“It must be a terrible weight on his mind,” Ulrike said softly. “He was a sensitive person.”
“He tried to get over it by resolving never to speak or think about it again, but it was hopeless, of course. He’s one of those rare people who would genuinely like to begin a new life.”
“What sort of life?
“Ah, that’s the vital question. Perhaps you’d like to ask him about it yourself ?”
Ulrike had turned very pale. “You mean it would be possible for me to speak to Rainer in person—here in Berlin?”
“That’s precisely what I mean,” said Prévert. “When I looked at my watch earlier I was only making sure we wouldn’t miss the arrival of a certain aeroplane. Will you come with me?”
“Yes,” she said, then added: “But I shan’t know how to behave.”
“Behave naturally,” Prévert advised her. “I’ll give you a few hints on the way to Templehof. The rest I leave to your instinct.”
“I feel absolutely at sea.”
“You’re wrong,” Prévert smiled encouragingly. “I’m the only one who’s entitled to feel that. I feel as though I had just handed over the keys of a safe. I may be the only person who knows the combination, but without the key I’m powerless to open it—and the key is in your hand, mademoiselle.”
INTERIM REPORT
FURTHER DOCUMENTS, NOTES AND RECORDS RELATING TO EVENTS IN BERLIN
Extracts from notes made by Lieutenant Felix Steinbeisser, formerly a serving officer in the so-called National People’s Army. Steinbeisser graduated from the ranks of the Free German Youth and, after a spell of regimental duty, joined the East German Ministry of Defence as a political staff officer. In 1957 he left the German Democratic Republic because of a “crisis of conscience” and transferred his allegiance to West Germany, where he set up as a military expert on Eastern affairs. The following notes, which he described as an expert opinion, were supplied in return for a fee:
“Although he kept himself in the background, General Tanz was a prominent figure in the National People’s Army. If he lacked popularity, it was because he seemed either unable or unwilling to come to terms with the political questions of the day. He was strictly a soldier.
“After his capture in Silesia he spent several crucial years in the Soviet Union, and although his name was never explicitly mentioned in connection with the ‘National Committee for Free Germany,’ I regard it as conceivable that he maintained some degree of contact with that body.
“General Tanz probably played a major role in the creation of the National People’s Army and is said to have been responsible for much of its high-level planning. From March 1955 onwards he was transferred to active duty in the Dresden area, where he commanded an armoured corps.
“In 1956 General Tanz withdrew from the public gaze, and I have never (officially) heard of him since. My innate respect for historical accuracy forbids me to discuss current speculation on the subject.”
Extracts from instructions given to Kahlenberge by Professor Kahlert, formerly a captain on General von Seydlitz-Gabler’s staff. They have been reconstructed from notes made available by Herr Kahlenberge.
“First I must extend our sincere thanks to you for offering to give this lecture. When I say ‘our’ I am referring to a group of people with similar ideals. Our political club, whose full title is the Society for the Revival and Protection of Traditional Responsibilities—’The Traditionalist Club’ for short—draws its membership from distinguished ex-officers, patriotic students, reliable graduates from other associations of various kinds, responsible scientists and enlightened artists. In short, you will have an audience to whom you can speak bluntly and with the candour of an old army man.
“I hardly need tell you that we believe in complete freedom of thought. This does not, of course, mean that we fail to uphold the inalienable validity of certain fundamental national rights. I say this solely for your information and in the implicit belief that in your case, my dear sir, such explanations are totally superfluous. If I give them nevertheless, it is purely a matter of routine.
“Bear in mind, first, that the reunification to which we all aspire so earnestly has always been imperilled by the other side, never by us; secondly, that ours is the only Germany with a claim to sovereignty; thirdly, that Bonn is not Pankow; and, fourthly, that if Germans ever start shooting each other we should be quite clear from the outset which side the good German is on. Ours is the only just cause.
