But what should he do? On the one hand, it was an opportunity to get a potential troublemaker out of the way for a while; for several months in fact. But on the other hand, Einstein was known to speak openly against the political situation in Germany; and while he was careful not to specifically direct adverse comments at the Nazi Party, the inference was there.
Kessler made his decision. It was better to have Einstein out of the way.
He called in his orderly to process the visa application immediately, with the necessary stamps and signatures. It would eliminate any administrative foul ups and get Einstein on his journey.
‘The morning post, sir… ’ the orderly handed over a pile of envelopes, ‘… and this has just come in. It’s a telegram from Berlin.’
Kessler opened the telegram and sat bolt upright in his chair as he read the contents.
‘Detain Professor Gustav Mayer for questioning. STOP. Hold in isolation until further orders from Admiral Dönitz. STOP. Immediate action. STOP.’
Kessler smiled; things were looking up; two pieces of good news in the same morning. He could get shot of two troublesome academic types in one go.
‘Corporal! Have my car ready at once and include an armed motorcycle escort.’ There was no time like the present.
The orderly clicked his heels in acknowledgement, and dropped what remained of the morning post back into the in-tray as he headed for the door. A trip out in the car was always more interesting than shuffling paper. He attended to his new task with gusto.
Kessler considered the situation. Professor Mayer was in his late fifties, and would not present any problems. It would be a simple matter – his car with two police officers, a few minutes to quietly collect the Professor from his office at the University. There would be no fuss, and the Professor would be detained. The motorcycle escort would deter the Professor from doing a runner on foot.
But where to put him? The most pragmatic solution, and low profile, would be house arrest. The Professor could be detained at his own home until the orders from Berlin were clarified. It was odd that such a senior figure in the Reich Chancellery was interested in Mayer. Admiral Karl Dönitz was a highly respected naval officer. He had come to fame for his gallant service on the cruiser Breslau in 1914, and had been instrumental in bringing Turkey into the Great War. He was a brilliant commander – but that was at odds with the situation – why was an academic of importance to a navy man like Dönitz?
Kessler hurried down the stairs to the waiting escort. His orderly revved the engine of the brand new Daimler to warm it up. Kessler paused at the passenger door, and used his reflection in the gleaming metal to adjust his uniform: it was important to look neat and authoritative when making an arrest.
The Daimler fitted his status with a very spacious interior. The rear of the car was divided from the driver by a glass screen to give the passengers some extra privacy. One could ask probing questions in private. It was all part of the show. Kessler opened the door and was greeted by the rich smell of polished leather. He took a seat. A police officer was already waiting in the back for him.
‘So glad you could make it, Detective,’ sneered Kessler.
The detective ignored the sarcastic tone of his superior; he knew his place in the pecking order. ‘Not at all, where are we going?’
Kessler tapped on the dividing glass impatiently. ‘Drive!’ He didn’t bother answering the detective’s question. The local police were under the control of the Party, but nonetheless, Kessler liked to take the precaution of giving minimal information.
The journey to the University only took a few minutes, and the car stopped directly outside the front door of the Physics Department. Kessler stepped quickly out of the car, without waiting for his orderly or the detective, and walked briskly into the lobby. His steel toe-capped boots echoed on the flagstone floor, announcing their arrival. A quick inspection of the notice board identified the Professor’s office on the first floor. Kessler headed for the stairs.
Mayer sat at his desk, absently doodling on the notepad. His shoulder throbbed. He rubbed his aching muscles, and exhaled. It had been a close-run thing. Wandering the streets at night like that… how could he have been so stupid?! He dropped the pen on the desk, and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He took a deep breath and gave a long slow exhalation.
It didn’t help.
Things were too dangerous. Who was the strange figure last night? Not a Nazi judging by the way he dispatched the two Brown Shirts, but what did he want? The damned Brown Shirts! They prowled everywhere. There were more guards on the campus now; and where was Nico?
Poor Nico.
