“Four days.”
“May 1st. We could try on the 2nd, the 3rd, even the 4th, but the 1st is better.”
“Try what?”
“To kill us a German.” Jerome fell silent. “And I think it’s about time you knew who that German was.” Ben paused, smiled, looked around the room as if he were addressing a large audience instead of just one man. “Our target is the Führer.”
“The Führer?” gasped Jerome. “Fuck. You mean we’re going to Germany?”
Ben shook his head. “The Führer’s coming here – unless his plans have changed. But we carry on as if they haven’t.”
“Shit.”
“I told you this job was big. And if we get our man, they’re gonna be after us for the rest of our lives.”
“What’ll we do?”
“Well, Liam’s seeing about getting us shifted to the US,” Ben answered, “but whether he will or not …” He shrugged his shoulders.
“What about Maggie?”
“Maggie isn’t in on this job, Jerome.”
“Yeah, but when we leave–”
“Maggie’s doing her own thing, just like she always has done.”
“I want her to come with us – to the States.”
“What if she doesn’t want to come?”
“She will.”
“Well, it might not be possible, Jerome. It’ll be difficult enough to get us moved to the States, but Maggie … I don’t know.”
“If we move to the States after this, wherever we move, in fact, I want Maggie to at least have the opportunity to come with me – if she wants.”
“I’ll speak to Liam.”
“Really?”
“Really,” Ben promised. “Come on, get your coat.”
“Why?”
“We’re going to the Pig and Whistle.”
“Any particular reason?”
“Yeah, the HQ will be empty tonight.”
“And?”
“And we’ll be able to check the large scale map there, sort out a location for the hit.”
Jerome got to his feet, and followed Ben into the hallway. They pulled on their coats. Jerome said, “Listen, Ben, I’m sorry if I’ve been uptight.”
“Forget it. We all lose it sometimes.”
“Yeah, but you’ve helped me.”
“And you’re going to help me, Jerome.” Ben looked his companion in the eyes. “You’ve got to realize, Jerome, that this is going to be fucking dangerous. There’s a chance … a chance that we might not even get the opportunity to go on the run.”
“You mean we’ll get caught?”
“Something like that.”
“I understand that.”
“If we kill the Führer, and they catch us …”
Jerome winced at the thought, and he could see that Ben did likewise.
Neither of them said anything else on the subject.
The Pig and Whistle was quiet. There were few customers, and those there seemed to be genuine drinkers, rather than undercover Combat UK members. There were a couple of men Jerome recognized as members, but they seemed to be the usual guards the HQ had. When they were in Scotland, Ben had told him that the HQ was wired with explosives that could be detonated should the Gestapo manage to find the hidden basement. There were hundreds of sensitive documents in the HQ. Of course, it would require a man with the nerve to detonate the explosives to keep the HQ secure. Such a man would not come out alive. But Ben said that Liam was confident the guards were of that ilk. Looking at them now, Jerome could quite easily believe they were capable of defending the HQ and its secrets with their lives.
They had a pint each, and then Ben spoke with one of the guards, after which he disappeared in the toilet. Jerome followed two minutes later, after draining his pint. He was soon climbing down the narrow tunnel leading to the HQ.
Ben pointed out locations on the map, consulting a piece of paper that was written in an illegible hand, using coded words that Jerome didn’t have a hope of understanding. Ben told him it was the Führer’s itinerary.
Finally, he found half a dozen locations he believed would be suitable, and he had to decide which ones were important appointments on the itinerary that were definite, and which would not be cancelled at the last minute. After that, he had three locations.
After much deliberation, and asking Jerome technical questions he had no hope of ever answering – Ben’s explanation was that it helped him to think about the answers himself if he asked the question – Ben finally decided on a location. He told Jerome it was partly because there was a hotel nearby where they could stay for the nights preceding the attack, and from which they could launch their attack on the day.
