die Stunde X

by Shaun Stafford

  “Do you mind showing me what is inside your briefcase, Herr Rydell?”

  Clark flexed his jaw, and then lifted the briefcase up. He popped the catches, opened the case and spun it around to face Ludwig. The German looked through the documents, picked up the framed photograph of Clark’s family, nodded his head, and replaced it. He found nothing remotely incriminating. He closed the briefcase and placed it on the floor beside him.

  “Now, Herr Rydell, your suitcase, if you please.”

  Clark had to stand to put the suitcase on the table, but Ludwig made no attempt to assist him. Clark opened the case, turned it to face the German, and then sat down.

  Ludwig checked through the clothes, felt inside the shoes, felt the lining of the case, and then closed it. He buckled it up for Clark, then placed it on the floor.

  “Is that it? Are you done?”

  “Herr Rydell, I am sure you understand that relations between our two nations are strained,” Ludwig said by way of explanation. “We have to be certain that your intentions are not hostile, that you are here merely to help our American guests. You understand that?”

  “I do, yes.”

  “Good,” Ludwig said, getting to his feet. “Then you may leave.”

  Clark watched the German open the door and gesture for him to go through it. Sighing deeply, the American stood up, picked up his two cases, and left the room.

  He knew that his staff members would have to undergo the same ritual. It made his blood boil, but there was nothing he could do about it. All he could do was wait for them in the outer waiting room.

  It was over ten minutes before Barney came through the door but at least, Clark noted, he was smiling.

  27

  The American Embassy was situated on Hitlerhofstrasse. It was a modern, white-walled building, with windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, and pillars holding aloft a heavy porch, beneath which was an archway leading into a courtyard. Old Glory, its star and stripes fluttering in the cool breeze, proudly displayed the building’s allegiance as it flapped from a flagpole on the white, domed roof.

  The embassy was one of eight on Hitlerhofstrasse, alongside those of Russia, Australia, Canada, Brazil, India, South Africa, and the only country with whom the Germans did not have a strained diplomatic relationship, Japan. Each of the embassies had been constructed specifically for the purpose by German architects and builders, and they were designed to reflect the country they were built for. As such, they were caricatures, albeit charming and quaint ones.

  The black limousine pulled into the gateway of the embassy, the US Marines saluting as it passed. Along with its Ford Thunderbird escorts, it drove up the short, wide driveway that dissected the broad lawn and ran up to the archway in the centre of the embassy. The cars disappeared through the archway and parked in the gravel courtyard beside the building’s rear entrance.

  Clark Rydell climbed out the back of the limousine, with Barney close behind him. The two men, briefcases in hands bounced up the steps leading to the rear doors, and entered the rear of the embassy’s lobby.

  The ceiling of the lobby stretched more than thirty feet overhead, and gave the large room a light, airy feel which was further emphasized by the huge windows lining the front façade of the building.

  There were three desks in the lobby, all situated in front of a wide, lazy staircase that led up to a balcony on the second floor where the main offices were. Clark made his way to one of the desks, Barney in tow, and smiled at the American girl sitting behind it.

  “Clark Rydell,” he said, showing her his papers. She took them from him, and as she flicked through the realization of who he was washed over her. She turned pale, and looked at him, a nervous smile on her face.

  “Ambassador Rydell, welcome to the US Embassy,” she said, hopping to her feet.

  “Thank you,” Clark said. “This is Barney Kitchener, one of our senior diplomats.”

  “Mr Kitchener,” the girl greeted. Barney nodded at her.

  “The other eight members of my staff are following,” Clark explained. “So expect them shortly. They’ve all been before, so they know where they’re going.”

  “Certainly, Ambassador.”

  Clark and Barney passed the desks and climbed the stairs, the thick carpet beneath their feet soaking up their steps. Clark knew where his office was. It was certainly not his first visit to the embassy. Barney, on the other hand, had to take an office wherever he could find it.

  But that was a job for later.

