by James Remmer
‘I think I know what it is. You’re not coming back, are you?’
Von Menen took a deep breath. ‘No, I don’t think I am.’
She put her arm around his shoulder, then rose to her feet and stepped back.
He feared that she might go on a wild gallop around the garden, but no.
‘I’m so happy for you, Carl. You’ll be much better off there,’ she said. The General nodded in agreement, as Anna continued playfully, ‘Maybe you could find a nice little place for us. We could teach the others Spanish.’ She headed towards the door, humming a few bars of Ravel’s stirring Bolero. ‘I’m just going to check on Katrina.’
Von Menen gaped in amazement as his mother left the room. ‘Goodness, she took that well, Father.’
‘She seemed to, but deep inside I suspect she’s hurting a lot.’
‘Do you think she meant it? About you all going to South America, I mean?’
The General, a picture of bewilderment, stared silently at the door. ‘To be honest, Carl, I’m not quite sure, but it sounds like a good idea.’
‘You’d consider it?’
For the General, the horns of dilemma had passed into history. ‘If, by some fluke, the Russians arrive here before we’ve had time to get to Flensburg,’ he said, ‘there are at least two people I know who’ll be making a one-way trip to Siberia – Hans and me! Believe me, by the time they’ve finished with us, we’ll be fully conversant with the infinite varieties of human depravity. Does that answer your question?’
Von Menen reached out and grabbed his father’s arm. ‘Look, I can arrange everything! I’ve got money out there, quite a lot of it. As for Vidal, well, as you’ve said, he might not even be around. Trust me,’ he pleaded. ‘For heaven’s sake, the least you can do is try.’
The General walked forlornly over to the window and stared out across the grounds. ‘The von Menen family has been here for, God, I don’t know how many years. And now it’s all coming to an end.’ He turned and faced his son. ‘What matters now, Carl, is that you are going back to…’ He paused, shook himself out of his deep despondency. ‘That’s a thought… How on earth are you going to get back – by submarine?’
‘No – by plane and boat, I hope, which is why I went to see Ulricht Hoffman last night.’
‘Your mother mentioned you’d be seeing him. How is he?’
‘Fine, considering what he’s been through. He asked to be remembered to you. He’s with Deutsche Lufthansa.’
‘Yes, your mother said.’
‘The fortunate thing is that his schedule for the next few weeks includes a couple of trips to Madrid; in fact, he’s going there the day after tomorrow. It’s irregular, I know, but he’s delivering a message to Juan for me. You see, Juan knows my situation. He’s keeping an eye on sailings from Spain to South America.’
‘To an old soldier like me, Carl, it sounds a bit like Mata Hari, relived.’
Von Menen grinned. ‘Not quite, Father, I could never dance like Mata Hari!’
‘And your… preparations. What did the Little Corporal agree to?’
‘Everything; that is, as much as a U-boat can accommodate.’
‘A shipment of arms by submarine?’
‘Yes… but only after a furious row between von Ribbentrop and Dönitz. It seems Dönitz tried his damnedest to block it, but conceded in the end… on Hitler’s orders!’
‘Uncle Manfred will be pleased,’ smiled the General. ‘Anyway, you’ve told me your interesting news, now it’s my turn. Do you recall what I told you, not long after your return, about the rats leaving the sinking ship? Well, they’re already storing the cheese, laying the foundations for their exodus, so to speak.’
‘You’d best explain, Father.’
‘My trip to Berlin yesterday – it was to the Reichsbank. I’ve been tasked with the safe delivery of 26.5 tonnes of… well, they didn’t exactly mention the word gold, but that’s what it is.’
‘Twenty-six-and-a-half tonnes? Heavens.’
‘It’s a lot, isn’t it?’
‘I’d say it is. When I left Argentina, gold was selling for 136 pesos an ounce. That’s about thirty-three, thirty-four US dollars.’ Von Menen took out his pen and a scrap of paper, and hurriedly jotted down some figures. ‘My God, that’s over thirty million US dollars!’
