by Bodie Thoene
“Although the caption names the brothers as Peter and Willie Ruger,” Hess began, “these two boys are the sons of the Austrian resistance leader, Michael Wallich.” Hess then pulled out a picture of the family: Michael Wallich. Wife, Karin. Son, Peter. Daughter, Marlene. Infant, Wilhelm, a.k.a. Willie.
Hitler paled visibly. “What does this mean? How did they get so close to me? Where was the failure of security in this matter? This boy—” Hitler pointed to Peter. “He is not that much younger than the young Jew who killed Ernst vom Rath in Paris! It does not take age to make an assassin!”
Hess and Himmler exchanged looks. The Führer was clearly seeing the significance of this matter.
Himmler cleared his throat. “Those around you on the day the picture was taken at the Berlin terminal have been interrogated. It was the photographer who chose these boys as subjects for this photograph, mein Führer. At first he denied knowing them, but of course with the right persuasion, he confessed everything we expected. He died before we could extract names from him, however.”
Hitler’s eyes narrowed as he considered the significance of having his picture appear with the sons of the man suspected to have been the head of the Austrian resistance. Did this not prove to all who wished to assassinate the leader of the German people that it was possible—simple, really—to get close enough to do it?
And now came the most harrowing point of all. Himmler filled in the blanks. “Agent Hess had been pursuing the children of Karl Ibsen, as you ordered. They were on the same train, it was believed. Agent Hess stumbled upon Peter Wallich in the company of the mistress of Wolfgang von Fritschauer. They were escaping the Reich together.” Himmler turned to Hess now to continue.
“When I confronted Lucy Strasburg, informing her that she was under arrest for aiding the escape of Jews, Peter Wallich pulled a gun on me.”
“He had a gun?” Hitler stared wildly at the newspaper. “I knew there was something about him! I felt that there was some danger . . . .”
“Who can say why the boy did not use the weapon against you, mein Führer,” Himmler responded in quiet agreement.
Hitler sat up very straight. His hands rested on his knees. He did not remove his eyes from the picture of himself holding the baby while the near-assassin grinned wildly at him.
The Führer came to his own conclusion. “It was because I picked up the child. His brother, you say? That was it. Again I am saved by a force that guided me to make even the smallest move. Peter Wallich did not shoot me because he did not want to hit his brother.”
No one could argue with such a possibility. It seemed a reasonable explanation. Himmler nodded. Hess also agreed that was certainly the case.
“You have done well, Major Hess.” Hitler was emotional in his gratitude, as though the injuries Hess had suffered from Peter Wallich had somehow been in defense of Hitler’s own life.
“There is much more, mein Führer,” Gestapo Chief Himmler said coolly. He did not enjoy the fact that this little officer received such high praise when it was Himmler who had set the wheels of the Gestapo in motion in this matter. “Of course, there are other factors that the Gestapo has uncovered involving a number of conspirators in various capital cities.”
Hitler stretched his neck and drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. “I am aware that the so-called democracies want nothing more than to see me dead. Where does all this lead? What do you have in there?” He glared down at the dossier.
Himmler nodded for Hess to take the briefing again. “Here is the connection. We know that Michael Wallich was working with a double agent in our own department.” A photograph of Otto Wattenbarger was placed on the table. The Führer knew the face well. Wattenbarger was among the best men serving the Reich in Vienna after the Anschluss. Hitler’s face darkened at this further evidence of treachery against him in the highest echelons of government.
“Like Michael Wallich, Wattenbarger died before we were able to extract any information from him,” Himmler interjected. “Since that time, we have been watching the moves of Wolfgang von Fritschauer. Since Wolf’s mistress is obviously part of the resistance, we believe that it is only a matter of time before he leads us to her . . . and perhaps to others as well.”
“Wolfgang von Fritschauer.” The Führer repeated the name of the young aristocrat. “He is suspected? Is it wise to allow him to remain free?”
“Until we trace all the conspirators who have fled the Reich, Wolf must remain at large. He is being closely followed, of course,” Hess replied. “His request for transfer to duties in Danzig and Warsaw may well lead us to those who plot against your life, mein Führer.”
