Chapter 4
Himmler’s Professor
The two children broke out in song, mocking the fascists of Mussolini, “The Macaronis of Italy,” that they’d heard on the BBC. Anxiously, their young mother looked around to assure herself that nobody was listening to their singing. Anyone who listened to the lyrics on the radio by the British Broadcasting Corporation in London knew what the words meant. However, they had to be careful with any display of anti-fascism in Holland. German infiltrators were becoming bolder in harassing people in the open. Despite the risk, the Dutch could be heard whistling the tune while walking down the street or riding the tram.
The German government had no qualms in making it clear that they financed the National Socialist Bond (NSB) in Holland. The organization received thousands of guilders to support their clandestine operation, with the aim of subverting Holland’s legal government. As the NSB grew more aggressive, increasing incidents occurred. Beyond mere verbal altercations, beatings and murders were now becoming a daily occurrence. Their purpose was to create unrest in the country so the general population would then perceive the government as weak and incompetent against anarchism. They would eventually demand law and order—the same strategy that had worked for Hitler.
Pope Pius XII had not yet publicly condemned fascism, and the Catholic Church in Holland tacitly tolerated a fascist regime.
As she anxiously looked around to see if her children’s song had offended any pro-Germans, she was relieved to see only reassuring passengers. The tram riders covered their faces to suppress snickers at the innocent display of mockery by these children. They gave the mother a friendly wink and went on with their journey.
Willem van Lansfoort, sitting opposite from her in the tram, also smiled and quickly nodded, signaling he had recognized the song and that all was well. Yet, he was deeply concerned about the future of these children. The danger of a German invasion loomed larger every day. He feared that the threat was not somewhere in the future. Willem had strong feelings about the impending war but kept his thoughts to himself.
The invasion of Holland is now more likely than ever before … it may come sooner than these people realize, and we have no defense against their Panzer divisions, built during the last decade, despite the prohibition under the Treaty of Versailles. He had become a member of the intelligence division of the Dutch Armed Forces, thanks to his relationship with Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands, with whom he had been friends since his golfing days.
Willem was born with the proverbial silver spoon. His father, R.J., had served as mayor of Amsterdam and was now running a major financial institution. Queen Wilhelmina had appointed him as governor of the Royal Court. The family lived in a castle on the outskirts of Amsterdam. At a young age, Willem had shown great interest in playing golf, a sport reserved for the upper class. He earned the title of Junior Golf Champion of the Netherlands at the young age of 15.
The van Lansfoort family belonged to an elite organization of Circassians, which they kept secret from friends and associates. Their pledge demanded that the family patriarch maintain secrecy about their offspring. Their ancestors came from the Black Sea and the Caucasus Mountains. Being Circassian meant that Queen Satanaya was their primordial progenitor, the most ancient ancestor.
Willem, in his early twenties, came to the realization that banking was not in his future. He set out to explore a career in something more exciting than living in an office. His parents were concerned that their son started life out as a carefree youngster, interested only in golf.
R.J. showed on Voroshilov’s list when he recruited him in the previous year to join the Adyghe Intelligence Organization. His assignment had to remain top secret, even from his family. Voroshilov confided that there was also an Adyghe Intelligence network in Germany which had spearheaded the most recent plot to murder Hitler. One of the key members was a mysterious professor who served as a principal advisor on Himmler’s staff. Voroshilov had shared his name with R.J. Written communications within Adyghe network were prohibited. Only telephone contact could be made over a secure line. The code name for telephone contacts was “Ma’anata” (Eagle in Circassian). The language used over the telephone was “Adyghe.” R.J. had only a marginal knowledge of this complicated language. For the mysterious professor, Adyghe was one of the exotic languages he had mastered during his time in service to Nicholas II, Czar of Russia. Voroshilov had recommended him to R.J. as a teacher of the Adyghe language, but he had not gotten around to contacting him.
R.J. decided it would be a good idea to send his son Willem to Nüremberg to see Hitler deliver a speech to the people. It was not going to be easy to get Willem a pass to the convention. However, he decided to give the professor a call. Remembering the codename Ma’anata, he introduced himself as Gustav von Habers, Professor at Gottingen University, a hotbed of occultism, favored by Hitler. Here, R.J. learned that he had been appointed to Himmler’s Supreme Council on Purity of the Aryan Race, the organization responsible for the execution of orders to annihilate Jews, Gypsies, and Eastern Europeans, part of Hitler’s Final Solution. However, the professor was a traitor who belonged to the high-ranked German officers who formed the plotting committee to kill Hitler. Obviously, Voroshilov in Sochi had pulled some strings in this complex network. As they approached the end of their phone conversation, he suggested to R.J. that they meet some day in Eschelbach, a short distance over the border between Holland and Germany so he could introduce him to Gertle von Habers, whom he described as an exciting character. Not much else was shared about Gertle.
