The Seventh Secret

by Irving Wallace

  "But all hardened Nazis."

  "More than that. Hardened Nazis, yes, but all of them murderers, trained to kill."

  "To kill whom, Emily?"

  "To assassinate anyone above ground who might threaten them. She spoke of the necessity to liquidate--her word—antiNazis, prominent Jews, Nazi hunters, and dangerous foreigners like my father." Emily blinked. "She admitted my father's 'accident' had been prearranged. She also admitted that her followers had been responsible for at least two hundred murders in the last twenty years. They'd snuff you out in an instant, if they knew you were here. They're ruthless, Rex, absolutely vicious."

  "All right," said Foster. "I have an errand for you. I'm going to get you out of here now. I'm going to show you the way I came in, because that's the way you're going out."

  "On an errand?"

  "Yes. You'll leave from under the mound, from the Führerbunker and through the old emergency exit. You'll wind up in the East German Frontier Zone. Oberstadt's up there. He'll have no trouble taking you through the gate. Get to a phone as quickly as possible. Get hold of Tovah Levine at the Bristol Kempinski. She and Kirvov are standing by. Tell her we've found them all, and tell her to inform Chaim Golding immediately."

  "Chaim Golding?"

  "Head of Mossad in Berlin. Tovah is one of his agents. He has the personnel and facilities to do what I want him to do. Tell him I want the rats down here exterminated, all of them, at once, tonight."

  Emily's eyes had widened. "How, Rex?"

  "The way the Hitler gang did it to the Jews at Auschwitz. But more exactly, the way Albert Speer once planned to get rid of Hitler."

  "He was going to send gas through the ventilator of the Führerbunke ."

  "That's right."

  "And throw in a grenade of nerve gas called Tabun. Absolutely lethal."

  "Only this time the Mossad fighters will probably use a far more sophisticated gas, but one equally lethal. Tovah is waiting in our suite. The plan of this bunker is on our sitting-room desk. Golding will know how to go about it. But this bunker must be airtight. You came through the other entrance beneath the Café Wolf?"

  "Yes. The guard forced me down some stairs to a steel vault-type door. He unlocked it and pushed me through. "

  "Okay. See that the Mossad agents take out the guard in the Café Wolf, and go down and lock that metal door. Then let them pump in the gas. In minutes every last Nazi should be wiped out. Do you have your watch?"

  "Yes."

  "Let's coordinate the time, Emily. Okay, I have one-twenty in the morning."

  "One-twenty in the morning," she said. "Got it."

  "Tell Tovah that the Mossad agents are to start pouring the gas in at precisely three in the morning. Precisely three. Now let's get moving. I want to see you out of here, and then I'm going back to give our Eva Braun the third degree. Let me get those klutzy shoes back on ..."

  "Hey, Rex, wait a minute. What do you mean, you'll get me out of here, and then stay on to question Eva? What'll happen to you when that gas pours in?"

  "I'll be out of this bunker before then, and out of the old Führer bunker, too. I'll meet you at the top. When you've finished with Tovah and Golding, come back to the Führerbunker. With your credentials, the East Germans will let you in again."

  "I'll be waiting for you."

  He took her by the arm. "You'll be waiting for us," he said. "I'll be coming out with Eva."

  Emily looked startled. "Why Eva?"

  Foster grinned. "We need one survivor to prove that Hitler did not die in 1945, that he got away. We need someone to support the sensational new ending to your biography."

  She kissed him. "Crazy man, I love you."

  At first, with Emily in tow, he had been worried, but then it had proved easier than the first time.

  There had been two Nazi guards in the corridor this time, absorbed in chatting. Plainly one was about to relieve the other on duty, and, in his own swastika-adorned uniform, Foster had been more military in bearing and more intent on business than when he had entered.

  He had hustled Emily to the mezzanine door, and helped her through the square hole into the tunnel, telling her where to locate the lantern and instructing her exactly how to exit and what to expect.

  And then, alone, he had returned to Eva Braun's bedroom.

