The Man Who Played Trains: The gripping new thriller from the author of Playpits Park

by Richard Whittle

  ‘He can try.’

  ‘But he does not succeed, is that what you are saying? You are wrong. With this particular portrait, man did succeed. The portrait is that of the wife of Francesco del Giocondo di Zandi, a prominent Florentine gentleman.’

  ‘I know that, actually. They’ve just discovered that.’

  ‘Oh? I think you will find the lady’s identity has never seriously been in doubt. A few years ago papers were found that merely supported what many of us knew already.’

  ‘You were telling me why you – they – went to so much expense searching the U-boat.’

  ‘Very well. The consortium pledged that by the end of the Millennium they would recover all the works of art it was possible to recover. They failed, but that does not mean their quest stopped. I could not convince them that even if they could locate Theodor’s boat, they would find nothing of value.’

  ‘Even if you find the paintings in good shape there’s nothing you can do with them. What’s a buyer going to do, put it in a cellar and gloat over it?’

  ‘Yes, that is exactly what they will do. For the Leonardo we have three serious buyers, one of whom is so serious he personally provided most of the exploration costs. It is the desire of the moth for the star, John Spargo. That’s your poet Shelley, by the way. But I am sure you will not know that.’

  ‘So you are blaming others. You’re saying they forced you to do this.’

  ‘Forced me? Nobody forces me. In this matter I merely act as a consultant, rather like yourself. For many years I believed my friend Theodor either completed his voyage or else he was at the bottom of the Atlantic. Did I tell you he was sailing to Argentina? He should have followed a course that took him north of your Shetland Islands and into the Atlantic. I thought he had succeeded and for many years I attempted to trace him in South America. Eventually I had to accept that his submarine did not complete its journey.’

  ‘Kalman said the consortium had been looking for it for years.’

  ‘Not actively. We looked into reports of newly discovered wrecks. I took little notice of this one because Theodor should not have been so far off course. As it became more and more likely this wreck was Theodor’s submarine I had to ask myself why he had deviated so greatly.’

  ‘With just a few paintings and Göring’s dinner service.’

  Bar laughed, his gruff bark degrading into the sharp, hacking cough.

  ‘Precisely, John Spargo. My colleagues loaded many of the Reichsmarschall’s belongings on the boat, but my six were the only ones protected properly. His estate was in disarray and they were not missed. We needed to add credibility to our little venture, making naval officials believe that requisitioning the vessel was undertaken with the Reichsmarschall’s authority. They had to believe it would be used to transport him to a place of safety.

  ‘The work was carried out in secrecy. The vessel did not officially exist. Early this year I saw a video made by Kalman. Though the submarine he was exploring had no deck gun and no torpedo tubes, I was still unsure. Several submarines had been converted in this way to carry cargo and fuel.’

  ‘The U-boat sank miles from here. What brought you to Kilcreg?’

  ‘I think you know the answer to that. Do Theodor’s writings not explain these things? Have you not made the connection yourself?’

  ‘My father and Volker were both mining engineers.’

  Bar nodded. ‘As I said, you know the reason. Theodor and I spent many weeks together. He told me of the time he visited Scotland, of the Kilcreg mine and of Samuel Spargo. After seeing Robert Kalman’s videotape I told the consortium what I knew about Samuel. They persuaded me to investigate things further and so Ian Letchie was hired. I believed he was working for me – for Luis – but later I discovered I was being bypassed. Letchie was cheating, John Spargo. He was sending information directly to my Consortium associates behind my back. Because I did not pursue the Kilcreg aspects of this business enthusiastically they did not trust me, they constantly checked up on me.’

  ‘Are they holding Jez, is that what you’re saying? What good can it possibly do?’

  ‘I do not know the answer to either of your questions, but most probably you are right. They fear I have given up looking and I am guessing your daughter is to be insurance for both you and I to continue. The boxes I am looking for, John Spargo… where could they be? Might they have been taken into the mine?’

