by Peter Watt
The creditors moved in quickly. Within three weeks Jack was penniless except for his comfortable home and some personal property that was not listed under his company’s assets. Lukas had taken the news well, but telling him bad news was one of the hardest things he had ever had to do.
‘What will we do, Dad?’ his son had asked as he sat with his father in their cosy living room with a view of the Mosman inlet. Jack noticed that his normally polished son had dropped the title of ‘Father’ for ‘Dad’ – something he had not called Jack since he was a boy in Papua, growing up on the plantation with the Manns.
‘I’ve let you down,’ Jack said softly as he hung his head. ‘I always planned that you would have the best money could buy.’
‘You did, Dad,’ Lukas said as he put his arm around his father’s shoulders. ‘You got me a posh education and a chance at life. But better than that, you were always there for me – even when you were away on business trips.’
Jack glanced up at Lukas and saw a slow, sad smile appearing. He was just as disappointed that they had lost it all but he had the spirit to accept adversity with optimism. Maybe he could teach me something, Jack thought when he looked into his son’s face. ‘Well,’ he said. ‘I will not be able to pay your university fees.’
‘I was only joking when I said that I wanted to be a solicitor,’ Lukas lied. ‘I really want to be like you.’
‘Like hell you will be,’ Jack growled affectionately as he tousled his son’s hair. ‘The last thing I want you to experience is the life I have had.’
Lukas rose from the chair and walked to their kitchen. He returned with two bottles of beer and Jack cast him a questioning look.
‘I thought we should have a real drink together,’ Lukas said as he opened the bottles. ‘Before they come and take everything.’
Jack was about to protest at his son drinking but realised he himself had done the same thing with his father so many years earlier before he left home to travel to Papua in search of gold. When he thought about it he had been younger than his son was now. He took the glass of beer from Lukas. ‘What are your plans for the future?’ he asked as Lukas sat down.
‘Get drunk with my old man,’ he said. ‘Then go and see Miss Sarah Sullivan and tell her that the man in her life can no longer hope to keep her in the manner that she aspires to. Then I will decide after that.’
Jack raised his glass and his son followed suit. ‘To better days,’ Jack said.
When Lukas next saw Sarah Sullivan he told her the news. Within a couple of days she found excuses not to see him anymore. Lukas had learned his first cruel lesson about some women. He sat on the ferry crossing the harbour after his final visit. She had refused to receive him. Mr Sullivan had been sympathetic to the point of annoyance at his daughter’s haughty dismissal of the likeable young man, and even reaffirmed that there would always be a place for him in the firm. Lukas had been polite in his thanks but said he had other plans. What they were he was not quite sure, but he was not about to show his anxiety to a man he admired so and who in different circumstances might have been his father-in-law.
Being broke was easier to accept than being shunned by Sarah, Lukas thought. How could she do that to him when he was still the same person, with or without money? A graceful schooner slid past the ferry, heading for the twin sandstone cliffs that guarded the magnificent harbour. It caught Lukas’s eye and he watched its sails unfurl to blossom in the breeze. On the schooner’s deck, a suntanned young man was at the helm. Lukas almost smiled as a thought dawned. One thing his father’s money had bought him was a circle of well-heeled mates who owned yachts. He had proved a very competent sailor himself on the weekends he had sailed the blue waters of Sydney Harbour. To hell with Sarah, he thought fiercely. He knew how he would prove to her and her snobby friends that he was not a failure.
Overhead a small biplane seemed to float in the air. Lukas looked up and sighed. Flying was what he really wanted to do but that was now merely a dream. To realise his dream he would have to leave his father on the ground to fend for himself. The desire to fly had been with him since he had watched a film about the Great War fighter pilots. He had left the cinema determined to one day learn to fly and soar with the eagles. Had matters turned out differently then he would have asked his father to support his dream. But that was not to be so. The opportunity was gone. But perhaps with a boat he and his father could face the future.
TWENTY-EIGHT
There was a definite change in the reaction of Gerhardt’s colleagues whenever he was in their vicinity. In the corridors they would fall silent as he approached them, and friends called less often to the house. He recognised the signals. It was time to act.
Gerhardt knew that his superior officer Colonel Spier held the list of persons deemed by the party to be a possible threat to any government that may be formed when they gained a majority. Hitler’s ultimate aim was to rule alone without the coalition of other parties. To date the list contained the names of known communist party members, intellectuals who may query the ideals of the Nazis, church leaders, unionists, government employees, teachers and others.
No one in Gerhardt’s department had access to the list except his boss, and the list was kept in a safe to which only Spier knew the combination. But Spier had a weakness. Gerhardt knew his boss had no mind for numbers. An intelligent man but poor with arithmetic. Such a weakness may lead a man to record the safe combination and carry it with him, Gerhardt concluded. If he was right, Gerhardt knew his boss was smarter than to leave any such record lying around his office in a bureau or desk drawer. To test his theory, one day when he brought him a file that he knew would be secured in the safe, Gerhardt found an excuse to engage his boss in idle talk as Spier went about opening the safe. Gerhardt noticed that his boss perused a scrap of paper that he had slipped from his trouser pocket.