  After removing her gag, Foster settled on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were open, a bit foggy, fixed on the ceiling. Foster wasn't sure how the truth serum worked, or exactly where to begin his questioning, but back in Saigon he had seen Sodium Pentothal used as a truth serum on Viet Cong prisoners and he felt it would operate in the same way now. He had heard a captain mention that it was like getting someone to talk in his sleep. It removed his inhibitions, swept away any coating of lies, made him speak freely from his subconscious. The thing was to be simple and direct, and if the drug began to wear off too soon, to administer a booster shot to keep her drowsy yet not let her fall asleep or go into shock.

  He decided that he would begin with a few easy questions, to get the feel, and then he would plunge right into the heart of the matter and leave before the Mossad agents flooded the bunker with their deadly poison.

  "Your name is Eva Braun, is it not?" he began.

  Her gaze left the ceiling to try to hold on the person speaking to her. "Evelyn—Evelyn," she started to say, then said, "Eva. I am Eva Braun Hitler."

  There was an incredibility about this, an awesomeness, that the notorious woman of so long ago was on the bed identifying herself.

  "Eva, do you remember the date April 30, 1945?"

  "Yes. It is the date everyone believed we died. But we fooled—deceived them all. We escaped."

  "How did you fool—deceive everyone?"

  "Using the actor and actress who were our—our doubles. I forget her name—no, I remember—Hannah Wald—and his was Müller, I think, yes, Müller. The two of them were brought to the Führerbunker the night before. They were so frightened. I'm sure they suspected. We kept them in our quarters—that day, no, night, they were dressed in our clothes, then Bormann shot Müller and forced Hannah—poor thing—to take cyanide. The bodies were put in the room where the dogs had been, and . . . the next day. . ."

  She faltered and drifted off.

  "The next day," he prompted her. "What happened the next day, Eva?"

  "The next day we, my husband and I, we arranged them on the sofa. Then . . ."

  Again, she faltered.

  "Then what, Eva?"

  "Then from the bedroom we crawled into the tunnel to the new bunker and Bormann—when the others carried the bodies outside—Bormann returned to the bedroom alone, replaced the panel, the slab, and pushed the dresser against it. Then I suppose he left the room."

  "Where did Bormann go?"

  "He was to meet us and stay with us in the other bunker after."

  "Did he?"

  Momentarily, Eva seemed bewildered. "No. Bormann was to meet us at the other entrance—"

  "The Café Wolf?"

  "It had a different name then. It was a bar in the same place. But—I—I don't know—Bormann never came. Later, some said he was killed leaving the Führerbunker—by maybe a Russian artillery explosion. I don't know."

  Foster saw that her attention was drifting, and he hoped that her memory was not impaired.

  "Eva, this bunker to which you and Hitler escaped, when was it built?"

  "After Stalingrad. The Führer had the plan."

  "Wasn't Hitler afraid the laborers would give away the secret location?"

  For a while she was silent. "I don't know—I never thought about it."

  "So you lived down in this bunker, and no one ever found out about it?"

  "No one."

  "Did Hitler ever leave the bunker to go up into the city?"

  "No, never, of course not."

  "And you—did you ever leave here while Hitler was alive?"

  "I wanted to, of course, but the Führer would not permit it. Not until we had the b
aby . . ."

  Had the baby? Foster could not believe his ears. He searched her bland face for some indication of fantasy.

  He said slowly, "You and Hitler had a child?"

  "Everyone knows that." Her tone was impatient. "Yes of course. So you had the baby—"

  "Before my husband became seriously ill. Once we had Klara, my husband wanted her raised normally inside Berlin but never to be known as our daughter. So after all those years in the bunker, I was allowed to go out and take Klara with me. The Café Wolf was there by then and I went out—"

  "Who did you give Klara to?"

  "My former maid—the first Liesl. Wolfgang Schmidt knew that Liesl had settled in Berlin. He felt it was safe to tell her about our escape, especially after giving her a large sum of money. Schmidt arranged for Lies! to take Klara as her own child."

  "That was your first time outside. When was the next?"

  "A few years later." There was a pained expression on Eva's face when she resumed. "After my husband died."

  "He was very ill?"

