Eichmann was shaking. ‘You have learnt something of this matter from England?’
‘Where else would I have heard it? You didn’t think to tell me that papers had disappeared.’
‘Forgive me, if anything is missing, then I didn’t know.’
‘Then find out. I want to know exactly what they are.’
‘It will be done, Herr Gruppenführer. What else do you wish me to do? I will do everything in my power. Is there any way I can help in the hunt for Coburg?’
‘I don’t want you to do anything. If you are a religious man and if you care for your health, you might like to say a prayer or two that my agents in Stockholm flush him out, but that is all.’
‘May I ask, sir, how did Coburg get to Sweden?’
‘He went as the prince’s aide on Führer business. That is all you need to know.’
‘Then surely the prince must be involved.’
‘You may well be right. I am warming a bunk for him in Dachau even now.’
Müller was small and humourless, but every so often he affected a smile, because he had learnt that human beings sometimes did that. ‘You look scared, Eichmann, and you smell disgusting. Change your cologne, man. Are you going soft? Your reaction to the gas vans at Chelmno disturbed me.’
‘One learns to harden one’s soul. It was the first time . . .’
‘And the trenches in the forest at Minsk? You scuttled away like a rat.’
‘I was late – it was all just about over.’
‘What of our little outing to Treblinka? You didn’t avert your eyes that time?’
‘No.’
‘But Coburg? I saw him avert his eyes.’
‘He seemed OK. I didn’t doubt him . . . not then.’
‘This is difficult work, Eichmann. The Führer ordered the physical annihilation of the Jews not from malice, but because there was no alternative. Such decisions are never easy and only a great leader rises to the challenge. But our children will thank us one day, and their children, too, and they will raise statues and tributes in our honour. I said as much at Treblinka. No one is pretending that what we do is pleasant, but we must believe the whole world will be grateful to us when they are rid of this canker. This unpleasantness will be seen as a price worth paying for the Pax Germanica.’
Eichmann nodded. He understood all this, and as Sturmbannführer Höppner from the Central Resettlement Office in the Warthegau region had pointed out, it had to be more humane to give the Jews a quick death by gas than a slow one by starvation. Yet his body rebelled at the memory of what he had witnessed – the shooting of a baby in its mother’s arms at Minsk, the child’s brains spattered across his leather greatcoat. Eichmann’s left eye fluttered all the more, as if afflicted by a loosely wired nerve.
‘For the present, however,’ Müller continued. ‘It will not help our cause if word of what we are doing at Treblinka and Chelmno and Sobibor and Belzec were to reach the wider world. Perhaps the history books in 200 years’ time – but not now. That is why we are worried about your comrade Herr Coburg.’
‘He is not my com—’
Müller clasped him by his upper arms. ‘Ssh. Don’t follow that line. All you need to know is that we will do whatever is necessary to keep our great enterprise from the eyes of the world. You understand, don’t you, Eichmann?’
‘Of course.’
‘The world does not need to know what we do with our Jewish livestock.’ Suddenly Müller affected his learnt smile again. ‘Hey, don’t worry, my friend.’
‘But—’
‘No buts. I don’t want you to spend any more time on this than necessary. You have important work to do – trains to run, ghettos to fill, ghettos to empty, property to be sequestrated, infestations to be cleared and purified. All I need from you is the identity of the papers Coburg has taken. Do that for me now and you will be forgiven . . .’
He didn’t need to say what the alternative might be.
‘It is just possible . . .’ Eichmann began tentatively.
‘Ah, you see – I knew you would work it out.’
‘It is just possible . . . the notes from Wannsee.’
‘Ah yes, you took a full note of Reinhard’s January conference.’
‘I instructed Coburg to clean it up, to insert the usual euphemisms so that the minutes could be distributed among all those present as an aide-memoire for the roles they were to play in the . . . in the solution to the Jewish question.’
‘And did he do that well?’
