"You are a man who has always avoided trouble, Francis. At least since I have known you. Why start now?"
"Maybe you just haven't known me long enough, my friend."
When he got back to the hotel, Keegan went to the flower shop and sent Jenny Gould two dozen roses. No card.
SIXTEEN
Willie Vierhaus hurried up the steps of the Brown House and down the long marble hallway to the Fuhrer's office. Every Tuesday morning at precisely 11:45 A.M., Vierhaus reported to Hitler to provide him with party gossip and other news of interest. The meeting always lasted twelve to fifteen minutes, until Hitler went to lunch.
When he entered the anteroom, Hitler's secretary held her finger to her lips, her brow furrowed and troubled. Hitler's voice, high-pitched and furious, echoed through the paneled doors.
"I don't want to hear that, you understand? Not one more word. That's hogwash, hogwash! You are a stupid man, Plausen. I thought you were a smart man but you are stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Get out. You are relieved of your duties. Pack up your things and get out."
"Yes, mein Führer. Heil Hitler. "
"Out!"
The door flew open and Plausen, a tiny mouse of a man who worked in the procurement office, rushed past, his face as white as chalk. From inside his office, Hitler saw Vierhaus waiting and waved him in.
Vierhaus entered and raised his arm in a salute. "Heil Hitler. " Hitler waved a half-hearted salute in return but his mood changed immediately. Hitler's mood always improved when Vierhaus arrived. He adored intrigue and gossip and Willie Vierhaus provided him with both.
"So, Willie, what is the news? Brighten my day. So far it has been dismal. A morning dealing with idiots like . . ." He waved vaguely toward the door.
"I am sorry, mein Führer."
"Tell me some juicy news, eh." He smiled fleetingly in expectation.
"Well, sir, you know General Romsdorf?"
"Third Division. Of course, of course."
"His wife Fredie is having an affair with a dancer in the Berlin Ballet Company."
"A ballet dancer!" Hitler cried out, clasping his hands together and pressing them to his lips.
"Ja. Not even a featured dancer. He is on the chorus."
Hitler stifled a giggle. Then his face grew serious.
"That could present a problem. Romsdorf has a very important post."
"Yes, mein Führer."
"Not to mention that Romsdorf is extremely proud of his . . . manliness." Hitler stifled another giggle.
"Yes, mein Führer."
"In fact," and he giggled out loud, "he fancies himself somewhat of a ladies' man."
Vierhaus felt comfortable enough to laugh along with Hitler.
"Poor old Romsdorf," said Hitler. "I pity the poor dancer. When our general finds out, the young man will be off to Dachau. Any other news?"
"A rather dull week, I'm afraid. There are the usual rumors about Röhm. He is becoming more of an embarrassment. Outrageous stories about his preference for young boys. He seems to be more brazen about it than ever. And I hear he is drinking more heavily than usual."
"He has always been a drunk and a queer," snapped Hitler.
Ernst Röhm was more than an embarrassment, he represented a deep, personal hurt to Hitler. He had brought his friend from the Beer Hall Putsch days back from South America and made him head of the brownshirts, one of the most powerful posts in Germany, giving him carte blanche to deal with the Reds and the Jews. But Röhm wanted more. Now he was actually challenging Hitler's authority and talking about running for president of Germany, a traitorous affront to his mentor.
"The problem is . . ." Vierhaus began.
"The problem is, the SA has six hundred thousand members!" Hitler roared, his voice rising to a near scream. He snapped his head angrily, took a deep breath, and began pacing. When he spoke again his voice was almost a whisper.
"The only way I can deal with this problem is with my own personal guards, Willie, but it will be another year before the Schutzstaffel has the proper strength for that." He waved his hand again. "I know, I know. Another year and he grows that much stronger." He stopped pacing and leaned toward Vierhaus, his eyes narrowing. "We cannot destroy the SA until my SS is stronger than they are. And that is the only way to deal with Röhm and his bullies. Destroy them."
"Yes, mein Führer."