  "Only toward the end. Before that he was getting well. He kept busy planning the future, sometimes reading, listening to music, even painting. I made him paint to distract him." She seemed confused once more. "No, it was before he died—some years after Klara's birth—that I went out the second time. I wanted to take photographs of some of his favorite old buildings for him to copy—to paint—but I could find only one—Hermann's building—the Reichsluftfahrtministerium on Leipzigerstrasse. A number of years later, I saw the Wall for the first time—an architectural atrocity inflicted on a wonderful city—"

  "And your husband died. When?"

  "When the American president died, was killed, Kennedy, in Texas. It was on the radio. My husband died of Parkinson's disease on that day." Her eyes teared up. "We had a ceremony. Then we cremated him."

  "After that you came out of the bunker?"

  "Once a month, maybe, to see Klara and Liesl and sometimes Schmidt. No one could recognize me anymore, so there was no problem. Gradually, I began to leave the bunker more often, soon every week, to see Klara, as her aunt Evelyn. Lovely Klara, something to cling to. Also, of course, there always was the work—"

  "What work?"

  "You know, to carry on what my husband had been doing. "

  "You mean to encourage an armed conflict between the United States and the Soviet Union?"

  "Oh, that was going to happen anyway, my husband was always sure." She smiled faintly. "It will be a wonderful day, to see them annihilate each other. We dislike the Soviet Union and the United States equally, although America has had one leader we've come to respect. I mean the cowboy president who honored our forty-nine Waffen SS dead in the Bitburg cemetery last spring. My husband would have appreciated his thoughtfulness. But all other Americans and Russians remain our enemies. It will be good to know they have destroyed each other."

  "This American and Russian conflict—when was it to happen? Did you know when?"

  "Someday, someday in the future." Her voice became almost inaudible. "But first—first there was something more important. To be ready when the time comes. Germany must be ready. Germany was all that mattered. To make Germany strong again. To be ready for its reemergence."

  "How?"

  "By eliminating our enemies. Schmidt will get rid of the foreigners tomorrow, just as he has dealt with so many of our enemies over the years. Then he goes to Munich to begin a tour of Germany. He will meet the persons who have contacts with the one hundred fifty-eight organizations of Nazi sympathizers like the Brown Action Front in Rosenheim and the Belsen Scene in Diisseldorf. But more useful will be his meetings with respectable and trustworthy German backers, industrialists, politicians, war veterans, others who are friends, to set up the new party."

  "The new party," Foster repeated quietly. "What kind of party?"

  "Maybe one of the old ones, to take it over, or start a new one. National Socialism again. With another name. Schmidt will decide."

  "And Schmidt will be in charge?"

  "Yes, Wolfgang Schmidt. It has to be someone with the best anti-Nazi credentials for the public. When it is formed, the party, when it is in place, and after America and Russia have destroyed each other, we will resurface as the nucleus to take over the party, to assume control."

  Foster stared at her. "This is what you've been planning?"

  "For many years." Eva shook her head. "There was so much—so much to do and I always worried my husband would overwork, in his condition—but he sent them millions of American dollars in Argentina—and Dr. Dieter Falkenheim prepared the nuclear materials, brought them here to the bunker—he is here with them. To be feared, every country must have a nuclear capability."

  The words nuclear capability sounded unnatural, coming from Eva. It was as if she was parroting others, perhaps even her departed husband. "That is true, Eva," Foster agreed. "But still, you must start by taking control of Germany. I'm not sure this is clear to me. Can you tell me again—how would you do it?"

  There was more impatience. "The normal way. It is obvious. The political party will be in readiness. There will be plenty of money. There are many wealthy ones throughout Germany and in South America who remember the old days, the good days, and want them back. They want power again. They will help us become the majority party. They will welcome us when we resurface and lead it. We were getting prepared when my husband died.''

  "And he left you to carry on, Eva?"

  For the first time, no answer. He asked again, still no answer. Eva's eyes were beginning to focus on him.

  Time for a second shot, he decided. Quickly he applied the tourniquet, located a vein, injected the hypodermic needle. Then he gave her another minute, praying he had not put her to sleep.