‘Yes, Herr Müller. Coburg’s work was exemplary. Words such as killing, gassing, shooting were replaced by the usual terms – firm or stern treatment, for example – so that you and Herr Heydrich, God rest his soul, had few alterations to make to the final version of the protocol. I gave Coburg a bottle of Margaux from my own cellar as a reward.’
‘And the original notes?’
‘I told him to destroy them.’
‘Not file them?’
‘In this instance, no. Though in other circumstances that would have been the procedure.’
‘And you think he obeyed your order and destroyed them?’
‘I wish I knew, Herr Müller. But I fear it is possible that he didn’t. And now that I think of it, there is something else, too.’
‘Yes?’
‘In the bin by his desk a shredded map was found – torn up as if it was a first draft that he had discarded.’
‘And what did this map show?’
‘The railway lines in Poland and the camps, Herr Müller. Belzec, Chelmno, Sobibor, Treblinka . . .’
Chapter 24
Harriet Hartwell was in the kitchen wearing an apron, standing with her back to the range, on which a large pot seemed to be bubbling. In one hand she held a ladle, in the other a small pistol. As soon as she saw Wilde, the tension in her eyes eased and she slipped the gun into the apron pocket.
For a few moments he wondered whether he had really seen it, but no, his eyes were not deceiving him. ‘You’re armed.’
She shrugged. ‘Did you think I would have picked you up in Cambridge if I weren’t?’
‘It never occurred to me.’
‘That’s because you don’t know who you are dealing with.’
‘And the ladle? Is that a weapon, too?’
‘Dolby and I are old friends. I’m making his jam.’
‘Somehow I hadn’t imagined you in a domestic setting. Smells delicious. Strawberry?’
‘Very perceptive. You could be a secret agent, Mr Wilde.’ She stopped stirring the pot and raised a withering eyebrow. ‘I can’t just sit around doing nothing. Anyway, jam aside, I’m a great deal more interested in the condition of my aunt. What can you tell me?’
‘Not much, I’m afraid. All I know is that she was alive when I got her to St Thomas’ Hospital and they said she had suffered a heart attack. They couldn’t tell me any more than that.’
‘Perhaps we could telephone them.’
‘The phone might be bugged.’
‘Still, I need to know.’
‘Is there a telephone here?’
‘Astonishingly, yes, there is. Dolby is a modern man.’
Dolby was standing in the doorway. ‘I’m going to leave you two, if you don’t mind. It’s going to take me the best part of twenty minutes to walk back to Athelstans. I’m likely to be missed. Help yourself to as much tea and bread as you want. But if you use the phone, I’d be glad if you could leave me a shilling.’
‘Of course,’ Harriet said. ‘Thank you, Dolby. Thank you for everything.’
After Dolby had gone, Harriet removed the jam from the heat. On the table she had a dozen empty jars and she began to fill them from the pot. Wilde watched her work, fascinated at her precision and single-mindedness. When she had finished, and applied caps to each jar, she smiled at Wilde. ‘Now, professor, let’s make that telephone call – and then I will tell you everything, from start to finish.’
‘You have a good f
riend there in Dolby.’
‘He always looked after us, Peter and me. Made sure we weren’t disturbed.’
‘Does no one else know you are close to him? Might someone suspect that he is helping you?’
‘I don’t think so. Not unless you were followed.’
He shook his head.
‘Well, you pour the tea – the pot’s over there – and leave the hospital to me.’
He found two cups and some milk while she went through to the hall. He could hear her voice, but couldn’t quite make out the words. He heard the click of the handset and then she reappeared.
‘Well?’
‘She’s alive, thank God. They offered to call me back if they had any further news.’
‘You didn’t bite?’
‘Do I look stupid, Tom? No, I didn’t give them this number.’
‘Well, tea’s ready.’ He handed her one of the cups.
‘Now,’ she said, ‘I have a lot to tell you.’
*
Dolby’s little parlour was a strange room, a bachelor’s space with dull brown curtains tied back with string, bare wooden boards, a hearth strewn with ash and no ornaments save one photograph on the mantelpiece of a man from another rather more starch-collared age. Wilde assumed the man was Dolby’s father.
