Hitler's Secret

by William Osborne

  Fortunately it was a little after two o’clock and people were enjoying a late luncheon in the numerous cafés along the promenade. It was only a matter of minutes before Leni found a suitable bike and satisfied herself that it was safe to steal. Minutes later she had ridden it along to the boatyard, which was still deserted. She hid the bike at the back under a large piece of canvas, then slipped out unseen, anxious to complete the other task she had been assigned.

  She walked along the parade of shops and eventually found the chandlers. She went inside and the owner nodded a greeting to her as he finished serving another customer. It gave Leni time to select the sort of rope they would need later that night. Ropes of different widths and materials were on rollers by the window. She made her choice and went over to the shopkeeper once the other customer had left the shop.

  “I’ll like twenty yards of this one please,” she said, indicating the rope she wanted.

  “Twenty yards, young lady?” The shopkeeper wasn’t exactly suspicious, but he was curious. He looked at Leni’s BDM uniform. “Are you with the sailing club?”

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  The man nodded. “I haven’t seen you before.”

  “No, it’s my first year.” Leni tried to keep her voice light.

  The man nodded again and pulled the rope she had chosen off its roller, measuring the yardage with his stick.

  “Are you enjoying yourself, young lady?” he asked.

  “Oh, absolutely, it’s great fun. I’m learning a lot.”

  “That’s good. Here you are.” The man expertly looped the rope around his arm and wound it tightly in the middle. He walked back to the counter and wrote out a receipt.

  “How much?” Leni reached for her wallet.

  The man frowned. “The club has an account.”

  “Ah, yes, that’s right. I forgot. They told me that. I wasn’t thinking. First time …”

  Stop talking now! yelled a voice in Leni’s head.

  The man looked at her again, then slowly handed her the rope.

  “Make sure you tell Frau Farbiner that I have given you a twenty percent discount.”

  “I will, of course, I will.”

  Who the hell is Frau Farbiner? thought Leni as she walked out of the shop and headed towards the sailing club tents, glancing back now and again to see if the shopkeeper was watching her. He was. She continued walking, then pretended to stop in front of a shop window. The man was still there, but then another customer stepped into the shop and he disappeared. Leni breathed a sigh of relief and doubled back as fast as she could to the boatyard. She hunkered down at the back and waited.

  Otto appeared soon after, wheeling not one but two bicycles, the second one designed for a younger child.

  “Can you believe it?” He laughed. “It’s perfect.”

  Leni lifted up the canvas and helped him put the bicycles next to hers.

  “They belong to a mother and her little girl. I saw them go to a café for some ice cream. When they come out their day will be ruined.” He chuckled.

  “Don’t be so horrid,” said Leni.

  Otto shrugged. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Typical unfeeling boy,” said Leni.

  Otto ignored this. “What about the rope?” he asked.

  Leni held it up.

  “Why didn’t you get him to wrap it up? It’ll stick out on the ferry.”

  “He was asking a lot of questions. I needed to get out quick. All right?” said Leni defensively. “What about the church?”

  “It’s fine for what we need,” confirmed Otto.

  It was time to catch the ferry to Herreninsel. They made their way on board and the boat weighed anchor, the funnels belching black smoke as the engines started up belowdecks.

  The boat was soon out in the middle of the lake, and Leni hung on the deck rail, enjoying the cool breeze off the water. Otto chose to sit on one of the slatted benches bolted to the middle section of the deck. He kept their packs wedged beneath him and the rope tucked away out of sight beside them. Apart from a few soldiers in uniform on a day out with their girlfriends, there was no sense of a world war. It seemed as though no place on earth could be more peaceful and pleasant than this sunny June afternoon in Bavaria.

  When they reached the island, they joined a group of tourists walking two by two from the jetty through thick pine woods to King Ludwig’s Palace. But as the party trooped towards the entrance, Otto and Leni darted away unseen to the side of the building.