It was certain the authorities had him. He’d been gone nearly two days now. It was only a matter of time before they came asking questions.
Mayer gazed at the photograph on his desk. She’d had an inner strength, his beloved Sophia. How she had thrashed on the bed, defiant, as the fever took hold. Her blue-green eyes burned into his soul as he held her clammy, blanched hands.
Suddenly, the door burst open.
‘Good day Professor Mayer.’
A neatly dressed German officer stood in the doorway, smiling. Seconds later, two other men appeared, one in a corporal’s uniform, the other in a dark suit. The three men formed an intimidating reception committee.
Mayer swallowed down his fear. Who were they? What did they want? It seemed best to do nothing and play ignorant. He remained seated at his desk, frozen to the spot.
‘Good afternoon Commandant, forgive me, how can I help?’ Mayer, struggling to maintain his composure, forced a polite smile.
‘Let me say for now that your assistance is needed.’ Kessler swaggered forward towards the desk; proximity was always more intimidating.
‘I see, well… er… what assistance can I give?’
‘If you would accompany me, please… ’ Kessler gestured politely, but with authority.
Mayer, seeing that he had no choice, started to rise from his chair. Suddenly his heart missed a beat – the draft manuscript – on his desk! Mayer coughed in a vain attempt to draw attention away from the papers. Involuntarily, Mayer glanced down at the manuscript.
Kessler registered the concern. His eyes darted around the room. What was it? His eyes scanned the shelves and desk area for anything out of the ordinary – nothing. Kessler went with his gut instinct: something was out of place. The Professor was agitated, for sure, but there was also fear.
Mayer decided to play the bumbling academic. ‘Let me get my coat.’ He fumbled with his jacket. At least it would buy some time to think.
Suddenly a plan popped into his head, idiotic, but worth the risk.
He feigned a coughing fit and theatrically struggled into his coat. It flapped about, taking a perfect arc over the desk. Piles of papers cascaded across the floor. With seemingly lightning reflexes Mayer grabbed handfuls of the papers and dumped them back on the desk. It did the job; the manuscript was now at least hidden in an anonymous pile.
‘Professor… ’ Kessler gestured his impatience by offering Mayer the door.
He didn’t bother to introduce the detective, or the orderly. They simply fell in on either side of Mayer and marched him briskly to the waiting car.
The orderly opened the rear passenger door of the Daimler, the detective climbed in first. Kessler pressed close to the Professor. The body language was enough for Mayer to understand that he was to get in next. Kessler stepped into the car, quickly bringing up the rear, to ensure his guest was sandwiched in the back with no chance of escape. The orderly took to the driver’s seat and with typical efficiency started the engine and closed the cab window to give his Commandant some privacy.
A crushing chest pain and the taste of bile rose in Mayer’s throat. He breathed deeply through his nostrils, forcing an outward facade of calm; but the illusion wasn’t working.
Kessler came to an easy conclusion. The Professor wasn’t just scared, he was hiding something. The furrowed brow, the small beads of sweat forming on h
is temple, and the look in his eyes – yes, the eyes – they always gave the truth away.
Kessler decided to let him stew in his own thoughts. The silence would make his captive uncomfortable for a while, and then there would be some small talk to give his prey some sense of security. He knew all the tricks of the trade when it came to softening up a prisoner for interrogation. It was a matter of psychology, tailoring the approach to the psyche of the individual. If that didn’t work, some straightforward pain and suffering would always do the trick. Kessler was mildly amused by the idea; there would be plenty of time for the interrogation.
Mayer stared despondently at his surroundings. The interview room, if you could call it that, sat deep in the bowels of the district headquarters. Things were not looking good. Everything about the room screamed interrogation. The cold tiled floor, the spartan furnishings of just a small table and two chairs was all very functional. Then there was the waiting. How long had he been here now? It was hard to tell – they had taken his watch – no doubt all part of the process of softening him up. Well, it was working! The guard had made a show of firmly locking the door; the iron grill on the window confirmed things. There was no means of escape. The orderly was still on duty outside the door. The telltale noise of shuffling feet, and the click of a heavy rifle butt on the floor gave his position away.
