‘Then I demand to see him.’
Von Below gestured towards the partition. ‘He is in there at the Führer conference, so cannot be disturbed. And it may go on for hours.’
‘Gott im Himmel!’ Grauber suddenly exploded, driven to madness at the thought of the least delay in wreaking vengeance on his hated enemy. ‘Then I’ll arrest him myself. There are plenty of S.S. men upstairs who’ll obey my orders and take him to the Albrecht Strasse.’ As he spoke he shot out one of his enormously long arms and grabbed Gregory.
Once out of the bunker, Gregory knew that he would be finished. Even if von Below later secured from Bormann an order for his release, long before he could be got out of Grauber’s clutches the Gestapo would have reduced him to a gibbering, bleeding wreck. Jerking himself away, he hit out but missed. Grauber came at him in a bull-like rush. A chair went over with a crash. They fell to the floor together struggling wildly and yelling curses at one another.
Gregory had Grauber by the throat, but was underneath him and held down by his great weight. The Gestapo Chief had both his thumbs under Gregory’s eyes, endeavouring to gouge them out. The pain was excruciating. Gregory screamed, but managed to wrench his head aside. Then he fixed his teeth in Grauber’s right hand. The deep bite brought forth a yell of agony.
The door in the partition opened. Bormann appeared and shouted angrily, ‘What the hell is going on here?’
Spreading out his arms in a helpless gesture, von Below cried above the din, ‘The Obergruppenführer declares Major Protze to be a British spy.’
‘Stop it!’ bellowed Bormann. ‘Stop it, you two!’ And, taking a pace forward, he kicked at the writhing bodies on the floor. His heavy boot caught Grauber on the thigh. Gregory unclenched his teeth. They rolled apart and, panting heavily, came unsteadily to their feet.
Hitler had emerged behind Bormann and was surveying the scene with dull eyes, as Bormann rapped out at Grauber, ‘Explain yourself, Herr Obergruppenführer. On what do you base these accusations?’
‘I know the man,’ Grauber piped. ‘I’ve known him for years. His name is Sallust and he is the most dangerous agent in the British Secret Service.’
‘When did you see him last?’ Bormann asked.
‘In the summer of 1942, Herr Parteiführer,’ Grauber replied promptly.
‘But damn it, that is getting on for three years ago. However good your memory may be for faces that is a bit long for you to be so sure you recognise a man. Can you produce anyone else who could identify him as this British agent?’
Grauber hesitated, sucked at his bleeding hand, then admitted sullenly, ‘No, Herr Parteiführer. No. But I am certain of what I say. He was then passing himself off as a French collaborator. I ran into him in a night-club in Budapest.’
His hopes rising again, Gregory burst out, ‘That’s a lie. This whole business is an absurd mistake. I’ve never been in Budapest in my life.’
‘And that is a real lie,’ said another voice, that came from the far doorway. In it Ribbentrop had just appeared, having arrived to attend the conference. Addressing Hitler with a smile, he went on:
‘The Obergruppenführer is right, mein Führer. When I first saw this man here a few weeks ago I knew I’d seen him somewhere before, but could not place him. It was in Budapest in the summer of 1942. He is an exceptionally able British agent and his name is Sallust.’
It was the coup de grâce. Up to that moment Gregory had still hoped that with von Below’s help and by calling on Koller to protect him he might manage to get the issue postponed for long enough to escape and disappear among the ruins of Berlin or, if he were placed under arrest pending investigation, at least get them to insist on his being confined in the bunker and allow him to telephone Goering. What attitude the Reichsmarschall might have taken up there could be no telling. He would certainly not have been willing to admit that he had knowingly foisted an English spy on to his Führer and with everything going to pieces he might cynically have declined to intervene. On the other hand, out of loathing for Himmler, he might have used his still great powers in some way to thwart Grauber.
