The Reich Device

by Richard D. Handy

  ‘Well let me see… yes, there are some. We have companies working the new oil fields in the Middle East; most of the reserves are capped off by a good quality coal seam. Then there’s Central America; some good stuff there. Recently, my team also excavated some new deposits in the diamond-mining regions of Southern Africa.’

  The latter was particularly interesting. Germany already had strong interests in the region.

  ‘Hans, thanks. Do you have geologists in the field now? Could they bring back some samples from Southern Africa, and the other sites?’

  ‘We certainly do, in fact, I have some samples in the lab now. I can send you some over, you can expect them in a couple of days. I see you’re not at Kummersdorf anymore, where should I send them?’

  ‘That’s very generous, but I will send our man to collect the samples today.’ Steinhoff neatly avoided the question; the fewer who knew about Peenemünde the better.

  Steinhoff worked through the last of the geological carbon samples supplied by his colleagues in Berlin. The sample preparation had been fairly straightforward. It was simply a matter of grinding up each sample into powder, and washing it with industrial alcohol; there was no shortage of that at Peenemünde. The resulting carbon and alcohol mixture contained the ultra-fine remains of the ground-up carbon.

  He examined each one carefully on the microscope.

  The deposits from the Middle East were not that great. The high oil content in the coal had made the extraction of carbon less efficient. However, the material from South America gave a good quality carbon sample; certainly worth working on an industrial scale. But the quality of the South African deposit was absolutely stunning. The carbon came from a seam that was apparently close to the surface, and only a few metres thick. It would be easy to dig up. What was more, the sample was perfect; an almost pure source of the right kind of carbon.

  Steinhoff leapt from his chair, and rushed towards Dornberger’s office.

  ‘We have it! We have it!’ Steinhoff burst into the Commander’s office without knocking. Dornberger looked up from his desk.

  ‘You have what?’

  ‘The carbon! We have the carbon particles!’ Steinhoff waved a test tube of the stuff in Dornberger’s face.

  Dornberger gave a large grin, and leapt to his feet, shaking his hand. ‘Well done! Well done! Where did you find it?’

  ‘In Southern Africa. There’s a deposit running close to the surface in the wetlands on the east coast, Zululand apparently. It’s mainly swamp and mangrove, but we can get the natives to dig it up. The muddy deposits can be cleaned up on site, and we should be able to collect enough material for several devices. It could be shipped directly to Germany the same week!’

  ‘This is fantastic news! We should make arrangements immediately!’ Dornberger gave a huge grin and shook his hand again. Both men beamed at each other. A major hurdle had been overcome.

  Now Steinhoff could build his device.

  CHAPTER 35

  Cape Mineral Company, Head Office

  Heinkel, pleased with his new orders after the fiasco in England, rehearsed the deception again. He stood on the steps of the Cape Mineral Company Headquarters, absently gazing at the ornate stone facade. The straps on his leather satchel strained; he ignored the weight of the bag. The mining company was obviously doing well to afford such an iconic building in the centre of town, and right next to the South African Reserve Bank – that might come in useful.

  The charade had to be perfect; otherwise the chairman wouldn’t fall for it. He had to admit; it was a remarkably devious plan. One of his best.

  He skipped up the steps into the lobby; the hard soles of his shoes echoed off the polished marble as he made his way to the elevator. He studied the signage for a few seconds, identifying Director Krumbach’s office on the fourth floor. He pressed the big brass call button. The clank of cables and mechanical parts sounded in the shaft as the lift approached. Suddenly, the door opened.

  Heinkel stared at the white face of the bellboy.

  ‘What floor would you like, sir?’

  He stepped into the elevator. ‘Fourth floor please.’

  Rudy Temple peered out from behind the carved stone pillar.

  So, Mr Heinkel was back in town, and paying another visit to the Cape Mineral Company.

  Temple watched the numbers light up above the elevator… second… third… fourth floor.

  Interesting, it seems Mr Heinkel has some business with the director.

  Temple lit up a cheroot, checked his watch, and headed for the street.