The General was well versed with the weight of twenty boxes. Now he was reckoning their value – over $700,000!
‘Let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘In 1941, one US dollar was worth 2.5 Reichsmarks… but nowadays, I wouldn’t have a clue.’
‘Simple, Father. One million US dollars will buy you, let me see, one thousand brand new Ford saloon motor cars!’
‘As many as that?’
‘Yes, as many as that. But where’s it all going?’
‘Ultimately, I don’t know. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say it’s going in the same direction as you – South America – though my remit terminates at Priwall.’
‘Why?’
‘Just look at the location. Priwall’s the ideal place. They’ve got the choice of aeroplanes, float planes and… submarines.’
‘But you’re an officer of the German army, Father. Why you and not—’
‘The SS? Because they’re just using me, Carl. If anything goes wrong, they’ll have someone else to blame!’
The General pressed the bell at the side of the fireplace. Within half a minute, Schwartz appeared.
‘Schwartz, please tell Hans “five minutes”, there’s a good fellow. Oh, and something else – there’s a fortnight’s leave for you, starting tomorrow.’
‘Why, thank you, General.’ Schwartz inclined his head and deftly departed.
‘Carl, slip on your jacket and come with me.’
When von Menen and the General stepped through the wicket gate into the garage block, Steiger was already there. He had lit an oil lamp, shadows dancing on the whitewashed brickwork.
With encouragement from the General, von Menen turned to Steiger and put to him the salient question.
‘Hans, how would you and Greta like to go to Argentina with the rest of the family?’
Steiger gazed insensibly at von Menen. ‘Are you serious?’ he asked.
‘Very serious.’
Steiger looked questioningly at the General. ‘Is this true, Klaus?’
‘Yes, Hans, it’s true.’
Joyous excitement swept across Steiger’s face. ‘Do you want my answer immediately, or can you wait two seconds?’
‘Do I take that as a “yes”?’ smiled von Menen.
‘Most positively,’ asserted Steiger.
‘And Greta?’
‘She’ll be ecstatic.’
‘Well, Father, that’s the four of you sorted out. All we have to do now is convince Katrina and Jürgen.’
‘Leave that to me,’ said the General.
‘That’s settled, then.’ Von Menen moved as if to depart.
‘Not quite,’ said the General. ‘There’s something we need to talk to you about. Hans, will you tell him, or shall I?’
‘I think it best if it came from you, Klaus.’
The General fixed his son with a hypnotic look. ‘Carl, the gold I was telling you about? We’re having some of it.’
Von Menen stood motionless, his brow looking like an old, creased shirt, his eyes settling upon Steiger. Flipped his lid.
‘This is no collective delusion, Carl. We’re serious, deadly serious,’ said Steiger.
‘He’s right, Carl,’ said the General. ‘We’ve thought it through, very carefully. We can do it and we’re going to do it.’
Von Menen threw his hands in the air. ‘You’re talking like a couple of renegades,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘You can’t be serious. If you’re caught, you’ll
be shot.’ His thoughts turned to his mother, Greta, Katrina, Jürgen, even Aunt Ingrid. ‘Have you told…?’
‘We’ve told no one, except you,’ said the General. ‘That’s because there’s a small problem we need to overcome. You see, we need some help.’
The word “help” hung on the General’s lips for some time. It rang in his son’s ears for even longer. Von Menen drew his hand across his forehead and snapped his eyes shut, trying to squeeze out the reality. He knew exactly what his father meant, but his mind dismissed it.
‘You’re both mad,’ he breathed, ‘absolutely mad.’
‘Maybe,’ replied the General, ‘but right now, the whole damn world is mad.’
Von Menen opened his eyes and studied the calm, tranquil look on his father’s face; the face of a loving father, a celebrated battlefront General. ‘It’s me, isn’t it? You want me to help you?’
‘Yes.’ The General’s brief reply was filled with all the emotion of a desperate man – love, guilt, hope, loss and fear, all in one word. ‘We’re not putting any pressure on you. You can refuse. We’d understand.’