But Ribbentrop’s appearance on the scene had now rendered such speculations futile. It had been Gregory’s ill luck that, apart from Goering, the only other Nazi in all Germany who could identify him had arrived at that moment. The Obergruppenführer’s solitary eye gleamed with triumph. He passed his tongue swiftly over the thin lips of his mean little mouth and cried in his feminine falsetto:
‘I thank you, Herr Reichsaussenminister. Your arrival is most opportune. Now I’m proved right I’ll have my people take this fellow to pieces and we’ll learn what filthy game he has been playing here.’
Gregory paled; but he possessed that fine trait in the British character—he was at his best in defeat. Whatever he said now could not save him, but he might yet win himself a quick death instead of one after prolonged, excruciating torment. Facing Hitler he burst into a torrent of words, shouting down Bormann’s efforts to check him.
‘Mein Führer! You are a just man. I ask you to see justice done. It is true that I am an Englishman. But I am not a British agent. Many years ago I realised that any democratic government dominated by Jews must lead to corruption and the exploitation of its people. I became a Fascist but disguised my beliefs in order to enter the British Secret Service and work against the decadent Government. In the early years of the war I twice managed to get sent to Germany with the intention of offering my services to the Nazi Reich; but on both occasions I came up against the Obergruppenführer. He had already known me in London as a member of the Secret Service so would not believe the honesty of my intentions. On both occasions I was forced to go to earth and return to England. Otherwise he would have had the Gestapo torture me to death.’
‘You lie!’ screamed Grauber. ‘This is a tissue of lies. He never offered to come over to us. In Budapest he was plotting to persuade those accursed Hungarians to go over to the Allies.’
‘On the contrary,’ shouted Gregory. ‘I was persuading some of their leaders to give more active support to Germany. And from the Baroness Tuzolto I was receiving invaluable assistance. Everyone knows that she is a wholehearted Nazi.’ Suddenly he swung round on Ribbentrop and cried:
‘You can vouch for her, Herr Reichsaussenminister. Is it likely she would have given me her aid if I had been working for the British? But the Obergruppenführer’s vindictiveness wrecked everything. I had to get out to save my skin and to save hers from this ham-fisted lieutenant of Herr Himmler’s I had to take her with me. And it was you who enabled us to escape. Isn’t that true?’
Ribbentrop had helped them to get away in order to spite Himmler, and he was quick enough to see that, since Gregory had been Sabine’s lover, if she were brought into the matter she might side with him. As he could not afford to be accused of aiding a British agent to escape, he decided to hedge and replied:
‘I knew only that he was an Englishman and that Sabine Tuzolto vouched for him. I’ve known her for years and she is above suspicion. When Grauber got after them it occurred to me that by helping this man to escape I might make use of him; so I sent the Baroness with him to London hoping that through her high connections there she would obtain valuable information for us.’
‘And she did,’ added Gregory. ‘With my help she obtained for you the Allies’ plans for their entry into the Mediterranean—Operation “Torch”.’
Suddenly Hitler spoke. His memory for facts, figures and events was prodigious and, despite the shocking deterioration in his health, his memory had not suffered. In his hoarse, rasping voice, he said:
‘I recall the affair. A few days before the North Africa landings, through the help of the Moldavian Military Attaché, the Baroness got back to Germany. She brought the plans with her. But they proved to be false. False!’
‘Mein Führer,’ Gregory cried, ‘that was no fault of mine. I had them from a man I knew in the Offices of the War Cabinet. But the swine had sold me the Deception Plan. That, though, is
only half the story. M.I.5 had got wise to the Baroness’s activities. She was arrested; sent to the Tower of London. She was to have been court-martialled and would have been shot as a reprisal for the Gestapo’s having executed British women landed in France by parachute. And what then? Did I leave her there to her fate? No! At the peril of my own life I rescued her from the Tower, and with Colonel Kasdar’s help succeeded in getting her away. Is that not proof enough that I believed the plan she took with her to be the genuine one and did my best to serve Germany?’
Ribbentrop nodded. ‘That is true, mein Führer. She could never have escaped had it not been for this man’s skill and daring.’
