by Alan Judd
‘I must go.’ She turned and faced him.
‘Do you dislike me for being a German soldier?’
‘I don’t like what you represent but I like you for being Martin. That’s why I told you. I wanted you to know.’
‘How can you say that when you hardly know me?’ She stood with her arms folded. He put his hands on her shoulders. ‘I don’t mind that you are Jewish. Really. It’s all right with me.’ Saying it made him feel it could become true.
‘It’s not all right for you, Martin.’
‘It is if I think it is.’
‘It’s not what you think that matters, is it? Not if you are to be a loyal soldier of the Reich. You are not supposed to think. The trouble is, Martin, I sense you are a decent boy – man – at some level you do not even know yourself. You are nicer than you want to be. That is why I like you. That is also why contact with me is bad for you. It could harm you.’ She looked away from him. ‘Now, I must go, please.’
‘May I come to you later?’
‘If you want.’
He moved aside and she slipped out of the room without looking back.
The Reichsführer was on time. At a minute to four the gatehouse rang and Krebbs had barely put down the phone when he saw the green, open-topped BMW sweeping along the drive, followed by another, closed, car. The headlights of the BMW were blacked out but its famous black-on-white number, SS-1 – the letters rendered as lightning flashes – was clearly visible. Inside were four figures in the black caps of SS full dress uniform, their silver insignia picked out by the afternoon sun. It was always a thrill to see the full SS uniform, lifting everything suddenly to a new tempo. Krebbs took up his own cap, settled it exactly in the gilded mirror on the landing, and hurried downstairs. By the time the car drew up on the gravel he was at the foot of the steps, his Heil Hitler salute as rigid as one of the lightning flashes. The guard presented arms smartly.
The Reichsführer was instantly recognisable by his gold pince-nez and his trim moustache. Unusually for a VIP, he sat in the front and got out without waiting for the door to be opened. He returned Krebbs’s salute, saying ‘Heil Hitler!’ in a quiet, precise voice, then smiled. ‘Untersturmführer Krebbs?’ he asked pleasantly.
‘Yes, sir. Good afternoon, sir.’
‘Thank you for making these arrangements at such short notice. You have an important task here. We must talk later. Please lead on.’
They mounted the steps with his adjutants, who introduced themselves as Obersturmbannführer Grothman and Sturmbannführer Macher. Two or three other men and a woman got out of the second car. Krebbs had arranged that they should be escorted by his senior corporal, while his soldiers took care of the luggage. He mounted the steps alongside but slightly behind the Reichsführer. Himmler was plumper and shorter than he had anticipated, short enough to make Krebbs feel awkward when near him. The adjutants, both taller, walked in step behind.
Krebbs could see Princess Hermine, in her green dress, waiting just inside the door. For a moment he feared she was alone, the Kaiser having refused to greet his guest, but then the portly figure appeared beside her, wearing his field grey uniform. That was a good sign, thought Krebbs, an astute choice, nothing too grand but suggestive of comradeship, identity and shared purpose.
The introductions went easily. The Reichsführer continued smiling pleasantly and addressed his hosts as prince and princess, his manner respectful but not obsequious. The adjutants saluted and clicked heels impeccably. The rest of the party, an NCO, two troopers and Hedwig Potthast, joined them. Fräulein Potthast was introduced, bobbing a neat curtsey. She had short brown hair and wore a brown jacket and skirt, with a cream blouse. She was no beauty but a quiet, restful sort of woman, Krebbs thought.