He explained to Jerome that the hotel was almost eight-hundred metres from the target zone, but that he could hit a man-sized target at fifteen-hundred metres if the weather was acceptable. He told Jerome to follow him.
Jerome asked where they were going.
Ben answered, “to check that the target zone can be seen from the hotel, and then to book a pair of rooms for the next week.”
And with that, they left the HQ.
59
It was a cold day, the skies almost black, as the Lufthansa Airbus transporting the Reichsführer-SS from Germania appeared like a star over London. It landed at Flughafen Goering early in the morning, escorted by what appeared to be a murder of crows; six Luftwaffe MF440 fighters, small, one-man jets, black in colour.
There was little ceremony as the Reichsführer-SS, Heinz von Stauffenberg, climbed down the access stairway and entered the Mercedes limousine, along with three top-ranking SS officers, all Oberführers. The Mercedes, a pair of tiny Hakenkreuz flags fluttering from its front wings, sped from the airport, followed by four Audis, four BMW X5s and eight motorcycles.
Thirty minutes later, after carving its way mercilessly through the busy London traffic, closely monitored by a pair of attack helicopters flying overhead, the entourage pulled into the driveway of the Amtssitz des Reichsstatthalter, and parked in the courtyard at the rear of the building.
Von Stauffenberg was dismayed to see rain falling as he climbed from the limousine, but he saluted the attended officers as enthusiastically as they saluted him.
A tall man, dressed in a black SS uniform bearing the insignia of SS-Oberstgruppenführer, stepped up to von Stauffenberg.
“Herr Reichsführer, Heil Führer.”
“Heil Führer,” von Stauffenberg returned.
“I am SS-Oberstgruppenführer Röhm, mein Herr.”
“Pleased to meet you, Herr Oberstgruppenführer.”
“The honour is mine, mein Herr.” Röhm led the Reichsführer-SS and his officers through the rear entrance of the building. “We have been eagerly anticipating your arrival.”
“I hope I did not spring it on you too abruptly.”
“Not at all, mein Herr,” Röhm assured, as they entered the elevator that would take them up to the floor where the Reichsstatthalter was waiting.
The elevator hummed as it ascended to the required floor, and there was no conversation. Von Stauffenberg, who was holding a short staff, tapped it against his leg as he waited for the elevator to stop. Röhm felt uncomfortable in the presence of not only his superior officer, but the highest ranking officer in the Schutzstaffel, but von Stauffenberg possessed a genial, friendly demeanour, and it was difficult to believe that he was, after the Führer and the Vizeführer, the most powerful man in the Reich.
Röhm led von Stauffenberg and his three officers into Klarsfeld’s office, and once inside, there were the usual exchanges of salutes and declarations. Klarsfeld remained seated behind his desk, and von Stauffenberg sat opposite, with Röhm beside him. The three officers stood behind the Reichsführer-SS.
“It is an honour to have someone of your standing visit our State, Herr Reichsführer,” Klarsfeld said.
Von Stauffenberg waved a hand dismissively. “You will realize the true meaning behind my visit,” he said.
�
�Naturally, mein Herr.”
“I have to be sure that security within the Deutscher Staat von Grossebritannien is of a high enough standard for the Führer’s proposed visit.”
“Of course.”
“For that, I will require access for my entire staff to all and any files they require.” He looked at Röhm. “You will ensure that my staff are given everything they need, Herr Oberstgruppenführer.”
“That is a guarantee, mein Herr.”
“I heard that you recently arrested a number of resistance fighters,” von Stauffenberg said. “I would be interested to read all intelligence files pertaining to that operation.”
“Certainly, mein Herr.”
“I am presuming that you have run your own security checks on all the locations the Führer plans to visit?”
“Yes, Herr Reichsführer.”
“And did you find any problems?”
“No, mein Herr.”
“My staff will run the same checks,” von Stauffenberg said. “It is in no way meant as an indication of our distrust in your ability. We have to be doubly certain that the DSvG is in a secure condition. The Führer must not be allowed to visit any location that is not entirely safe.”
