Traitor's Gate

by Michael Ridpath

  The Abwehr colonel paused.

  ‘I have a question for you.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I understand that a raiding party is being put together to arrest Hitler?’

  Oster looked at Theo, who shrugged.

  ‘Possibly,’ he said carefully.

  ‘Would you consider me for that raiding party?’

  ‘And why should I do that?’

  ‘I have done a lot to help you over the last few weeks and I would like to do more. I’d like to be there at the end. I think I’ve earned it.’

  Oster glanced at Theo, who nodded.

  ‘I’ll think about it,’ said the colonel.

  Klaus arrived early at the meeting place, the statue of a long-dead composer of whom he had never heard, by one of the small ponds in the Tiergarten. It was after ten o’clock and the park was empty. Klaus checked his watch. His informant was late, twenty minutes now. He ground his teeth in impatience.

  Then he heard the gentle crunch of heels on gravel as she approached the statue.

  ‘Klaus?’

  ‘Over here!’ A loud whisper.

  The small, elfin figure of Sophie emerged from the shadows.

  ‘Cigarette?’

  Sophie gratefully accepted one, and they both lit up. ‘I told you I can’t help you any more, now Anneliese is dead.’

  ‘Poor Anneliese,’ said Klaus. ‘I know how much she meant to you; how much she meant to both of us. I was just on the point of securing her release as well. One more day and she would have been free.’

  ‘Who locked her up?’

  ‘Heydrich. He has a thing about racial defilement.’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘It makes me wonder about the government. If the Führer knew what people were doing in his name, he wouldn’t allow it. I mean, I never think of Anneliese as Jewish.’

  ‘Neither did I,’ said Klaus, employing the correct tense.

  ‘She went to church, didn’t she? If that doesn’t make you a Christian, then what does?’

  They stood in silence for a few moments, smoking.

  ‘Sophie, I need some more evidence. About the plot. Written evidence.’

  Sophie shook her head. ‘I’ve told you, I’m not giving you anything else.’

  ‘I tried to get Anneliese out,’ Klaus said.

  ‘But you didn’t succeed, did you?’

  ‘Theo’s in trouble,’ Klaus said.

  ‘You said you would protect him!’ There was a note of panic in Sophie’s voice.

  ‘It will be difficult,’ said Klaus. ‘We know he has been hiding de Lancey.’

  ‘Has he?’

  ‘Do you know where de Lancey is?’

  ‘No. I heard he escaped from the Gestapo and he’s on the run. I don’t think Theo has anything to do with him.’

  ‘He has. He hid him with some friends in Dahlem. A man named Hans-Jürgen von Wedemeyer and his wife. They are in custody now, but de Lancey has slipped away. Again.’

  ‘I’m sure Theo has nothing to do with it,’ said Sophie.

  ‘I can do my best for Theo,’ said Klaus. ‘I can’t promise to keep him out of jail, but I can make sure he isn’t shot, and that’s something.’

  ‘No!’ said Sophie.

  ‘He could be arrested at any time. I need evidence, Sophie. Written evidence.’

  ‘I said I wouldn’t help you.’

  ‘It’s not just me you are helping. It’s the Führer. Unless you and I do something, there will be a putsch and he will be captured, humiliated and probably killed. He is the greatest man Germany has ever produced. If he lives he will lead us all to glory. But if you allow this plot to go ahead, you will be responsible for his death. Do you want that?’

  Sophie sucked hard on her cigarette. ‘Why do you need written evidence?’

  ‘Accusing the army of planning to overthrow the Führer is very serious. We need hard evidence, not just rumour. Can you get me anything?’

  ‘Theo has a notebook. I once had a peek in it, that’s where I learned about the coup against the Führer in the first place. He only brings it home occasionally, and when he does he is very careful with it.’

  ‘Can you get it for me?’

  ‘Perhaps. If he brings it home with him. But if I take it, he’ll know it’s gone straightaway.’

  Klaus thought a moment. ‘I have an idea.’

  Sophie listened doubtfully as he explained it. ‘I can try,’ she said. ‘But I will need a few days for the right opportunity.’

  ‘How many days?’