The Kaiser’s manner was formal. He did not lead on into the house but remained still after the introductions, compelling everyone else to do the same. There was a pause that threatened to become awkward until it became apparent that the Kaiser was waiting to make a speech. He faced his guests with his left hand clasped before him in his right. ‘We are honoured that the Reichsführer, without doubt one of the busiest men in Germany during these pressing times, should visit us in our humble retirement abode,’ he said, addressing Himmler. ‘Here, in our exile, we have been forced to support the Reich’s great project from afar, but now, in these new circumstances, we hope we may be able to use our influence, such as it is, to make a more positive contribution to the great cause. Germany has renewed and reinvigorated itself, a model for the rest of the world. A new Germany was needed, and forth she sprang. Now, a new world order is needed and it is for the new Germany to lead the way. The Reichsführer, who honours us with his presence today, has been a beacon to the new Germany. We pray that he may be a beacon also to the new world that is to follow. If we can add our moiety to help, we shall count it more than a great privilege: it will make our life complete.’
Led by the adjutants, everyone clapped. Himmler stepped forward, clasping his hands before him as the Kaiser had. The sun coming through the open door caught one side of his face, making it look unwholesomely pale and his shapely, rather feminine lips, colourless and thin. In profile, his chin receded almost seamlessly into flaccid and wrinkled skin. His cap, with its prominent Death’s Head badge, looked suddenly too big for him. Krebbs was unwillingly reminded of a boy in man’s uniform.
‘On behalf of our revered Führer and of the leaders of the Reich and of the people of Germany, I present compliments to Prince Wilhelm and Princess Hermine and express our relief and joy that the German nation and its Prince should be reunited at last. Our mission to unite the whole of Europe in an ever-closer union and to restore to it its sense of destiny and purpose will indeed, we trust, prove a beacon to the world so that together we can cleanse ourselves of all those influences that have harmed and hindered humanity for so long.’ His quietness was reassuring, his emphases carefully modulated as though he were a doctor expounding a certain cure to intelligent laymen. ‘We further hope – dare to hope – that the Prince and Princess may contribute to Germany’s international mission, in which the persuasion of other powers of the rightness and justice of our purpose, and of our common cause with them in bringing about a world of moral order, equality and prosperity, will be crucial to the success and continuance of the Reich. Heil Hitler!’
Led by Himmler, heels clicked and arms shot upwards. For Krebbs it was so automatic that he was never conscious of the decision to do it. The Princess half raised her arm as in hesitant greeting. The Kaiser kept his hands clasped but nodded to the Reichsführer.
Prince Henry’s former quarters were in the tower at the rear of the house, and included an octagonal room. As the Princess had predicted, it was taken for granted that Fräulein Potthast would share it with the Reichsführer. While the house servants brought in their luggage, she wandered unhurriedly about the rooms, examining everything. Himmler threw his cap on the bed. His brown hair, short at the back and sides, was pressed smooth and brushed back on top. He loosened his belt, looking about as if he had just arrived on holiday. Krebbs made to withdraw.
‘One moment, Untersturmführer, if you please.’ The Reichsführer nodded at the servants and waited until they had closed the door behind them. ‘Please take off your cap and stand easy. I want to ask you some questions while we are alone on subjects on which I should value your opinion.’
He sat at the desk, side on, and indicated that Krebbs should take one of the other hard-backed chairs. Fräulein Potthast, having finished her inspection, continued the unpacking of their bags that the servants had begun. Her presence evidently did not compromise the idea that they were alone. Himmler folded his hands on his lap. His grey-blue eyes gazed through his pince-nez with an air of peaceful interrogation. ‘You have been here long enough to observe the former Kaiser, Prince Wilhelm, and his household. Your reports were forwarded to me and I read them with interest. I read many reports in the course of my duties and I am happy to say that yours compa
re favourably with the great majority. They are correctly written and pertinent. There were one or two areas of particular interest and it is these I now wish to address.’
Krebbs did not know how to respond to praise. He feared he might blush with pleasure. He felt awkward enough, anyway, sitting in the presence of the Reichsführer, holding his cap in his lap and trying not to sit too rigidly. At the same time, it was important not to appear too relaxed; the Reichsführer’s bureaucratic formulations and circumlocutions, delivered in his quiet, even tones, were slightly hypnotic.
