He and Irmgaard confirmed their decision that she and their six-year-old son Ulf and infant son Andreas would go on ahead to Sweden. He would join them as soon as the war was over. Kersten was able to make arrangements for a new residence for the family through his contacts at the Swedish Red Cross.
Kersten remained alone at Hartzwalde. Thanks to the secret arrangement for use of Himmler’s mailbox by Brandt, he kept abreast of the progress of the Dutch government-in-exile at South Mimms in Hertfordshire in England through clandestine Dutch contacts. He had been very concerned and downcast when he heard about a bombing of the old estate at South Mimms that badly damaged the buildings and killed two of Queen Wilhelmina’s guards. At the same time, he was relieved to hear in the same report that the bomb narrowly missed the queen. She survived and recovered shortly thereafter. She wasted no time resuming her activity on behalf of her people. Churchill described her as “the only real man among the leaders of the various governments-in-exile in Britain.”
To express his gratitude that the stalwart queen of the Dutch people survived, he went out into the Hartzwalde flower garden his wife had laid out and planted, and picked some tulips. He placed a colorful bouquet beside the photo portraits of Queen Wilhelmina and Prince Hendrik on the grand piano in the living room.
He was sitting in his reading chair with his copy of a novel by Mika Waltari in his left hand and a cup of ersatz coffee in the other. As he read Waltari’s narrative of the rise and fall of various Egyptian dynasties, he thought of the Deutsches Reich, which was advertised to endure at least a thousand years.
Not a chance that it will last more than a dozen years.
He heard the crunch of automobile tires on the gravel of the driveway. Kersten looked out the living room window. A silver-gray Mercedes-Benz came to a stop. A driver in a blue uniform came out of the driver’s door, circled the vehicle until he came to the rear door on the passenger side, and opened it. An extremely distinguished-looking woman, perhaps in her sixties, and dressed far too formally and warmly, stepped onto the driveway in her stylish black high-heeled shoes.
Kersten rifled through the files in his brain to try to retrieve the woman’s name. She looked familiar, but couldn’t place her. Eventually, he came upon it: Frau Ingeborg Escher, director of the museum at St. Gallen in Switzerland, a former patient of his.
The two engaged in small talk as Kersten brought out tea.
“It is a surprise to see you, Frau Escher, particularly here at Hartzwalde,” Kersten said as he put down the tray with teacups, cubes of sugar and milk. “How in heaven’s name did you find me?”
“I have my sources, Herr Doctor. I hope you’ll forgive me for coming unannounced. One never knows in Germany who is overhearing the conversation if one uses the telephone.”
“I fear that has become the norm all over Europe, hasn’t it?” Kersten agreed. “If the SS isn’t listening in, then some partisan is. You must therefore have something for me to hear that you don’t wish to share with the world?”
‘Indeed, I do, Doctor. But are you certain this is a secure place to have this discussion?”
“I am. My employer, Herr Himmler”—at the mention of Himmler’s name, Frau Escher’s face twisted as though she had detected the smell of rotting eggs—“has declared Hartzwalde to be quarantined...”
Frau Escher’s eyes scanned the room warily. She sat back in her chair as if to be beyond the range of Kersten’s exhalation. When Kersten heard his remark through her ears, it occurred to him that his words were open to misinterpretation.
“Oh, let me you assure that there’s no health risk, Frau Escher. Himmler has his staff inspect my property very carefully at least every month for wiretaps and other clever gadgets of surveillance. They assure me that the place is clean. Herr Himmler has strictly prohibited any other department of the government, or renegade elements in his own outfit, to engage in any spying on Hartzwalde. That’s a long-winded way of saying, yes, Frau Escher, that it is safe for us to talk freely.”
Frau Escher looked rather dubious. “You actually trust that man’s word?” Frau Escher asked.
“I have the luxury of trusting his word because he considers me absolutely indispensable for his health. He does not want to alienate me in any way.”
