Hoffman suddenly remembered Dr Unverzagt. He reached into his tunic pocket, and pulled out the crumpled piece of paper the man had given him. He smoothed it out and held it up, showing the reverse swastika. ‘You mean like this?’
Himmler nodded. ‘Dr Unverzagt was one of the select few. I knew that Wewelsburg would be stripped bare by the Allies when they captured the castle, so I had the palladion removed to a secret location deep inside a salt mine in Poland. Then, with the advance of the Russians, it was taken to the bunker in the forest in Upper Saxony where the disease weapon had been perfected. The bacterium was kept there, and the virus in the secret storeroom below us now in the Zoo tower. Both could only be accessed using the palladion as a key. Twelve days ago, I persuaded Hitler to issue the command to destroy the infrastructure of Germany. My followers were ready, and the Agamemnon Code was activated. The palladion was brought to me. Most of my followers are now dead, those who believed I was merely a devoted acolyte of Adolf, those who were deluded into thinking that releasing the Wunderwaffe was to be a final act of loyalty to Hitler. They served their purpose, as obediently and loyally as I had apparently served Adolf. Their elimination was also part of my plan. Only a select few survived, those who knew my true intentions and were loyal to me and my cause above all else. Unverzagt was the penultimate link in the chain. Now it passes to you.’
Hoffman stared at the package. Was his own elimination part of that plan, too? ‘If I am the last link, why am I only finding out about this now?’
Himmler leaned back. ‘It was essential that this plan appeared to most of my followers to be about loyalty to Hitler. That way I could attract the most fanatical Nazis, the most ruthless. It was a plan to enact once Hitler was dead. It would seem to Hitler’s followers like Gotterdammerung, the final act of loyalty to the Third Reich. With impending annihilation, their loyalty could easily be switched to self-destruction. They believed that my intention was to release the disease weapon and inflict as much horror as possible on the world that had betrayed Hitler, and then to join Adolf in some kind of Valhalla with all the Aryan heroes and gods of the past.’
Hoffman stared at Himmler, barely able to believe what he had been hearing, the full truth of it only now hitting him. Himmler had always seemed so obsequious to Hitler, idolizing him. If he was telling the truth now, if this was not just some insane pipe dream, then it had all been a sham, all those years when Himmler had seemed like the bulwark of the Third Reich, the man whose administrative efficiency made up for the incompetence of Hitler and the others of his inner circle. Hoffman cleared his throat. ‘But for you the wonder-weapon has another purpose?’
Himmler stared at him. ‘The victors in this war, the English, the Americans, the Russians, those who delude themselves that they are the world powers to come, have their own Wunderwaffe, the atomic bomb. We know the Americans already have it, and I ensured that the key developments of our own atomic research programme at the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute were left there to be captured by the Russians. This means that the Americans and the Russians will be trapped in a stalemate. Neither side will be able to use the weapon against the other, knowing that to launch it would provoke a response that would destroy the aggressor as well. But my new weapon is different. When I reveal it to the Americans and the Russians, they will know that I am prepared to use it. They have discovered the death factories. They know that if I can do that to the Jews, then I am capable of anything. The Final Solution was not just about crackpot racial theory. That was a cover for me too. And the threat of destruction will be entirely one-sided. I will be safe, and they won’t know where to hit back. I can hold the world to ransom. We will be safe. In our new Atlantis.’
Hoffman’s throat was dry. How much of this was he to believe? Was it all a huge delusion, another Nazi fantasy of salvation? His mind raced back over the last few days, searching for anything that might corroborate Himmler’s story. He remembered the orders he had received to report to the Zoo flak tower, issued from Gestapo headquarters. That had been unusual, but nobody disobeyed orders from the Gestapo, with instant executions going on all round. Hoffman had been desperate to escape from the Chancellery and the Fuhrerbunker and had welcomed the orders without a second’s hesitation. It had never occurred to him that the order might have come from Himmler himself, since by then Himmler had been excommunicated and was on the run, possibly dead. But it made sense. If the Gestapo and the SS knew that Himmler was still alive after Hitler’s death, their first loyalty would be to him, and they would obey any instruction he gave them. Himmler had created a nexus of power that had bound the strongest and most fanatical Nazis to him, knowing that that was what would matter in these final days. He had seen the fall of Berlin coming, and had planned for it. Hoffman had a sudden flashback to the Wagner concert a few days before. Behind all of Himmler’s symbolism, all the mythology, the heroic illusion that Wagner so embodied for the Nazis, there was a malign purpose. Himmler had been playing them all along. He had been orchestrating this since before the war.