They sipped their tea in silence for a minute. Through the window, Wilde could see nothing but farmland and trees. If they had to hide, this was a good place.
‘Well,’ Harriet said at last, ‘you seem to have already worked out that I am not a run-of-the-mill secretary. And yes, I was on a mission to Stockholm with His Royal Highness the Duke of Kent – Georgie.’
‘Can you tell me any more than that?’
‘He was meeting his cousin, Prince Philipp von Hessen. It was of course a mission of the utmost secrecy. The words “top secret” don’t come close to doing it justice.’
That was the name Templeman had mentioned. It was beginning to come back to him.
‘Have you heard of him?’
‘Vaguely,’ he said. ‘I’m afraid these German aristocrats mean nothing to me.’
‘Well, this one is a big cheese Nazi. A very close friend of Hitler and Göring. Also quite close to Mussolini and the Italian mob. He works as a liaison between Berlin and Rome. On top of that, he also happens to be a very good friend of our own royal family.’
Of course, the duke had been talking peace with him. The whole drugged evening was coming back to him. God, what had he given away? Her car – he had told them about her car, including its number plate.
Harriet continued. ‘The duke’s mission was simply to find out how desperate Hitler was to do a deal. Get an idea of the morale in the Nazi HQ. But there was always the worry that Georgie – the Duke – wouldn’t stick to the script.’
‘Is that what happened?’
‘I really don’t know. I was with him at the first, formal meeting because I not only have a very good shorthand note but I also have a quite remarkable memory. Perfect, when I set my mind to it, like an actor learning lines. In school plays I could learn a large role in a fraction of the time it would take anyone else. In this case I took a full note in my head and then transcribed it on to paper at the end of the meeting. There was only one copy made, and I gave that personally to Georgie. So the only people who know what was said were the Duke, myself, Prince Philipp – and his own aide. That should have been the end of it, but then Georgie strayed from the script and agreed to meet his cousin later in the day, man to man, no aides. I don’t know what was said, and now that Georgie is dead we may never know. But as far as I’m concerned that’s all a side issue. Something far more important happened in Stockholm.’
‘You went missing.’
She looked shocked. ‘Who told you that?’
‘Philip Eaton. Perhaps you know him?’
‘Of course I know him. When did he tell you this?’
‘Last night. He wanted to know your whereabouts.’
‘I damn well bet he did. Why were you talking with him? I thought I could trust you.’
‘Lord Templeman was there, too.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘You know him, don’t you? From the Dada Club.’ They had been together in the newspaper photograph.
‘Of course I know Dagger.’
‘They had me abducted and questioned me.’
She looked alarmed. ‘What did you tell them?’
‘I’m pretty sure I was doped, but it’s starting to come back to me – and I have a horrible feeling I gave them details of your car. I’m sorry. Apart from that, there wasn’t a great deal I could actually reveal because I didn’t know where you were or what you were up to. But I’m sure it’s you they are after.’
‘I don’t believe it. Dagger’s not an Athel . . .’
‘Well, he’s trying to find you.’
‘We’ll have to ditch the car. But how do you know they didn’t follow you to Clade?’
‘Visibility was clear. Very little traffic – I’d have seen anything pursuing me.’ He said the words, but now he wasn’t certain.
‘I think we need to get out of here.’
*
Wilde had just kicked the Rudge into life when he spotted the black car at the end of the track. It hadn’t been there when he arrived with Dolby. He turned to Harriet, who was about to get on the pillion. The black car started to move; someone was hanging out of the passenger side window.
‘See that? Is there another way out of here?’
They heard a crack-crack. Two puffs of debris flew from the brickwork at the side of the house, six feet from the bike.
‘There’s a track through the woods. It’ll be rough, but no car will be able to follow us.’
‘Where does it lead?’
She hit him with her fist. ‘Just go!’