  They squatted down in the trees, and Otto unfolded a more detailed silk map of the two main islands, showing the footpaths through the woods as well the buildings and other structures. They studied it carefully, then made their way to the west of the island. At the water’s edge there, they found the small fishing jetty marked on the map. There were a number of unattended boats moored up, as they had hoped. They agreed that one of them, a small dinghy with a bright red sail, was just what they needed.

  Fraueninsel was over a mile away, but the brass onion-shaped dome of the convent’s chapel rose clearly above the tree line. Even Leni with her poor eyesight could see it.

  “Let’s go!” she said, and started to climb down to the boat.

  “No! We’re to wait until sundown, remember? Less chance of anyone bothering us.”

  Leni looked back up at him. “You think that’s a good idea? What if there’s a problem with the boat in the dark? Or the weather breaks? Or the wind drops? Besides, there’s only a few fishing boats around. The fishermen will think we’re from the sailing club. They won’t take any notice of us.” She was anxious to keep moving.

  Otto rubbed his chin with his thumb. “I suppose it’ll give us time to survey the island before dark.” But he didn’t look as though he liked her taking charge.

  “Whatever you say,” Leni said, trying not to smile.

  At the same time as Otto and Leni were looking out to Fraueninsel, Hitler’s express train, the Führersonderzug, also known as the Amerika, thundered through southern Austria, heading, if not directly at them, then in their direction. The armored carriages rattled over the points as the train blasted through a country station, its whistle shrieking a warning.

  Martin Bormann, a thickset man with broad, heavy features and slicked-back dark hair, strode through the carriages. He was dressed in a gray suit with a small gold swastika badge in the buttonhole of the jacket — a recent personal gift from the Führer. Since Rudolf Hess’s flight to Scotland, Bormann had seized the opportunity presented to him and replaced his former boss as Hitler’s personal secretary and head of the Nazi Party’s political framework. At a stroke he had taken over Hitler’s paperwork, appointments, and massive but secret personal wealth. From now on, all other Party members would have to answer to him if they wished to have access to the Führer.

  An SS sentry guard snapped to attention and opened the door to the Führer’s carriage with a white-gloved hand. Hitler was sitting alone in his wood-paneled carriage, situated exactly in the middle of the train. It was simply furnished, like his apartment in Munich, with dark wooden tables, leather-backed seats, and a portrait of himself over the mantelpiece. As Bormann came in, he slid a series of photographs that he had been reviewing off his knees and folded his hands. One appeared to have a slight tremor.

  “What is the news from London?”

  “Not good, mein Führer. Our agents cannot tell us where the British are holding the Deputy Leader.”

  “He is no longer the Deputy Leader! Never call him that again! Never!” Hitler was suddenly spitting the words, his face contorted with rage.

  “Of course.” Bormann lowered his head in contrition.

  Hitler sat in silence for a few moments, apparently calm. He stared out of the window. People at a crossing were standing to attention outside their vehicles, their arms raised in salute as the train roared past. He casually threw back a salute.

  “Perhaps you would like to run through your appointments for t
he next twenty-four hours?” Bormann ventured. “I have brought the diary.”

  Hitler waved the suggestion away. Bormann cleared his throat and tried a different tack.

  “Führer, Hess is insane. In fact, the Reichsminister for Information is at this very moment preparing a further broadcast —”

  “You know nothing, nothing of what you speak!” Hitler was suddenly furious once more. “For these last weeks I have struggled with his treachery. Wondering at the purpose of it. What sword can he raise to strike against me? Only now do I see what that weapon is. And I must act quickly to deflect it.”

  “Forgive me, Führer.” Bormann once again cast his eyes to the floor.

  “Bring Heydrich to the Berghof immediately. Without delay, do you hear me? I have a mission that only he can carry out. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, mein Führer, zu Befehl. At once.”

  Bormann strode from the carriage, the order ringing in his ears.

