“That is a naïve way of thinking, Werner.”
“No, Erich, your way of thinking is naïve. There can only be one master race, and indoctrinating those of ethnic birth into German thinking is not an acceptable substitute. That is why these fucking savage Untermenschen are always fighting us.”
“Let us just agree to differ,” Klarsfeld said, turning back to the gymnasts doing their floor displays. “And I would appreciate it if you would ensure that the collaborators targeted by Combat UK are given the fullest protection possible.”
“I will endeavour to keep them alive, Erich,” Röhm said diplomatically. “But I cannot promise anything. After all, one German life is worth a hundred Engländer lives.”
“Well, I thank you for your report, Werner.”
“Any news of the Führer’s visit?”
“You mean, have I heard when the Reichsführer-SS is due?”
“Something like that, yes,” Röhm answered.
“Well, no. I am sure the Reichsführer-SS will contact us as soon as he knows himself.”
“Probably the day before,” Röhm muttered, getting to his feet. “I want this State to be secure for his visit. I do not want him to have any cause for complaint.”
“I am sure he will not, Werner. You are doing an excellent job. Not that I necessarily agree with all of it, but I am sure that Reichsführer-SS von Stauffenberg would approve.”
Röhm nodded his head as he opened the door. “I will let you get on with watching your show. Goodbye, Erich.”
“Goodbye.”
“Heil Führer.”
“Heil Führer.”
Klarsfeld looked down at the girls prancing about on the huge gymnast mat, and then at the smattering of spectators. This was only a preliminary round leading up to the Olympics in Germania in two months, and there wasn’t a great deal of interest.
But there were some Engländers down there, just enjoying the show and getting on with their lives.
Did they know what the future held for them? That the pure English race would become extinct, Germanized, their race continually watered down until it was more German than English. Could any of them remember a time when they were not under Nazi rule? Of course they couldn’t – for most of them, it was just a way of life, it was all they’d ever known.
It was a way of life for them to be terrified every night, every time they heard a siren wail, every time there was a knock at the door.
For them, it was just a way of life.
Klarsfeld shook his head, and leant back in his chair.
He was ashamed to be part of a regime that caused so much terror.
52
Krankenhaus Goebbels had been built in the early Seventies. It was a massive construction, and a fitting tribute to one of the most revered German Nazis. The main part of the building was ten stories high, and within its many wards and corridors were twenty theatres, and over a thousand beds. It was the largest hospital in London.
The building itself was rather picturesque. Its windows were double-glazed, but with leaded lights. There was a clock tower, with the Hakenkreuz flag and Reichsadler at the very top. A large porch mounted on sombre pillars led into the entrance of the hospital. Visiting dignitaries commented on the its attractiveness, but they couldn’t disguise the fact that there were only fifty beds made available for English patients, and those patients had to be either extremely wealthy or else not only members of the Nazi Party, but keen and active supporters.
Jerome stood across Marylebone Road, outside a newsagent shop opposite the hospital, a copy of the Volkischer Beobachter, the People’s Observer, in his hands. He wasn’t reading the translated text – he was using it as part of a disguise that he felt anybody who knew him would see through immediately.
He had already been given a long, hard stare by two Orpo officers who had strolled past him with their submachine-guns in their hands, but he had put that down to the fact that he was apparently doing nothing, and going nowhere in particular. To the Germans, such people were suspicious, and their intentions also were suspicious. So now, Jerome read the newspaper as he waited for Ellen to leave the hospital for dinner.
Two more Orpo officers were walking towards him, and Jerome had an idea they would probably stop and question him. So it was fortunate that Ellen chose that moment to walk through the entrance of the hospital.
Jerome closed the paper, folded it up, and tucked it under his arm. Then he prepared to cross the busy street. When the traffic cleared, and he was finally able to make it to the other side, Ellen was a hundred yards up the road.
He caught up with her within a couple of minutes, just as she reached a quiet and deserted street opposite a playing field.
Ellen spun around, obviously alerted by his footsteps, and it took her a moment to realize who he was. She saw through his disguise within that split second, and was frowning at him.
“Jerome?”
“Ellen,” he said with a laboured smile.
“My God, what are you doing?” Ellen asked him. She looked around anxiously, saw that nobody was nearby. She led him across to the playing field.
“I wanted to see you.”
“The police are after you, Jerome,” Ellen told him, as though he didn’t already know. He nodded his head. “The Geheime Staatspolizei came round to our house asking all kinds of questions. What did you do? I mean, what were you thinking? You killed somebody.”
“It was an accident, Ellen. You’ve got to believe me. I didn’t set out to … to kill that man. I was fighting for his gun, and it just went off. I mean, I thought he’d shot me, not the other way around.”
“So it was an accident? Why not give yourself up?”
“How can I?” Jerome asked her. “With the bloody Gestapo after me? And after what they did to my dad? I’d end up the same way.”
“Not necessarily.”