  Heinkel smiled at the receptionist, still clasping the heavy satchel with his left hand.

  ‘It will not be long now sir, Mr Krumbach will be with you shortly,’ she smiled back. The company accounts had made interesting reading. Krumbach was living the dream, but for how much longer? The Cape Mineral Company had been through a period of rapid expansion, buying out German interests in West Africa, and was now overstretched. It was an impressive debt: some ten million US dollars. It was a simple matter of exploiting this weakness.

  The deception was already in motion; the idea of getting Himmler to write a personal letter to Rockefeller was a stroke of genius; both men were on the board of the Schroder Bank. The rich capitalist had taken the bait easily with Himmler exalting the difficulties of German land and mineral wealth being absorbed into the colonial interests of the British. The imperial dogs had squandered hard-earned German wealth on lavish residences and hunting trips, and allowed the business to fall into ruin. It was an ideal opportunity for Rockefeller to buy some mineral prospects in South Africa and, acting indirectly on behalf of the Schroder Bank, he could also return shares back to their rightful owners: the German people.

  The personal assistant roused him from his thoughts. ‘Mr Krumbach will see you now, sir,’ she beamed at Heinkel.

  The plan was working.

  Heinkel entered the room and was assaulted by the smell of stale tobacco and furniture polish. Krumbach waddled out from behind his mahogany desk, cigar in hand. The buttons on his expensive waistcoat strained against his portly midriff.

  ‘Ah! Mr Heinkel, it is very nice to meet you at last. I hear you have been buying titanium from us, is that right?’

  Heinkel shook the flabby outstretched palm, concealing his disgust with a polite smile. ‘Yes, I have been making some purchases for my employer.’

  ‘Well good, good, please take a seat.’

  He waved Heinkel towards one of the green leather chairs in front of the desk, whilst puffing on his cigar.

  Heinkel ignored the putrid odour, and sat down with the satchel on his lap.

  ‘So, how can I help? You want to purchase some more titanium?’ Krumbach chewed on his cigar.

  Heinkel maintained his neutral but polite expression. ‘Yes, I will be making another purchase, and also some orders for a few other metals: manganese, aluminium and so on.’

  ‘Well, we have the finest materials around. It shouldn’t take too long to get you everything you need. Your employer?… You represent one of the big manufacturing industries in Germany?’

  ‘Yes, something like that. You might say that I am expressing interests on behalf of a large consortium of industrialists and government departments.’

  Krumbach’s eyes expanded at the prospect. ‘Well, that makes you an important customer indeed!’

  Heinkel dropped his polite smile slowly. ‘Perhaps, but I am also here on another… shall we say… more delicate matter.’

  Krumbach stopped drawing on his cigar. ‘Delicate matter?’

  ‘Well, it’s a question of politics really.’ Heinkel gave a controlled smile and continued. ‘You know how it is, politicians always seem to interfere with big business.’

  Krumbach snorted. ‘You’re not wrong there. Sharks, the lot of them.’

  ‘Quite so, you are Dutch I think, not British?’

  ‘Yes, my family was from Amsterdam originally.’

  ‘And I hear the British
investment in the Cape Mineral Company hasn’t gone so well?’

  Krumbach furrowed his brow. ‘Where did you hear that?’

  ‘Come now, Mr Krumbach, one has only to look at your share price.’

  ‘Alright, so it’s slipped a little, where is this conversation going?’

  ‘The people I represent would like to offer you a business proposition.’

  Heinkel took the letter from his breast pocket and tossed it onto the table.

  Krumbach flicked his eyes at the envelope, then at Heinkel. ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Open it. It’s a letter of introduction from Mr Rockefeller.’

  ‘What, the John Rockefeller?’

  Heinkel smiled as he folded his arms. ‘Yes, one and the same. Read… please.’

  Krumbach removed his cigar, depositing it smouldering in a glass ashtray. He slit open the letter with an ivory-handled paper knife, then blanched at the contents.