“All right, then, since you have such trust. If details of this conversation were to be fall on SS or any Nazi ears, it would mean certain death for me and you and probably tens of thousands of other people.”
“Tens of thousands? Good Lord! Then again, we do live in a time when human life is considered cheap. But it sounds like you have something urgent.”
Kersten intuited that another request for a favor was coming. He didn’t want to have to leave the tranquility of Hartzwalde. “There’s only so much I can do as a therapist, you know,” he inserted quickly.
“Don’t pretend with me, Doctor. It’s because many in the Resistance are aware that you have access to Herr Himmler that I have come to you.”
“The Resistance?”
She put down her teacup on the coffee table as though slightly offended. “I come on behalf of not just some ragtag peasant partisans, Herr Kersten, if that is your idea of the Resistance. Rather, I represent some of the most prominent businessmen and industrialists of Switzerland.”
“They are taking a huge risk if they are part of the Resistance. Even in neutral Switzerland.”
“Many people in Switzerland, too, are disgusted beyond words by what Hitler and his goons are doing to Europe.”
“I sympathize.”
“We know you do, Herr Kersten. Our sources inform us of your valiant efforts on behalf of Jews.”
“Your sources?”
“Yes, we have good sources. Our members have influential connections. But I’m sure you understand, their names are confidential.”
“Of course. What exactly do you have in mind?”
“My associates and I have had secret discussions with persons in friendly quarters of our government, and with the International Red Cross.”
“I imagine that not every quarter of your government can be trusted or assumed to be friendly toward the Resistance. The Nazis have infiltrated the governments of even neutral countries like yours. And what, may I ask, has been the subject of these secret discussions?”
“Oh, you may most certainly ask, Doctor. In fact, among the subjects we have discussed is you.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“I think you’re playing coy with me once again, Herr Kersten. Once I explain our goal, I think you’ll be able to fill in the blank about your role.”
Kersten shrugged his shoulders and reached out his open right palm toward Frau Escher as an indication that he was ready, though reluctantly, to hear more. “Please proceed, Frau Escher.”
“We have in mind a plan to get as many Jewish prisoners out of those horrendous concentration camps in Germany and Poland as is possible into Switzerland. They would still be in camps, even in Switzerland, but in refugee camps, not concentration camps. At least until the end of the war when they will be free to emigrate if they choose, to Britain, or the United States, or the Jewish nation that is being considered for Palestine.”
“A commendable goal, of course. How many prisoners does your group plan to liberate in this way?”
Frau Escher didn’t pause a fraction of a second before she answered, “Twenty thousand.”
Kersten swallowed hard. He raised his bushy eyebrows so that they looked like a pair of hairy question marks.
“Twenty thousand? That is an ambitious plan, to say the least. May I also say, respectfully, you understand, that it’s a pretty preposterous one.”
He leaned back on the sofa, satisfied that he was weaseling his way successfully out of a project that had little chance of success.
Frau Escher gave no hint that she was daunted by Kersten’s skepticism. She had the same dignified, almost haughty look on her face. “Why, Doctor, among hundreds of thousands, probably
millions, of Jews in those camps, even twenty thousand is just a spit in the ocean.”
Kersten nodded his head in a respectful way to concede her point. “And what is the plan to help these twenty thousand escape the clutches of the Nazis? I admit that their grip is not as watertight, you might say, now that the Nazis’ hold on the war is loosening. But they still have a considerable security force that must be taken seriously.”
“Yet, Herr Doctor, it’s a security force that we noticed you have managed to elude successfully.”
“So far,” Kersten added. “Is your group suggesting that I somehow convince Reichsführer Himmler to hand over twenty thousand Jewish prisoners to you?”
“That’s what we hear you are good at. But not surrender them to us, Herr Kersten; rather to you.”
~~~
The next afternoon, Kersten left his retreat at Hartzwalde and drove straight to Himmler’s office without an appointment. His inertia and reluctance to leave the peace of Hartzwalde was overcome by the prospect of assisting in the mass rescue of concentration camp prisoners. Himmler was glad to see him.