  ‘Give me four. But I can’t guarantee it. If he doesn’t bring the notebook home there is nothing I can do.’

  ‘All right,’ said Klaus. ‘I’ll meet you here in four days’ time.’

  ‘And you will do your best to keep Theo out of trouble?’

  ‘I’ll do all I can. And I’ll make sure the Führer knows what you have done.’

  For the first time that evening, Sophie smiled, her white teeth gleaming in the moonlight.

  33

  Theo and Colonel Oster had only a few hours to arrange the flight to England. Fortunately, false papers, visas and currency wouldn’t be needed for such a short trip. The Abwehr had a Fiesler Storch at permanent readiness should they need it in a hurry. To be certain of reaching Kent it would have to take off from somewhere in the north-west of Germany, which meant that Theo would have to set off from Berlin with his passengers at about lunchtime.

  In the morning, he got a colleague to check on the Wedemeyers and it was with huge relief that he heard that they had been released from Gestapo headquarters. At eleven o’clock, he started on the hour-long dance to lose his Gestapo watchers. Even though he couldn’t see anyone, he had to assume that they were there somewhere. He took an indirect route on the U-Bahn to the Kurfürstendamm station, timing his emergence to meet a BMW driven by Captain von Both, a former adjutant of General von Fritsch. Conrad was crouching in the back. Theo had taken Conrad to von Both’s apartment the previous night, with the idea that Conrad would pose as a soldier visiting his friend in Berlin on leave for a couple of days.

  Von Both drove off rapidly, leaving any unseen foot-bound watchers behind. Theo checked for pursuing taxis, but couldn’t spot any. They stopped at Warren’s office, where von Both left them and Theo told Warren to send an immediate cable to Lord Oakford mentioning the word ‘today’. Theo was uncomfortable about involving Warren in the plot, but it was clear that Warren thought that the message referred to Conrad’s escape from the Gestapo and nothing more.

  Theo drove on to a rendezvous with General Beck by the Landwehr Canal. Half an hour later the BMW was barrelling along the new autobahn towards Hamburg and then Wilhelmshaven, where the Storch would be waiting for them.

  That morning, 24 September, Chamberlain returned to London from Bad Godesberg. It had been a much tougher meeting than he had expected. There was no doubt that Herr Hitler was a tricky negotiator, but Chamberlain was convinced that he and the German Chancellor had built up a personal rapport. At one point Hitler had said: ‘You are the only man to whom I have ever made a concession.’ It was going to be exceedingly difficult winning over the Cabinet and the Czechs, but Chamberlain was still certain that his concept of personal diplomacy was working. Peace was in his grasp.

  The Cabinet met at five-thirty that afternoon to discuss the negotiations. At the end of the previous day’s discussion in Bad Godesberg, Hitler had produced a document outlining his new demands. These were that the Czech government should begin evacuation of the Sudetenland on 26 September, only two days away, and complete it by 28 September. This document had been circulated to the ministers around the long table.

  Chamberlain spoke for an hour. When he had finished describing what had happened on the banks of the Rhine, he looked around the table to ensure he had the attention of the whole Cabinet. He did.

  ‘I admit that I was shocked initially by the hardening of Herr Hitler’s position. The German Chancellor has a narrow mind and he is viole
ntly prejudiced on certain subjects. But Herr Hitler has certain standards: he will not deceive a man whom he respects and I am sure that Herr Hitler respects me. I am confident that he is speaking the truth when he says Germany has no more territorial ambitions in Europe once the Sudetenland question is settled and that such a settlement will be a turning point in Anglo-German relations.’

  He cleared his throat. ‘This morning, I flew up the river over London. I imagined a German bomber flying the same course, and I asked myself what degree of protection we can afford to the thousands of homes I saw stretched out below me. At that moment I felt we were in no position to justify waging a war today in order to prevent a war hereafter. I believe we should accept Herr Hitler’s terms, and we should persuade the Czech government to do so as well.’

  There followed a few minutes of aimless discussion until Duff Cooper spoke. One of the youngest ministers around the table, he was First Lord of the Admiralty and a friend of Winston Churchill’s. Chamberlain had expected trouble from him.