"But thank you for telling me. I must keep up with his . . . his perversions." His expression changed radically again, becoming more relaxed. He had said what he had to say about the SA.
"So," he said pleasantly. "I understand it was your man in the American Embassy who turned in Reinhardt."
"Yes, mein Führer. A porter. A Judenhascher, actually, but very reliable."
"Heinrich is a little put out," Hitler said, strolling around his desk, his hands clasped behind his back. "He would like to take credit for the whole affair. It annoys him that you have these Judenhaschers and special agents working for you."
"Did he complain, mein Führer?"
"No, no, no, no, of course not," Hitler answered, waving off the suggestion. "Heinrich is no fool. He knows it was my idea to set up your little unit."
Actually Vierhaus had come to Hitler with the idea for an elite unit within the SS but all of Hitler's close associates were accustomed to having the Führer take credit for good ideas. Hitler had treated the suggestion as a joke at first but finally he had given Vierhaus a small budget and permission to train five men. Vierhaus had managed, by conscripting stool pigeons and menial workers, to expand his unit to twenty-five or thirty.
He had begun the practice of using Germans of mixed blood, usually an eighth or sixteenth Jewish, as agents, promising them freedom from persecution as long as they were effective. Known as Judenhascher, Jewhunters, they were frequently used to gather information on other Jews, often spending weeks poring over family records, looking for a great-grandmother or second cousin who might have a trace of Jewish blood. Vierhaus turned the reports over to Himmler's SS and the files of information grew thicker every day, waiting for Himmler to put them to whatever dark use his mind might contrive.
Hitler laughed and slapped his hand on the table.
"You know what I like about you, Willie? You are a practical man. So, tell me more. Were you there when they interrogated Reinhardt?"
Vierhaus nodded.
"What did he tell us? What about the Black Lily?"
"He claimed he never heard of it."
The phone rang and Hitler whirled and snatched it off the hook. "No, no, no!" he yelled and slammed it back down. He spun back toward Vierhaus.
"He's a liar!" Hitler bellowed, his face turning red. His fist slammed down on the table. "Of course he knows about it! He helped start it!" He composed himself, taking a deep breath, then he began tapping his cheek with his forefinger. "It is important to crush these organizations quickly, Willie. These fanatics. Fanaticism is contagious. I want that to be your first priority. Break them. Break the Black Lily."
"Isn't that the job of the Gestapo, mein Führer?"
Hitler waved his hand frenetically in front of his face, shaking his head as he spoke. "Göring has other things to worry about. Do not concern yourself with politics."
"Yes, mein Führer. Reinhardt also told me something else interesting. The American I told you about, Keegan?"
"The Ire?"
"Irish-American. Apparently the deputy ambassador, Wallingford, tried to borrow Keegan's plane for Reinhardt's escape and Keegan refused."
"Ah, perhaps your instincts about him are correct."
"I made it my business to have a talk with Keegan early this morning. He is quite the cynic and I get the definite feeling that he is unhappy with things in America. He particularly distrusts bankers and businessmen, says they were the only winners in the war."
"True, quite true," Hitler said, his head bobbing in agreement. "What did you have in mind for Keegan?"
"I am not sure. He is very rich and quite independent. Knows ev
erybody—in the embassies, the military, government people, most of the royal families here and in England. A man like that, if he is sympathetic with your vision, mein Führer, could have many uses. He knows court secrets—who might be vulnerable to blackmail: homosexuals, bankrupts, influential people whose taste exceeds their bank account."
"I agree. Just be careful dealing with him," said Hitler. "Never trust Americans. Too idealistic."
"Yes, mein Führer."
"What of Siebenundzwanzig?"
"His training goes very well. Ludwig reports that he is an excellent student. He learns quickly. Incidentally, I am trying something—it is a bit devious."
"Of course," Hitler leered. "What else would I expect from you?"
"I have introduced another student in the training course with Swan. Swan is not aware of this, of course, but the man will be his replacement if there should be an accident or if he gets caught. Swan thinks the new man is training for a totally different assignment. It is a good opportunity to compare them."