  Eva's eyes remained open, but became unfocused once again.

  Bending closer to her, Foster resumed. "Eva, we were discussing your role. You were left to carry on—to carry out the political plan."

  "To be in charge of our faithful ones down here. But on the outside it is Wolfgang Schmidt who works with us. He knows everyone. He has the right connections. He will be our—our—"

  "Your front man. Your leader."

  She nodded.

  Foster began to question Eva more closely about the details of the takeover, and she rambled on with the answers.

  As she continued to speak, mouthing Hitler's expectations of the nuclear holocaust he foresaw, and the revival of another holocaust inside Germany, Foster's mind went to the perpetrators of Hitler's first holocaust and their heirs. With a shiver, he glanced at his watch. If everything went right above ground—if Mossad's agents had not been thwarted—the means to end this madness should be near happening. And if it was about to happen, there was barely time enough to get out of the bunker before Mossad's lethal gas began pouring in.

  Yes, it was time to get out, and to take Eva Braun with him.

  "Eva," he said, "do you have a flashlight?"

  "A strong one. In my bedside-table drawer. I keep it handy for when we have a power failure."

  Rising, he opened the drawer and withdrew the flashlight.

  "Okay, Eva. I'm about to untie you. We're going for a walk."

  He had laid down the flashlight and bent to undo the knots at her ankles.

  Suddenly a huge black shadow fell upon the wall in front of him.

  Startled, Foster whirled around.

  There, in the bedroom doorway, filling the entire doorway, was the mammoth figure of Wolfgang Schmidt.

  For a frozen instant, face to face, Schmidt was equally surprised and immobilized. Then, like a savage animal, he came to life. "You, Foster, you sonofabitching bastard!" he roared. "What in hell do you think you're doing here? What are you doing to her?"

  Implacably, like a vengeful giant, his beefy red face crossed with fury, he began to advance into the room.

  As Schmidt reached beneath his jacket for his holster, Foster shouted at him, "Don't make another move, Schmidt,
or you're dead!"

  But Foster knew that he could not fire his own Luger. The shot would certainly bring a half dozen underground Nazi guards on the run. Instead, Foster snatched the flashlight from the bed as Schmidt jerked free his Walther P-38.

  Flinging himself at the giant, Foster slammed the flashlight down on Schmidt's gun hand. Schmidt gasped with pain as his automatic flew free, plummeting to the floor.

  Desperately, Foster kicked at the gun as hard as he could. The force of his foot sent the gun skidding out of the bedroom, ricocheting off the hallway wall, and bouncing away out of sight toward the sitting room.

  Infuriated, Schmidt hammered a pawlike fist against the side of Foster's head, driving him against the foot of the bed, where he crumpled to his knees.

  Spinning away, Schmidt rushed out of the bedroom to retrieve his weapon.

  Foster sprang to his feet, stumbled, and went swiftly in pursuit of Schmidt.

  In the sitting room, he could see Schmidt eyeing him as he reached down to recapture his gun. Schmidt's meaty hand had touched the automatic when Foster made a leaping dive toward his body.

  Schmidt crashed to the floor, the gun once more eluding his grip. With another roar, Schmidt pushed himself to his feet as Foster also staggered upright. In a frenzy, Schmidt lashed out at Foster, missing, missing again, but with his third blow he caught Foster flush on the jaw and sent him reeling hard against the mantelpiece.

  As his shoulders hit the mantelpiece, Foster raised his arms and grabbed at the mantel to maintain his balance. Striking Eva's precious Grecian urn, he dislodged it and sent it tumbling to the floor with a loud thud.

  Schmidt, murder in his eyes, massive arms extended, a wild Neanderthal man, was coming at Foster for the kill.

  Foster thought he was done for.

  Propelling himself forward, almost into his adversary's clutches, Foster raised himself upward, letting loose a powerful judo kick. Bewildered, Schmidt tried to grab the flailing leg, deflect the kick, but he was too slow. Foster's flashing foot caught him hard and full in the groin. The German doubled up in agony, trying to stifle his cry of pain as his hands dropped to his crotch.