  ‘Prime Minister, I must object most strongly to the course of action you suggest. It appears to me that the Germans must still be convinced that under no circumstances will this country fight. There is one method, and one method only, of persuading them to the contrary, and that is by instantly declaring full mobilization. I am sure that public opinion will eventually compel us to go to the assistance of the Czechs. Hitherto, we have been faced with the unpleasant alternatives of peace with dishonour, or war. I now foresee a third possibility: namely a war with dishonour.’

  Duff Cooper’s words made an impression. Hore-Belisha, Lord Winterton, Oliver Stanley, Lord de la Warr and Walter Elliot all supported him. But, crucially, Sir John Simon, the Chancellor of the Exchequer, and Lord Halifax, the Foreign Secretary, did not. The Cabinet was bad-tempered as it broke up, agreeing to discuss the matter the following morning when everyone had had a chance to read through Hitler’s terms again.

  Later that evening Halifax was driven home from Downing Street, where he had dined with the Prime Minister, by Alec Cadogan, the Permanent Under-Secretary at the Foreign Office. Cadogan was incensed by Hitler’s proposals; he felt that the British government was in danger of behaving with dishonour, and he spent the short car trip haranguing Halifax with these views. Halifax ignored him.

  Cadogan dropped Halifax off at his house at 88 Eaton Square and bade him goodnight. It was ten-thirty, and Halifax was tired, but he took the memorandum of Hitler’s terms with him into his study.

  Half an hour later, his butler interrupted him. ‘Lord Oakford is here, my lord. He wishes to speak to you.’

  ‘Oakford! What time is it?’

  ‘Eleven o’clock, my lord.’

  For the previous few weeks Halifax had been besieged by friends and enemies pressing their own points of view about peace and war upon him, foremost of whom had been Winston Churchill. Halifax was heartily sick of this lobbying: he was Foreign Secretary, and he would make up his own mind based on a reasoned assessment of the information available to the government.

  ‘Lord Oakford is accompanied by his son and a man who claims to be a German general.’ Disapproval seeped from the butler’s words.

  ‘What!’ Halifax rubbed first one eye and then the other with his good hand. What on earth was Oakford up to? ‘All right, Thompson, send them in.’

  There was tension around the Cabinet table in 10 Downing Street when the ministers reconvened at ten-thirty the following morning, 25 September. The Prime Minister took his place in front of the marble fireplace at the centre of the table, his lean, anxious expression and sober dress contrasting with the portrait behind him of a confident and somewhat corpulent Sir Robert Walpole in all his Georgian finery. He opened proceedings, answering specific points arising from the German memorandum, and then Oliver Stanley raised the key question: should the Cabinet advise the Czechoslovak government to accept Hitler’s proposals?

  Halifax was first to answer. He spoke in a low voice, laden with emotion. His long face showed signs of both fatigue and determination. Everyone around the table could tell that something had changed.

  ‘Yesterday I felt that acceptance of the scheme put forward for the Sudetenland did not involve a new acceptance of principle. But now I am not quite so sure. Last night, I could not sleep, and in the watches of the night I came to change my mind. I cannot rid my mind of the fact that Herr Hitler has given us nothing, and that he is dictating terms just as though he has won a war without having to fight. The ultimate end that I wish to see accomplished is the destruction of Nazism. So long as Nazism lasts, peace will be uncertain.’

  Halifax glanced around the table at his Cabinet colleagues, although he avoided Chamberlain’s eye. ‘For these reasons, I do not think it would be wise for us to advise the Czech government to accept Germany’s ultimatum. We should lay the case before them. If they reject it, I imagine that France will join in, and if the French go in, we should join them.

  ‘I remember Herr Hitler saying that he gained power by words not by bayonets. I wonder whether we can be quite sure that he has not gained power by words in the present instance. We should not forget that if he is driven to war, the result might be the downfall of the Nazi regime.

  ‘I have worked most closely with the Prime Minister throughout this long crisis, but now I am not quite sure that our minds are still altogether at one. Nevertheless, I think it right to expose my own hesitations with complete frankness.’

