Traitor's Gate

by Michael Ridpath

  Admiral Canaris had cleared his desk. He was waiting, ready to react to whatever the day’s events might bring. It really did look as if this would be the last day of the Thousand Year Reich.

  His telephone rang. ‘Gruppenführer Heydrich for you, excellency.’

  ‘Thank you.’ In the moments while his secretary connected the head of the Gestapo, all Canaris’s senses sharpened.

  ‘Admiral, I would like your opinion on something.’

  ‘Of course, Reinhard, what is it?’ Canaris kept his voice level, friendly.

  ‘Two of my officers were murdered last night in the Tiergarten, together with a woman. The woman’s name is Sophie Pohlmann, and the officers were Schalke and Dressel. Pohlmann is the girlfriend of one of your officers, Lieutenant von Hertenberg. Do you know anything about this?’

  ‘No, I don’t,’ said Canaris, inwardly cursing Theo for not keeping him informed. This was dangerous.

  ‘A list was found at the scene of the crime.’

  ‘A list? Who was on it?’

  ‘Senior party officials. Göring, Goebbels, myself. Not you.’

  At least that wasn’t a genuine list of members of the conspiracy then, thought Canaris with relief. ‘Is the Führer’s name on the list?’ he asked, not caring what the answer was. He wanted time to think.

  ‘No.’

  He didn’t need much time. Canaris was a quick thinker and a master of deception. Heydrich needed an answer immediately, an answer that would put the Gestapo off the scent.

  ‘Was Conrad de Lancey involved?’ Canaris asked, groping his way towards that answer.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Heydrich replied. ‘I do know Schalke was actively investigating him.’

  Canaris remembered that Conrad had claimed when under arrest by the Gestapo that he was an Abwehr agent investigating British attempts to use Göring as a spy. This claim had been discredited when the Gestapo alleged that de Lancey had been spying on their senior officers in Halle, an allegation that de Lancey denied. Canaris knew Heydrich’s file by heart. He was from Halle. And there were rumours that his ancestry was Jewish. An idea flashed into the spy chief’s mind.

  ‘Ignore the list,’ Canaris said. ‘It’s a figment of de Lancey’s imagination. You were right; he is a British spy. But the assassination list is just a cover.’

  ‘A cover? For what?’

  ‘For some investigations he was making into your background, Reinhard. Something to do with your ancestry. We found some documents he had copied.’

  There was a pause. ‘What have you done with them?’

  Canaris laughed. ‘Why, destroyed them of course. I didn’t believe a word of them. And don’t worry, only myself and Hertenberg have seen them. And of course your man Schalke. De Lancey must have killed him.’

  ‘And where is de Lancey now?’ Heydrich asked.

  ‘Somewhere he won’t cause you any more trouble,’ Canaris answered as ambiguously as possible. ‘If you can keep this quiet at your end, I assure you we can here.’

  There was silence on the telephone as Heydrich thought this offer over. ‘Thank you, Admiral.’

  ‘It was no trouble,’ said Canaris. He smiled as he put down the receiver, pleased that he could still think quickly under pressure. That should buy them a few more hours.

  And that was all they needed.

  38

  Lord Perth, the British Ambassador in Rome, rushed to the Palazzo Chigi, where he spoke to Count Ciano, the Italian Foreign Minister, pleading for Mussolini to take up the role of mediator. Ciano hurried to see the Duce, who was enthusiastic about his proposed role as European peacemaker, much more enthusiastic than he was at the idea of being sucked into a war with France and Britain over Czechoslovakia. Mussolini picked up the telephone and called Count Attolico, the Italian Ambassador to Germany, telling him to see Hitler immediately and suggest that he delay hostilities for twenty-four hours while Mussolini convened a conference to discuss the situation.

  In Berlin, Sir Nevile Henderson was having much more difficulty getting his message through to Hitler. The Reich Chancellery was chaos. The corridors were full of ministers, generals, Party officials and foreign diplomats, each with his entourage of hangers-on, each craving an audience with Hitler. The Führer himself was in a state of great excitement, moving from room to room, haranguing whoever would listen on the subject of the evil Czechs and listening to no one. The members of the Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler, Hitler’s personal bodyguard, had lost control; they too were caught up in the excitement.