“But why am I telling you all this? You must be fully alive to the true state of affairs in Germany today. You were a general. If we cannot rely on men like you, on whom can we rely?”
Telephone conversation between the Ministry of the Interior, East Berlin, and Central Police Headquarters, Warsaw. The speakers: Detective-Inspector Liebig of Dresden and Detective-Inspector Roman Liesowski of Warsaw. This conversation was noted down by the East German renegade whose shorthand records have been quoted in an earlier interim report. It was conducted in German.
Liebig: “I got your wire about the possible connection between Warsaw 1942 and Dresden 1956.”
Liesowski: “It’s only a possibility. Not having seen your files I can’t give a firm opinion.”
Liebig: “I had a long conversation with Monsieur Prévert of the Sûreté today. Do you know him?”
Liesowski: “Only by reputation.”
Liebig: “Prévert has particulars of a third case which occurred in Paris in 1944. I’ve looked through them. The details bear an astonishing resemblance to those of the Dresden case.”
Liesowski: “It can’t be pure coincidence.”
Liebig: “No, but what if Prévert’s got something up his sleeve?”
Liesowski: “Look, you’re dealing with a sex crime, that’s all. What are you scared of?”
Liebig: “Nothing I can put my finger on. I just feel uneasy about working with the man. He’s a tricky customer. That’s why I’d like you to come to Berlin.”
Liesowski: “I’ll take the first ‘plane—be with you by midday tomorrow. We’ll see what happens then.”
Instructions given to Ulrike von Seydlitz-Gabler by Prévert during the drive from the Restaurant Kopenhagen to Templehof Airport. Their gist was as follows:
“Try to give the impression that your meeting was accidental. Don’t go rushing at him. On the contrary, give him a chance to recognize you. He’ll need a moment or two to get used to the idea.
“The more you get him to talk about himself, preferably in general terms, the less likelihood there will be of his asking you awkward questions—though in my experience people remember the questions they’ve asked far better than the answers they get.
“I’m most anxious to create a pleasant atmosphere for Hartmann. I want him to feel at home—and therefore secure.
“Try to put over the following points: it’s never advisable to travel into the Eastern sector in the evening or at night, so it would be better if he spent the night on this side of the border. Advise him to stay at the Pension Phoenix in the Nürnberger Strasse. Here’s the address. I’ve made sure there’s a room available for him.
“The main thing is: don’t mention my name if there’s any way of avoiding it. As soon as he hears it he’ll know what’s going on. I promise you I’ll tell him in due course, but if he found out prematurely it could be dangerous. For whom? I don’t want to worry you unnecessarily.”
3
Early the following morning a young man appeared at the Hotel am Kurfürstendamm. He wore a tight-fitting grey worsted suit and was carrying two capacious, almost new briefcases, one in either hand..
When the page-boy on duty tried to take one of the briefcases the young man gave him a curt “No thank you” and marched up to the reception desk.
The chief receptionist studied the approaching figure attentively. He found himself unable to classify it with his accustomed precision, which stimulated his curiosity. Perhaps the young man had wandered into the hotel by mistake, but
judging by his air of solid self-assurance this seemed unlikely.
“General von Seydlitz-Gabler,” said the young man.
The chief receptionist pretended not to know what was expected of him. “I beg your pardon?”
The young man looked as though he were incapable of being disconcerted or over-awed. His eyes, which had an appraising glint, were slightly narrowed like those of a man squinting along the sights of a rifle. He continued to grasp the briefcases firmly in both hands.
“I’d like to speak to General von Seydlitz-Gabler.”
“In what connection?”
“That’s none of your business,” said the young man with compelling simplicity.
The chief receptionist bridled almost imperceptibly. The youth was right. It wasn’t any of his business, but there was no need to be grossly offensive about it. People just didn’t talk to chief receptionists like that—thought the chief receptionist. The young man evidently had no such inhibitions.
“I can’t stand around here all day.”