‘Firstly, I should be interested to know more of Prince Wilhelm’s true attitudes towards the Reich. He seems, according to your reports and other information in our possession, in this as in some other areas, to be ambiguous, even self-contradictory. Could you describe in a few sentences what you believe to be his true feelings?’
Krebbs tried not to clutch his cap too hard. ‘I believe, sir, that he admires the Führer and the Party for making Germany strong again and for our achievements in this war. I have been told that he said, “It has taken the Wehrmacht six weeks to do what it took us four and a half years to fail to do. One has to admire Herr Hitler for this.”’
‘He is not against this war?’
‘No, sir.’
‘But? There is a but?’ Himmler smiled understandingly, like a benevolent priest.
‘There is more than one but, sir. Although he admires the Party for having dealt with the Bolshevik threat in Germany so effectively, he believes that the Party is sometimes too close to socialism itself and that our friendship with our ally, the Soviet Union, cannot last.’
The Reichsführer nodded.
‘It is also his belief that the army and particularly the officer class needs him at its head, as he was before. He believes the Führer is an effective popular leader but that our nation needs a figurehead as well.’
‘Has he ever said anything disrespectful of the Party?’
Krebbs hesitated, although in no doubt where his duty lay. He had nothing against the old man – indeed, he was coming to like him, in some ways – but what was said, was said. ‘He once referred to the Party as “a bunch of shirted gangsters”, sir.’
When Himmler smiled his lips grew thinner and his moustache became a dark line beneath his small straight nose. ‘A snobbish attitude still typical of the older generation of the officer class. Would he be interested in returning to Germany, do you think, in the absence of some titular recognition?’
‘I cannot be sure, sir, but I suspect not.’
‘Who reported what he said about our defeating France in six weeks?’
‘One of the maids, sir.’
‘And what of the Jewish question? What has he to say about that?’
‘He has said that Jews and freemasons and English and American capitalism are the curse of Germany and the international system. He also said that Jews are like mosquitoes and should be gassed.’
Himmler’s eyes were mild and attentive and his hands, still folded in his lap, delicate, almost girlish. He nodded faintly, as if his mind were really elsewhere. ‘Is that all he has said?’
Krebbs thought. ‘He believes that England, which he calls Juda-England, is in the grip of the Jews, as was Germany until the Party and the people were forced to act against them.’
‘But the question prompted further hesitation in you. Has he said other things about this question or about the measures we have taken, so far, to deal with it? Does he mean what he says in this area or are his attitudes ambiguous or self-contradictory, as you have reported they are on the subject of the English?’
Fräulein Potthast was putting her underclothes and stockings in one of the drawers. Krebbs was reluctant to mention the Kaiser’s remarks about the book and the remarkableness of the Jews. It was a trivial thing that would be made to sound important merely by being reported. He felt he had given a fair enough picture of the old man. ‘I believe he means what he says when he says it, sir, but he does not always think about what he says and therefore it is sometimes difficult to say exactly what he would do or believe when he does think. He is a complicated man who does not know himself.’
‘Did someone say this of him or is it your own assessment?’
‘My own assessment, sir.’ Krebbs was surprised by his own easy promptitude. He had hidden something from Schutzstaffel. Schutzstaffel, that had been so good to him, bestowing meaning, purpose, status, belief. It was a tiny thing, of course, utterly insignificant; whether it was said or not said, known or unknown, altered nothing. But the fact of hiding it made it feel like a big thing; also, what he was hiding behind it was more important. To have mentioned Akki might have provoked further questions which might have forced him to choose between revealing her secret or lying to the Reichsführer. In a sense, he was lying about her already, by omission, which just showed how corrupting was contact with Jews. He, who had always been unreservedly loyal to the cause, none more so, was being forced by the mere fact of her Jewishness to be less than completely honest with the Reichsführer himself. He would not give her away, he resolved, but nor would he continue with her. This was a lesson to him.