Himmler pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. “There is a good chance that Wolf is guiltless in this matter.” Himmler glared at Hess. Hess had pushed his accusation of Wolf too far. There was no conclusive evidence. “It was Wolf, after all, who arrested Michael Wallich as well as Otto Wattenbarger. I personally am of the opinion that he was simply taken in by Lucy Strasburg, who used him carte blanche as a means of getting information and then passing it along.”
Hess shrugged with surly reluctance to accept this thesis. He fully believed in the guilt of Wolfgang von Fritschauer. “All the same, Wolf is being trailed. His phone calls are being monitored by an agent who reports to me.”
Once again the face of Himmler displayed irritation. “The result of that monitoring is that Wolf appears to be following orders to track her down. He is also fulfilling his duties in Danzig and Warsaw. Several thousand men are in place within the area of Danzig. Weapons are smuggled across the river nightly. He is performing as you would expect on behalf of the Reich.”
Hitler flared. “But is he loyal to me? Every traitor claims loyalty to the German Reich. They have forgotten that the Führer is Germany, and Germany is the Führer.” He turned to Hess. “”Continue your surveillance.”
Hitler shifted uneasily in his chair as he considered other factors in the matter of the Austrian resistance. He glared at Hess, who was not getting to the point fast enough to suit the Führer. “It was not your job to deal with the Austrian plotters. You were under orders to break the will of Pastor Karl Ibsen. A simple matter of returning his children to our control.” The thought displeased Hitler as he considered that Hess had accomplished none of that. Hitler’s mood of growing impatience was a dangerous current to be caught in.
Himmler interceded. “The two issues are inseparable, mein Führer, as you will soon see.”
“Then let me see!” Hitler bellowed.
With trembling hands, Hess fumbled through the dossier again. He had not expected such a change of moods. With a sigh of relief he placed the simple diagram of a triangle into the Führer’s hands. At the pinnacle of the triangle was the name: ELISA LINDHEIM (MURPHY). From that point, a list of names trailed down the lines on either side. Those who were dead were underlined in red.
“On this side of the line, mein Führer” —Hess ran his finger downward—“you see the players of the Vienna conspiracy.
RUDY DOBRANSKY: Anti-Nazi agent active in smuggling operations on behalf of Jewish children. Performed in Vienna Symphony Orchestra with E. Lindheim. Close association with Michael Wallich.
MICHAEL WALLICH: Leader of Austrian resistance. Owner of bookstore that served as a front for resistance activities after the Anschluss. Bookstore known to be frequented by E. Lindheim.
OTTO WATTENBARGER: Double agent believed to have passed information to E. Lindheim on various occasions. Lindheim’s flat was subsequently leased to Lucy Strasburg after Lindheim fled Austria. Wattenbarger is now known to have had close contact with both Wallich and Dorbransky. Wattenbarger protected the family of Wallich, who were then assisted in escape by:
LUCY STRASBURG.”
Hess moved to the other side of the triangle. “There are many less important connections, mein Führer, but here are the most vital.
THOMAS VON KLEISTMANN: Lifetime association with Elisa Lindheim in her years in B
erlin. Love affair believed to have been ongoing until his arrest and execution for the murder of Gestapo agent Georg Wand in Paris.”
Hess slid his hand past the more obvious names such as Theo Lindheim, Elisa’s father. He skipped to the one name that had been his first concern before he had fallen into the center of what he was certain was a vast conspiracy.
“PASTOR KARL IBSEN: Uncle of Elisa Lindheim.”
There was much more written beside the name of Karl Ibsen, but the Führer saw only that the pastor was a relative of a woman so obviously linked with treachery.
“I have traced the connection, mein Führer,” Hess said proudly. “Like a family tree, those who have opposed you all seem to know this one woman. Or they are associated in some way with someone who has been close to her. Vienna on one side, and the Ibsen case on the other.”
Hess tapped the dossier. “The Ibsen case is tied to the Lindheim brood. Elisa Lindheim touches Rudy Dorbransky, who leads us to Michael Wallich and, of course, Otto Wattenbarger.”