Hoffman thought hard. Himmler had set up the Ahnenerbe more than ten years before, when he had begun to create the fantasy SS order-castle at Wewelsburg. Hoffman was beginning to think the unthinkable. He remembered all the hats Himmler wore, his tentacles in every limb of the Nazi state, his fingerprint on all the worst crimes: a man who had the ear of Hitler, who could feed the delusions, who could stoke up Hitler’s insane interventions in all aspects of the war, dooming the Reich to collapse and orchestrating the slide into defeat. He recalled what he had seen that day from his aircraft over Poland, the death camp at Auschwitz. Was this what that had really been all about? Had the most vile crime against humanity been part of the scheme of one man to usurp Nazi power, to elevate himself to the status of a god? All the death and suffering. The mass of humanity extinguished by this monstrosity seemed incomprehensible in its scale. He could only think of the children in the Fuhrerbunker, of the boy in the outsized helmet on the rooftop, his ears bleeding, doomed forever to hear the guns of this place. Who had been the true Fuhrer? Had they really all been dancing to Himmler’s tune?
He looked into the cold eyes opposite. Were they the eyes of a madman? Or were they the eyes of a ruthlessly calculating gangster, a megalomaniac whose time had come?
‘Do you have a torch?’ Himmler demanded.
Hoffman snapped back to the present. He had to keep focused. He patted his tunic pocket, and nodded. ‘Essential in the tower when the generator fails.’
‘Listen well. From here you will go to the entrance of the ammunition elevator. My two Waffen-SS guards will accompany you. You will take the spiral staircase down to the magazine. From there, follow the tunnel to the underground water reservoir, then the walkway round to the far wall. You will see a swastika symbol impressed into the wall, every metre. A reverse swastika.’ He put his hand on the swaddled object in front of him. ‘Go to the fifteenth swastika to the left from the entrance. You will use the palladion to open the door behind it, keeping the iron side of the palladion inwards. The door lock is magnetic and will spring open. Go down the shaft, and follow the tunnel that leads under the reservoir. There you will see another door with the same symbol. Use the key again. Inside you will find a lead box, and inside that a metal cylinder like a cigar case that contains a phial. Do not unscrew the cylinder. Seal it in your tunic pocket. You are with me?’
‘ Mein Fuhrer.’
‘If you lose count and try any other than the fifteenth symbol, the chamber will self-destruct. The Zoo tower will collapse inwards. A hundred thousand tons of concrete will fall on you. Do you understand?’
‘Completely.’
‘Go back up the shaft to the walkway around the reservoir. The guards will have been waiting for you there, and they will leave you and return to tell me of your success. Count four doors to the right from the shaft, and you will find another door with the swastika, leading to your escape tunnel. On opening that door with the palladion, you will have thirty seco
nds to close it behind you. Explosive charges around the reservoir will detonate, flooding the chamber beneath it and sealing off all the entrances. You understand?’
Hoffman nodded, his face set grimly. It seemed another absurd farce, symbols and secret passageways like Wewelsburg Castle, but he had no choice. His family’s salvation was at the end of that escape tunnel. Himmler eyed him closely, his face set in the quizzical smile, then continued: ‘We planned for this contingency – for an enemy onslaught – when the complex beneath the Zoo tower was built, and it is essential now that we activate the self-destruct charges, because the Russians are using the city sewer system to come up behind our lines. But my engineers also secretly laid massive charges below the foundations that will destroy the Zoo tower entirely. That is the job of the two generals behind you. Their families are here in the tower. I arranged that, so they could be reunited. Now their task is to destroy the tower before the Russians move in, to erase all evidence of what went on beneath the reservoir. They too are now SS knights. Herren SS-Obergruppenfuhrer?’