  There was stunned silence as the members of the Cabinet took in Halifax’s change of heart. As Lord Hailsham produced an article from the Daily Telegraph outlining all the previous occasions when Hitler had made promises and broken them, Chamberlain scribbled a note to his Foreign Secretary:

  Your complete change of view since I saw you last night is a horrible blow to me, but of course you must form your opinions for yourself. However it remains to see what the French say.

  If they say they will go in, thereby dragging us in I do not think I could accept responsibility for the decision.

  But I don’t want to anticipate what has not yet arisen.

  N.C.

  Halifax replied:

  I feel a brute – but I lay awake most of the night, tormenting myself and did not feel I could reach any other conclusion at this moment, on the point of co-ercing CZ.

  E.

  He couldn’t mention the real reason he had changed his mind, even to the Prime Minister – especially to the Prime Minister. The night before, General Beck had left Halifax in absolutely no doubt that the prospect of a coup in Berlin was real if Britain stood by Czechoslovakia. Halifax had been impressed by the intense general, with his intelligent eyes, his thoughtful, academic way of speaking and his obvious sincerity. The conspiracy wasn’t just the disgruntled mutterings of a few junior reactionaries, it was much more than that. But Lord Oakford had put Halifax in a very difficult position. Halifax knew that if he spoke to the Prime Minister in confidence it would make little difference to Chamberlain’s opinion, and if he mentioned his meeting of the night before in Cabinet it would be impossible to keep quiet the fact that he had spoken to one of the most senior generals in the German army. Besides, Beck had demanded nothing more of him than that he listen and keep the meeting confidential. Halifax had given no other undertakings, no assurances.

  Beck had also been convincing on Hitler’s aims: on his absolute determination to march into Prague. After speaking to the general, it was clear to Halifax that when Hitler told Chamberlain that he had no more territorial claims in Europe than the Sudetenland, it was a barefaced lie. The dictator could not be trusted. After Beck, Oakford and his son de Lancey had left him, Halifax had indeed found it impossible to sleep. As dawn came, he had decided on two things: grant General Beck’s request to stay silent about his visit, and show Hitler that Britain would stand by the Czechs. It might mean revolution in Germany; it might even mean war. But Duff Cooper and Alec Cadogan were right – it was the only way of proceeding with honour.
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  Chamberlain read Halifax’s slip and scribbled a quick response on it.

  Night conclusions are seldom taken in the right perspective.

  N.C.

  But as he sent the note back to Halifax he knew that peace, his peace, was slipping away.

  The north German plain was covered in a torn blanket of mist as the Storch flew towards the rising sun. Conrad was amazed that the pilot could find the airfield, and only part of the runway was visible between the wisps of grey as they touched down. Theo was there to meet them; he had spent the night in Wilhelmshaven.

  ‘A successful trip, Herr General?’

  ‘I think so,’ said General Beck. ‘Lord Oakford managed to secure an audience for us. I found Halifax very stiff, but he did seem to listen to me.’

  ‘I think you were persuasive, Herr General,’ said Conrad. ‘Halifax said the Cabinet is discussing Czechoslovakia this morning. I just hope we have done enough to change his mind.’

  Conrad sat in the front of the BMW, next to Theo, and General Beck sat in the back. Once they were on the autobahn, the general fell asleep.

  ‘Aren’t you tired?’ Theo asked Conrad.

  ‘I am. I got hardly any sleep on the aeroplane: I can’t stop thinking about what happened to Anneliese. But after being cooped up in that house in Dahlem it was good to do something. And I’m so glad the Wedemeyers have been let go.’

  ‘So am I. I feel very bad about putting them in danger like that.’

  ‘And you? You say the Gestapo are following you all the time; why don’t they pick you up?’

  ‘It would start a civil war. I’m sure Heydrich will have a word with Canaris about me soon, but he knows he has to tread carefully.’

  ‘With luck, in a couple of days it won’t really matter where he treads.’

  Theo hooted at a small Opel blocking the outside lane of the autobahn and cursed. The Opel moved, and the BMW sped on.

  Theo glanced over his shoulder at the sleeping general, and spoke in a low voice, in English. ‘So you came back.’

  ‘Didn’t you think I would?’

  ‘You could have stayed in England. You would have been safe there.’