  ‘If that’s where you are thinking of looking then think again. There is no mine. The pumps, the cage, the steelwork and timber were all stripped out. Most of the workings were below the water table, so when the pumps were turned off they flooded. The old mineshaft was capped with concrete and the buildings demolished, all except the mine house and this place. Thanks to you the mine house has now gone.’

  ‘That was Luis. He made the decision.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I assumed he was only obeying orders.’

  Bar glared. ‘There are some aspects of your British humour I do not find amusing. So, John Spargo… if not the mine, then where else could they be? Tell me about your father’s friends.’

  ‘He knew everyone for miles. He was on councils and committees, he was a well-connected, popular man. Don’t even suggest we start looking for his friends. If any are still alive they’ll be over one hundred. That’s even older than you. Possibly.’

  ‘You have balls, John Spargo, I’ll give you that. I had you down as a wimp – do we still use that expression? I should have known better, you come from good stock. Now, tell me about the other houses in Kilcreg.’

  ‘They’re small. Most have changed hands since I lived here. They have been altered, they have had central heating put in, they have been rewired and re-plumbed. If the boxes were hidden in any of them they would have been found by now. My father was an honest man. If he had been given crates he would have taken them to the authorities. If what you say is true – ’

  ‘Stop saying that. I have told you I will not lie to you.’

  ‘– if what you say is true and you did take these paintings, perhaps that is exactly what happened. My father would have handed the crates to the authorities and they handed them quietly back to France. God knows what deals went on back then.’

  Again Bar went quiet. ‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘That did not happen.’

  ‘You can’t be sure.’

  ‘I cannot be sure, no. But until I prove otherwise I must assume the boxes came ashore. I must assume Samuel Spargo concealed them in the same way he concealed the box with Theodor’s writings. Do you not agree with me?’

  CHAPTER

  THIRTY-NINE

  A PAIR OF OIL LAMPS hang from the roof beams of the barrack hut. The man in the overcoat strides to the first of these, reaches up and turns up the wick. The room brightens slightly. He does the same to the other but its glass is blackened and emits no more light than before. Walter, still sprawled in the armchair, regards the man with interest. He sits up straight. The officer salutes him.

  ‘Herr Oberführer, forgive the intrusion.’

  The interfering man is Gestapo, of that Theo is sure. After adjusting the lamps he walks casually to the stove and holds out his gloved hands as if warm them. Half-turning he looks at Theo and Walter.

  ‘A cosy family gathering, Oberführer. Close the door, soldier, we must keep out the cold. The boy’s mother is here? Yes?’

  Peter, at the log pile, lifts a log with both hands and holds it up. The man takes it, and with his free hand he opens the stove and drops the log in. Orange sparks rise high. He reaches down and holds Peter’s hand.

  ‘A fine young man,’ he says, turning to Walter. ‘Very trusting. The boy is yours?’

  Walter is standing now and Theo watches him anxiously. Hopes for Peter’s sake Walter stays calm.

  Walter says ‘The boy is mine.’

  Theo frowns. No doubt Walter has reasons for his lie. Perhaps he believes his high rank will have influence.

  ‘You have permits of course? A permit t
o move this child? You have clearance to bring him on to military property?’

  ‘This works is under the control of the SS,’ Walter says. ‘I am sure you know that.’

  ‘But this barrack hut is army property, is it not? Again I ask you: when you presented yourselves at the guardhouse, did you declare the child?’

  ‘I did not think it necessary.’

  The man walks around the room, glancing in corners and behind beds. ‘Tell me why are you here, Oberführer.’

  ‘I cannot. It is SS business, Herr...?’

  ‘Grünbaum. Kriminalinspektor Grünbaum. And your name, Oberführer?’

  ‘I am sure you know it already.’

  ‘Indeed I do, Oberführer Wolff.’

  Grünbaum stoops, picks up another log and holds it out to Peter. ‘Here, boy, take this to your father.’

  Peter takes the log. Walter takes a step forwards and holds out his hand. At first Peter heads for him but at the last moment he changes direction and runs to Theo, the log clamped to his chest with both arms. At any other time Theo would have hugged him.

  Grünbaum forces a tight, thin lipped smile.

  ‘He is young,’ Walter says. ‘He does not understand.’