“Kersten, this is a happy surprise. Were you getting bored out in the country?”
“I never get bored when I am at Hartzwalde, even if there all alone, as I have been these last several days.”
“When is your family coming back from Sweden?”
“We didn’t set a return date.” This was technically true. Kersten didn’t want to divulge that the move to Sweden was permanent. He’d rather not have to deal at the moment with pressure from Himmler to remain with him in Berlin until…until the inevitable end.
“I came back earlier than I planned, Herr Reichsführer, because I suspected your ailment might be acting up again and you might desire a treatment.”
“If I didn’t know your loyalty to me and your conscientiousness about your profession as well as I do, Kersten, I might suspect you were up to something.”
“Shall we proceed with the treatment?” Kersten asked, conveniently ignoring Himmler’s last remark.
Himmler had removed his shirt and lain down on the divan almost before Kersten had finished his sentence.
After about thirty minutes of massaging, Kersten tried to broach the subject of the release of the prisoners as casually as he could. “Perhaps you would like to reward me for this treatment, which I’m sure you appreciate, is over and beyond the call of duty.”
“Well, you certainly did have a correct intuition that I’d need you. What kind of reward do you have in mind?”
“The usual, Herr Reichsführer, the only reward for which I’ve ever asked—your quietly arranging the release of some more Jewish prisoners.”
“Who, and how many this time?” Himmler asked almost formulaically. He was accustomed to the routine, the script, of their post-treatment conversations.
“I’m thinking about...say, twenty thousand.”
Himmler burst into boisterous laughter that probably could be heard down the corridor.
“Oh, Kersten, if that is your thinking, then you are fantasizing.” Himmler’s whole body continued to shake from laughter. He had trouble getting the words out. “Do you wish to hand Göbbels more rope with which to have the Führer hang us? How could I possibly release that many prisoners and not be detected? Did you get too much sun at Hartzwalde that would cause you to lose your sense of judgment like this?”
That doesn’t sound to me like an outright refusal. Perhaps I can push the matter some more.
“I must admit that twenty thousand is an ambitious number. But say, just twenty percent of that number is doable, is it not, Sir?”
“Even that would be impossible.”
“Herr Reichsführer, allow me to be quite frank. You and I both know that the tide of the war has turned irreversibly. The Russian campaign was a disaster, as I suspect in your heart you agree. The Russians have now advanced to the outskirts of Warsaw. The landing of the allies on Normandy is a back-breaker. I know the Führer would not hear of it, but you’re a wise and practical man, Herr Himmler. You perceive, even if the Führer doesn’t yet, that the war is, for all intents and purposes, lost.”
“I hear the Americans are having trouble with the Russians,” Himmler chimed in without much conviction. “They’ll probably come to blows over some trivial thing and split up the alliance. Germany will suddenly have a second chance. Don’t you think?”
Kersten’s face looked very deliberately skeptical, like a teacher’s listening to a pupil’s lame excuse for not handing in his homework. He didn’t need to say, “Oh come on, Reichsführer. You know better than that.”
Himmler seemed to understand Kersten’s facial gesture. He remained silent. He looked straight ahead blankly at the wall behind Kersten. His face looked surprisingly resigned, Kersten thought. He didn’t make a sound of disagreement with Kersten’s analysis.
Kersten continued, “You need to begin contemplating your own future should the allies succeed. The Russians, especially, will want to get revenge for what they consider German atrocities during the war, especially at Leningrad and Stalingrad. You know how these things work, Herr Reichsführer. They will call it executing justice, but we both know it is a form of exacting revenge.”
Himmler began to look downright despondent. His head was bowed, his chin almost resting on his chest.
“Herr Reichsführer, you must begin to situate yourself in a more advantageous position in the eyes of the possible victors. They will not look kindly, to say the least, on the senior officer responsible for the construction and operation of the concentration camps.”
Kersten read Himmler’s face for his reaction. Himmler’s body language convinced Kersten that his talk was having the desired effect.