Von Menen’s stomach was as taut as a coiled spring. ‘I can hardly believe what I’m hearing,’ he said. ‘You two, of all people.’
‘Circumstances change, Carl. People change, countries change,’ replied the General, his voice sombre and desolate. ‘All we’re asking is that you think about it.’
21
At first light on Friday morning, Steiger set out for his brother’s farm near Neukloster, making a short detour past the entrance to a fine country house.
The next day, Frau von Menen, Katrina and Greta left for Flensburg. With the departure of Schwarzt and the rest of the staff, only von Menen and the General remained at the house.
Von Menen found the General sitting quietly in the library, a brown canvas bag beside his feet, a blank expression on his face.
‘Going somewhere?’ quizzed von Menen, nodding at the bag.
‘Oh, that. No, I’m not going anywhere.’
They sat silently for a while, each seeming as though he had something to tell the other, but didn’t know where to begin. Eventually, the General spoke.
‘You were right, Carl. It was a foolish idea; a dangerous one, too. If it had just been a question of Hans and me, then maybe, but involving you, well, it wouldn’t have been right. You have enough problems to contend with.’
‘So, what is in the bag?’
‘Oh, just a few tools. My idea was to strip some lead off the roof and use it as a decoy for the gold.’
Von Menen smiled and picked up the bag. ‘In that case, we’d best roll up our sleeves, hadn’t we?’
‘You mean…?’
‘I mean I’ve decided to help you.’
The General rose slowly to his feet and placed an arm around his son’s shoulders. ‘Thank you, Carl,’ he said quietly. ‘Without you it wouldn’t work, but now…’
‘So, where do we start?’
‘The flat roof, over the east wing, between the central dome and the sloping turret.’
‘Haven’t been up there in years, but I think I know where you mean.’
‘That wing’s been closed for years so the weatherproofing doesn’t matter. We’ll dump the lead over the parapet and into the courtyard. Fifteen to twenty square metres should suffice.’
‘Before we start, Father… I’ve told Hans everything, about Maria, the arms and Vidal. I managed to have a word just before he left for Harald’s place.’
‘Good, he’ll appreciate your confiding in him. I’d advise you not to tell anyone else, though. The ladies would worry themselves sick. And Jürgen has enough worries already.’
The entire flat roof was surrounded by a low brick parapet, a freezing cold wind hurtling over the top.
‘A present from Stalin,’ shouted von Menen, his voice almost lost in the icy blast.
‘The dark clouds, too, I shouldn’t wonder,’ replied the General.
An hour later, the heavens opened, a torrent of rain falling upon them like a vertical sea. Within minutes, they were soaked, hands raw, faces chafed, bodies racked with cold. Yet they pressed on until it was almost too dark to see.
Fighting the fierce, buffeting wind, the General edged nearer the parapet and peered over the top. ‘We’ll call it a day,’ he hollered. ‘There’s at least a quarter of a tonne down there. The rest can wait until tomorrow.’
The next afternoon, just as the General was dumping the last piece of lead over the parapet, a light appeared on the horizon.
‘Lights!’ shouted von Menen. ‘Father, the field glasses!’
‘It’s okay,’ said the General, peering through his binoculars. ‘It’s Hans.’
Steiger drove into the courtyard, backed the Steyr up to the workshop and opened the boot. They descended quickly and hurried across the courtyard to meet him.
‘Well, Hans?’ asked the General.
Smiling broadly, Steiger gestured to the open boot. ‘See for yourselves – sides, ends, bases and lids, all cut to the exact measurements. The rest is under the blanket on the back seat.’
‘Marvellous. Any strange looks from Harald?’
‘No, I had the run of the place. Harald left the farm just after I arrived, didn’t get back until nightfall. By then, I’d finished everything… even drilled the holes for the rope handles. Any word from Keppel?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Good.’ Steiger glanced around the courtyard. ‘I see you’ve been busy, then.’
‘Damned heavy stuff, but I think we have enough. If not, there’s plenty more up there.’