  The two men entered Clark’s office, Clark taking up residence behind the desk, Barney sitting opposite him. Immediately, both men removed their jackets and Clark took the photograph of his family from his briefcase and put it on the desk. Before they had a chance to speak, there was a knock at the door and Clark’s secretary, who was based permanently in England, came into the office, a smile on her face.

  “Ambassador, it is good to see you,” she said, coming over to the desk, a pile of letters in her hand. She put them down on the desk in front of him.

  “Likewise, Sandy,” Clark said. “It’s like coming home to my second wife.”

  “Hmm, I’m sure,” Sandy said with a smirk.

  “Sandy, can you get Mick Withers up to see us?”

  “Certainly, Ambassador.”

  The two men watched Sandy leave, but still remained silent. They remained that way until Mick Withers, the embassy’s head of security, and one of the CIA field officers, turned up. Dressed in a suit that was creased, and far too big for him, he greeted the two of them and then sat down in a chair beside Barney.

  “Mr Ambassador, how’s things?”

  “Well, I can’t say that I wouldn’t rather be back home, but it’s good to see you again, Mick.”

  “You’ll be pleased to know that there’s nothing amiss here in the embassy,” Withers said, smiling broadly and twiddling with his moustache. “Everything’s just fine.”

  “You’re certain?”

  “Hey, we have the best technology when it comes to bugs and taps, Mr Ambassador. The Krauts have got nothing on us.”

  “We think we have the best technology,” Clark said with a tight smile.

  “Well, you can never be one-hundred percent sure,” conceded Withers, “but as far as I’m aware, there are no bugs in this office – no bugs in this whole goddamn building. We’re clean. I’d stake my reputation on it.”

  Clark nodded his head. Withers had a good reputation, and he often staked it upon his declarations. But if Mick Withers couldn’t find a bug, then the chances were there wasn’t one. He smiled, and said, “Thanks, Mick, that’s all for now.”

  “Okay,” Withers said, getting to his feet.

  “Oh, Mick, could you get through to our friends?” Clark asked. “Tell them we’d like to meet them in an hour or so.”

  “Sure thing, Mr Ambassador,” Withers said, nodding his head. He crossed the room to the door, opened it, and disappeared, closing it behind him.

  “Well, we can talk.”

  “I always feel uneasy talking here.”

  “In this room?”

  “In this country,” Clark said. “Who knows how advanced the German technology is?”

  “If we thought like that, Clark, we might as well just crawl up into a ball and wait to be kicked,” snapped Barney.

  “I guess you’re right.”

  “You know, pal, you’re losing your nerve.”

  “This is a big job, Barney.”

  “I know that.”

  “Then surely you must understand why I’m nervous?”

  “Yeah, I understand, Clark. You have a wife and a family. Well, perhaps you shouldn’t have come after all.”

  “We’ve been through all this.”

  “Yeah, I know. But you’ve got to realize, you do realize, that this is a dangerous mission. It could easily blow up in our faces, and if it does, we’re going to be targets immediately.”

  “Perhaps we should get out of the country before it
happens.”

  “We wouldn’t get the chance,” Barney said, shaking his head. “We’re going to give this information to our friends, and let them deal with it. Hell, they might not even go through with it after all. It depends how persuasive I can be. But if they do go ahead with it, we won’t know when or where.”

  “Do you really think this will achieve anything in the long run?”

  “Well, who knows? I mean, if we succeed, they’ll replace the guy, sure, but there’s a good chance his replacement will be less of a problem.”

  “You think so?”

  “I don’t know,” Barney said, shrugging his shoulders. “You know, this is all about morale. The Krauts are gonna be pretty pissed if they lose their mighty Führer.”

  “But as you say, he’ll be replaced. And the next guy might not be less of a problem – he might be a whole lot worse.”

  Barney nodded his head, dropped his bottom lip. “Maybe,” he muttered.

  “What do we know about the Vizeführer?”