“They took my family away, Ellen. They’ve probably been killed. I’ve lost everything – everybody.”
“You have not lost me,” Ellen reminded him, resting a hand on his cheek. “You know, blond hair really suits you.”
“You would say that, wouldn’t you?” Jerome snapped. “Being a German.”
“Hey, now that is below the belt, Jerome.”
“Yeah … yeah, I’m sorry. Listen, I shouldn’t have come. I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll leave you.”
“You are being silly.”
“No, I’m not being silly, Ellen. I just … I just wanted to see you one last time.”
“We can carry on seeing each other,” Ellen told him. “We can keep it a secret.”
“It would get you into trouble, Ellen, if you were found out. They’d kill you as well.”
“They would not.”
“They would,” insisted Jerome. “Your father’s name wouldn’t protect you. Not this time. I’ve probably already got you in enough trouble just by seeing you now.” He looked around, but there appeared to be nobody watching him. He feared now that they might’ve had Ellen under surveillance, but that didn’t seem to be the case.
“Jerome, where are you staying?”
“I can’t say.”
“You can trust me.”
“Ellen, I can’t say. It would get somebody else into trouble, and after all they’ve done for me, I don’t want that.”
“But what about me?”
“What?”
“I want to see you again.”
“I told you, Ellen, it’s too dangerous. I’m being selfish, just by coming here – I just wanted to see you, just one last time.”
“Jerome, I do not want to lose you.”
“Believe me, you can do better,” Jerome told her, running a hand through her curly hair. “You really can. I mean, this relationship – it’s hardly going to lead anywhere, is it? I’m a wanted man.”
“You are wanted by me.”
“You’re not going to kill me, Ellen. The Gestapo are.”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
&nb
sp; “Look, I’d better go.”
“After you come and see me? You build me up, you knock me down,” Ellen said, her face contorted. She looked as if she were about to cry. “Please, Jerome.”
“I’ve got to go,” Jerome said, and he leaned forward to kiss her. Ellen took him in her arms, kissed him tenderly on the lips, her tongue exploring his mouth. . She pushed her body against his, and he wanted her so much, but he couldn’t have her.
Finally, he pulled himself free, smiled at her, and with tears in his eyes, he turned and walked away.
He had taken a big risk leaving Ben’s house, and now, as he returned, he realized that, far from feeling better for seeing Ellen, he was feeling a hell of a lot worse.
53
The Pig and Whistle was almost deserted when Ben first entered. There were a couple of men standing by the bar, pint glasses in front of them, but they appeared not to be in any particular hurry to finish their drinks. That was because they weren’t in the pub to drink, but to guard another of the patrons, Liam Lovett, who sat in the corner at a table, a copy of the English News in his hands.
Ben noticed that Liam had two drinks in front of him. One was a Scotch, neat, the other a pint of bitter. Ben knew that the bitter had been ordered for him.
He walked quickly across the room to the table and sat down. Liam lowered the newspaper. He looked around the pub, then folded the newspaper, putting it on the seat beside him.
He said to Ben, “I’m glad you could make it.”
“It sounded pretty urgent.”
“It is. We’re facing a crisis, Ben. You’re an experienced and valuable member of our organization. I’m nominating you as my adjutant.”
“But Scott–” Ben began; then he realized. “They took Scott?”
“They took Scott, and about a hundred others,” Liam muttered. “We’re lucky they didn’t take you.”
“Jesus.” Ben picked up the pint glass, took a long swig, then wiped his lips dry. “What about the operation?”
Liam winced. “It’s like most things in the organization now – even this pub. We don’t know whether it’s been compromised.”
“What do you mean?”
“To cut a long story short, we had a man inside the Sicherheitsdienst,” Liam explained, “and when they took in Scott, they must’ve taken him in as well. They had to have had either one of them under surveillance.”
“And?”
“And both of them know your target.”
“Well, now, that’s handy,” Ben remarked, sipping his pint, “when you consider that I don’t know it myself.”
“Your target,” Liam said quietly, his eyes checking the bar. Nobody had come in since Ben, and the two men at the bar were well out of earshot. “Your target is the Führer.”
Ben leaned back in his chair, sighed, and nodded his head, saying, “I thought it would be. I had a feeling, you know.”
“Yeah, well, the Gestapo pulled in Scott and this SD officer. They’ve got two chances to beat something out of them. Now, I think I can trust Scott’s resolve – he’s one of us. But the SD officer … he’s a Kraut, and he could cut a deal.”
“Wouldn’t get him anywhere. They’d still execute him.”
“Oh, most definitely,” agreed Liam, “but it’d shorten the torture session.”
“How much does he know?”
“He knew Scott, he knew me, and he knew your target. Scott’s out of the equation, I’m already a wanted man, so that just leaves the target as a compromised element.”
“Well,” Ben said, “there’s no problem, is there?”
“No problem?”