"I needn't tell you to be cautious in dealing with Twenty-seven," Hitler said, his face hardening into stern lines again. "He is a great catch but we could lose him if he becomes disillusioned—or if he thinks we do not have complete faith in him."
"I will keep that in mind, mein Führer. I am going down to visit the camp in person."
"Very good. I will be anxious to hear your report. Have you worked out the details of the operation?"
"I'll be ready when he is."
"Excellent. I'm proud of you, Willie."
"Thank you, mein Führer. "
"And, Willie, don't forget," He held up a single finger. "The Black Lily."
"Yes, mein Führer. Heil Hitler. "
"Heil Hitler. "
SEVENTEEN
Swan plunged down the steep side of the mountain, the wind thundering in his ears. He was in total control of his downward pitch, his course so steep it was almost like leaping off a cliff. He ignored the danger of the drop run just as he ignored the beauty of the Alps surrounding him and the pain of the effort in calf, thigh and shoulder. He was totally concentrated, his eyes focused one hundred feet in front of him, scanning back and forth to check for boulders, small trees or other obstructions hidden by the deep snow. If he perceived any threat he altered his course as little as necessary to avoid it, never sacrificing speed as his skis skimmed the snow beneath him. He was racing against the stopwatch in his mind.
A mile away, near the base of the mountain, a tall, muscular man in white snow camouflage stood shin-deep in the snow, sweeping the side of Hummel Peak with his binoculars. He was nearly six-five and in excellent physical shape, deeply tanned from hours on the slopes. He was bald as a mountaintop with a long, triangular face and pale, analytical eyes. His only insignia was the silver SS eagle on his cap. Suddenly he stopped and backtracked an inch or two. The skier was a mere speck streaking down the side of the mountain.
"There he is," he said. "About halfway down. Good God, he must be doing seventy miles an hour."
Vierhaus watched the speck as it plunged down the steep, clean side of the tall Dolomite peak, then raised his binoculars. Through the glasses, he watched the black-clad sportsman as he sped down the slope without veering, snow showering in his wake.
"I hope he does not injure himself," Vierhaus said.
"That will not happen," the tall SS officer said. "Swan will never injure himself. Swan will never have an accident. He would not permit it."
"You don't like him, do you, Ludwig?" Vierhaus said.
"There is not much to like or dislike, actually," Ludwig answered. "He is very much a loner, never joins us for a beer at night. He's civil to his teachers and the other students but that is as far as he goes. He is totally dedicated to perfection."
Ludwig lowered his glasses for a moment.
"On the other hand, he is quite the actor. He actually outwitted the entire staff three or four times by disguising himself."
"Is that so?" Vierhaus said.
Ludwig raised the glasses again.
"He can even be quite charming when he is not himself," Ludwig added.
Confident, unswerving, the skier reached the bottom of the steep slope and disappeared into the trees at the base.
"I must say, you have picked the perfect spot for this training facility. Why did you pick the Dolomites?"
"Mostly for the snow. The mountains are capped year-round. And it is isolated. Nobody blunders onto this camp. The people in Millstadt think we are a border station. Italy is only twenty or thirty kilometers from here."
"It seems a pleasant village."
"Very friendly and totally isolated."
"Tell me more about Swan," Vierhaus said.
"Best student I ever had," the tall SS trainer said. "A very smart man. You tell him a thing once and he has learned it. He has already mastered everything my five instructors and I have taught him."
"You think he is ready to leave?"
Ludwig pondered the question for a moment. Vierhaus had recruited the colonel from the SD, the intelligence department of the SS, where he was considered too tall to be an effective field agent. It was an unfortunate loss to the SD for Ludwig was one of the shrewdest men Vierhaus had ever met. He was an honor graduate from the university in Berlin and an excellent judge of character. Vierhaus had put him in charge of training—or eliminating—the agents Vierhaus recruited and Ludwig had devised a program which was both physically and mentally exhausting, designed to break the toughest of men.
