Accidental Nazi

by Ward Wagher

  The embassy car pulled around next to the side hatch of the aircraft. Another car with a coat of arms emblazoned on the door pulled up behind the other. The customs inspectors, Schloss thought. Since the four passengers had diplomatic immunity and the cargo was considered part of the diplomatic bag, the inspectors merely inspected the passports and stamped them.

  “Have a good visit, Herr Schreiber; Herr Eisengruber.”

  Peter nodded his thanks and the men left. A minor functionary from the embassy had brought the car out to pick them up. He quickly took their luggage and put it in the boot. He turned to Schreiber.

  “I have been instructed to to deliver you to the hotel, Herr Schreiber, and otherwise ask no questions.”

  “Correct,” Peter said. “We are not here, officially.”

  “I understand, Herr Schreiber.” He glanced over at Schloss and briefly froze.

  “And you will, of course, say nothing about what you may or may not have seen here at the airport,” Peter continued.

  “Of course, Herr Schreiber. Shall we go?”

  # # #

  August 13, 1941; 5 PM

  Nazi Party Headquarters

  Berlin

  “Was my brother really well enough to travel to Lisbon?” Renate asked.

  “No, Frau Schreiber,” Rainer said, “he was not. That infection after his visit to the dentist almost incapacitated him.”

  “And he went anyway,” she muttered.

  “Please, Frau Schreiber. I tried very hard to convince him to stay home.”

  “I don't doubt you did. My brother can be stubborn. And now the two most important men in my life are halfway across the continent. God knows what will happen to them.”

  “The risk is really quite low,” Rainer said. “They are simply attending a diplomatic meeting.”

  “And if that is all it is; they would have sent Ribbentrop. Don't try to blow smoke at me, Karl.”

  “I would never do anything like that.”

  “Of course you wouldn't.”

  Renate had come upstairs from where she worked and slipped into Rainer's office that afternoon. She worked as the secure courier between the party headquarters and the various government ministries in Berlin. As such she had freedom to move about the building and the city as she saw fit. As the sister of the party leader, she discovered people generally were not willing to question her whereabouts closely anyway.

  “Herr Schloss was planning to sleep on the plane as much as possible,” Rainer said. “And he was to keep a low profile by staying at the hotel.”

  “And is he likely to fulfill those desires?”

  Rainer shrugged. “There are a lot of reasons why we do not want it widely known he is in Portugal. He is well motivated to remain at the hotel.”

  “Would the English be likely to murder him?”

  “It would be a magnificent opportunity for them, and would also cost them much more in the long run.”

  “Why is that?” she asked.

  “Because Herr Schloss is trying to get this war stopped. If something happens to him, Herr Himmler will be running the government.”

  She nodded. “And Himmler is here while Hennie is out of the country. Who knows what he may try.”

  Rainer thought about it, and decided not to tell her about the bomb on the party leader's airplane. There was no doubt someone wanted him dead. And it was also true there was some risk with Schloss out of the country. And Rainer, being a product of Catholic Bavaria, went to mass every day he was able, and prayed for the safety and success of Heinrich Schloss.

  Renate sat quietly for a few moments as Rainer also pondered things. She ran her tongue around the inside of her lower teeth as she considered what she wanted to say.

  “Um, Karl?”

  He looked up at her.

  “How long has my brother been seeing Frau Badhoff?”

  Rainer stared at her for a long while. He had a slight smile on his face. “Your brother told me it was dangerous to underestimate you. I should have listened more carefully.”

  “Is that a subtle way of evading an answer?” she asked.

  Rainer considered his options and decided a straight answer was required. “I believe it was a month before Hannelore died. We had to go to Munich. Herr Schloss was distraught.”

  “And it just sort of happened?” The sarcasm was evident in her voice.

  “I was not privy to the events of that evening, Frau Schreiber. I believe he gained some comfort during a very difficult time. He was also torn by guilt.”

  “I'm sorry, Karl. Gisela told me in one of her letters that she blamed herself. Things got out of hand. I honestly blame neither of them. I told Peter to suggest to Hennie that he formalize an engagement with her as soon as possible.”

  Rainer snorted. “I think I am glad I was not around to witness Herr Schloss's reaction to that.”

  “He sometimes does not take kindly to my meddling.”

  “I understand. I have a sister as well. She loves me and is convinced she has my best interests at heart.”

  Renate smiled at him. “I believe I would like to meet your sister sometime.”

  “I might arrange that the next time she visits, although I am sure I would regret it.”

  “Oh, no. We would simply contrive to order your life for you.”

  “That is what I would be afraid of,” he said.

  “And there was something else,” she said.

  Rainer smiled broadly. “You have been working up to this for a while. What did you wish to tell me?”

  “And you are very perceptive yourself, Herr Rainer.”

  “No. I just try to pay attention carefully.”

  “I have arranged for Gisela to take a job at the Berliner Zeitung. She is moving up here from Munich. I thought we would surprise Hennie.”

  “Oh, I think Herr Schloss will be surprised. And what will Frau Badhoff be doing at the Times?”

  “She will be working as an editor. Karl, I do not want Hennie to be angry with me for this.”