The situation could not be any worse.
Mayer gazed at the floor in a fit of depression and wished he hadn’t: bloodstains! The pinky red discoloration in the grouting of the floor tiles told an ugly story. He wanted it to be floor polish, but it wasn’t. God only knew how many beatings had taken place in this room. The crushing pain returned to his chest as he began to hyperventilate.
Kessler’s tactics were proceeding exactly as planned. He skipped down the stairs into the basement. The Professor had been wallowing for some hours now. Things would start with the usual cryptic questions to further unsettle the captive – then who knows what next?
Kessler entered the room. Mayer sat compliant in a chair at the small wooden table.
‘Ahh… Professor Mayer… Professor Mayer… Gustav isn’t it?’ It is always more effective to extract information if one is on first name terms with the captive. It was just another standard procedure from the Interrogator’s Handbook.
‘How long have you lived at your address?’ asked Kessler.
Mayer replied.
‘And you have worked for the University all this time?’
‘Some twenty years. Most of my working life.’
‘So Professor, tell me, when were you last in Berlin?’
‘Let me see… a meeting at the University there, about two years ago.’ Mayer was being truthful; he really could not remember the exact time of his last visit.
‘And who do you know in Berlin?’
‘Just my fellow academics at the University. A small group of physicists, some engineers and a few chemists.’
‘So please explain why I should get this from Berlin!’ Kessler hissed as he showed the Professor the telegram.
Mayer flushed with sweat. Was he about to become another statistic? Another disappearance? It wasn’t looking good.
‘I am sorry Commandant, please… I am just an academic… I teach at the University. I do not know.’ Mayer realised he was grovelling, but decided to put life ahead of dignity; at least for now.
Kessler raised his voice for a controlled effect. ‘Again! Who do you know in Berlin?!’
‘Only my colleagues at the University, they are just academics like me. Please, I really don’t know what this is about!’
‘I want names! Who do you know? How long have you known them?’
Mayer tried to comply, giving the names of one or two old colleagues in Berlin who could vouch for him: the Head of Physics, and a couple of engineers. The Commandant would find them anyway, so he risked nothing by giving some names.
Kessler lowered his voice, but kept the tone firm. ‘What did you last speak of with your colleagues?’
‘Only engineering matters, our last meeting was to discuss some mathematics of projectiles, and the energy content of different fuels. We just discussed the things we would normally talk about… ’ Mayer was telling the truth.
‘So, why do I get such requests from Berlin?!’ shouted Kessler.
‘Please, I am just an academic… I do not know.’
‘Professor… ’ Kessler paused for effect. ‘I am trying to help you, but I cannot help if you do not answer my questions. What have you been doing in Berlin?!’
‘I have only visited the University to discuss physics. That is all. Our meetings take place every two years. The University of Berlin is one of the venues we use for our scientific meetings as part of the physics community. This is well known, it takes place in Berlin every other year. You can check with the University… ’ Mayer babbled.
‘We will Professor… we will… ’ Kessler played the menace. Satisfied that his prisoner was suitably softened up, it was time to try a different tack to extract information. Kessler adopted a calm and caring tone. Always test the prisoner; then be their friend.
‘Professor, tell me, what you are working on now?’
‘Um… err… just the usual things. Some work on fuel combustion… and… and on the aerodynamics of projectiles.’
Kessler smiled. The Professor was lying, but why would he lie? Kessler pondered the situation for a few seconds before asking the next question.
‘Tell me about fuels, Professor… do you like to see things burn?’ Kessler lit a match and held it close to the Professor’s face; close enough so that he would feel the heat, but without burning his skin. There would be plenty of time for that later. He blew out the match, smoke went into Mayer’s eyes.
