by James Remmer
‘Three pennants – white, black, white, in that order. Without them, the U-boat will regard you as hostile. If you’re under duress, leave out the black pennant. Any questions?’
‘No, sir.’
‘The consignment will go from Lübeck-Siems. I’ve arranged storage facilities just back from the quay. It’s not exactly a warehouse, but it’s adequate.’ Werner removed a small envelope from the green folder, pushed it across the desk. ‘You’ll find the necessary passes in there. The guard commander knows to expect you, but remember, it’s a restricted area and heavily patrolled. When you arrive, the guard commander will notify the dockyard manager and he’ll escort you to the warehouse. The double doors at the front of the building are fitted with two heavy-duty padlocks. Two keys are inside the envelope. Don’t lose them. As for the shipment itself, the Schmeissers and the light machine guns will arrive on 6th December, direct from the Haenel factory at Suhl.’
‘Mm, 6th December. That’s next Wednesday, isn’t it? What time?’
‘Sometime “after two o’clock”, whatever that means. They’ll be in specially built, non-descript packing cases, small enough to facilitate loading through the torpedo-loading hatch.’ Werner sheaved through the dossier. ‘The prisms you asked about… We’ve managed to obtain two sets. They’ll be sent to Lübeck next Wednesday, same day as the Schmeissers. It’ll save you an added journey.’
‘I suppose they’re the right ones?’ said von Menen.
‘Well, the experts say so,’ asserted Werner, stifling a tired yawn. ‘Anyway, I think that just about covers everything, Carl. All that remains now is the ammunition and you’ve got that in hand yourself, right?’
‘Yes, I’m calling at Borsigwalde this afternoon.’ Von Menen checked his diary. ‘I’ll aim for the week beginning 11th December, if that’s okay?’
‘Fine, but there’ll be no movement from U-boat Headquarters until January, at the very earliest, which means you’ll be spending Christmas with your family. As for money—’
‘I’ve enough to see me through the next few months at least, sir.’
‘Good. I’ll arrange for the U-boat to bring out a further supply of US dollars and Swiss francs.’
‘Travel documents, sir?’
‘You’re going back as your old friend, Kurt Lindemann. You’ll have a birth certificate in the same name, too. As soon as we know when you’re leaving, the passport will be customised to include all the relevant visas. There’ll be other additions, too – Gestapo Border Police stamps, evidence of your return to Geneva, a couple of trips to Stockholm and so on. And I’ll have some letters of introduction prepared for you, from banks and other institutions. All I have to do then is feed the relevant information into the system at Tempelhof. As for your flight, I’ll take care of the tickets myself.’
Reflecting privately on the passport that he’d left with Juan Cortes in Madrid, von Menen felt a shameful spasm of guilt at Werner’s innocent naivety, especially where Kurt Lindemann’s onward passage to Argentina was concerned.
‘One last thing,’ said Werner, a note of caution in his voice. ‘When you arrive in Argentina, you’ll be on your own. If things go wrong, you’ll need to work out your own salvation.’
‘I accept that, sir,’ replied von Menen, mindful of the fact that he was already working on his own salvation.
‘Before you go,’ said Werner, ‘there’s something highly confidential I have to tell you, entirely off the record. You asked me about a lady called Lutzi Helldorf.’
Von Menen’s eyes were like two massive searchlights.
‘Well, I have some news. She’s alive and, just as you thought, she’s in Flossenbürg. Sorry, but that’s all I can tell you.’ Werner held out his hand. ‘Since this is the last time we’ll be seeing each other for some time, Carl, I’d like to wish you good luck. If there’s anything you need, then you’d best speak now or get a message to me at Krummhübel.’
‘There is one thing, sir,’ replied von Menen, mindful of the wider benefits his efforts would bring to certain members of the Nazi hierarchy.
‘Yes?’
‘I need a favour, sir, a big favour…’
*
The gold was hidden safely beneath the garage block and Steiger had returned the “borrowed” Steyr to Hamburg, leaving the next part of the General’s plan heavily dependent on the outcome of von Menen’s visit to the ordnance factory at Borsigwalde.