‘ Mein Fuhrer.’ The two men spoke in ragged unison, gruffly, and Hoffman heard their heels click. He felt a cold trickle of sweat down his back. Destroy the tower. Thirty thousand civilians were cowering inside. It was not the Russians the people of Berlin should have feared the most, but their own leaders. He saw images of the circus again, the insane spectacle he had been forced to attend after the Wagner concert, flashing and swirling before his eyes, confusing him. He was dizzy, reeling. He must try to stay in control, for the sake of his family, if they were truly still alive. There was still a chance.
Himmler looked at him. ‘The tunnel from the reservoir exits beneath Gestapo headquarters on Prinz-Albrechtstrasse. Use the palladion again as a key to get out. Close the door, and thirty seconds after that the tunnel will self-destruct.’ Himmler glanced at his watch. ‘Waiting outside the tunnel precisely thirty-five minutes from now will be two Gestapo officers who will be your security guards. The Gestapo headquarters building is defended by remnants of the SS-Charlemagne and SS-Nordland divisions, who will fight to the death. You understand me?’
‘Completely.’
‘You will arrive there after dark. There is an improvised landing strip on the street, kept clear by the Waffen-SS. A Fieseler Storch aircraft is waiting under cover. You can still fly, Herr SS-Brigadefuhrer?’
‘Naturally.’
‘Of course you can.’ Himmler cracked the crooked smile again. ‘That is why I chose you for this mission. You are one of our best pilots. Do you remember coming to me when you were a boy, wanting to fly for the Ahnenerbe? I was most impressed. Most impressed. You were the perfect age, the perfect material. And who do you think arranged for you to be posted six months ago to Berlin, to be feted, to be part of the inner circle where I could deploy you to this tower when the time was right? You were a hero of the Reich, a man with the perfect credentials, the perfect wife and family. Do you remember that it was I who introduced you to Heidi? I have looked after you in every way. I needed you here once I knew the end was near.’
Hoffman swallowed hard. It was true. He had been played all along . And maybe Himmler had been right. Hoffman had been a fearless pilot, but maybe he had been too compliant. His passion for flying had clouded his ability to question the purpose of the war. Perhaps that was what Himmler saw in him, and nurtured. And his beautiful blonde wife, had that been arranged too? He banished the thought from his mind. He forced himself to smile, shaking his head as if in dawning realization, in wonder at Himmler’s scheme. ‘ Mein Fuhrer. It is a great honour.’
Himmler waved his hand dismissively. ‘The Storch has fuel and maps to get you to Plon by the Baltic Sea. You will fly low out of Berlin, down the streets. The Soviet gunners will be taken by surprise, as they believe the Luftwaffe is finished. You are an expert night navigator. Do you remember when you were ordered from your squadron to attend night navigation school? Odd for a Stuka pilot, didn’t you think? After landing at Plon, you will be taken to see your family for half an hour, and then to a secret U-boat base. When the enemy finds out that Heinrich Himmler and his most loyal officers have escaped, they will think we intend to carry on some pretence of Adolf ’s thousand-year Reich.’ He curled his lip contemptuously. ‘The thousand-year Reich? It was always going to be a mess with Adolf in charge. I knew him twenty-five years ago when he was an obscure agitator. I created him. Good at rabble-rousing, but not much else. Perfect for my purposes.’
Hoffman had a terrible realization. What was going on now, the fall of Berlin, the horror in the Zoo tower, all of this was part of the theatre, too. The Nazi machinery had not been brought to its knees through incompetence and madness. It had been part of a plan. He stared at Himmler. ‘Where shall I go?’
‘You will keep the cylinder with the phial and the palladion with you. When the U-boat arrives at its secret destination, you will be shown your quarters. There will be a reverse swastika in the wall. Use the palladion again. Put the cylinder inside, and close the door. Your task will be complete. Then your family will be sent for from Germany and will come to you themselves by submarine. There is too much risk to put them in a U-boat now, with you. The sea lanes are still under enemy attack, and your wife and child will be safer where they are until the time is right. I have little Hans’ best interests at heart.’