  “Not a great deal,” answered Barney. “But Vizeführer’s are never radical. They’re never dangerous. The Führer doesn’t want some power crazy asshole on the next rung down from him. Hitler replaced his safe Vizeführer with somebody more dangerous when he was on death’s door - Rodenbücher, who was easily as fanatical as Hitler. Hitler knew that Rodenbücher would continue with the Nazi regime. And Rodenbücher had a safe Vizeführer until he was old and grey and on his way out. Then he replaced him with somebody more dangerous. So it’s safe to say that the present Führer has somebody safe in the position of Vizeführer at the moment.”

  “You’re betting a lot on that, Barney.”

  “Dictators run to the same pattern.”

  “Not always.”

  “If we blow away the Führer, Clark, we’ll be dealing with a different guy altogether, one who’s less oppressive, one who will talk to us.”

  “You think,” added Clark.

  “Yeah,” Barney said with a smile that Clark didn’t like, “I guess you could say that’s the theory. You never know, we might see the complete collapse of the German Reich.”

  “Let’s just hope we’re not placing the world at the mercy of an even bigger despot,” Clark said quietly.

  But there was no way of knowing that. Not until after the Führer was killed.

  Clark spun his chair around to the window behind him and looked at the lawn that fronted the embassy, at the high wall that surrounded it, at the dome of the Indian Embassy on the opposite side of Hitlerhofstrasse.

  There was nothing ominous about this street, about these buildings. He could’ve been back home in Washington, DC.

  But he wasn’t.

  He was in Nazi Greater Germany, 1994.

  And it was the most dangerous place to be.

  28

  Ben looked up from the computer terminal and saw the smartly dressed men entering the shop floor from the direction of the offices, along with two of the German managers. He knew who they were before the mangers brought them over to his small alcove in the corner. He had been anticipating the arrival of the Gestapo since turning up for work that morning. They would want to find Jerome, and this would be the second place they’d look, after first searching the Varley’s house.

  And here they were.

  Ben saved his work on the computer, and then prepared himself for the inevitable questioning.

  Though the managers were German, they appeared nervous in the presence of the Gestapo officers. They led them into Ben’s alcove, but didn’t introduce the men. The men introduced themselves.

  “Herr Fabian?” one of them said. He was a tall, thin man, with a narrow face, and short, fair hair. In his hand was his identification card, the photograph on the card matching the face of the man holding it. “I am SS-Obersturmführer Loritz. This is my colleague, SS-Sturmscharführer Keitel. We are from the Geheime Staatspolizei. I wonder, could we have a moment of your time?”

  “Certainly,” Ben said innocently, spinning his chair around to face the Gestapo officers.

  Loritz turned to the managers, and said, “Thank you.” The managers made themselves scarce. “We would like to question you concerning a member of your workforce.”

  “Yeah sure.”

  “Jerome Varley? He is under your supervision, is he not?”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Didn’t turn up for work this morning. Didn’t call in sick. I called his house, but there was no answer.” That was true – Ben had called Jerome’s house, partly to check if Jerome’s family was okay, but mainly to build up this ruse. The Gestapo were pedants – and they would doubtless check the phone records to see if such a call had been made.

  “Do you do this for all members of your staff?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “If they are absent? You call up their homes?”

  “I like to know what my staff are up to, yes,” Ben answered, nodding his head. “I don’t usually get many men absent. I run a tight ship here.”

  “When was the last time you saw Varley?”

  “Yesterday evening,” Ben answered. He considered omitting the fact that he had given Jerome a lift home, but realized that the Gestapo officers would probably discover that for themselves after interviewing the rest of the workforce. “I gave him a lift home. Why, is there some problem?”

  “We are trying to find Herr Varley in connection with a serious incident,” Loritz said quickly, waving a hand impatiently. “You say you gave him a lift home. Why? Was that usual?”

  “His father used to bring him in to work,” Ben answered, his face straightening. “He used to work here too, you see. But he was arrested … by you people, I think.”

  “Us people?” Loritz said, smiling.

  “Gestapo.”