  “May I suggest, Frau Schreiber, that your brother's probable reaction is out of my hands?”

  “Oh, I know that. I just thought perhaps you could help... moderate the explosion.”

  Rainer leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “Surely you know better than that. I'm the one who gets to sweep up the debris after Herr Schloss's explosions. No, I'm sorry Frau Schreiber. I am very much afraid you will have to ride this one out on your own.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  August 14, 1941 9 AM

  Lisbon, Portugal

  “Mr. Schreiber? I am H. Gordon Smoke. I am the Deputy Undersecretary for European Affairs for the United States Department of State.”

  Schreiber carefully studied the American as they shook hands. Smoke was young, in his late twenties, he estimated. He was also well fed. Not fat, but rather he had the sleek pudginess of someone who enjoyed their meals. His light brown hair was slicked back, and it looked as though the glasses were an affectation. Schreiber did not see the distortion through the lenses he would have expected.

  “Mr. Smoke, I am Peter Schreiber. I represent the German Foreign Ministry.”

  There. Keep it simple and understated, Peter, he thought. This fellow likes to compare the lengths of appendages. I know who I represent. There's no need for me to play those games.

  “Shall we have a seat? I thought, perhaps, we would prefer to keep the conversations informal.” Smoke led him across the sitting room of the expansive suite the Americans had rented.

  At one end of the room, in front of the windows, an elaborate buffet was laid out. Besides the variety of pastries and fruits, the heavy aroma of coffee filled the area. The American was obviously taking advantage of a generous per diem. This was much grander than the small suite taken by Schloss and Schrieber two floors below.

  “Would you have some breakfast?” the American asked. “Or perhaps some coffee?”

  “I have already eaten. However, some coffee
would be very nice, thank you.”

  The other man in the room quickly poured a cup and set it on the table in front of the sofa where Schreiber sat.

  “Thank you,” he murmured.

  Smoke had not introduced the other man, so therefore Schreiber concluded he was not important. Schreiber had not introduced the stenographer, either. Smoke glared at the man.

  “Please, Mr. Schreiber, these conversations are strictly off the record.”

  “Return to your room, please,” Schreiber told the man. He quietly folded his notebook and walked out of the suite.

  “I appreciate your consideration. Now,” Smoke began, “we are very excited to have this opportunity to open communications with Germany. I am hopeful we can reach some agreements which will be mutually beneficial to our two countries.”

  Schreiber took a sip of the coffee to collect his thoughts. The coffee was very good. Much better than what was available in Berlin.

  “Tell me a little about yourself, Herr Smoke. We are not familiar with all of the American State Department personnel.”

  Smoke blushed slightly. “Well, Sir, I am a Harvard man. I graduated with the class of 1934. I have worked in the State Department for seven years. I am a career diplomat.”

  Apparently he is more convinced of that than those around him, Schreiber thought.

  “Very well, since this is off the record, let me get right down to it. Since the death of the Fuhrer, there has been some change of attitudes at the highest levels of our government. We wish to... diminish the intensity of the invective between our two countries.”

  “That is something many of us in the United States also wish,” Smoke said. “This war-like behavior by everyone serves no one well.”

  “Precisely. Now, we recognize the sympathies of the United States lie with England. We have been attempting to open some kind of dialog with them. Unsuccessfully, I might add.”

  “Churchill can be stubborn,” Smoke said.

  “Just so. It appears the English will not answer the telephone, so to speak.”

  Smoke laughed. It was a demonstrably false laugh; however, he was trying hard to be accommodating to the Germans, Schreiber thought.

  “Rest assured they answer the telephone when we call them. Make no mistake: we support the Brits in this war. But they understand that as well.”

  Schreiber thought quickly and carefully about what he was hearing. It sounded as though the Americans were as anxious to avoid a war as the Germans. So much so that they might be willing to cut the ground from under the English.

  Schloss opened his eyes as he lay in the bedroom of his hotel suite. The morning light drift past the curtains and blended with the quiet. It had been warm when they arrived the afternoon before, but the temperature had dropped during the night. It was comfortable in the hotel room. He lay taking in the relaxing atmosphere and decided he felt better than he had for a couple of weeks. He looked at the level of light in the room and wondered what time it was.

  With a start he sat up in bed and snatched his watch from the nightstand and looked at it. It was 10 AM and he was supposed to have a final conversation with Peter before the meeting with the Americans. He quickly got out of bed and pulled on a dressing robe. He stepped into the central sitting area of the suite and the guard stood up.

  “Where is Herr Schreiber?”

  “He left for the meeting about an hour ago, Herr Eisengruber. May I help you with something?”

  “I had hoped to speak with him before he left for the meeting.”

  “He said that you weren't feeling well and to let you sleep. I hope that was the right thing, Mein Herr.”

  Schloss looked over at the stenographer, who sat on the sofa looking uncomfortable.

  “Why are you not in the meeting?”

  “I am sorry, Herr Eisengruber. The Americans insisted the meeting be off the record. Herr Schreiber sent me down here.”