"Perhaps," Ludwig said finally. "Perhaps a little longer. Just to make sure he's perfect. After all, we originally planned the course for one year. It has only been seven months."
"There is no rush," Vierhaus said. "Any task, understand Ludwig, any task! He must be at ease in any task. How about attitude?"
"Cold as an iceberg. Nothing bothers him. He survived three weeks alone in the mountains and we set him loose with nothing but his weapons. I honestly believe he gained weight out there."
"Weapons?"
"A remarkable marksman and he wields a knife like a circus performer. The Okinawan, Ashita, says Swan is the best jujitsu student he has ever had. The man has hands of iron."
"Will he kill if the time comes?"
"In the blink of an eye. He would kill his own mother if it were expedient."
"Interesting. And you think he will follow orders, this loner?"
"He will do whatever is necessary to complete his mission. Quite simply, he has turned himself into a machine."
"And those things you cannot teach a man?"
"He is sly, wily, quick, dangerous. An adroit liar. And like I said, quite an actor. He is just paranoid enough to be properly cautious. And as you can see, not only an expert skier, but absolutely fearless. Quite a find, Herr Professor."
"And the other one? Kraft?"
"He has his specialties. A quiet killer that one, but not as versatile as Swan. He is almost as good in some areas."
"How canny is he, Ludwig?"
"Canny? Not in a class with Swan. Let me give you an example. We had an exercise—to blow up a warehouse which was very heavily guarded. Three of the men were caught trying to invade the building but as far as we could tell, Swan never went near the place. Then he came to me and told me to get the guards out of the place, it was going to blow up. Two hours later, boom! It was gone. Pulverized!"
"How did he do it?"
"A rat bomb."
"Really?" Vierhaus said with surprise.
"You are familiar with the rat bomb?"
"I have heard of it," Vierhaus said after a moment.
"He crawled up the sewer line under the place and set the trap. He used Limburger cheese to make sure the rat would smell it. It worked like a charm."
"Do any of the other trainees show Swan's promise?"
Swan shot out of the thicket of pines at the foot of the mountain, leaning forward on bent knees to keep up his speed, moving soundlessly toward them.
&nb
sp; "Nein. They are good, but not like this one coming here. I tell you, Professor, he is frighteningly efficient."
"Does he scare you, Ludwig?" Vierhaus asked casually.
Colonel Ludwig smiled and shook his head. "Nobody scares me, Professor, I am beyond that. No, I marvel at him. He was only here a week and I realized he could bypass desensitization training. My God, he could teach it! He is the perfect SD officer. What the Führer dreams of, this man is. "
"Would you like to go up against him?"
Ludwig stared quizzically at Vierhaus for a moment or two before he nodded slowly. "Ja. An interesting challenge. He has an uncanny ability to focus on a single objective, to make instant decisions based on knowledge, instinct and logic, and react immediately. Most men I know in this business operate on gut instinct. Logic rarely enters into it."
"Does he learn from his mistakes?"
"Swan does not make mistakes."
"What are his weaknesses, Ludwig?"
"His only weakness that I can determine is impatience. When he learns something he means to test himself immediately."
"Hmm. That could be a serious problem. This man may be undercover for years before he is activated."
"Then you will have to find other ways to keep him occupied. He has a taste for danger."
Vierhaus began to chuckle.
"Is something funny?" Ludwig asked.
"I was just thinking, wouldn't it be ironic if we have overtrained him."
"It isn't possible to be overtrained, Herr Professor," Ludwig said. "Kraft and the other three in training are excellent prospects but it would take two, three years for them to be in Swan's class and by that time God knows how good he would be."
"I congratulate you, Colonel," Vierhaus said, shaking the tall man's hand. "You are doing remarkable work here. So what is next?"
"A competition."
"A competition?"
"Yes. I am going to pit Swan against Kraft on a very difficult climb and race."
"Why?"
Ludwig shrugged. "Just to see who comes in first. To see how they react in a challenge situation, under actual stress. There are some things even training can't imitate. It should be quite revealing."
The Hunt (aka 27) Page 18