‘Fuels! Professor, what can you tell me about fuels?!’ The nasty tone was back with a vengeance.
‘We are researching high energy fuels, the idea that a fuel can have a high burn rate but still remain stable when it’s stored. We are just working on the safety of new aviation fuels. It is just a practical problem for engineers.’ Mayer knew he was replying to save his life.
Kessler expertly read the situation. This time Mayer was telling the truth, but why the initial hesitation? No matter, they could play this game for hours, question after question until the Professor was tired. Men make mistakes when they are fatigued. He would find out what was really going on.
‘Aviation fuel? I don’t think so! I have done my homework too Professor.’
‘Yes, well… I mean… the fuel is high octane… volatile… it can be used for many types of high-speed propulsion.’
‘Propulsion? Sounds interesting, what kind of propulsion?!’ Kessler suddenly lashed out, thumping the table.
Mayer flinched. ‘Rockets! The funding is for rocket fuels… ’ Gasping a breath, Mayer stared down at the table, shoulders slouching.
‘So Professor, we know about fuels, and we know about projectiles… what did you call them? Rockets? But I sense there is something else?’
‘I have told you again and again, I am just a humble physicist working on an engineering problem and when I am not doing that I am teaching the students at the University. Please, I am just an academic… please… I have told you everything I know.’ Mayer sunk back into the chair even further.
‘Tell me about your colleagues.’ Kessler gave a theatrical pause. ‘I understand you know Professor Einstein?’ He searched Mayer’s face for the telltale signs of deception.
‘Yes, I know him. He is a visitor in our Physics Department.’ Mayer used all his resolve to give a bland but accurate answer.
‘So, you work together?’
‘We discuss physics together, as I do with many other colleagues in my department.’ Another factually correct answer.
‘Very good Professor, that will do for now.’ Kessler smiled, and with a snap of his fingers, the orderly opened the door. Kessler marched out the door as briskly as he came. Mayer slumped forward in the chair, with his for
ehead almost on the table, and tried to breathe.
The orderly snapped to attention, after locking the door.
‘No food for the prisoner, no water, no toilet – are we clear?’
‘Yes sir.’ A crisp salute followed.
Kessler went back to his office, and sat at his desk. There was plenty of time. The Professor would be uncomfortable soon enough. He was telling the truth about his job and his visits to Berlin. But he was also holding something back, and the occasional lie during the interview confirmed this. Perhaps headquarters would reveal some more background in due course? In the meantime, it was worth having the Professor’s office searched. Despite the late hour, Kessler dispatched a squad to the University.
The grey man knelt outside the office door and gave a quick glance at the wooden plaque: ‘Professor G. Mayer’. At least it was the right place. He tensed on the doorknob, it turned partially and then stopped – locked.
A subtle change in air pressure brushed the hairs on the back of his neck. He froze, and stared down the long first-floor corridor of the Physics Department, but saw nothing moving. He scanned the doorways for activity. They looked all the bloody same, but still no movement. He closed his eyes to listen.
It’s just an old building, things creak.
He turned his attention back to the lock, and carefully inserted the skeleton key into the mechanism. Feeling the flex of the key, he inserted a thin strip of copper wire; then tried the key again. It still wasn’t right. He eased a second strip of wire gently into the lock; then applied pressure on the key, flexing his wrist trying to feel the mechanism.
Why the hell won’t the door open?
The door gave a sudden loud click. The grey man froze.
Nothing.
He applied gentle pressure to the doorknob, and slowly eased the door ajar. Moonlight flooded the door frame, revealing the shape of the room. Holding his breath, he quietly slipped into the room, closing the door behind him.
Crouching behind the door, breathing gently, he listened.
His vision gradually adjusted to the moonlight. Scanning the room, details of the layout started to come into grainy focus. It was a fairly typical academic office; an untidy desk in front of the fireplace, the shelves covering the walls were heaped with books, and piles of papers sat everywhere. This was going to take a while.
The Reich Device Page 5