Von Menen arrived back at ten o’clock in the evening. As he closed the garage door, Steiger called out from the far side of the courtyard.
‘We’re over here, Carl!’
He drifted into the Steigers’ parlour and sank into an armchair by the side of the fire. ‘Berlin is a city of haunting, empty places,’ he lamented. ‘It’s a complete mess. The chaos is unimaginable.’
The General thrust a large brandy into his hand and patted him lightly on the head. ‘Here, drink this.’
‘Thanks. After nearly 400 miles, I need it. I seem to have been on the road all day.’
‘The arms shipment,’ enquired the General, with unusual impatience, ‘is the news good?’
‘Yes. They’re still working on a departure date for the U-boat, but I can tell you with confidence that it will leave from Lübeck-Siems.’
‘When is the shipment due to arrive?’
‘The small arms arrive next Wednesday, direct from the Haenel plant. They’ll be stored in the Flender-Werke Shipyard and I have to be there to receive them.’
‘And the ammunition?’
‘Monday 11th.’
‘Remind me,’ said the General, in deep thought, ‘did you say four tonnes?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Hans reckons there’ll be at least sixty boxes, about one truckload, maybe two.’
‘Sixty-six, to be exact, and yes, just one truck, a heavy Büssing-NAG.’
Playing with his thoughts, the General fumbled with a handful of lead point, nine-millimetre ammunition.
‘I don’t know how we’re going to do it,’ he said slowly, ‘but somehow, we’ve got to get that truck to the house.’
Suddenly, Carl’s face was carved with doubt and fear. ‘Surely you’re not going to hide the gold in the ammunition boxes!’
The General exchanged a knowing look with Steiger. ‘It’s the only way,’ he said.
Carl leapt to his feet. ‘What if someone finds it at sea? Hitler would abort the whole operation, order the U-boat back. The Gestapo would be swarming around this place like ants in summer. We might just as well book the undertaker now. It’d be the end for all of us: you, mother, Hans, Greta and Maria! Hitler would go mad.’
‘Hitler’s mad already,’ contended the General, ‘and he’s also dogmatic, very dogmatic. I can count on the fingers of no hands the times he’s changed his mind. As for the risk, well, these days everything’s a risk, especially life.’ Reaching for support, he looked at Steiger.
‘Your father’s right, Carl. Even if you get back to Argentina and the gold follows you, there’s no guarantee that we will; when the war’s over, there’ll be lots of bargaining between the Allies. You know the kind of thing… if we can have that, you can have this. There’s still the risk that your father and I will end up in Siberia, as pawns in exchange for something, or someone, else.’
‘But why can’t you keep the gold here for a while, hide it, change it in Sweden, Switzerland or wherever?’
‘Carl, you’re talking like the Saint of Utopia himself,’ said his father. ‘What use is it here? As for changing it, how do you suggest we do it? Come on, think about it.’ The General entrenched his position, like the brilliant soldier he was. ‘There’s half a tonne beneath the garage block… half a tonne! We can hardly put it in the back of the BMW and drive through every roadblock this side of Switzerland! We need it in Argentina
, Carl… Argentina!’
Von Menen dropped back into his chair. ‘Sorry, Father… you too, Hans. I’m being…’
‘Uncommonly selfish, or perhaps naïve?’ said the General. ‘No, you’re thinking about someone you care about, someone special. That’s precisely what Hans and I are doing.’
Von Menen picked up his drink. ‘Okay, what’s the plan?’
A smile rippled across the General’s face. Steiger reached for the brandy bottle and recharged the glasses.
‘Remember what Hans said about the wooden ammunition cases, the PK-88s?’ said the General. ‘Inside each one there are five cardboard cartons; inside each of those there are fifty-two smaller packs, arranged four deep in rows of thirteen. Fifty-two packs weigh nearly ten kilos, which means the contents of an entire box weighs about fifty kilos. One gold ingot weighs something in the order of 12.5 kilos… so all we’ve got to do is take twenty ammunition cases and replace half the contents with two ingots. Weight-wise, no one will know the difference.’