“What name shall I give?” The chief receptionist was breathing heavily now, like someone who was being forced to run up a mountainside at pistol-point. With barely concealed animosity, he added: “Your name, please.”
“My name is unimportant.”
“Really, sir!” expostulated the chief receptionist, on the verge of losing his self-control. “What do you mean? I can’t just tell General von Seydlitz-Gabler…”
“Yes, you can,” said the young man with undiminished composure. “All you need say is that I’m here on the orders of General Tanz.”
The chief receptionist picked up the ‘phone and asked to be put through to General von Seydlitz-Gabler’s suite, eyeing the young man with mounting repugnance as he did so.
The object of his resentment stood there surveying his surroundings like a yokel on a village green. The luxuriously appointed foyer appeared to leave him completely unmoved. On the contrary, the chief receptionist thought he detected a look of unalloyed disdain in his eyes. He was tempted to wag his head reprovingly, but his telephone conversation temporarily precluded any such display of emotion.
“The General is expecting you,” he said reluctantly. “I’ll have you taken up to his suite.” He snapped his fingers for a page-boy.
The young man followed the boy to the lift, still carrying his two briefcases and striding across the Persian carpets as if they were a stretch of asphalt.
Upstairs, von Seydlitz-Gabler was already awaiting his visitor. He stood in the centre of the sitting-room of his suite clad in a blue silk dressing-gown, a grey silk scarf at his throat and his feet thrust into a pair of stylish travelling-slippers. He looked benevolently paternal.
“Well, my boy,” he inquired sonorously, “what have you got for me?”
“A letter from General Tanz, sir.” The young man put down one of his briefcases, felt in his pocket and produced an envelope.
Von Seydlitz-Gabler’s practised eye immediately spotted what the chief receptionist had failed to comprehend. The young man confronting him was a soldier in civilian clothes. From his manner he could only have one function-that of personal orderly.
“Name?” von Seydlitz-Gabler asked benignly.
“Wyzolla, Alfred, sir,” came the prompt reply.
“Rank?”
“Sergeant, sir.”
“Which arm?”
“Infantry, sir.”
“Excellent,” declared von Seydlitz-Gabler in tones of approval, and devoted himself to the contents of the letter which he had been handed. It was written on unheaded paper in a large, imposing hand, and ran as follows:
My dear General,
Many thanks for your extremely cordial letter. I have never forgotten the momentous hours which I was privileged to spend in your company. I gratefully accept your kind invitation and look forward to seeing you again. Please convey my warmest regards to your lady wife.
Yours very sincerely,
Wilhelm Tanz
Von Seydlitz-Gabler scanned the strong, angular characters intently for a moment. They marched across the paper like columns of well-disciplined soldiers, visible testimony of General Tanz’s fighting spirit. Then he went into the bedroom next door.
Frau Wilhelmine was just putting the finishing touches to her toilette. Seeing her husband’s reflection, agreeably reduced in size, in the mirror before her, she turned to him with an indulgent smile. Von Seydlitz-Gabler held out the letter.
“He’s coming,” he announced with scarcely suppressed triumph. “You see—a few lines from me did the trick, even after all this time.” He bent forward confidentially. “Do you know, it’s suddenly like old times again—I can feel it. Tanz has sent an orderly along in advance, just as he always did. A fine youngster—first-rate material. It’s deplorable to think of a lad like that serving under the Communists!”
Frau Wilhelmine steered her husband back to the point with her usual objectivity. “You ought to invite General Tanz to lunch.”
“An excellent idea.”
“Especially as Ulrike will be eating with us. I call that a fortunate coincidence. We must make the most of it.”
Von Seydlitz-Gabler nodded and returned to the sitting-room, where he found Wyzolla, Alfred, standing exactly where he had left him. The boy was evidently waiting for instructions, directions or orders, and von Seydlitz-Gabler was only too happy to supply them.
“Right!” he exclaimed with youthful zest. “What’s the form?”
