Bright Dart

by Suninfo

  ‘If we’re stopped, we’ll say that we are guests of Herr Lammers taking a stroll after lunch. We Germans are a regimented people; no civilian is going to question the right of a General and his aide to cross a piece of farmland.’

  Ashby folded the map away and stuffed it inside his jacket.

  ‘This is going to be a long shot,’ he said quietly, ‘but I believe we can pull it off as long as the weather holds good over East Prussia.

  It would be ironic if poor visibility forced Bormann to cancel his visit at the last minute, wouldn’t it?’

  He turned away from Gerhardt and without waiting for an answer, climbed the steps to the loft above.

  The dull brooding sky over Berlin matched Kaltenbrunner’s mood exactly. He arrived at his office in a state of nervous tension and began sifting through the correspondence lying on the desk, hoping to find among the pile of letters, signals and reports some item which would enable him to resolve his dilemma over Bormann one way or the other. Until now he had been content to let things drift, knowing that he had not committed himself to any definite course of action, but today, because of certain events which might happen in a small city with a population numbering less than a hundred and forty thousand, he had to arrive at a decision. If Bormann was liquidated, he could establish himself as the most powerful man in Germany, but if the plan miscarried then suicide might well be the only choice left open to him.

  A report from Amt VI, the foreign intelligence section of the SD, caught his eye and noticing that it referred to Baron Pierre Damon, he picked it up and read it eagerly. The text merely set out the itinerary for Damon’s visit to the Reich but underneath it, Schellenberg, the department head, had penned a note which was of interest. It said:

  ‘You may recall that on a number of occasions in the past, Damon, at the request of our Foreign Ministry, has had informal talks with representatives of the British Government in Switzerland. I understand that he has, as a result, enabled us to determine the attitude of the British towards a peaceful settlement of the war which, until now, has always been unfavourable. During the last week however, reports from Abwehr agents in Geneva suggest that Damon has frequently 161

  been in touch with officials of the British Consulate and this unusual activity could indicate a change of mind on the part of the British.’

  Kaltenbrunner looked at the itinerary again and suddenly the town of Hamm became very significant, for Damon was now within easy reach of Lammers. It was not quite the omen he’d been seeking but it did cast a more hopeful light on the situation and he began to unwind a little. He placed the report to one side and picked up a letter addressed ‘Personal for Obergruppenführer Ernst Kaltenbrunner, RSHA, Berlin’. The handwriting was unmistakably Kastner’s, and in pleasurable anticipation, he slit open the envelope with a paper-knife and extracted two sheets of foolscap.

  The statement which had been prepared at his insistence was unconvincing and only confirmed his opinion that Kastner had murdered Dollmann. Coupled with the chain of circumstantial evidence that Detective Emil Maurice had uncovered, there was every reason for allowing the criminal police to have jurisdiction over Kastner, but although tempted to adopt this course of action, he eventually decided to refer the matter to the legal department.

  Kastner was obviously a worried man and, at this moment in time, it was possibly more advantageous to leave him in charge of the security arrangements in Münster than to have him arrested and charged. There was also the comforting thought that no one could subsequently accuse him of having an ulterior motive if he acted on the advice of an independent team of lawyers.

  The decision taken, Kaltenbrunner pressed the buzzer on his desk to summon a secretary from the outer office.

  Five hundred and sixty kilometres to the east of Berlin the captain of the JU 52/3M completed his pre-flight check and taxied out on to the runway. Knowing that Martin Bormann had already left Rastenburg for the departure airfield, he was anxious to take off as soon as his passenger arrived. The latest forecast showed that visibility over Berlin was down to less than two thousand metres and decreasing, and he had been advised by air traffic control to use the alternative flight plan. Instead of overflying the capital, they would now be routed via Hamburg, and he calculated that despite the assistance of a strong tail wind, their estimated time of arrival at Loddenheide might have to be adjusted by as much as fifteen minutes. He checked the time and then scanning the perimeter road, was relieved to see a Mercedes moving towards them at speed. Bormann was arriving ahead of time and with any luck, and if he pushed the aircraft to its limit, it might not be necessary to amend their schedule after all.

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  Less than five minutes later the tri-motor Junkers roared down the runway and lifted off. The time was 1109 hours.

  The message intended for the ‘Choro’ Group which Station III had captured and decoded had followed a tortuous path before it reached Fraulein Erica Abetz. Referred to Prinz Albrechtstrasse by the headquarters of Signal Security on nearby Mattaikirchplatz, it had been seen and initialled by every section head in Amt VI.

  Only two people however had seen fit to make any comment. An unfamiliar hand scrawled, ‘Surely those stupid idiots in Moscow must know that the Rote Kapelle no longer exists?’ while underneath, in a flash of rare but laboured humour, Schellenberg had added, ‘Apparently not—should we tell them?’ and then, as if wishing not to appear too facetious, he’d written, ‘A crude attempt at psychological warfare?’