  Henderson could not get near Hitler, despite having made an appointment, but the French Ambassador, André François-Poncet, somehow managed to force himself in front of the German Chancellor, armed with a map of Europe, large sections of which had been coloured red to signify German control. ‘Why should you take the risk of war when your essential demands could be met without it?’ he asked in fluent German. For the first time that morning, Hitler seemed to be listening.

  Count Attolico arrived breathless in the Red Room, the antechamber outside the Chancellor’s office, neatly bypassing the waiting Henderson. He accosted the SS adjutant at the door. ‘I have a personal message for the Führer from the Duce and I must see him quick, quick, quick,’ he said in excitable English; Attolico spoke no German. The adjutant interrupted François-Poncet to give Hitler the message, and Hitler, together with his interpreter, left François-Poncet to speak to the Italian Ambassador in the corridor.

  Chamberlain had been persuaded to call an emergency session of Parliament to debate Czechoslovakia. The House of Commons was packed, with MPs listening closely to the Prime Minister’s every word as he gave a detailed account of the events of the crisis. Ambassadors, bishops and even Queen Mary were crammed into the visitors’ galleries, watching the last few hours of peace dribble away.

  Then Lord Halifax, in the Peers’ Gallery, was handed a note by Alec Cadogan. He scanned it, and hurried down behind the Speaker’s Chair, where he sent it on to Lord Dunglass, the Prime Minister’s Parliamentary Private Secretary. Dunglass passed it to Sir John Simon, who did his best to attract the attention of the Prime Minister, who was still on his feet.

  Eventually Chamberlain noticed Simon’s frantic signals. He stopped speaking and read the note slowly, betraying no emotion on his face. The House watched in silence. The seconds ticked by. He glanced at his Chancellor of the Exchequer.

  ‘Shall I tell them now?’ he asked in a whisper that could be heard throughout the chamber.

  Simon nodded.

  Chamberlain looked up. ‘I have something further to say to the House. I have now been informed by Herr Hitler that he invites me to meet him in Munich tomorrow morning. He has also invited Signor Mussolini and Monsieur Daladier. I need not say what my answer will be.’

  The House erupted in cheering.

  Chamberlain waited for quiet and then continued. ‘We are all patriots and there can be no honourable member of this House who does not feel his heart leap that the crisis has been postponed to give us once more the opportunity to try what reason and good will and discussion will do to settle a problem which is already within sight of settlement.’

  This time there was no stopping the cheering. Almost to a man, and a woman, the House stood to applaud their prime minister. Almost. Winston Churchill remained firmly in his seat, his head sunk in his shoulders, his expression a mixture of anger and despair.

  General von Brauchitsch was caught up in the chaos at the Chancellery. Before he had fought his way to the front of the queue to speak to Hitler, it was clear that something momentous had occurred.

  He never telephoned von Witzleben.

  Oster heard it from Erich Kordt, the civil servant in the Foreign Ministry who had promised to unlock the double doors in the Chancellery, and whose brother, Theo Kordt, was in the German Embassy in London.

  ‘Hans, the invasion is on hold.’

  ‘What’s happened?’

  ‘Mussolini has offered to host a Five-Power Conf
erence at Munich and Hitler has accepted. It means he will almost certainly get the Sudetenland without a war.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ said Oster.

  ‘Does this mean our plans are cancelled?’

  Oster took a deep breath. ‘I don’t know. I’ll have to think about it. Talk to some people.’

  He put down the phone and hurried to General von Witzleben’s headquarters only a few minutes’ walk away.

  ‘Have you heard?’ The question was unnecessary; he could see from the general’s face that he had.

  ‘I can’t believe it. So close!’

  ‘Can we go ahead anyway?’

  ‘Von Brauchitsch will never order a coup now. Neither will Halder, for that matter. He has always insisted that the country needs to be on the brink of war before we move.’

  ‘But what about you, Herr General? You said you would act if von Brauchitsch and Halder faltered.’