The position, as summed up by Wyzolla, was as follows: Tanz had sent him on ahead with instructions to hand over the letter and then make sure that suitable accommodation, i.e., a hotel room, was available. If so, he was to make immediate preparations for the General’s arrival; if not, he was to inform the General without delay. The General had travelled up to East Berlin for a conference. Unless otherwise notified, he would automatically arrive at the Hotel am Kurfürstendamm in three hours’ time, at l p.m.
“First-class organization,” von Seydlitz-Gabler commented admiringly, “but only what I should have expected. We’ve made some arrangements too.”
They had—on Kahlenberge’s advice. A suite had already been reserved for Tanz, and it proved easy enough to obtain a comparatively modest single room for Wyzolla.
Wyzolla picked up his briefcases, froze smartly to attention in a way that gladdened von Seydlitz-Gabler’s heart, and betook himself to the suite which had been earmarked for General Tanz.
Once there, Wyzolla alerted chamber-maids, floor waiters and valets and issued them with precise instructions on how to cater for General Tanz’s needs. He then instituted and supervised the spring-cleaning of the entire suite. When this had been carried out to his satisfaction—not that he voiced it—he dismissed the staff and carefully unpacked the contents of his briefcases.
Meanwhile, von Seydlitz-Gabler rang Kahlenberge and informed him, with an unmistakable note of self-congratulation in his voice, of General Tanz’s forthcoming visit. “He wasted no time in accepting my invitation. I should welcome it if you could turn up at my suite for coffee, any time after two.”
Kahlenberge thanked him and promptly rang Prévert. “Tanz is arriving about midday,” he told him.
Prévert asked for details and Kahlenberge repeated his conversation with von Seydlitz-Gabler word for word. “That’s all I know at the moment, but it’s good enough for the time being. I’ll be seeing Tanz shortly after two, then. Is there any special way you want me to behave?”
“Just help to create as pleasant an atmosphere as possible.”
“I’m afraid I won’t find it easy.”
“Try to all the same, mon cher. I want Tanz to feel at home.”
“Like a donkey on thin ice, you mean?”
Prévert chuckled. He was familiar with most of the German proverbs and admired their applicability to any given situation. “I should be greatly obliged if you could arrange a small party this evening—a rather select affair, you understand.”
Rainer Hartmann, domiciled in Antibes and, according to his passport, a French national, had returned to Berlin at last. He was walking on air and everyone seemed to be in step with him. Even the buildings smiled down on him kindly, and the sky was bright. Hartmann felt happy.
Virtually the first person he had met in Berlin was Ulrike, who had apparently been seeing someone off at the airport. “It’s almost too good to be true!” he exclaimed joyfully, and Ulrike felt like a traitress for not disillusioning him there and then. The years melted away as they talked, until what had once been seemed to have happened only yesterday. Ulrike and he suddenly became the focal point of the universe, wreathed in a golden haze of memories.
Hartmann spent the night at the Pension Phoenix, a night filled with roseate dreams of the future. He awoke to find that the weather matched his mood. Ulrike joined him for breakfast, during which they drank champagne and held hands under the table, chattering away happily like carefree children playing truant from school. It was a glorious day outside, with a sky that looked like a lavish flower arrangement in pastel shades.
After breakfast, Hartmann and Ulrike walked arm in arm to the nearest underground station. They got out in the vicinity of the Iderfenngraben, where Hartmann deposited Ulrike in a neighbouring bar and ordered her—at ten-thirty in the morning—a beer and a schnapps. Then he hurried round the corner and ran excitedly up the four flights of stairs that led to his aunt’s flat.
Aunt Grete was the pride and joy of the family. She had been lucky enough to find a husband who adored her unstintingly. They had ten or twelve children at a rough count, and the family was a living example of the old saying that children are a form of wealth. Since three or four of them were already earning, the weekly income of the household which Aunt Grete administered so indefatigably was considerable.
The Night of the Generals Page 28