  Schloss shook his head and smiled at the guard. “No matter now, I guess. It appears I have been overtaken by events. Could you call for some breakfast? I need to go ahead and get cleaned up.”

  “Of course. I will see to it.”

  “Has anything come over from the embassy?”

  “Yes, Herr Eisengruber. A courier brought a portfolio over earlier this morning. Herr Schreiber signed for it.”

  “Very well. I will look at it over breakfast.”

  After his shower, Schloss selected a light-weight summer suit. It was definitely warmer here in August than in Berlin. He pulled open the shutters on one of the windows and gazed over downtown Lisbon. In style, it was a very European city, but there was a definite Latin flavor. It looked like three or four sidewalk cafes graced each city block. Each was thronged with Lisboetas, chattering like magpies. While it was interesting, it offended his Teutonic sense of organization and efficiency. And the city itself looked tired. In many places he could see where the plaster on the walls had peeled away from the brick. Something like that would never be tolerated in Berlin.

  He thought he would like to tour the city, but that was out of the question during this trip. Perhaps if things were settled with the Englanders he might bring Gisela here on a little vacation. He once again cursed himself for involving Gisela in his plans. While he was willing to risk himself, putting the lovely lady with the flaming red hair into the line of fire was insanity. For the first time he admitted to himself that he loved her. He wanted her at his side wherever he might be.

  When he returned to the sitting room, the hotel room service had rolled in a buffet. He built a plate with pastries and fruit and washed it down with the hotel's really very excellent coffee. As he ate, he looked at the reports sent to him from Berlin. He worried once again about the coding system. The cryptographic experts had been dragging their feet on making changes to the Enigma device. Their skepticism about his paranoia was probably justified, he thought. Unfortunately, they did not have his perspective of history. But if the English got around to decoding the traffic between Berlin and Lisbon, they would realize that some very high-level people were out and about.

  Schreiber walked into the suite at 11 AM. Schloss stood up. “Nice of you to kiss me goodbye this morning, Darling.”

  Peter turned red. “You explained everything to me last night. There was nothing you could have added this morning. Besides you clearly needed the rest.”

  Schloss waved a hand. “No matter. I'm just feeling a bit left out. Did the meeting break up?”

  “The Americans wanted a couple of hours to take lunch and regroup.”

  “Very well, perhaps you can fill me in on the morning's activities,” Schloss said.

  “May I suggest,” Peter said, “that I quickly dictate as much as I can remember to the stenographer. After that you should ask me questions. That would probably generate further notes.”

  “That much makes sense,” Schloss said. He looked over at the stenographer. “Are you ready to proceed?”

  “Yes, mein Herr,” he replied.

  For the next hour Schreiber gave a detailed account of the meeting with the Americans. Schloss was impressed at the organization of Schreiber's memory. After drawing further information by questioning, Schloss turned to the stenographer.

  “You will, of course, type your notes.”

  “Yes, Sir. The embassy delivered a typewriter to my room. I can have the notes done by sometime this afternoon.”

  “I think I would like you to have the typewriter moved to this suite. The documents will be sensitive.”

  “Of course, I understand completely.”

  Peter looked at Schloss. “Will you join me for lunch, Herr Eisengruber?”

  “I just finished breakfast. However, I need to get back a regular schedule. I will try to eat a little something.”

  “You seem to be feeling better.”

  “I do feel better. I hope I am getting past this thing.”

  Schreiber turned to the guard. “Do you suppose you can order lunch for all of us?”

>   “At once, mein Herr.”

  Schreiber leaned back in his chair after finishing lunch. Schloss had eaten lightly, and was now drinking more coffee. The muted tapping of typewriter keys carried from Schreiber's bedroom where they had set up the stenographer.

  “You know,” Schloss said, “I think we should purchase some of this wonderful coffee to take back to Berlin with us.”

  “I am not quite the coffee snob you are, but I agree it's very good.”

  “Connoisseur,” Schloss said. “Please use the proper term.”

  “I stand corrected.”

  “Right. So tell me Peter, now that you've had the chance for things to settle in your mind, what are your thoughts about the morning's meeting?”

  “Do you want the good news or the bad news first?” he responded.

  Schloss groaned. “I somehow think I am not going to be very happy.”

  Schreiber rocked his hand back and forth. “Seriously, Hennie, there is good news here mixed with the bad.”

  “You'd better give me the bad first.”

  “Very well,” Peter said. “I believe our American diplomat represents a group of pro-Germans within the American State Department. Either the Secretary of State and the President do not know about this meeting, or they choose to maintain deniability.”

  “That is what I was afraid of,” Schloss said. “The Abwehr thought it was a real possibility we were dealing with a rogue element.”

  “On the other hand,” Schreiber continued, “this does offer us some real possibilities.”

  “Some things come to mind,” Schloss said, “But I would like to hear your thoughts.”

  “First of all, if this meeting falls apart, we have enough detail – people, times and dates – to embarrass the Americans badly. Anything that possibly drives a wedge between them and the English cannot hurt. Secondly, this H. Gordon Smoke seems determined to forge a preliminary agreement between us and them. This would present Roosevelt with the opportunity to end the war.”