  It seemed to Angelika that she could see for hundreds of miles from the top of the convent’s bell tower, which had slit windows at the four points of the compass. Staring through them, she could make out the towns, villages, and mountains to the south, and the roads around the shore of the huge lake. It was wonderful to gaze at them but at the same time she felt very sad to know that she would never be allowed to paddle in the lake, let alone visit the mainland.

  She crept over the wooden planks to the next window, skirting the massive bronze bell hanging in the middle of the tower. It took three nuns pulling together to make it ring, and she had been told it could be heard across the whole of the lake. The air was stifling and, even in just the white shorts and cotton undershirt she wore beneath her woolen novice’s robe, she was boiling hot and thirsty. But she didn’t mind. Being up here by herself, even just for an hour or two, was her favorite thing to do.

  Her second favorite thing was to climb the pine trees just outside the walls of the convent. It was more fun than going up the bell tower, but if Sister Margareta caught her there she’d be furious and, anyway, you couldn’t see nearly as far. Sister Margareta had been on the warpath just lately, always keeping a beady eye on her, and so Angelika had decided against sneaking out today. In fact, she felt as if she was being watched by the rest of the nuns, even the novices, most of the time. She knew they talked about her because they often fell silent when she approached. On the other hand, she was not encouraged to talk to them, and so over the years she’d become happy to spend most of her free time in her own company.

  Her third favorite thing was visiting the convent’s library. Most Sundays, after morning service and her walk around the gardens with the mother superior, she was allowed an hour or two before lunch to explore the rows of books in their tall oak shelves. She would pore over the atlases and encyclopedias and learn about the wonders that lay outside her little whitewashed room on this tiny island. She especially loved reading about the mountains of the Alps, which she could just see from the tower.

  At least she’d been lucky this afternoon and the coast had been clear in the church below, so she could slip unnoticed into the tower. She had finished weeding in the kitchen garden by three o’clock, which meant she had an hour before she had to wash and get ready for tea — just bread and goats’ milk — and then evensong. She looked once more at the mountains in the distance. She longed to visit them — even if it was just for a day. That would be the best birthday present anyone could give her, she thought.

  Angelika’s birthday was this Sunday and she was looking forward to it. Of course, nothing was made of it by the nuns or the mother superior, but every year since she had been at the convent a visitor had come to see her. He was a very nice man who always brought a camera, a pretty dress, and a huge box of chocolates, and he would take a photograph of her in the dress. He never told her his name but she knew the chocolates were from Munich. It said so on the box.

  This birthday would be her fifth at the convent. Five years stuck on this little island. At least it was summer now. In the winter, the cold and rain and fog made her feel even more of a captive, almost like a criminal in a prison. Since the war had started, the mood in the convent had changed. The nuns had become preoccupied and she’d been even more unhappy. Perhaps the mother superior sensed this and that was why she’d walk with her every week, talking to her quietly about God’s purpose for her, about how special and important she was, and how she must be patient and trust in God. She felt better after these talks. The chocolates the mother superior doled out helped, too, but even so, on a day like today, when she was staring out like a bird in a cage at the world beyond, she longed to spread her wings and fly.

  She moved to the last of the windows, the one that faced west towards Herreninsel. The lake was still studded with boats at the end of the day. The steam ferry on its way back to Stock, its decks crowded with tourists dressed in bright summer clothes, tiny pinpoints of color. Closer to her were fishing boats and a sailing boat that was halfway between the two islands. It had a bright red sail and was heading straight towards her. She could just make out two figures: one hunched down at the front, and another holding the tiller and the rope for the main sail. It must be wonderful to be out there on the water like that, she thought. Then she got up and checked on the position of the sun. She had no watch but had learned to tell the time as accurately as a sundial. It was nearly four. Time to go, or risk discovery.

  Angelika quickly pulled her robe over her head, slipped on her leather sandals, and hurried back down the stone steps. One day, she thought. One day I will be free.