‘Which reminds me,’ said Steiger, with a studious look. ‘The lead… My schoolboy physics tell me that the relative density of gold is greater than lead, which means that a kilo of lead will need more room than a kilo of gold.’
‘True,’ agreed the General. ‘Let’s hope there’s enough spare capacity inside each box to allow for the difference.’
‘You’re with us, then, Carl?’ whispered Steiger, as they headed towards the garage.
‘Well, somebody’s got to keep an eye on you two. I just hope that the three of us don’t end up debating the merits of it inside Plötzensee Prison.’
‘Don’t worry, we won’t be going to Plötzensee Prison.’ Steiger gave him a playful slap on the back. ‘Anyway, welcome to Club Daring, it’s good to have you with us.’
‘I forgot to ask you, Carl,’ said the General. ‘Your mother mentioned something about you calling at Borsigwalde the other day.’
‘That’s right.’
‘The ordnance factory?’
‘Yes, to arrange that ammunition I told you about.’
‘Nine-millimetre parabellum?’
‘Yes, for the Schmeissers.’
‘Crated?’
‘Er… yes, wooden boxes… there’s a scarcity of pressed steel, so they say.’
Steiger, who’d seen through the General’s questioning, smiled and turned on his heels. ‘Follow me, gentlemen,’ he said, hastening through the garage and into the storeroom at the far end.
Bemused, von Menen and the General followed, the dog bringing up the rear. Yeremenko stopped at the door, perked his nose and backed away, the reek of petrol almost overwhelming. Steiger grabbed a corner of a large canvas sheet and yanked it clear, revealing a veritable Aladdin’s cave – sacks, packing crates, cardboard boxes of varying shapes and sizes, and at least two dozen jerry cans full of petrol! At the front, stacked one on top of the other, were four wooden cases, each marked with the same inscription, PK-88.
‘Did you see any of these at Borsigwalde, Carl?’ asked Steiger, tapping the bottom case with the toe of his boot.
‘Thousands.’
‘Good God, Hans!’ exclaimed the General. ‘Whe
re the hell did all this come from?’
‘Saved over the years, Klaus,’ joked Steiger. ‘You know how frugal I can be.’ He delved to the back of the cache. ‘Saved two of these as well,’ he added, removing the hessian wrapping from a pristine Schmeisser. ‘Thought they might come in handy someday.’
The General cupped a hand across his mouth, mumbling through his fingers. ‘How the hell I’ve managed to stay out of trouble these last twenty-eight years, I simply do not know.’
Steiger hauled out one of the wooden cases and levered off the lid. ‘These are standard field ammunition boxes,’ he said, ‘originally dimensioned for 7.92 rifle cartridges, but nowadays they’re used for all types of small arms ammunition.’ He fetched out one of the five cardboard cartons, packed sideways on, and broke it open. ‘Inside are another fifty-two smaller packs, arranged four deep, in rows of thirteen.’ Steiger opened one of the packs and emptied the contents into von Menen’s hand. ‘Sixteen rounds of lead point, nine-millimetre parabellum. This is what they’ll be sending to Argentina: the same box, but zinc-lined!’
By mid-afternoon, hundreds of bright, shiny nails were piled on top of the workbench and Steiger had fashioned the first of the twenty boxes. It tipped the scales at 6.75 kilograms.
‘If Fischer’s figures are right,’ said the General, ‘then whatever’s in those boxes back at the Reichsbank must weigh marginally below 25.5 kilos, assuming, of course, that our timber is about the same weight as theirs.’
Von Menen and Steiger pressed on while the General returned to the house, bringing back the next set of useful implements.
‘What do you think, Hans? They’re the sturdiest I could find… cast iron, I think.’
‘They look robust enough to me,’ replied Steiger, feeling the weight of the large cooking pan and eyeing the two roasting trays.
Von Menen fetched up one of the finished boxes and placed it on the bench. Steiger plopped one of the roasting trays inside it. ‘Just right,’ he said. ‘There’ll be enough space at each end for the rope handle knots, too. As for the weight, well, we won’t know until we’ve cast the first ingot.’