“I shall be delighted to receive your son, Willem, in Nüremberg,” the professor agreed. “We will go to the Convention Hall to hear Hitler give his speech. If luck is on my side, I may introduce Willem to Himmler.” R.J. could not have been more astounded by the conversation. He delivered the news to his son with a dose of excitement beyond his wildest dreams.
At the train station in Amsterdam, Willem bought his ticket for Nuremberg. The train made an intermediate stop in Frankfurt where he got his first glance at the real Nazi Germany. Two members of the Gestapo seated themselves opposite him in the first-class compartment. They were exactly as he had pictured the Aryans: blond hair, blue eyes, and swastika armbands on their leather jackets. What really caught his attention was their brand new heavy black boots, ready to crush anything that got in their way. Were the SS already following him, after he barely crossed the border into Germany?
When he glanced at the headlines in the Frankfurter Zeitung newspaper the SS man was reading, a cold chill rolled up his spine. On the front page, in bold letters, it read: “Fuhrer to address Nazi Party in Nuremberg.” Unsure whether the SS had noticed the surprise on his face, he recovered as much as he could. They looked him over in some form of nonverbal interrogation and ignored him for the remainder of the trip.
He must keep his composure. Then curiosity about Hitler took over as he thought about going to see and hear this lunatic rave and rant about the Jews and Nazi supremacy policies. He had heard Hitler so often on the radio. Now he would see and listen to him in person.
He anticipated seeing him on stage pounding his little fist on the lectern. The caricatures of Hitler he’d seen in the Dutch newspapers came into his mind: Hitler practicing his speech in the mirror, admiring the subtle quiver of his mustache. Another newspaper picture showed him standing on stage wearing nothing but shorts and suspenders embroidered with tiny swastikas. They spoke of his squeaky voice making his point about wiping the flotsam of human undesirables from the face of the Earth.
Riding through Germany, Willem was aghast at the lines of swastika flags waving from buildings and homes. How could it be that so many Germans had fallen for this dictator and elected him chancellor? A long line of Mercedes-Benz taxis waited for passengers. Willem took the first one and directed the chauffeur in perfect German to drive to the Kaiser Wilhelm Hotel. Large flags adorned the front of the hote
l. It took no time to locate the monocled Professor Gustav von Habers in the lobby. With his massive mustache and unruly hair, he had to be the professor. He held a glass of Schnapps in his hand as he kept an eye on the front door. As soon as he recognized Willem, he walked straight to him.
“Welcome, welcome, Willem!” he shouted. “How was your journey from Amsterdam?” While Willem wanted to recount the scene in the tram in Amsterdam, he decided against it.
“Fine, very uneventful, although the weather was dreary and overcast, not offering a good view of the German landscape,” Willem answered, holding back his comments he really wanted to make about the abundance of flags waving at him from every structure.
“How is your father?” von Habers asked eagerly. “How is the banking business? I heard that Holland is coming out of the recession in good shape.”
“Father is doing quite well, and he continues to devote a lot of time to his work.”
“Is it true that you hold the title of Dutch Junior Champion in golfing?”
“Let’s say that I was lucky on the golf links.” As Willem talked a little about the game of golf, it quickly became evident that the professor had never held a golf club. It would be wiser not to continue this line of conversation. Willem knew that von Habers was a real expert in foreign languages, mainly Adyghe.
The next day Hitler arrived in Nuremberg, and Willem and von Habers decided to take a stroll to the Conference Hall where the Party Congress would take place. During their walk, the professor offered him a cigar. Willem declined. With a broad gesture, the professor announced that he wanted to share something of great importance.
“Willem, you may know that your father and I have a common ancestry, which goes back hundreds of years. We are Circassians. Because of our origin, we are uniquely qualified for clandestine intelligence work. For this reason, we have chosen to stay in the shadow of world history.” Willem listened quietly, impressed by his company.
“Recently, I have thought a lot about my future,” Willem told him. The professor had been waiting for this opportunity.
“You made a success in playing golf. What is the one thing you would like to do in life after golf?” the professor asked him.
“I would like to be in a job that is exciting, such as traveling. I am not sure that I can find work in that line. I respect my father’s advice; he would like me to enroll in the military. My friends are less enthusiastic about the idea. Maybe once I can show them what my plan is, they will see it my way,” Willem shared.
“Now you are making progress,” von Habers continued. “To fill you in on something important like joining the military, I suggest you consider intelligence work. Here lies some interesting work for you with travel opportunities. I would like to recruit you in our Adyghe Intelligence Organization. To make it more exciting, consider serving in a dual role, intelligence work for the Dutch Armed Forces and working for the Circassians at the same time. You could call it being a double agent. You will find that we have parallel goals. You will not be alone … we will stand by you as a brother-in-arms, in the way of the Circassian brotherhood. Give it some serious thought.” He looked Willem in the eye and noticed a smile on his face.
“I will rush home to tell my wife!” Willem answered
excitedly.
“From now on, remember that your involvement in intelligence comes with secrecy—no sharing of information with relatives, even your wife,” von Habers said sternly.