  Otto and Leni’s little sailing dinghy scudded nimbly over the gentle swell. To the south was a cluster of fishing boats, men hauling in their nets, but otherwise there was nothing on the water near them. They were making excellent time and the shore of Fraueninsel was now only a few hundred feet away.

  Otto sat in the stern, holding the tiller, with Leni squeezed farther up on the port side. She had the packs with her and the rope stowed beside them. A light breeze filled the sail, and the dinghy’s hull was heeling gently, up on its side.

  In front of them was a small cove, the beach covered in large flat stones. Nearly there, thought Otto. He felt relief at the prospect of dry land.

  Above them came the sound of an aircraft. The drone of a single-engine plane. It grew louder. Otto and Leni shielded their eyes, looking up to the fading blue sky, as the drone became a whine, higher in range as it drew closer. A fighter plane suddenly filled Otto’s vision, the nose cone painted a bright scarlet. It was not of a type that Otto had ever seen before and it was heading straight towards them, no more than a hundred feet above the water. He glimpsed a pilot in white leather flying helmet and gloves, his mouth open and his teeth bared. The pilot raised a hand and waved, just as the downdraft hit the sail and rocked the dinghy from side to side.

  For a moment, time slowed and shifted and Otto was once more back on the beach in Dunkirk with bullets chasing him across the sand and into the sea. He panicked.

  “Otto, no!” screamed Leni.

  But he was already over the side of the boat and plunging into the lake. The shock of the icy water knocked all the air from his chest. He kicked for the surface and saw that the dinghy was already thirty feet away. He began to swim after it, but it was going too fast. The wind had caught the sail. He could see Leni had scooted to the stern and was gripping the tiller. But she was obviously frightened. Too late he remembered she hadn’t much enjoyed the sailing lessons.

  “Pull the tiller towards you until the boat goes into the wind,” he shouted, pushing himself to swim even faster.

  To his relief, Leni did as he said. The bow came around and the sail emptied of wind and started flapping. Leni sat down, waiting for Otto to catch up. As he reached the little boat he grabbed hold of the side and began pulling himself on board. Unfortunately, it was just at that moment that Leni stood up to help him in, leaning over to grab his arm. The dinghy capsized, throwing her into the water beside
Otto. The mast and sail sank below the surface, and the hull turned turtle.

  Leni coughed and spluttered. “The packs!” she screamed.

  Taking a deep breath, Otto dived under the water. He could see the packs just below him, gradually sinking to the bottom of the lake. A very deep lake, he remembered quite suddenly. He tried not to think about Dunkirk, or the feeling of the rope slipping from his hand. He dived after the nearest pack and grabbed it. For a moment he felt it drag him down like an anchor, then he kicked with all his strength towards the surface, pulling the bag behind him, until his free hand found the edge of the boat. His head emerged from the water, and he sucked at the air. Then Leni burst up beside him, making him shout out with surprise.

  “Got the other pack,” she gasped. “Can you swim to the beach?”

  Otto nodded. Holding the pack with one arm, he kicked for the shore.

  A few minutes later they struggled up onto the beach, lugging their waterlogged packs along the dark, silty earth and onto the large stones.

  “I’m sorry, Leni.” Otto sat down.

  The upturned dinghy had drifted in after them and was banging against the rocks in the shallows.

  “I don’t understand. Why did you jump off the boat like that?” She was staring at him with a look of concern.

  “It’s just … well, the plane reminded me of something … Something that happened to me.”

  Leni nodded, seeming to realize that he didn’t want to talk about it. “Well, that pilot was absolutely crazy. Can you believe he actually waved and smiled?”

  Otto got to his feet. “We’d better not stay out here in the open,” he said. The island was small and not so densely wooded as Herreninsel. The outline of the convent’s main buildings could be seen through the trees.

  Leni picked up her pack. “You’re right. We need to keep out of sight until nightfall. Head up there to the tree line. We still have enough daylight to dry our things out, with a bit of luck.” Then she stopped. “Oh, no!” she wailed. “The rope, we’ve lost the rope.”