‘We can compensate for the difference in volume by using one of these,’ said Steiger, holding up a small off-cut of timber.
‘It seems plausible,’ mused von Menen. ‘But how on earth are we going to get that truck to the house?’
‘I have an idea,’ said the General, ‘but that’s for tomorrow. For the moment, I think you’d best get some sleep. You look absolutely done for. Just one thing… Frau Helldorf sent her driver, Eberhard, with a message this afternoon. She arrived back at Schwerin last night. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to see you. Perhaps you could drive down tomorrow evening.’
‘I will. I’ve got some good news for her, for all of us, in fact – Lutzi’s alive.’
*
Von Menen’s visit to Schwerin was another hard-bitten reminder of Germany tearing herself apart at the seams: Frau Helldorf, whose husband had been killed in action during the first war, was slowly coming to terms with the loss of another son.
When von Menen gave her the news that Lutzi was still alive, she collapsed into his arms and wept uncontrollably.
‘I’m sorry, Carl,’ she said, ‘but I’m not just crying for Lutzi, I’m crying for the baby, too. You see, Lutzi is six months pregnant!’
Von Menen was almost in tears himself when Frau Helldorf told him what had happened.
‘The Gestapo called here two days after Lutzi had received the distressing news about Gustav’s death,’ she explained. ‘They took her into the hall and told me to wait in the drawing room, but I could still hear the ranting and raving. Lutzi was sobbing her heart out. I tried to get into the hall but the door was slammed in my face. I saw the rest from the window in the drawing room. It was terrible. They just threw her into the back of a car.’
‘And Sigi?’
‘They arrested her for good measure. As you know, she was released when nothing stuck, but I haven’t seen or heard of Sigi in months. I wrote to her several times, always sending the letter to the address of one of her mother’s friends in Dahlen. Eberhard delivered them personally, but I never did get a reply. Everyone’s terrified of the Gestapo.’
It was a very moving and remorseful time for von Menen, though his remorse had little to do with Gustav’s solid-gold Patek Philippe wristwatch, which Frau Helldorf insisted he should have as a lasting reminder of Gustav. The halo of guilt above his head was for something else, something he’d taken from a mahogany keep-safe box during Frau Helldorf’s absence in the kitchen. He hoped and prayed Gustav would forgive him the reason why.
24
Monday 4th December 1944
Frau von Menen, Katrina and Greta arrived back from Flensburg late in the afternoon. They had not been in the house long when news arrived concerning Schwartz, the General’s orderly – he’d been detained by the Army Field Police at his home town of Koblenz on suspicion of being a deserter. General von Menen ordered his immediate release and instructed Schwartz to take a further week’s leave.
Later in the week, the cook and the housekeeper telephoned on successive days. Fifteen-stone Ursula had been hospitalised with a broken leg and Elizabet, full of apology, had found so much grief at home that she would not be returning, leaving Frau von Menen, Greta and Katrina to do all the domestic chores.
Frau von Menen viewed the idea of becoming joint cook, cleaner and housekeeper with muted indifference. There were other things on her mind. A gentle reminder from the General that Manfred and Eva were expected on Friday was met with an unusually sharp reply.
‘No, I haven’t forgotten, Klaus!’
‘Heavens, Anna, what’s got into you?’
‘The conversation we had before I went to Flensburg? Were you really serious, about all of us going to Argentina?’
‘I love Germany, Anna, you know that. It is my heart and soul, but our prospects here amount to nothing. Going to Argentina is the best option we…’ He paused, looking forlornly at the photograph of his parents standing on a side table, then corrected himself. ‘It’s the only option we have. And the fact that we’ll be joining Carl will make things a lot easier for us, so why the sudden doubt?’
‘Greta and Katrina are quite taken by the idea. We talked about nothing else while we were at Ingrid’s.’ She noticed the frown on his face. ‘Only between ourselves,’ she hastened. ‘We were entirely discreet. Katrina is all for it. Her feeling is that no child of hers will stand much of a chance in a Germany administered by the Russians and she’s right.’
‘Has she told Jürgen?’
‘Not yet, but she thinks he’ll leap at the chance.’