  ‘This is an aggressive takeover? You want to buy out the British shares to give a Germany consortium control of the company?’

  ‘Strictly speaking, no. It’s a re-investment, and technically the shares would belong to Mr Rockefeller. The British and Americans are allies, surely the board will not object to an American investor of such calibre.’

  Krumbach shrugged. ‘Perhaps not.’

  Heinkel leant forwards and spoke in an even tone. ‘Persuade them, you are the director of the company.’

  Krumbach rubbed his fingers across the sweat forming on his brow. ‘Well, that’s not so easy. The current investors are mainly British gentry, Lord this, and Lord that – powerful men with the ear of the British Prime Minister. Rockefeller’s sympathies with Germany are well known.’

  ‘Please consider the proposition.’ Heinkel paused to open his satchel. He took out a gleaming bar of gold, stamped with the emblem of the old Kaiser’s Imperial Germany. He held it up to the light for a few seconds and gently placed the block on the table.

  Heinkel gave a reassuring smile. ‘Your cooperation is appreciated, Mr Krombach.’

  Krombach stared at the gold bar, then at Heinkel.

  ‘And all I have to do is persuade the board to take Mr Rockefeller’s offer?’

  Heinkel maintained a passive facade. ‘Yes.’

  Krumbach leant over the desk and slid the gold bar towards himself. ‘Then perhaps we can do business after all.’ He picked up his cigar and gave a couple of sucks to get the embers going again.

  ‘Good, good. There is one other minor logistics detail you can help me with on my current visit.’

  ‘Logistics?’

  ‘Yes, we would like to do some prospecting on the east coast, around Zululand.’

  ‘What the hell for? There’s nothing but swamp and yellow fever to be had there.’

  Heinkel nodded appreciatively. ‘I know, but please indulge me. The terrain is rough going, and I need a crew of local workers… as well as some permits… but done discretely.’

  ‘Discretion is my middle name. I can find you a crew of blacks, no problem.’

  ‘Thank you Mr Krumbach.’

  Heinkel stood, concluding the meeting with another flabby handshake, before heading for the door.

  The greedy fat oaf had been easy to bribe, and would be so distracted by Rockefeller’s apparent offer, enabling the little venture in Zululand to go unnoticed. Heinkel could spirit the real prize away, and secure some essential rare metals for the German rocket programme. Mr Himmler would be pleased.

  CHAPTER 36

  Mfolizi River, Zululand

  Nash took a swig of the warm, rank water in his canteen. It was better than nothing in the heat and humidity. At least the lush jungle undergrowth was good cover.

  A distant chugging sound caught his attention.

  Nash swung the binoculars up stream. It was just one of the natives – only three small boats had idled along the river all day. It was definitely a quiet backwater.

  The perfect place for going about one’s business unnoticed.

  Nash zoomed the binoculars towards the task in hand, and tried to concentrate on the dilapidated house boat moored only a few yards away.

  The noise of insects buzzed in his ear. He absently scratched his neck; the full strength mosquito repellent had stopped working hours ago. It was hard to tell what was worse; the heat and humidity of the day, or the insect fiesta that seemed to start with the approaching twilight. Thick clouds of mosquitoes were already hovering over the water’s edge.

  To hell with it.

  He wiped the sweat off the binoculars, and focused on the boat.

  There was movement at the stern, with men gathering around a small table and chairs on the open deck.

  He scanned forward. The binoculars picked up the square bulk that constituted the cabin area. He ran the binoculars over the cabin, but it was impossible to see through the small grubby windows. Nash shifted the binoculars up to the open-top wheelhouse. The guard was still sitting there, but that was no surprise; it was the highest point on the boat, giving a good view over the river.

  A sudden splash in the water.

  Nash swung the binoculars, tensing his muscles.

  Just a catfish.

  He exhaled.

  The binoculars followed the waterline of the hull. It was a very shallow draft, ideal for coping with the muddy tributaries that fed into the Mfolizi swamp forest. The jungle was relentless. Tangled masses of mangrove roots gave way to knee-deep mud effervescing with the stench of stagnant water. The mangrove swamp merged seamlessly with mile upon mile of dense jungle, riddled with sodden malaria-infested ditches, and humidity – going by boat was the only civilised way to travel.