  The general shook his head. ‘Don’t you see?’ he said. ‘To this poor foolish nation, Hitler is once again our dearly beloved führer: unique, sent by God. And we are nothing more than a little pile of reactionary officers and politicians who dare to put pebbles in the way of the greatest statesman of all times at the moment of his greatest triumph.’ The general smiled wryly. ‘If we try to do something now, history, and not just German history, will have nothing more to say about us than that we refused to serve the greatest German when he was at his greatest.’

  ‘So it’s over?’

  Von Witzleben nodded. ‘It’s over.’

  As Oster walked back to his own office on the Tirpitzufer, the anger boiled up inside him. How could Chamberlain have been so stupid? After the Sudetenland, Hitler would take the rest of Czechoslovakia. And then the Danzig Corridor, and probably the whole of Poland. This was the best chance the British had to stop him! How many times had they been told that the German army would remove Hitler if he launched an invasion of Czechoslovakia? Yet they hadn’t listened.

  If only Chamberlain had stood firm, Hitler would have been dead before the day was out.

  39

  The telephone rang in the smoke-filled apartment and there was instant silence. All eyes were on Heinz as he answered. The young men in uniform around him stiffened. Hands clutched weapons.

  Heinz’s face was impassive, but there was perhaps a slight drooping of the shoulders as he listened. His face was grim as he turned to face his men.

  ‘It’s off,’ he said. ‘Hitler has agreed to meet the British Prime Minister in Munich to discuss the future of Czechoslovakia. The British and French have caved in. There will be no invasion of Czechoslovakia. There will be no coup.’

  There was an uproar of groans and shouted questions, most of which Heinz was unable to answer.

  ‘This can’t be true,’ said Conrad.

  ‘I’m going to talk to Oster,’ said Theo. He got to his feet and squeezed past the crush of people to get to the telephone. A minute later he was back.

  ‘It is true,’ he said.

  ‘Can’t we go ahead anyway?’

  ‘I suggested that to Oster, but he says no. The generals won’t do it and Canaris won’t do it. Oster ordered me to stand down with the others.’

  ‘But he can’t order me,’ said Conrad.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean that I am going to the Chancellery right now to shoot Adolf Hitler myself.’

  ‘You’re mad.’

  ‘No I’m not. Heinz said it was chaos in there. I know where I can get in. I’m going.’

  With that Conrad laid the Schmeisser machine pistol he had been issued with on to the floor and sidled towards the door. He’d never get into the Chancellery with the machine pistol, and his Luger sidearm should be enough to do the job.

  Theo followed him. ‘I’m coming with you.’

  Heinz calmed his raiding party and organized them to disperse. A couple of minutes later he realized Eiche and Hertenberg were absent. Someone said he had seen them slip out. Heinz thought for a moment and then telephoned Oster.

  Fischer dashed round to the next-door building. He found Huber leaving Heydrich’s office, scowling.

  ‘Herr Kriminalrat, I have some information about the Schalke case.’

  ‘Put it in a report and send it to me,’ snapped Huber angrily. He didn’t stop, but walked rapidly towards the stairs.

  Fischer hurried to keep up with him. ‘Last night I saw some notes on Schalke’s desk. About a coup. A plan to storm the Chancellery today. The twenty-eighth!’

  ‘Didn’t you hear me?’ said Huber, not breaking his stride. ‘Write it down in a report for me.’

  Fischer grabbed his superior officer’s sleeve. ‘But if there really is a coup planned for today—’

  Huber stopped and glared at Fischer. ‘Get your hands off me!’

  Fischer dropped his hands to his side.

  ‘Kriminal Assistant Fischer, let me make something clear. The Gruppenführer knows about the so-called coup. He believes that it is a fiction. He also knows why Schalke was killed, but for his own reasons he doesn’t want anyone else to know, including Schalke’s own colleagues. The Gruppenführer has made himself very clear on this point, and when the Gruppenführer makes himself clear, it is best to listen. Do you understand?’

  Fischer nodded. ‘Yes, Herr Kriminalrat!’

  Conrad and Theo walked smartly along the streets the short distance to the Chancellery, two Wehrmacht officers in a hurry in a city full of Wehrmacht officers in a hurry.