Now for the decisive blow, Felix.
“But Herr Reichsführer...” Here Kersten paused for maximum effect. “I rather think that they would look favorably on an enemy officer who took private measures to mitigate his involvement in the running of the camps.”
“What kind of ‘personal measure?’”
“A personal measure such as arranging for the merciful release of a symbolic cohort of prisoners. Would you not agree, Sir?”
Himmler raised his head. His face, paler and leaner than usual, gave the look of someone hungry, starved, for hope. “You really think they would?” His voice rose as he neared the end of the question and placed a noticeable emphasis on the word “would.” It made Kersten think that Himmler actually believed that there was a chance that what Kersten had speculated could possibly be true.
“If I were a betting man, I would wager that they would lean toward mercy on someone who engaged in such acts of mercy,” Kersten said reassuringly.
Himmler sat and pondered. “Oh, Kersten, you speak so wisely. It’s no wonder the Führer sought out the Finns as brothers-in-arms against the Bolsheviks. Since I am so indebted to you...I would consider two thousand. I believe we could pull it off since the Führer’s generals are distracted by setbacks left and right.”
“That would be prudent of you, Herr Himmler.”
“Kersten, even after all these months and years, it is still beyond my comprehension why you exert yourself so much on the Jews’ behalf. Surely you don’t think a single Jew will ever thank you. One day, you, too, will learn to know the Jews, what they’re really like, how they pose a fatal danger to Europe.”
Kersten was too delighted by his success to pay Himmler’s remark much heed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Gransee: August 12, 1944
Kersten came back to Hartzwalde rejuvenated and brimming over with satisfaction after he and Himmler negotiated the release to the Swiss of the two thousand concentration camp inmates. Brandt informed him that his boss had decided on the Theresienstadt camp in Czechoslovakia as the most likely source of the two thousand prisoners to be released to Switzerland. Kommandant Anton Burger had been a particularly soulless and despotic overseer of the camp. But he was also the one who owed favors to Himmler f
or the times the Reichsführer had graciously meted out only minimal punishment for his overzealousness in driving his inmates hard to an early death by physical labor. Himmler was now ready to have Burger return the favors. He dispatched Brandt to Theresienstadt to inform Burger personally of the unorthodox order to prepare two thousand inmates to be loaded onto trains, not to Auschwitz or Birkenau, but to Bern in neutral Switzerland instead. Burger had to swear not to report the action in any way, but to keep it between himself and Himmler.
Kersten had communicated the good news to Frau Escher on the secure telephone line at Hartzwalde. He also called Irmgaard in Stockholm to share his joy and to check on her and the boys’ adjustment to life in Sweden.
“Oh, life will be good here, in spite of the cold and long winters the locals have been warning me about,” she said, “but not until you get here…and stay here.”
She went on to tell him how the Swedish news had reported that Himmler had been ordered by an incensed Führer to begin rounding up anyone and everyone whom he had reason to suspect had even the slightest role to play in the nearly successful assassination plot on Hitler’s life at the Wolf’s Lair in East Prussia the previous month.
“Swedish radio says that thousands have already been apprehended, tried, and sentenced to prison or death,” she said almost breathlessly. “That’s just in three or so weeks. Do you think your enemies might try to implicate you in that plot somehow, Felix?”
Before waiting for Felix to respond, she continued at a frenzied rate, “Dear, I won’t relax until you come here from Germany. Hitler’s gone insane. I’m so afraid for you.”
Felix remained calm. He didn’t want to permit his wife’s anxiety to ruin the afterglow of the concession he had wrangled out of Himmler for two thousand Jewish lives.
“Himmler is surely not going to put me on the list of suspects. He can’t afford to lose me, remember.”
What he left unsaid to Irmgaard, however, was his awareness that there were others at the SS and Gestapo headquarters in Berlin who could conceivably use Hitler’s close brush with death as an opportunity to be rid for good of the questionable, mysterious Finnish masseur.
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