aides stood or sat around the room while liveried servants waited to serve drinks.

  Standing at the far end of the table, leaning on it with both hands, head depressed against his chest and shoulders hunched, stood the Führer. He was still the pale, shaky little figure of Heiden’s previous visit. Glancing round the room, Heiden had the impression of an island of luxury and peace surrounded by the debris of a world gone mad. He walked forward and gave the Hitler salute.

  For a moment the dark, malevolent eyes of the Führer gazed on him. Then the eyes passed on and the Führer was speaking to one of his officers.

  ‘Finish your report, General.’

  Heiden recognized the stiff, upright figure of Heinz Guderian, who replied: ‘There can be no doubt of the accuracy of this report, my Führer. Marshall Koniev’s First Ukraine Army has now completely encircled Breslau and cut it off. General Sachsenheimer reported that the encirclement began last Wednesday with Soviet armour using the Kanth-Breslau Autobahn to complete the manoeuvre. His units tried to keep a passage open, but they are now totally cut off.’

  Hitler’s cheek was twitching. ‘Who is Gauleiter in Breslau?’ he demanded.

  ‘Hanke, my Fuhrer,’ Bormann immediately supplied the answer.

  ‘Contact Hanke and tell him that the entire city is now to be recruited into the Volkssturm. If the Russians get into the city, it must be over the bodies of every last inhabitant!’

  Guderian blinked and swallowed. ‘My Fuhrer … ’ he began, ‘surely you do not … ’

  Hitler turned a trembling face towards the Wehrmacht general. ‘You will make it clear to the commanders in Breslau that the law of hostages still pertains. Remind them that their families are held responsible for their actions. If any man of the Breslau garrison falters in his duty to his Fuhrer and the Reich, then his family will be held responsible and executed immediately. No man is to surrender. I will not have another Stalingrad; I will not have another von Paulus betraying his troops to the enemy! I will not!’