‘And I paid for it,’ Gregory went on quickly. ‘I was caught within a few minutes of having got her into the motor boat that Kasdar had brought alongside the Tower water front. I was court-martialled and received a long prison sentence. I was let out only because the British knew that I know Berlin better than most of their agents and they wanted an eyewitness account of the bomb damage. They offered me my freedom if I would get it for them and dropped me outside the city by parachute. I went to the Reichsmarschall and laid my cards on the table. He had the sense to see that my intentions were honourable and that I could be of use.’
For a moment Gregory paused for breath, then he went on. ‘And, mein Führer, I can claim that I have. You have honoured me with your confidence; and during the past few weeks with the aid of my Turkish servant I have obtained for you from occult sources much valuable information.’
Up till that moment Gregory had played his poor hand as though inspired. While succeeding in neutralising Ribbentrop, he had recalled his extraordinary feat of enabling Sabine to escape from Britain, and it could not be proved that he had not been imprisoned for doing so. He had cashed in on the assumption that the shrewd Goering believed him to be a fanatical pro-Nazi, and derided Grauber as a blundering fool for having earlier refused to believe in his honesty and driven him out of Germany. But in mentioning the occult he had made his one fatal error.
Hitler’s face suddenly went livid. His semi-paralysed arm began to shake and he raised the other accusingly. Foam flecked his lips and his rage was such that he could hardly get his words out.
‘You … you … you filth!’ he cried. ‘You came here under false pretences. Goering must have been insane … insane to have believed in you. I put my trust in you and … and like all others you have betrayed me. You have used your occult affinities to make predictions. And they came true. But why? Why? Why? So that in the big thing … the thing that mattered, I should believe you. You buoyed me up with false hopes. You promised me a miracle. It was a lie! A lie! A deliberate lie because you hoped that when your prophecy failed to mature I should be driven to despair.’
Turning to Grauber he yelled, ‘Take him away, Herr Obergruppenführer. Take him away. Do what you like with him.’
His outburst was followed by a moment’s complete silence. Grauber’s thin mouth broke into the sort of catlike smile that came to it when he watched his victims being reduced for his amusement to whimpering idiots, as he had the skin flayed piece by piece from their backs.
Bormann shrugged and said to von Below, ‘Herr Oberst, call the guard.’
Gregory’s mouth was parched and he felt the blood going to his head.
During the past few weeks he had frequently contemplated attempting to kill Hitler. Owing to the thoroughness of the search to which they had to submit no one could ever have smuggled a weapon down into the bunker; so to assassinate him would have been extremely difficult and, whether the perpetrator succeeded or failed, it would have resulted for him in a most ghastly death.
But now that a ghastly death at Grauber’s hands was inevitable Gregory nerved himself for the attempt. He was standing within two yards of Hitler. One spring and he could be upon him. As none of the others had weapons they could not shoot him through the head. Between them they would haul him off; and in much less time than it would have taken to kill a normal, healthy man. But Hitler was already a physical wreck. A grip on his throat with the left hand, and an all-out blow over his heart with the right, could well be enough to finish him. White as a sheet and with the perspiration standing out on his forehead, Gregory gathered himself for the spring.
He was actually on his toes when a shout came from the outer door of the passage. All heads turned in that direction. Heinz Lorenz burst in among them. Shooting out his right arm, he cried wildly:
‘Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler! Tremendous news, mein Führer. It’s just come over the air at the Ministry. I ran all the way here. The President is dead! Roosevelt died last night. It is official, announced by the Americans. Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!’
Again there was a moment’s pregnant silence. Hitler let out a long whistling breath. Then he whispered, ‘A miracle! The Miracle of Brandenburg has been repeated. The Reich is saved. I knew it! I’ve always known it. The decrees of fate are unalterable and it is decreed that I should triumph over my enemies.’
His voice had risen to a shout. At the sounds of the excitement Keitel, Jodl, Koller, the new Chief of Staff General Krebs and the Admiral Voss, who represented Doenitz, had all come out of the conference room, while several others, including Johannmeier and Hogel, Chief of the Führer’s personal S.S. guard, had emerged from the far end of the lounge passage. Now they all raised their arms with shouts of Heil Hitler! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!