The next day Willem arrived back in Holland on the 10 a.m. express train from Nuremberg. The train arrived ten minutes late in Amsterdam Central Station. The shrieking noise of the train’s brakes pierced the foul-smelling air, stopping the train just in time to avoid a collision with the hydraulic arrest bumper.
When it rains in Holland, it always feels wetter than it does anywhere else on the continent. Outside the train station, he waited for quite a while in the drenching rain for streetcar number 7. The tram took him to his home situated along one of the picturesque Amsterdam canals. His heart beat faster in anticipation of returning to his beautiful wife, Annette. The memories of Hitler’s fiery speeches peppered with vitriolic overtones of Aryanism and hatred toward the Jews the previous day were still drumming in his head. With their right arms outstretched towards the Fuhrer, as though in a gesture of adoration to the Teutonic deity of Adolph Hitler, the crowd had shouted in endless cadence: “Heil Hitler! Sieg Heil!” Willem had stood out in the group for not raising his arm. How had this lowly corporal from Austria managed to become this Aryan deity?
Riding home in the tram, images of the frightened mother and her two children came back to him. War was not too far off. The stage was being set for an invasion of Holland. Holland was still a free and neutral country, and maybe it was not too late to take action.
In the fading sunlight, the sky displayed a spectacular scene of many colors of red and purple in the evening horizon, as if serenading the fall season. The colors in the leaves along the canals were preparing for that beautiful tapestry of yellow, red, and brown.
This is my country, free and colorful, just like in the paintings of our famed painters. No Hitler is going to take that away. It will come to our commitment and willpower to stay free, Willem thought. As he exited the tram, he was unable to shake the image of the young mother and her children.
We must protect our children’s future, he thought, cementing his resolve to keep his country safe. A week later, he joined the Dutch military, but he was not sure how to share his decision with his wife.
Annette was happy to see her husband return from Germany. She rushed to the door, anxious to embrace Willem as he arrived home. Immediately, she noticed he had something on his mind. He was not his usual jovial and relaxed self. She saw in his eyes a man with a mission. Their little dog Skippy came over for a quick hello. Willem bent down to pet the little Schipperke. He wanted to tell her all about his adventure in Germany, Hitler speaking in Nuremberg, and his meeting with von Habers.
As darkness settled over the city, the gas stoker came by to light the street lamps, one by one. Willem struggled to find a way to tell Annette that he had decided to join the military. “After I listened to Hitler’s speech, I made the decision that I must do something to help preserve our national freedom,” he began. “The invasion of Holland by the Germans is closer than we think.” He told her about the children singing on the tram. “Seeing the children singing taught me an important lesson. I cannot wait to enlist in the Dutch Military. I must join the fight so these children will live in a free country.” Annette hugged him. She noticed his determined look. She was in awe.
Together they walked to the far wall in the drawing room, where a line of fading sunlight hit an antique framed document bearing the coat of arms of the van Lansfoort family. It was dated 1589. It had been in the family for hundreds of years. They had never paid much attention to it before. Now, Willem stepped close to the picture, and he fixated on the ribbon on the bottom of the document, bearing the family motto: “Courage is Victory over Fear.”
“Now I know that I made the right decision,” he said.
Annette wiped a tear from her cheek, looked at Willem, and put her head on his shoulder as he held her in an embrace of endearment. She knew him well enough to understand that he wanted to live by the family code. Now she was the wife of an officer in the Dutch Armed Forces and became fully aware that he would find himself in harm’s way. Underneath the ribbon in the coat of arms was the symbol of the Circassian Nation with “Adyghe” printed in the original language.
Chapter 5
Death of the Queen
A cloud of mist rushed into the hallway as he opened the front door of the mansion. Kadir Mandraskit picked up the newspaper, soaked from the morning rain. It was a dreary-looking day. He spread the paper out on the kitchen table to let it dry. When he looked at the front page, a large border in black ink struck him like a bolt of lightnin
g. He did not need to find his reading glasses. The headline in bold letters read: “Queen Astrid of Belgium Dies in a Motor Vehicle Accident in Switzerland.” Kadir’s world came to a sudden halt. In shock, his eyes would not let go of the front page. He looked at the picture of the queen, wearing her diamond and sapphire necklace, with matching earrings. Had the accident occurred while she was wearing this jewelry that he had personally designed for her?
“This cannot be true,” he whispered. He desperately wished that it were different. The news hit him like a rock. “No, this cannot be true.” He looked around for Fatima, who was still upstairs getting ready for the day.
Queen Astrid was adored by young and old for her beauty, charm, and simple lifestyle, qualities rarely found in European royalty. She lived with King Leopold III in a small villa on the palace grounds in Brussels, where she prepared the meals for the king and their three young children. National newspapers often featured photos of the queen taking a stroll with her children along Avenue Louise in Brussels. The press followed her daily life and, as the Belgians read the captions like “Princess of the People of Belgium,” they were instilled with immense pride in their small nation. Finally, as was the case in so many European countries, the Belgians had their own royalty with whom they could identify.
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