  ‘Oberführer, do not insult my intelligence.’

  Grünbaum picks Peter up and carries him to the stove. Theo darts forward but is grabbed by the soldiers. Walter moves fast, elbows the soldiers aside, snatches Peter from Grünbaum and hands him to Theo.

  ‘The child is my aide’s son. For reasons I do not have to explain to you there are no papers for him. I possess documents that cover this situation adequately but they are not for your eyes. I demand you take me to the senior SS officer.’

  The army officer walks to Walter, tips his head in a barely noticeable nod and speaks quietly, his voice a whisper.

  ‘I apologise, Herr Oberführer. Your pistol, please!’

  Walter shakes his head and stares theatrically, an overdone expression of disbelief.

  ‘You must be out of your mind!’ Instead of complying he buttons his tunic and goes for his cap. ‘Are you willing to arrest a Schutzstaffel major-general on the say-so of this fool?’

  Grünbaum picks up Walter’s briefcase, flips its catch and looks inside.

  ‘Leave that! You have no right!’

  Walter, for all his strutting and bluster, knows he has failed. Theo, his arms gripped by two soldiers, is powerless. Out in the snow they walk side by side like prisoners, Peter up high on Theo’s shoulders. The soldiers stroll behind them, their rifles held casually. Taking up the rear, riding in the back of a small open car driven by the army officer, is Grünbaum.

  Back in the admin block the soldiers leave their captives with Grünbaum in a sparsely-furnished, ill-lit room. Walter and Grünbaum sit opposite each other at a grey metal desk while Peter, with Theo close by, finds a corner to sit in.

  Grünbaum is well informed. He knows everything they have done at Monowitz since they arrived.

  ‘Lying to me is pointless, Oberführer. I know why you are here.’

  ‘If you already know everything then I see no reason to go through this charade.’

  ‘You came here with paintings in wooden cases. You have arranged to have them sealed in metal boxes and protected by rubber. Why is that?’

  Walter is nervous. To stop his hands shaking he clamps one over the other. Theo notices. Grünbaum does not.

  ‘I am not authorised to say. Whoever passed this information to you has committed a treasonable offence. The fact you have repeated it to me makes you as guilty as him. I insist you allow me to call Munich.’

  Grünbaum doesn’t listen. He reaches across the desk to where the army officer placed Walter’s briefcase, drags it towards him and upends it on the desk. Its contents, a mass of papers, folders and stapled documents, slither into a pile. Some papers slide off the desk and travel across the floor as if sliding on ice.

  Walter tries again. ‘You are making a serious mistake. Your career in the Staatspolitzei is over, you do understand? As of this moment you are finished!’

  Theo watches anxiously as Peter shuffles across the floor, picks up the papers and starts putting them back on the table.

  ‘However,’ Walter continues, looking at the boy but talking to Grünbaum, ‘You are a good servant of the Reich and I understand your concern in these matters. In fact, it is commendable you have acted in the way you have done and for this reason I am willing to overlook your foolishness. That is on the condition you overlook my slight transgression in the case of the child.’

  It as if Grünbaum doesn’t hear him. The man selects papers at random, unfolding and reading them. One takes his attention and without any comment he jumps up, opens an inner door and hurries from the room.

  ‘This is Heiss’s work!’ Walter says as the door is closing. ‘I’ll kill that bastard!’

  ‘Will you get the chance? What will become of us, Walter?’

  Walter’s confidence has taken a beating. As Grünbaum’s footsteps fade away Walter opens the door wider. Sees Grünbaum enter a room at the end of a corridor.

  ‘Theodor, I cannot say. You must tell them everything. You must say you were on leave and you were abducted by a senior Luftwaffe officer and taken to the Air Ministry in Berlin. Tell them whatever they want to know about Carinhall, omit nothing. You now understand why I refused to answer your questions. You are not part of this. I should not have involved you – tell them that too if you wish, tell them everything you know. You will not be betraying me. It is I who has betrayed you.’

  Questions fill Theo’s head. Walter’s words come as a surprise but he suspects he will be accused of treason anyway. At Carinhall he could easily have voiced his suspicions to Kropp. Even to the Reichsmarschall himself.