The Reichsführer nodded approvingly. ‘So, his attitudes towards the Reich are imperfect but not dangerously unsound. His attitude towards the Party, especially its socialist mission, must be suspect. He is sound on the Bolshevik question and superficially so on the English, but sometimes ambivalent. He appears sound on the Jewish question, although his deeper attitudes have yet to be revealed or tested. In some ways, therefore, a loyal German who is anxious to serve the Fatherland, in others a preposterous old pretender who wants his throne back. What should we do with him, if anything? That is our present problem. There are also certain security questions of which you have been informed, and certain others that have arisen more recently of which you have not yet been informed.’ His soft white hands, their veins prominent, were now arranged in his lap fingertip to fingertip, as in prayer. ‘The information conveyed to you in signals and what I am about to say to you now comes from a most delicate source. Any unauthorised disclosure would swiftly and inevitably result in the ultimate punishment.’ Fräulein Potthast was unpacking her dresses and hanging them in the wardrobe, sliding the wooden hangers carefully. The Reichsführer’s mild gaze did not move from Krebbs. ‘We are sure that the English leader, Churchill, wishes to invite Prince Wilhelm to defect to England and we believe, though we cannot be absolutely sure of this, that the English secret service is taking measures to establish the Prince’s opinion of this matter. It is even possible that they would attempt to kidnap him if they thought such action would gain them sufficient propaganda advantage. And now there is evidence of clandestine enemy activity in this area. Not only reports, but actual evidence.’
He paused, gazing at Krebbs. His tones were as precise and confiding as before, his sentences as effortlessly bureaucratic, but his stillness seemed somehow more complete. It was as if he were absolved from, or perhaps immune to, the normal human language of gesture, emphasis and amelioration.
‘Our wireless monitoring organisation,’ he continued, ‘has identified in this area coded short-wave transmissions of a sort used by English agents. Unfortunately, we cannot yet read them, and precise location remains difficult because they are irregular, infrequent and of short duration. It is possible that they have nothing to do with this plot against Prince Wilhelm but are concerned with the Luftwaffe headquarters, though we believe the operator – or his set – to be in or near the village of Doorn, possibly in the surrounding woods, perhaps concealed in this estate or even in this house. You have sent details of the staff here, as requested. Among them are one or two who may be worthy of further interest, in which case we shall ask you to make further inquiries pending our bringing them in for questioning. Meanwhile, you will please be vigilant for any signs of unusual behaviour, or suspicious origins or for any gossip about strangers in the area. It would be useful if – without, of course, telling them why – y
ou could recruit for yourself a couple of sources among the estate or house workers who could keep you informed. A sensible preliminary would be the imposition of a strict regime of reporting and inspection, from which you could make discreet exception as reward for your recruited sources. Alternatively, it could provide valuable cover for seeing them privately. Is there anyone who comes to mind now either as an object of suspicion or as a suitable source?’ He gazed with gentle inquiry through his gold pince-nez.
‘Not immediately, sir, but I’m sure I shall find someone.’
‘I am sure you will. What of the maid who reported Prince Wilhelm’s words about our defeat of France?’
‘I shall start with her, sir.’
‘Good.’ The Reichsführer parted his fingertips so that his hands were now cupped as in benediction. He smiled enough to show his teeth, which were clean and regular. ‘You may discover in yourself an aptitude for this important security work, Untersturmführer. Your reporting so far suggests this. You have seen active service already, I believe? That is good. Possibly you will wish to see more, as an SS officer should, but if things continue to go well for you here and you continue your early promise, please convey your interest through SS Standartenführer Kaltzbrunner to SS Gruppenführer Rauter, or whoever stands in for him while he is recovering from his injuries. You perhaps have not heard that disaffected elements have attempted to assassinate him? They ambushed his car using British Sten guns. All who were with him were killed. Fortunately he survived. Severe measures will now be enacted. I shall mention our conversation to Kaltzbrunner.’