The trouble now was getting hold of the combination numbers on the paper – to do so would require the man to take his clothes off. Gerhardt stood in the corridor between offices, puzzling over how to achieve the next stage of his plan. ‘Erika!’ he uttered under his breath as the answer came to him. But obtaining her assistance in the matter would be almost impossible. She had no interest in his future – alive or dead. But if any woman could get a man to take off his clothes, she would be the one.
He had to wait two days before she returned to the house. Her absences were growing longer and he felt less like a husband, more like a landlord. He was awake and weary when she returned one morning in the early hours before sunrise. He heard the sound of a car engine and laughter. A door slammed and another opened. Sleep had not come to him during the night. Every hour that passed was an hour wasted. He desperately needed her help, but wondered how he could convince her; he knew pleading was useless.
The bedroom door opened and he could see Erika silhouetted in the hallway light.
‘I am awake,’ he said.
At least Erika had a touch of consideration when she returned from her nights out. She would leave the light off as she undressed and slipped into the bed. ‘I did not mean to wake you,’ she said, and for just a moment he thought he detected a slight softening of her usual hard contempt for him. ‘I would like to talk to you.’
Gerhardt was surprised by her tone. He pulled himself up in the bed as she turned on the light. God, how beautiful she was, he thought bitterly. How had it all gone so wrong?
‘I want a divorce,’ she stated bluntly. ‘I am sure that is what you also want. I will not contest you for Ilsa.’
Gerhardt blinked. Something had changed in her life. Obviously she had met the man she wanted to be with. ‘Who is he?’ he asked ‘Anyone I know?’
‘That is not important,’ she retorted. ‘I would hope that you agree we do not have a marriage.’
‘And you have no maternal feelings,’ Gerhardt countered. ‘I will take Ilsa with me. She is my daughter.’
Erika’s laughter at his statement of parentage caused him to see the r
ed haze of anger. ‘You!’ she said. ‘You are not her father, as we both well know. I only married you because I needed someone to take care of her and provide me with a means of support. I am surprised you were not aware of that from the very start. I thought it was understood that I did not love you.’
Her words still hurt although he had rapidly become aware of her real reasons for marrying him only weeks after the ceremony.
‘I will give you a divorce,’ Gerhardt said.
Erika was surprised. She had expected him to resist the idea. Maybe she had underestimated him.
‘Well, then,’ she said, ‘I think I will have a coffee before I retire.’
Gerhardt watched her leave the room. He now dismissed the idea of gaining her voluntary assistance but there were other ways. His latest plot would bring with it a sweet revenge, although he knew that he must be patient. He only wondered at who had prompted her request for a divorce. It did not matter. What mattered now was that not only must he get Ilsa out of the country but also himself. The writing was on the wall.
When Gerhardt reached the offices of the party’s intelligence service that morning he put the first stage of his plan into place. Gerhardt went to a colleague’s office and greeted him as he did every day. He picked up the pile of papers in the out tray. ‘I will go through these this morning, Herr Neumann,’ he said.
‘Yes, sir.’
Neumann’s job was to report any information that might be telephoned to his section from disgruntled citizens or party branches. There were now many members in the party from all walks of life and the line was often busy. Most of the intelligence was useless, but occasionally something came through that was noted by Gerhardt as potentially useful. Now it was time to add another name to the list of persons considered a threat to Adolf Hitler. Papers in hand, he entered the office of Colonel Spier and placed the night file on his desk. To the wad of papers he added an extra sheet he had composed. There was no turning back now.
Gerhardt sat in his office, fiddling with a pencil, his attention continually drawn to the clock on the wall. The waiting was terrible and he found himself jumping every time someone laughed or a door slammed in the winter wind. He was incapable of starting on the paperwork piled on his desk. Four hours passed and finally he heard his name called by Colonel Spier from the office next door. Gerhardt tried to compose himself as best he could but felt the unsteady beat of his heart thump in his chest as he rose.
Spier sat at his desk stuffing sausage and bread into his mouth as he thumbed through the sheets of paper Gerhardt recognised as those he had delivered that morning.
‘I presume you have read the reports from Herr Neumann?’ he asked as some crumbs of bread spilled onto the papers.
‘Yes, sir,’ Gerhardt answered in a strained voice.
‘Then you have read this report on your wife?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Spier finally looked up at his subordinate. ‘I find it strange that you would not do the normal human thing and lose the report, Herr Stahl.’
Gerhardt had anticipated the question. ‘I was torn by my duty to the party and my love for my wife,’ he replied, feigning agony. ‘But I believe that my duty must come first as it did when I was a soldier in the Kaiser’s army. I have made no comment on the adverse words from what appears to be a reliable source. I thought it was better that you do that, sir.’
Spier frowned and glanced back at the report, apparently scribbled in Neumann’s hand. He was aware of his subordinate’s less than happy marriage to Erika – and of her reputation as a lover of many high ranking party officials. He himself envied those men as he had met Erika Stahl from time to time and she was a very desirable woman. The report seemed out of character, but there had been a woman in the last war by the name of Mata Hari who also fooled a lot of high-ranking generals on both sides. Gerhardt watched the expression on his boss’s face and knew that he must carry out his plan now or never. He made his move.