“The links of the chain are tight, mein Führer.” Himmler’s eyes sparked.
“These are just the underlings, I believe,” Hess continued. “They are subordinate to a larger web of deceit that perhaps reaches even here—” Hess swept his hand around the room. “Here to those who surround you. Here, even in the Chancellery.”
Hitler’s skin grew even paler as he listened and tried to imagine who among his personal entourage might be among this conspiracy. “Then they will be found out!”
“Exactly.” Himmler nodded. “It cannot be coincidence that the Ibsen children and the Wallich children escaped to Danzig on the same night. Possibly on the same train. There is some deal that has been struck.”
Of course. It all made perfect sense. How could Hitler have missed something so obvious as this? This was a higher force at work to remove him from power. Obviously disloyal parties were at work against him, and he would have them strung up when they were rooted out!
“So Ibsen may be more than a religious fanatic.” Hitler’s eyes narrowed. “He does not yield to interrogation.”
“He has been tortured. He admits to nothing except that his ruler is not of this world. He had maintained from the first that his children are safe; that they will not be harmed,” Himmler said. “Someone has told him this. A bargain has been made with Ibsen—if he does not talk, his children will remain safe.”
Hess picked up the folder and hefted it. “He will not talk, will not betray the conspiracy as long as his family is unharmed.”
Hitler nodded and snapped his fingers rapidly. “If they are dead and the promises of his confederates prove false—”
“I think Ibsen will crack. He will tell everything he knows. Every day he is of less importance to us as far as his stubborn belief in his God. But, mein Führer”—Himmler leaned forward—“he knows more. I am convinced. He is connected to it all. Finding the identity of the traitors within our government may well make the difference of survival for you . . . and for the Reich. For everything you stand for.”
“Then find the Ibsen children,” Hitler said softly. “And the Strasburg woman. Put agents at the disposal of Agent Hess in London, Danzig, and Warsaw until this matter is laid to rest.” His fingers drummed on the chair. “I have felt the nearness of treachery,” he mused. “It all makes perfect sense. And I will find the German traitors who would bring me down. They will dance on the end of a wire!”
By now Hess knew that he had completely won the confidence of Adolf Hitler. But he had saved his trump card for last.
“There is one more question that needs to be answered, mein Führer.” Hess took the diagram from Hitler and began to write. “If there is a conspiracy against your life, who might be the one political enemy associated with Elisa Lindheim in London who would like to see you dead?”
Hess passed the diagram back to Hitler. At the top of the triangle, written above the name of Elisa Lindheim, was the obvious conclusion. All the indications pointed to one man: WINSTON CHURCHILL.
3
Red Lights Over Danzig
The French captain did not speak German, so he drove without comment as Adolf Hitler’s speech echoed over the radio of the staff car. He hummed a French tune while Murphy and Churchill listened with rapt attention.
As Murphy listened to the broadcast of the German Führer’s speech, he had no doubt that he was hearing a declaration of war against England.
The chirping of crickets through the open window of the car provided a peaceful background to the growling voice of Hitler.
Winston Churchill sat unmoving in the backseat. His brooding eyes reflected the awareness that as Hitler professed peace, he was, in fact, justifying reasons for war.
Today President Roosevelt had sent Hitler an appeal that the issues that fractured Europe should be settled peacefully, without German aggression. Matters could be solved around a world conference table without the use of military force.
Great Britain, Hitler asserted, was the aggressor. England had made a mutual assistance pact with Poland. In the event that Germany—peace-loving Germany—should attempt to take Danzig back, then England would go to war against Germany! This, according to the German leader, was a provocation, an encouragement for the Poles to rise up and invade peaceful Germany!
He then turned his verbal attack on the foreign policies of Great Britain in other lands.
Churchill smirked as the direction of the speech turned. “Here he goes,” said Churchill, as though he had been expecting it.
The voice of Hitler raged with righteous indignation:
“Now, I have just read a speech delivered by Eamon de Valera, the Irish Prime Minister. He does not charge Germany with oppressing Ireland, or any other nation, but he reproaches England for subjecting Ireland to continuous British oppression!”