‘And Greta?’
‘Oh, Greta’s ecstatic about it.’
‘Then that leaves just you.’ He squeezed her hand a little tighter. ‘And if I know you, Anna, I’d say there’s something troubling you.’
Frau von Menen, her eyes fixed rigidly on the intricate pattern of the rug in front of the hearth, raised her head slowly. ‘Klaus, like you, I’ve had some long and meaningful conversations with Carl about life in Argentina. Some of it I like; some of it I don’t. It sounds like a nice country, yes, but it seems to me that there’s an element there that might easily have been cloned from Hitler himself. What I’m trying to say is, I don’t relish the idea of stepping out of one nightmare into another!’
‘It concerns me, too, Anna. But you’re forgetting something.’
‘What’s that?’
‘You’re forgetting the horror that’s bearing down on us from the east. Fate is closing in on us fast, very fast, and this time it will affect all of us.’ He studied her face more closely, running his fingers lightly across her cheeks, brushing back the hair at the side of her face. ‘We’ll just have to pray that when the rest of the world realises what’s been happening here, those countries with similar ideas will come to their senses. And we don’t have to stay in Argentina. In time, we might even make it to the United States.’
‘Yes, but there are other factors to consider, Klaus.’
‘Such as?’
‘Money, for one thing. Our savings here are worthless. We’ve very little in Switzerland, there’s nothing left in Spain and we’re never likely to see any of our investments in London and Paris ever again. And what about our possessions, our family heirlooms? Apart from what we’ve taken to Flensburg, everything we have is here.’ She jabbed her finger meaninglessly towards the floor.
‘I realise that, but we can always take a few more things to Flensburg. It’s a big house. Ingrid won’t mind. As for the rest, we’ll just have to be ruthless. And where money’s concerned, well…’ He paused, minded to tell her about the gold, but thought better of it. ‘Well, I’m sure we’ll be able to sort something out. Besides, there’s enough in the account in Malmö to tide all of us over for some time.’ Mention of Malmö spurred him in the direction of another problem. ‘Did you speak to… about…?’
‘Yes.’
‘And?’
‘She thought it was rather a lot, but she’s convinced he can arrange it.’
Friday 8th December 1944
Von Menen was in a more relaxed frame of mind after Wednesday’s visit to Lübeck-Siems, content in the knowledge that the first phase of his plan had concluded on schedule. Lodged at the Flender-Werke Shipyard were the component parts of one hundred Spandau light machine guns, five hundred Schmeisser sub-machine pistols and the entire optical elements for the attack-and-search periscopes of two Santa Fe class submarines.
After dinner, however, when he was alone in the library with Manfred von Leiber, he sensed that an awkward moment was about to unfold. Von Leiber lit up a huge cigar and drew on it with short, quick puffs, the end turning a battleship grey.
‘Have you ever met von Ribbentrop, Carl?’ he asked, chasing away the smoke with his hand.
‘Yes, but only fleetingly and that was over four years ago.’
‘What’s your opinion of the man? Is he as egotistical as some people make out?’
‘More so, I’d say. Beneath the suave manner is uncompromising naivety and incompetence. Why do you ask?’
‘No particular reason, just curious.’
Von Menen reached for his glass of cognac and caught the guarded expression on the Vice Admiral’s face. ‘Is there something else?’
Pinching at the loose fold of flesh beneath his chin, von Leiber studied his ‘nephew’ like a man about to make a telling move in a tight game of chess.
‘Tell me, Carl,’ he said in a low voice, ‘ever come across a man by the name of Günther Werner?’
Von Menen’s glass seemed as if it was stuck to his lips. ‘Er… yes, as a matter of fact, I have.’
‘Me, too. Nice chap. I believe he’s connected with some ultra-secret department at the Foreign Office. Came to see me the other day, wanted to smooth out a few ruffled feathers. Seems there’s been a furious row between von Ribbentrop and Dönitz concerning a matter, well, let’s just say it’s a matter which Dönitz has washed his hands of completely. That’s why it’s been pushed on to me.’ An infectious smile formed in the Admiral’s eyes.