‘Sir, considering the delicate circumstances, do you think that you should discreetly question my wife about the accusations of her disloyalty to the party?’
‘That would be hard,’ Spier mused. ‘She has very powerful friends who might take exception to that.’
‘May I suggest that you arrange to drop in at my house and question her in what would appear to be a friendly manner . . . you know . . . just a visit to one of your subordinates after work,’ Gerhardt suggested, hoping that Spier would detect the desperate pleading of a husband torn in his tone.
‘I could do that,’ Spier pondered. ‘One way or the other I must take this report seriously. If any of the facts here are true then I should pass on the information to those above me.’
‘I agree, sir,’ Gerhardt concurred as his heartbeat steadied. He knew he was playing a deadly game but the stakes were high. So far things were playing out as he hoped. ‘When do you think that will be?’
Spier frowned. He had a meeting with the young Heinrich Himmler who was in charge of Adolf’s bodyguard units, now given the title of SS. Spier did not like the prim little man and resented the fact that someone with no experience of war should have such a senior position, when he, who had served in the army for his country, did not. But it was the leader’s policy to encourage the youth of Germany to join in his ideals. ‘I will not be able to visit your house for at least two days,’ he finally said. ‘Then I will determine whether the report is malicious or has some grounds for further investigation. Until then I trust you will not mention this matter to your wife.’
‘No, sir,’ Gerhardt answered, pretending a terrible sadness in his reply. ‘I know my duty.’
‘You are dismissed, Herr Stahl,’ Spier said as he reached for the remainder of the sausage. ‘Go about your work.’
Gerhardt turned and walked smartly from the office. In the corridor he felt his hands tremble as he contemplated what he had done. He had virtually condemned his wife to death and now all he had to do was force Erika to realise that she needed to cooperate with him if she wanted to survive. It was called blackmail but that was the game of intelligence: to know your enemies’ weaknesses and exploit them. He had lived long enough with Erika to know her fears. If he failed he knew without doubt that he would become a name on a police report as a man who had fallen foul of persons unknown. His body may or may not be found.
Spier however was no fool. He had watched his subordinate depart and scowled. Stahl’s name was also on a secret list of those considered as undesirable persons. Spier knew that he must soon do something to remove him from the sensitive portfolio he held. Although Spier privately believed that Gerhardt Stahl was loyal to the ideals of the party, the word had come down that the man could prove an embarrassment to Adolf, should he gain political power at the elections. Spier knew that it was not wise to know a lot about certain people in the party – particularly the leader. If he wanted to keep his job then he must act soon and transfer Stahl until other arrangements could be made to silence him. He bit off and chewed the last portion of sausage. Swallowing it, he scribbled notes for his meeting with Herr Himmler.
Erika’s disbelief was written on her face. Gerhardt stood with his hands behind his back, warming them on the coal fire. He waited for her to digest the news of her reported treachery with a solemn face of a husband whose loyalty to his undeserving wife still existed.
‘None of it is true,’ she exploded. ‘I have not given any information to foreign journalists about the party.’
‘Erika, I believe you,’ Gerhardt said easily, as that was at least true. ‘But the report came from a reliable source. Maybe one of the foreigners you did not sleep with is out for revenge against you.’
‘And Herr Spier is going to interrogate me here?’ she continued. ‘I will set him straight about this pack of lies!’
‘I think that you will have to do more than that,’ Gerhardt offered calmly. ‘I think that you will have to appease him the best way you know.’
She swung on him with an expr
ession of incredulity. ‘I choose with whom I sleep,’ she hissed. ‘Not some middle aged, low ranking party official.’
‘Put it this way,’ Gerhardt said mildly. ‘It’s either that or I am sure Herr Spier is going to be a very bitter man with a grudge against the party’s whore. And as low ranking as he may be, I can assure you that those above him listen to what he says. And don’t think that I don’t know how you have entertained other men in my bed while I have been at work,’ he added. ‘But this time I will turn a blind eye.’
‘Why is it that you are suddenly so concerned for my welfare?’ she asked. ‘It is you behind this,’ she uttered. ‘You made the report against me!’
‘It does not matter where the report came from,’ Gerhardt answered with a sigh. ‘What matters is that others believe it has some substance and requires investigation.’
‘I will tell Herr Spier that you are behind this.’
‘It will do you no good,’ Gerhardt countered calmly. ‘In these times the slightest whiff of a scandal within the party can destroy one’s reputation forever.’
Erika slumped into a chair and stared at the glow of the burning fire. She knew her husband was right. To be innocent of any report that went through his office was almost irrelevant. She had begun to rue the day she had obtained him a position in Intelligence. Now it was up to her to convince her husband’s boss to lose the report. Yes, she had very much underestimated Gerhardt.
‘I will do it,’ she whispered.
I will do it, she thought. But you will wish I had not. You will pay for this in ways that you could not in your worst nightmares imagine. Already she had formulated a plan to turn events her way – and against the man she had grown to despise for no other reason than she had been forced to rely on him in their early years together. Oh, how it should have been Adolf and not this under achieving man full of nothing but ideals.