  Conrad was appalled by what Chamberlain had done. The British Prime Minister had known that Hitler’s days were numbered. All he had had to do was to show some concrete support for Czechoslovakia and the most evil and dangerous leader in European history would have been overthrown by his own people. But Chamberlain didn’t even have the courage for that.

  Conrad thought of all the risks brave, honourable Germans like Ewald von Kleist and Theo and General Beck and countless others that Conrad didn’t even know had taken to enlist the help of the British government. Chamberlain had ignored them all.

  Well, Conrad wouldn’t. He would do what he was sure was right.

  ‘You don’t have to come,’ he said to Theo. ‘This is different to a coup. We are very unlikely to survive this.’

  ‘I know.’ Theo’s voice was unnaturally hoarse. He coughed, trying to clear his throat. ‘I got you into this, Conrad, and I’m going through it with you. Wherever it leads.’

  Conrad smiled at his friend. Theo looked nervous. Nervous and courageous. For all his military ancestry, he had never been this close to death before. It struck Conrad that he and Theo were quite similar after all. With embarrassment he remembered his suspicions of Theo when he had first arrived in Berlin. They had been way off the mark: all the time Theo had been dealing with the violence, cruelty and fear of life under the Nazis. But ultimately, both Conrad and Theo had come to the same conclusion: they would do what they must to stand up to Nazism, even if it meant death.

  Theo caught Conrad’s glance and straightened, throwing back his shoulders. ‘Besides which, you’ll need me to get you to Hitler. I can tell the guards I have a message for him from Admiral Canaris.’

  Conrad had been this close to death before. The fear spurred him on; it felt good to be acting, not waiting. His senses were alive. He picked out the different sounds of the street noises: the rumble and roar of the motor cars; the jangle of tram bells; the swish of bicycle tyres; the subdued click of pedestrians’ heels on the pavements. His nostrils took in the cool sharpness of the early autumnal Berlin air, tinged with petrol fumes and the scent of two smartly dressed ladies whom he and Theo pushed past.

  He knew he only had a few more minutes to live, but that knowledge made him walk faster towards the Chancellery and his destiny. Was it destiny? Was it duty? He didn’t know, but he did know that there was no choice but to go through with it. Hitler had ruined so many lives, and taken so many others – including Anneliese’s – and he had only just star
ted. It had fallen to Conrad to do something about it, and he wasn’t going to shirk that responsibility.

  He remembered his father describing how he had stumbled towards the German trenches at Passchendaele, knowing he would die, but also knowing that he didn’t want to kill any more human beings before he did so. Well, Conrad had one more human being to kill. His father’s war to end all wars had been a sham. But one death to avert one more world war would be worthwhile.

  Three deaths if you included himself and Theo.

  They arrived at the Wilhelmplatz in front of the Reich Chancellery. There were plenty of people milling about the entrance. As they watched, von Ribbentrop hurried out, followed by a small entourage, passing a diplomat in winged collar and morning suit hurrying in. Two black-uniformed SS guards stood at attention watching the comings and goings out of the corners of their eyes.

  Conrad glanced at Theo. Once they had walked into that building, they would not walk out alive.

  ‘Ready?’

  Theo nodded.

  ‘Then let’s go.’

  Fischer’s mind span in confusion as he left the Prinz-Albrecht-Palais on Wilhelmstrasse. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it. Rather than go straight back to Gestapo headquarters next door, he decided to stroll up the street to try to get his thoughts in order.

  Huber could say what he liked, but the notes Fischer had read suggested that Schalke took the threat of the coup seriously. So why had Heydrich shut the investigation down? It was clear that Huber didn’t know. It must be a personal reason. Perhaps Heydrich was involved with the coup? Perhaps the SS and the Gestapo were planning to take over the government? But the notes suggested that the Wehrmacht were planning to move against the Gestapo, not with them.

  It made no sense.

  He crossed Leipziger Strasse and passed the Kaiserhof Hotel. He dropped his cigarette stub and was about to turn back towards his office when he saw a face he recognized. Two faces.