Churchill shook his head knowingly. “The people of Northern Ireland wish to be severed from England about as badly as the Czechs wanted to be invaded by German divisions.”
The voice of Hitler continued:
“In the same way, it has obviously escaped the attention of Mr. Roosevelt that Palestine is not occupied by German troops, but by English.”
At this assertion, Churchill chuckled bitterly. “It is a pity our Captain Orde cannot reply to that, considering the number of German Nazi officers he has found lying dead among the Arab terrorists.”
“The Arabs living in that country have not complained of German aggression, but they do voice a continuous appeal to the world, deploring the barbarous methods with which England is attempting to suppress a people who love their freedom and are defending it!”
At this Churchill scoffed. “Indeed! I was on the committee that created the Mandate. We penciled in its borders in 1922, giving the vast majority of the Middle East to Arab sheiks who loved their freedom so much they roamed from place to place with herds of camels. Back then the Arabs did not want the little crumb of Palestine. They said it was too desolate to settle in! When we earmarked that tiny fragment for a Jewish homeland, do you know why the Arabs protested? They said that the place was so poor that it could support no one.” He lit his cigar and sat back. “And after the Zionists made something of the place, these freedom-loving Arabs, who are now so dear to the heart of the Führer, poured across the borders of their lands into the British Mandate at a rate of thirty-five thousand a year!” His eyes narrowed. “Now they fight us with German-made weapons.”
Hitler finally reached the point he had been searching for through this long, rambling tirade against British aggression. Had England made a pact with Poland to help if Poland was attacked? Indeed they had.
Hitler’s voice rose as he made a holy pledge to assist the oppressed peoples of Palestine and Northern Ireland:
“In reply to this, the German government is prepared to give to these states the same kind of assurance of our help. Indeed, we are already allied with them or at least united by close ties of friendship.”
“That shoul
d raise some eyebrows in Parliament,” Murphy said in a low voice. “In one breath, Hitler is admitting Nazi assistance to the IRA and the Arab terrorists. The great battle against British aggression.”
Churchill reached out and switched off the radio as “Sieg Heil!” threatened to drown out the song of the crickets. “Herr Hitler fights like a contentious woman,” he said. “From point A to point W and back to point S, T, R, and G. He is a failure as a logician, I fear.” He frowned. “The speech is an ominous vision of what may very well be terrorist warfare in the streets of London as well as Jerusalem. We have heard a man well-schooled in the ways of total evil, Murphy. And I am afraid we are not equipped to deal with it.”
***
The patter of raindrops surrounded the great stone prison of Warsaw with the illusion of peace. Rain this late in the season was unexpected and unwelcome, as unwelcome as the news from Berlin that negotiations must begin immediately on the issue of the Free City of Danzig and its return to Germany.
Uniformed prison guards manned every entrance of the imposing fortress. They smoked and pulled up the hoods of their rain slickers to keep dry, but a strange chill made their hearts tremble as they looked to the south and west and knew that tonight the great army of the Reich surrounded Poland like the claws of a giant crab.
Endless columns of desperate refugees from Czechoslovakia still pressed against the gates, pleading for entry into Poland. They were being turned back at every outpost, returned to satisfy the German appetite for human sacrifice.
Perhaps the Germans will not attach Poland next . . . Warsaw, of course, did not wish to offend Berlin when it came to the matter of handing over fugitives from Nazi justice. After all, why would people flee the German advance if they were not guilty of something? Even as the Gestapo in Prague cracked down with a violence that rivaled the smashing of the Jews in Vienna, the officials of Poland mimicked the actions of their voracious neighbor. When it came to Jews, Poland agreed with Berlin. Great friendships between nations had been founded on smaller issues than a mutual hatred of a despised race. In this one matter, Poland and Nazi Germany were inextricably joined. Hatred of Jews was preached on the street corners and in the churches. It was taught to children and babies in the nursery, lectured upon at the universities. And from this night forward, the Jews of Poland would look over their shoulders and sniff the air of Warsaw for danger before they ventured out of their own neighborhoods.