When the tumult had died down Hitler said to Gregory, ‘Herr Major, you have justified yourself. I have been under a great strain—a great strain. For a moment, just for a moment, I lost faith. That a man should not be born a German is not his fault. At this moment there are thousands of Frenchmen, Dutchmen, Czechs, Danes, yes and even Russians, fighting beside us for our ideals. That you should share them is enough. You will remain here and may count upon my friendship.’
Still sweating, but now from relief at his miraculous escape, Gregory shook the limp hand extended to him. As Hitler withdrew it he scowled at Grauber and said, ‘You understand, Herr Obergruppenführer. You have been mistaken in this man. Your campaign of malice against him is to cease. Should any harm come to him through you, you will answer for it to me with your head.’
Then, smiling round, his lips trembling and slobbering a little, he cried, ‘And now we must celebrate. Champagne! Champagne for everyone.’
If ever anyone had needed a glass of good wine it was Gregory at that moment; but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he would clink glasses with Grauber, yet ten minutes later that was what Hitler made them do.
The following day Hitler again took Gregory up to walk with him while he gave his dog Blondi a run in the garden. For a while they talked of reincarnation and Gregory was asked what he thought would become of the ego that had been President Roosevelt. He replied:
‘According to the ancient wisdom, mein Führer, he is thoroughly enjoying himself, not only because he has now cast off all his responsibilities, but because he is meeting again a number of people many of whom were not in incarnation during his most recent life but were dear to him in others. It is said that between each life we are granted a period of carefree happiness, like a holiday between terms at school; then, when we are fully recovered from the strain to which we have been put here, we are born again and given new tasks to perform. Having achieved such a high position in his last life it is certain that Roosevelt’s accumulated experience will qualify him for leadership again in his next. But the probability is that it will be on a Planet of some distant star.’
Hitler only grunted, as his mind was too occupied with new plans to pursue the subject. He said that since the opening of the last Russian offensive, which looked like spelling the doom of Berlin, he had been seriously considering remaining there and making the great gesture of sacrificing himself on the altar of the ideals for which he had striven so hard. But Roosevelt’s death had fired him with a new faith in his star. It could be only a matter of weeks now before the Americans offer
ed terms, during which there would be no difficulty in holding the Bavarian redoubt. Even if the Russians did take Berlin the Western Allies could not be so crazy as to allow those Communist swine to advance further into Europe. For him, of course, politically it would be the end. Churchill would never agree that he should continue to lead Germany against Russia. That was a tragedy, because the Allies would deprive themselves of his abilities as a strategist, which everyone acknowledged equalled those of Napoleon. But he would make the final sacrifice for the sake of the German people. When terms had been agreed he would retire from public life. He had long wished to do so. He would spend his declining years in his old home town of Linz. There he would live with Eva Braun, the one friend he could utterly trust: the only creature other than his dog Blondi who, whatever happened, would remain unshakeably loyal to him. He was, too, already planning to build an Opera House there and a big gallery to hold his fine collection of pictures.
Uttering hardly a word, Gregory listened for over an hour to these extraordinary pipe dreams; then they returned to the bunker.
On the following day, the 15th, to everyone’s astonishment Eva Braun appeared. It was said that at times she could be temperamental if denied the only thing she asked—to be constantly in Hitler’s company. But never before had she been known to disobey an order from him. When it had first been thought that the Russian armies might possibly reach Berlin he had packed her off to Munich. Now news that Berlin was really threatened had brought her back determined to share her Adolf’s fate should he decide to remain in the capital.
At first he ordered her to return to the south, but she flatly refused. He then gave way and welcomed her with open arms, declaring that the more he was called on to face calamities and treachery the more his thoughts had turned to her.
Gregory was presented to her, and his stock went up still higher from Malacou’s prediction that in mid-April the Führer would unexpectedly receive from a female source great comfort and support in his trials.
They Used Dark Forces Page 48