“Mein Herr,” Klarsfeld said, “I have to say that I was rather … concerned and surprised that the Führer wished to visit our State.”
“We do not question the Führer’s ideas, Herr Klarsfeld.”
“No, mein Herr.”
“Although, I would be …” von Stauffenberg smiled broadly and continued, “… happier, if this visit were cancelled.”
“Do you think there is any possibility of that, mein Herr?”
“I very much doubt it,” the Reichsführer-SS said grimly. “Why? Have you undue concerns that the Führer will not be safe in the DSvG?”
Röhm stepped into the conversation. “The resistance groups are as large here, mein Herr, as anywhere in the Deutsches Reich.”
“Then we have nothing to worry about.”
“But, mein Herr,” Röhm went on, “the Schutzstaffel forces in this State are much smaller than in other States.”
“That is correct,” von Stauffenberg agreed. “Which is why I expect officers in England to be twice as vigilant as officers elsewhere in the Reich.” He looked at Röhm and said, “Herr Oberstgruppenführer, are your officers twice as vigilant?”
“I like to think they are, mein Herr.”
“Well, Herr Oberstgruppenführer, there is nothing like an outside investigative force to show the weak links,” von Stauffenberg said, getting to his feet. “And if there are indeed any weak links in your Schutzstaffel, my men will find them.”
“I hope, mein Herr, that they will find none,” Röhm said, standing. Klarsfeld also stood. The meeting had been brief, but to the point. There was little purpose in extending it further. “I would not like to think that my men would be compromising the Führer’s safety during his visit to England.”
Von Stauffenberg nodded his head. “I trust that offices will be made available for my men and me at the Polizeipräsidium.”
“Naturally, mein Herr.”
“Herr Klarsfeld, I thank you for your time. Herr Oberstgruppenführer, we will speak later,” von Stauffenberg said, snapping his heels together and saluting. “Heil Führer!”
And with that, von Stauffenberg was gone.
Röhm and Klarsfeld stood by the window and watched the convoy of vehicles escorting and transporting the Reichsführer-SS to the hotel, close to both the Amtssitz and the Polizeipräsidium.
Neither man said anything.
But both had one thing on their minds.
They were hoping that von Stauffenberg found nothing wrong with their security measures.
60
The office von Stauffenberg was given was the grandest office in the Polizeipräsidium off Hitlerstrasse. Even Röhm himself, who ran the entire English Schutzstaffel would not use the office because of its immense proportions. Röhm preferred his office to be small, compact, with everything to hand, but he had presumed that the Reichsführer-SS would have different needs, and for a man of his standing, nothing short of the best would suffice.
And the Oberstgruppenführerburo on the top floor of the Polizeipräsidium was certainly the best the English Schutzstaffel had to offer. The large window that stretched from one wall to the other, and from floor to ceiling, commanded an excellent view of the Amtssitz and its surrounding gardens, and across to the right, there was an imposing view of the city of London, with its skyscrapers shooting up to the heavens.
Von Stauffenberg wasn’t particularly interested in such things. That wasn’t the purpose behind his visit. He wasn’t on a sightseeing trip to England. But he still stood and took in the beautiful vista presented before him when he first arrived at the office. He liked to get to know his surroundings. He felt more comfortable working when he was familiar with his environment. And this was to be his place of work for the next few days.
It was early the following day when one of the Oberführers by the name of Scholl arrived at the office and presented von Stauffenberg with a thin file.
He quickly explained why the thin file contained details of paramount importance. “The English Geheime Staatspolizei arrested a Sicherheitsdienst officer by the name of Otto Günther. They had photographic evidence which showed him handing something to a known terrorist. After interrogation, he revealed that this something was a list of fifteen collaborators, along with their addresses. A hitlist for terrorists, if you like.”
“Yes?”