  ‘Gentlemen, be seated.’ Heinkel spread the map out on the table as he beckoned the men forward.

  Briefing time!

  Nash tuned in, trying to stay alert. It had taken hours to inch through the undergrowth to get within a few yards of the target. It was close enough to hear everything, but also close enough to get caught.

  Making fine adjustments to the zoom, Nash picked out the details of the book spine sitting on the table.

  A geology text? What were they looking for? Gold? Diamonds?

  It didn’t make any sense.

  ‘Dr Steinhoff what is your assessment of the situation?’ Heinkel paused, offering the floor to his companion.

  Nash assimilated the mystery guest.

  Late forties, average height, slouching a little, certainly not fit – a civilian of some kind, probably a geologist or scientist going by the textbook. But why is he here in the middle of the jungle?

  A third man appeared. Tall and muscular, in the peak of physical fitness. He sported a side arm, several clips of ammunition, and a large knife. The third man was clearly a soldier; very professional, very alert.

  Boots clanked on the stairs.

  Two men appeared in the wheelhouse.

  Scruffy, dark oily skin – they must be locals. The skipper and his mate perhaps?

  The waterways could be treacherous. It made sense to hire local people who knew the river. The guard gave them a disdainful look of tolerance.

  Yes, definitely, just the hired help.

  It was probably their boat.

  The click-clack of a weapon being cocked drew Nash immediately back to the main deck. A fourth man stood towering over his companions, lean, very alert, and carrying a machine gun. He was obviously on patrol duty around the deck, but also gave close interest to the proceedings.

  This gathering is getting interesting. Some kind of German agent, a scientist, and what looked like two guys from Special Forces, or at least very disciplined mercenaries. What the bloody hell is Heinkel up to?

  Nash was sure about one thing. There would be no boarding the boat tonight; the machine gunner would hose him down long before he made the gangplank. Observation was the name of the game right now.

  ‘Gentlemen, we have found what we were looking for.’ Steinhoff took a small glass vial from an ornate box on
the table. He held it up in the lamplight, pausing to watch the dark crystals twinkle, before passing it around. ‘There’s more… ’

  Steinhoff placed a shiny black rock sample in the centre of the table.

  Nash was perplexed. Whatever was being passed around the table was of great interest – that much was clear – each man took the opportunity to study the contents of the tube. But what was in it? And what was the rock sample? Nash had to concede: he had no idea.

  He strained to catch the conversation.

  ‘Well gentlemen, you see we are looking for a very special sub-type of carbon deposit. I had a local ranger bring some samples to me; the ones you just examined. From my initial analysis I have identified this location as the best source of the material.’ Steinhoff duly pointed at the map.

  Heinkel interrupted. ‘Dr Steinhoff, excellent work! Our instructions from Berlin are to recover as much of the material as possible, and without attracting too much attention.’

  Steinhoff continued. ‘Yes, well, the main deposit is located here on the Mfolizi strata. Millions of years ago this area alternated between a shallow sea and lush tropical forest. The mud on the seabed was compressed over geological time to create the mudstone deposits we see all around in this area today. However, the brief periods of tropical forest also created some thin, but exquisite, seams of carbon.’

  Heinkel wondered. ‘How much carbon are we talking about?’

  ‘Each deposit is about a metre thick, and sandwiched between much thicker layers of mudstone.’

  ‘Are the deposits accessible from the surface or do we need to dig?’ Heinkel was full of questions.

  ‘Well, providence is on our side. Part of the riverbank has collapsed, revealing the rock strata for us. Here on the edge of this bend in the river. The geology is nicely exposed.’ Steinhoff pointed at the map again. ‘There is a nice rock face that we can simply dig the material from. There is no need for subterranean mining. We can drive a coal barge right up to the shoreline, and simply load the material directly from the rock face into the boat.’