  Loritz nodded his head. “So, you assumed responsibility for his transport, Herr Fabian?”

  “I do it for a lot of the lads,” explained Ben, “if they’re stuck for a lift, and it’s on my way.”

  “And Herr Varley’s house is on your way?”

  “I live in Nürnberg Platz, Jerome Varley lives in Goebbelsstrasse. You see, if anybody is stuck for a lift, if I can’t bring them in, I try to get one of the other lads to do it. It’s good for the environment, and a full workforce is better–”

  “Yes, yes,” Loritz interrupted impatiently. “So, did Herr Varley have any special friends here at the factory?”

  “Not that I’m aware. Just workmates, you know. You don’t see them once you leave the factory in the evening.”

  “What about friends out of work?”

  “I couldn’t possibly say,” Ben said, shrugging his shoulders. “The guys here, they don’t open up easily at work, you know. They’re here to earn a living. It’s not much of a community.”

  “Girlfriends? Did he have a girlfriend?”

  “Well, I think he did,” Ben answered. He knew for a fact that some of the other men in the factory were aware of Jerome’s German girlfriend, and he also knew that they would give anything to get a German into trouble. And if they should also mention that Ben knew about her, there would be questions asked. So he decided to answer truthfully. Besides, Jerome wouldn’t be visiting Ellen for a long time, if ever again, and Ben knew that her father was somebody important and valuable to the German authorities. In spite of the fact that a relationship between a German and a non-German had to be approved by the SS, he wouldn’t be getting her into trouble. He hoped. Then again, he thought, she was a German. So he said, “A German, I think.”

  “A German? Her name?”

  “Ellen Brauchitsch, I believe it is. I don’t have an address.” He watched as the faces of the Gestapo officers tightened. Clearly, the Brauchitsch name carried a certain amount of weight.

  “Well, thank you,” Loritz said, smiling as he concluded the interview. “You have been very helpful. If you should think of anything else, I would appreciate it if you would call us.”

  “Sure thing.”

  “We would
like to interview the rest of your workforce. Could we use your … office?” Loritz said, looking around the small alcove.

  “Well, I did have a lot on,” Ben said, scratching his head, “but I guess it can wait.”

  “Thank you, Herr Fabian,” Loritz said, tipping his head politely. Ben got to his feet, and prepared to leave the alcove. “Could you send in your workforce in alphabetical order?”

  “Yeah, sure,” Ben said, and he stepped around the corner of the small, plastic screen. The entire workforce seemed to be watching, waiting.

  They didn’t know the Gestapo were after Jerome.

  They probably had secrets of their own.

  They probably thought the Gestapo were here for them.

  Bend sighed and started to look for the first name on his list, a guy called John Acker.

  And he tried to push from his mind the thought that one day, the Gestapo would be looking for those members of the workforce with secrets.

  Just as one day, they would be looking for him.

  29

  The tunnel stretched from a house on Ostmünchenstrasse to the American Embassy on Hitlerhofstrasse. It ran for almost two kilometres, was three metres in diameter, and positioned more than one-hundred metres beneath the city. It ran beneath the underground tunnels, beneath the sewage pipes, the electricity, gas and telephone networks, curving round those in its path.

  Five years in the making, it was a marvellous feat of engineering, made even more incredible by the fact that it was completed without the knowledge of the authorities, by resistance workers who constructed it covertly, using obsolete tools. Its existence was unknown to all but a few people in London.

  And two of those were making their way along its damp, dimly lit passage, ready for a meeting in the American Embassy. As they walked, the occasionally felt the rumble of a train as it passed through the nearby underground tunnel, but it was so subtle that they gave no reaction.

  Every ten metres or so, a lamp shone, its electricity paid for by the Germans because a nearby power cable had been tapped. There were around two hundred of the lamps, but some of them weren’t functioning, either because their wiring needed attention or their bulbs needed changing. One of the two men carried a torch that he used to assist their journey through the dark stretches of the tunnel.