  ‘What will happen to Peter?’

  Walter sits down and stares at the half-open door. It is a question he does not want to answer. When Grünbaum returns he enters the room quietly, closes the door and sits down in his chair. He places the paper he took with him flat on the desk and looks down at it, as if reading it. To Theo it looks like a list.

  ‘There has been a mistake,’ Grünbaum says quietly. ‘I have been misinformed. Please forgive me and accept my apology.’ He lifts his head for barely one second, catches Walter’s eye and looks down again. ‘I will of course overlook the presence of the child and ensure you are not troubled again. Is there is anything I can do for you? Anything you need? You would like women? I can arrange such things.’

  Theo sighs inwardly. His shoulders sag, his breathing and heartbeat return to normal. Walter sits silently for what feels like an age. When he speaks he stays calm. Doesn’t curse and threaten as Theo expected.

  ‘Can you find Hauptsturmführer Ortmann for me?’

  ‘Of course, Herr Oberführer, anything you wish. He is a friend, perhaps?’

  ‘He was posted to one of the camps here.’

  ‘If he is here then I will find him. In the meantime I will have my driver take you to your hut. It is a bleak place they have given you, Herr Oberführer. Can I not take you to the officer’s mess? Or, if you wish, I can arrange accommodation for all of you at a hotel in Auschwitz, we have a place in the town reserved for visiting officers of high rank such as yourself. It is not far from here. I will take you there myself, you will be well received.’

  ‘That will not be necessary. I have paperwork to attend to, the hut is ideal. Besides, it would be better for you if the boy is not seen by others.’

  Grünbaum makes an awkward attempt to organise Walter’s papers.

  ‘Leave them,’ Walter says. ‘I will do it. Locate Hauptsturmführer Ortmann for me. Firstly, drive us to our hut.’

  The temperature outside is fifteen below zero. Despite the cold, Walter looks hot and disturbed. Back in the hut he walks to a bed and empties his briefcase on to it.

  ‘I’ve been a damn fool,’ he says. ‘That bastard could have called any one of several telephone numbers on these papers
, he could even have called Carinhall. Instead he chose – thank god – to call the first number on the first paper he found. It is the number of a friend of mine in Munich, one of the very few people who are party to this business. Open the stove for me, Theodor. It is time I burned papers.’

  Grünbaum returns shortly. This time he knocks on the door and waits to be invited inside.

  ‘Herr Oberführer, forgive the intrusion, I have good news, I have found your friend Ortmann. He apologises and says he is busy – I am sure you are aware of our problems, it is said the Soviets are less than two days away. At night, when it is quiet, we can hear gunfire. All of this means the Hauptsturmführer and his colleagues have much work to do.’

  ‘He will not see me?’

  ‘He will, of course, but when his work is done. He asks that you visit him at the SS barracks – ’ he glances at his wristwatch ‘– at eleven o’clock. That is two hours from now. Do you know the barracks? Can I oblige with directions?’

  Walter hands Grünbaum a pencil and pad. The man sketches a map and then leaves, backing out as if in the presence of royalty. When he has gone Walter slumps on to one of the beds.

  ‘Gunfire, Theodor? Are the Soviets really so close?’

  Shortly before eleven Walter hauls himself up from his bed and buttons his tunic, tugging at its hem in an attempt to hide creases. Theo watches him fasten the top button of his shirt, tie his tie, then position his cap neatly on his head.

  ‘There is a mirror in the washroom.’

  ‘What the hell would I want with a mirror?’

  ‘Your cap isn’t on square. I thought you’d like to know that.’

  Walter grunts. Still standing he lifts his left foot, twists it to one side and polishes the toe of his boot on the back of his trouser leg. He does the same with the other one.

  ‘There is a hand brush beside the stove,’ he says to Theo. ‘Get it and brush down my uniform.’

  Theo doesn’t move. Walter waits, walks to the stove, picks up the brush, bangs its bristles on the floor and starts brushing himself down with it. Theo takes the brush from him and takes over the brushing.