A cold shiver went through Hoffman. ‘And you?’
‘Once the two Waffen-SS guards have returned to me here from escorting you below, I will leave by the tunnel to the L-Tower and then make my way across the Elbe at night. I must visit Grand-Admiral Donitz. Hitler was persuaded in my absence to appoint Donitz his successor. That was not in my plan. It is intolerable. Intolerable. Donitz must be removed. Then I must go in disguise to the bunker near Bremen where something remains that I must retrieve, something my SS follower who was dispatched there two weeks ago has failed to deliver to me. After that I will return to Plon. Once there is a radio signal to show that you have arrived, I will leave to follow you out in the last U-boat. I will personally accompany Heidi and Hans. Personally. That is my assurance. Do you understand?’
Hoffman clicked his heels. ‘ Mein Fuhrer.’ It seemed a fantasy plan. If Himmler attempted to go in his absurd disguise to Upper Saxony, he would be behind enemy lines and would be captured. As for his family, Hoffman thought he understood all too well. This much he had learned over the last months in the Chancellery and the Fuhrerbunker, in the heart of the Nazi empire: the web of lies, of deceit and counter-deceit, a world where nobody was trusted. It was the price for extinguishing morality. How could you trust your minions to be loyal, when you had taken away their ability to judge right from wrong? Hoffman knew exactly how he was being played: the guards had taken away his Luger, and would now accompany him down to the water reservoir to the point of no return. He was to follow a one-way tunnel, with Gestapo waiting for him at the other end. Then his family . Protected, or held hostage? He remembered the two generals standing behind him, both wearing the field-grey uniforms of the Wehrmacht. They were as much SS as he was, newly created fantasy warriors. Their families had been brought to this dungeon not out of any act of charity, but to provide the same leverage. They had no choice but to follow Himmler’s instructions. Their only reward would be the chance to create their own end, but that would be enough to keep them compliant. Everyone knew what the Russians did to the families of senior officers.
There was a huge screech outside the door, the sound of a Russian rocket that must have impacted on the gun platform above. All Hoffman could do now was think of his family. Carrying out Himmler’s plan was the only chance he had to see them again. He took a deep breath of the putrid air, and turned to go. A sudden banging rattled the door, and it swung open. A boy’s voice rose above the noise, shrill and panic-stricken. ‘ Herr Oberstleutnant! Alarm! Alarm! Der Iwan kommt! Der Russ kommt! ’ The boy with the lederhosen stood between the two SS men, panting, his face smudged with cordite and his clothing dishevelled.
For a moment everything seemed paralysed, as if time had stopped. The Russians were coming. The boy looked at Hoffman, then wrenched off his outsized helmet, tossed it down and ran back towards the mass of people on the stairway, disappearing from view.
‘Go!’ the voice behind him ordered. ‘I will leave by the other tunnel. Schnell! ’ Himmler thrust the swaddled package into the satchel, and Hoffman slung it over his shoulder. It was incredibly heavy. Gold and meteoritic iron. He tried to remember what he had been told, how he was to use it. As he passed the two generals, he caught the eye of the one nearest to him. They were locked into Himmler’s plan as much as he was. The general’s eyes were grey, devoid of hope, the eyes of a man who knew his last act would be to kill his own family to save them from the Soviets. But Hoffman hoped he saw something else, a humanity, something that Himmler would not even be able to recognise. When it came to it, when the two officers sat with pistols to their heads in front of the detonator switch, they might not do it. The people in the tower might be spared. The little boy might not die.
He reached the door. The rooftop entrance to the gun platform above the spiral staircase had been left open, and he felt the pressure waves of explosions pulsing down the stairwell. The Katyusha rockets were flying directly overhead now, shrieking like Valkyries. This was real-life Gotterdammerung, the battle at the end of the world. Only it was not a battle fought between gods, and no heavenly hall awaited the heroes. The new breed of gods who had created this horror were dead or cowering in underground places, or planning new schemes of apotheosis like the monster in this room with him now.
The Gods of Atlantis jh-6 Page 28