“That was four weeks ago, mein Herr, and since then, no attempts have been made upon the lives of the collaborators named on that list.”
“Perhaps the terrorists were frightened off.”
“Perhaps, mein Herr, but I have had a number of men go through every document in this Polizeipräsidium in an attempt to identify the one allegedly handed by Günther to the terrorists. The document in question was not found. Not in paper form, nor on any computer.”
“I am impressed with the speed at which you and your men work, Scholl, but surely it is not so remarkable for you not to find such a list?”
“Perhaps not, mein Herr,” Scholl said with a smile, “but I did identify a number of other documents that Günther handled in the days prior to his arrest. One of those documents, in particular, is clearly sensitive.” He handed the relevant document to von Stauffenberg.
The Reichsführer-SS read it with interest, and it took him no more than a second or two to realize what it was, and the significance of such a finding.
“The Führer’s itinerary.”
“Yes, mein Herr. SS-Obersturmführer Günther was in possession of that document just a couple of days prior to his arrest. He made a number of copies that were to be despatched to the relevant security offices. It is possible that he made an extra copy for himself. It is also possible that he handed that copy to the terrorist, whose name was Scott Cazelot.”
Von Stauffenberg was flicking through the file. He came to the photographs. Despite the arrows that pointed out the two men, it wasn’t too difficult to guess which one was the SD officer. The one with a blond crewcut was Günther; the one with the curly, fair hair was Cazelot, the Engländer. Von Stauffenberg looked at the article Günther was handing over and nodded his head.
“When were these photographs taken?”
“The day that Günther first received the itinerary,” answered Scholl. “More significantly, about two hours after Günther left the Polizeipräsidium.”
“Then it is safe to assume that he was indeed handing over a copy of that itinerary. Why the hell did Röhm’s men not pick up on this? Do these people not know how to operate? Are they that incompetent? Bumbling provincial fools.” Von Stauffenberg picked up his telephone, spoke to his secretary, and demanded that she order Röhm to his office. He slammed down the receiver and then looked back up at Scholl. “I knew this State was somewhat of a backwards place to be, as it was for the Roman Empire,
but I never thought I would see the day when Schutzstaffel officers – Gestapo officers, more to the point – missed something such as this.”
“Mein Herr, Günther confessed after a torture session. Perhaps the interrogating officer believed him – he had good reason to.”
“I can see that, Scholl, but something as important as this should have been checked and double-checked, not simply taken at face value. Aside from the fact that Günther could have been lying, he was an SD officer, for God’s sake! Everything this man touched should have been checked to ensure that nothing sensitive could possibly have been leaked to the terrorists.”
There was a knock at the door.
“Come in!”
Röhm entered and immediately saluted. “Heil Führer!”
“Heil Führer, Röhm,” von Stauffenberg said, signalling for Röhm to approach the desk and take a seat. “I have been speaking with SS-Oberführer Scholl, here, of the Germanian Geheime Staatspolizei. His men have uncovered a serious security leak.”
“A security leak?” Röhm questioned. Already, sweat was starting to break out in little spots on his forehead.
“A month ago, during your Combat UK purge, your men discovered that a Sicherheitsdienst officer by the name of Günther had connections with the terrorist group, Combat UK.”
“Yes, yes, I remember. He explained, under interrogation, that the information he had given to the terrorists concerned a collaborators and–”
“Did your men perform the necessary security checks?” asked von Stauffenberg.
“Mein Herr?”
“Herr Oberstgruppenführer,” Scholl said, “did your men check every single file that Günther came into contact with?”
“I … I could not say,” Röhm answered, directing his replies to von Stauffenberg. “I do not know.”
“You should know, Herr Oberstgruppenführer. It is standard Geheime Staatspolizei procedure.”
“Well, in that case–”
“They did not,” Scholl said. Röhm glared at him.
“If you are suggesting my men are lackadaisical in their duties–”
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