Wilde turned the bike, the rear wheel spinning away in the dusty path. He looked back and saw that the black car was accelerating up the track towards them, and he saw the pistol in the passenger’s hand. As he twisted the throttle, he heard another crack-crack, two wisps of smoke leaping from the man’s pistol. The Rudge was digging up dirt in the pathway as he accelerated towards the woods behind Dolby’s house.
The track Harriet had picked was no track at all. He rode on instinct, ducking below overhanging branches, swerving past windfall logs, stopping at impassable undergrowth and re-tracing their path until he came to another way, driving deeper and deeper into the woods. He stopped and turned to her. ‘I think we’re lost,’ he said.
‘We’re fine,’ she said.
‘So long as we’re not circling back.’
‘I thought men were supposed to have a good sense of direction.’
‘You’re very amusing, Miss Hartwell.’
‘Well, now you know I am also armed, so don’t forget it.’
Wilde carried on, taking half-path after half-path. They came to an edge of the wood. From the sun, he reckoned they had made their way south and west of Dolby’s house, perhaps a mile and a half. There was no road; they were in farmland, at the corner of a field lying fallow. In the distance they saw a farmhouse and outbuildings.
‘I think we should wait here until dark, then make our way to London,’ Wilde said. ‘We’ll find a road beyond those buildings.’
He leant the Rudge against a tree and they settled down on the perimeter of the field, just inside the trees.
‘You were telling me about Stockholm, Miss Hartwell.’
‘Oh, for God’s sake, my name’s bloody Harriet. And by the way, was that your wife I spoke to last night? Does she trust you?’
‘I thought we were talking about Stockholm.’
‘Well?’
‘Yes, she does, I think. I hope so anyway.’
‘More fool her. I’ve seen the way you look at me – the same way all men look at me.’
Wilde shook his head. ‘Can we get back to the subject of Stockholm now? How did it come about – the meeting between the two princes
?’
‘By way of a middleman, name of Axel Anton. Have you heard of him?’
‘No. Who is he?’
‘I’m pretty sure he’s Swedish. Certainly Scandinavian. He’s elusive. Usually he contacts us when he has something to offer. Getting in touch with him at other times is more difficult.’
‘That doesn’t really explain his role.’
‘You’ve very demanding, Tom. OK, let’s put it this way – I suppose you’d call him a fixer or a go-between, used by everyone, trusted by no one. He’s in it for the money, but he has astonishing contacts. He can get a message from Whitehall to Berlin or vice versa without involving neutral embassies.’
‘Why would you want to get messages to Berlin?’
‘Well, on a day-to-day basis, we want to warn them to play nice. Let them know that whatever unpleasantness they choose to visit on our citizens or PoWs will be repaid in kind. That if they drop gas on our cities, we will drop gas on theirs. It’s the reason no phosgene bombs have fallen on London. They just need a friendly reminder now and then of what awaits them if they don’t observe the rules of the game.’
‘So Axel Anton fixed up the Stockholm meeting – but at whose behest?’
‘The Nazis. Churchill would never have allowed us to approach them. As far as he was concerned, this was nothing but a fact-finding mission.’
‘Was Axel Anton there?’
‘Yes, he was at Drottningholm – that’s the King of Sweden’s summer palace – but not at the actual talks. Anyway, forget about him for the moment. I was about to tell you why I went missing. There’s the other man I mentioned – Rudi Coburg. I was about to tell you about him in Mimi’s house when we were rudely interrupted by someone hammering down the door.’
‘Go on.’
‘Rudi was Prince Philipp’s aide – my opposite number in the initial meeting.’
‘And?’
‘We knew each other from way back. For one year in the mid-thirties, he was a pupil at Athelstans – which is how I became acquainted with him. He was a chum of Peter Cazerove’s.’
‘Very convenient.’
She glared at him. ‘Don’t take that tone, Tom.’
‘Forgive me – it’s just that I’m not very keen on coincidences. It’s my job as a historian.’
A Prince and a Spy Page 19