“So, he knows the target. Even if they get it out of him, it isn’t going to help them. I mean, they could call off the Führer’s visit, but that isn’t going to make any difference to us. Aside from the fact that we’ll just have to call the operation off.”
“So?”
“So I’m saying we carry on as normal.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” Liam said with a smile. He drained his Scotch. “Look, I don’t want to push you into anything here, Ben, but you’re the best man we’ve got. Assassinating the Führer isn’t going to be easy. It’s going to have to be a long-distance shot.”
“Yeah, well, no problem. I’ve hit targets at a mile distance in the past.”
“You think you can handle it?”
“I’ve still got the knack, Liam, and that’s why you and Scott chose me.”
Liam smiled and nodded his head. “All the same, you’re going to have to get some training in. I want you to leave for Scotland.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.” Ben raised an eyebrow. Concerned, Liam asked, “Is that okay? Can you get the time off work?”
“I’m due a couple of weeks.”
“This may take longer than a couple of weeks.”
“I’ll call in sick when the annual leave is up,” Ben said.
“I don’t want you to arouse suspicion before the operation.”
“I won’t,” assured Ben. “Is that all?”
“I have the Führer’s planned itinerary here,” Liam said, sticking his cigarette in his mouth and fumbling in his pocket. He pulled out a folded sheet of paper and handed it to Ben, who unfolded it and began to read. There were times and dates written down the left hand side – next to the times and dates were places.
“It’s not in code,” he remarked.
“I don’t want you to be worrying about one of our codes, Ben. I want you to read something that’s clear and concise. But don’t carry it around with you. Leave it in your house. If the Gestapo come for you and discover that, it won’t make any difference because–”
“Because if they come for me, I’m already dead and the operation’s already fucked. Thanks for the honesty.”
“If you don’t need to keep it, destroy it,” Liam suggested, stroking his beard. “If you want to code it yourself, fine.”
“Well, I can see from this that more than half of the places are poor shots. I’ll soon have a location sorted out.”
“Any ideas yet?”
“Not yet,” Ben replied, taking a swig from his pint. “But even if there were, I wouldn’t tell you. That’s the first rule of this game. Keep the location of the shot a secret. That’s when I’ll be at my most vulnerable.”
“Ah, speaking of which, you’ll need a number two,” Liam said.
“A number two?”
“Unless you want to go solo.”
“No, I may need back-up,” Ben said, nodding his head thoughtfully.
“Anybody in mind?”
“Possibly Jerome.”
“Jerome Varley?”
“Anything wrong with that?”
“Well, he’s hardly experienced.”
“No,” admitted Ben, “but I know I can trust him.”
“Do you?”
“More than I trust somebody the Gestapo might’ve got to. For all I know, Liam, the Gestapo might’ve got to you.”
“Or you,” Liam countered.
Ben raised his eyebrows and nodded his head. “Yeah, I guess. But I think I’ll feel better with somebody I can trust behind me. And I think I can trust Jerome.”
“I don’t want this operation fucking up, Ben.”
“Me neither.”
“So, you going to take Jerome up to Scotland with you?”
“Best thing to do – get in some training for him. Unless you have any objections?”
Liam smoked his cigarette, pulled a face and shrugged his shoulders. He said, “No, I’ve no objections. You’re the man on the ground – I wouldn’t want to tell you how to operate.”
“Fine. Anything else I should know?”
“The tour operators will give you a call tomorrow, tell you the time of the bus’s departure.”
“I’ll expect that call.”
“And good luck.”
“Good luck to you, Liam,” Ben said, getting to his feet. “In this country, we all need it.”<
br />
Liam nodded his head.
Ben left the pub and drove home. On the way, he saw a few Orpo patrols, and each time he did, he thought about the itinerary he had in his pocket. He might be able to bluff his way past Orpo officers, but some patrols had a Gestapo presence as well. He’d never be able to bluff past their questions.
But luck was on his side. No patrol stopped him.
He pulled up outside his house, switched off the engine, and jumped out of the car. Seconds later, he was in his house, noticing that the doors to the raided houses had been repaired and closed.
Jerome was upstairs, and Ben went up to find him. He seemed happy to see Ben, but there was something in his face that told Ben something had happened, something was on his mind.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
Jerome didn’t answer at first. He shrugged his shoulders. Then he said, “Just thinking about my life, how I’ve fucked it up.”
“Well, I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“What kind?” Jerome asked nervously.
“I’ve got to go to Scotland tomorrow,” Ben said. “I want you to come with me.”
“Scotland? What for?”
“Weapons training.”
“You’re joking?”
“I’m not. I’ve got a job on.”
“What kind of job?”
“Never mind what kind for now. I want you as my number two, my back-up man.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Learn how to fire a submachine gun,” Ben said. “I presume you’ve never fired one before.”
“What do you think?”
“Well, then, we leave tomorrow.”
“This job, Ben. What does it involve?”
“It involves guns and death. Are you up for it?”
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