  Erica Abetz might be a plain, unattractive spinster of thirty-five but she was one of the few women on the staff of the Gestapo Headquarters able to deal with Kaltenbrunner when he was in a foul mood. This reputation was not entirely justified, because over the years she had developed a nose for impending trouble and was particularly adept at avoiding it. Although she did not appreciate the significance of the Moscow signal, Abetz realised that Kaltenbrunner would demand to know why it had been shuttled back and forth.

  She looked up and smiled at her assistant. ‘Irmgard,’ she said sweetly, ‘I have to deliver a highly confidential file to the legal department. While I’m away, you might take this signal into the Chief.’

  Kaltenbrunner did not fly into a rage; fear, not anger, drained the colour from his face. Schellenberg might dismiss the message as a piece of crude, black propaganda but he knew better. How the Russians were aware that there was a plot to kill Bormann and why they should broadcast this fact to a spy ring that no longer existed was something of a mystery. Faced with the need to act quickly if he was to protect himself, Kaltenbrunner was not inclined to question their motives too deeply.

  Looking up from the desk, he said, ‘Tell Fraulein Abetz that I want a top priority call to Rastenburg.’

  The girl hesitated and then reluctantly said, ‘She’s taken a file down to the legal department, Herr Obergruppenführer.’

  Somehow, because it was important that this girl should not become flustered, he managed to control his temper and a ghastly smile appeared on his face. ‘Then perhaps you would attend to it immediately?’ he said.

  As the first step towards self-preservation, he hoped to 163

  persuade Bormann to cancel his visit to Münster. But it was already too late for that. By the time he was connected with Rastenburg, the JU 52 had been airborne for twenty minutes and local air traffic control was unable to raise the aircraft. In a bid to have the plane diverted, Kaltenbrunner then spoke to the senior air operations officer on duty at the Air Ministry but, since Amt VI saw the warning as a piece of black propaganda, there was little he could say which did not sound incriminating. Of necessity, his reasons for wanting the aircraft recalled were vague, and although he tried to convey a sense of urgency, the duty officer appeared reluctant to take any action unless it was first cleared with Goering.

  Only one man could give him the proof he needed, and from 1147 hours onwards he made strenuous efforts to contact Kastner. At long last Kaltenbrunner had climbed down from the fence and
the tide was now on the turn and running against Force 272.

  They were preparing for battle now and there was an air of suppressed nervous excitement within the group. No one was in the mood for jokes and Ashby was not inclined to make one, for they were keyed up and anxious to get the job over and done with.

  They looked to him seeking reassurance and he knew that this would be his last opportunity to instil them with confidence and most certainly it was not the moment for posturing or for rhetoric.

  He turned to the map which, pinned to a piece of soft-board, was propped against the truck.

  In a clear, sharp voice, he said, ‘At 1415 hours Martin Bormann will enter the Rathaus on the Prinzipalmarkt to address a meeting of Party Gauleiters in the Hall of Peace. We know that the enemy will seal off the immediate area with road blocks positioned here at the St Lamberti Church and at the Klemensstrasse, Ludgeristrasse and Rothenburg road junctions. Sentries will also be posted inside the building and there will be a standing patrol in the Syndikatplatz behind the council chambers. No doubt they are satisfied with these security arrangements and since no unauthorised civilian will be allowed near the building, they have reason to be confident—as were the Trojans until the Greeks produced their wooden horse.’ He paused briefly and then said,

  ‘General Gerhardt is our Trojan horse.’

  He could see from the intent expression on all their faces that he had their undivided attention now and that they were his to shape and mould as he wished. Aware of this, he endeavoured to communicate a sublime confidence which would disperse every nagging doubt and fear.

  ‘Our strength lies in having a simple plan which, if boldly executed, will not fail. At 1415 hours an open Mercedes staff car will collect General Gerhardt and Scholl from the Gauleiter’s residence on the Wolbeck road. As the car passes the bottom of the lane leading to this farm, we shall move in and stay behind it all the way into the city. It’s important that no other vehicle should be allowed to get between us and the Mercedes because I’m counting on General Gerhardt to get us through the road block at the St Lamberti Church. When we stop outside the Rathaus, the General, accompanied by Scholl, myself, Stack, Quilter and Ottaway, will go inside, Frick will join the driver in the Mercedes and Cowper will stay behind the wheel of the Opel

  “Blitz”. Bormann will be escorted out of the building by the General and Scholl, who will be posing as his aide, and at that stage, because we have such a good cover story, he will not realise that he is under arrest. In fact, as far as outward appearances are concerned, Bormann will help to create the impression that we are acting under his orders.’ He pointed to Route 51 on the map and then said grimly, ‘I don’t think we’ll have any difficulty persuading the assembled Gauleiters to accompany us, and once they’re in the Opel, we shall move out on Route 51 until we reach this point eight kilometres to the north-east of the town where there is a track leading towards a large wood.

  Representatives of the German Resistance will be there to meet us and to take our prisoners into custody. Bormann, of course, will be dead long before then.’

  In a voice which scarcely rose above a whisper, Cowper said,

  ‘Supposing they don’t show up? What happens then?’

  ‘I’m afraid we shall have no alternative but to execute them.’

  ‘All of them?’

  ‘There are no rules in this game that I know of,’ Ashby said coldly. ‘Do you suppose that when the war is over we shall forgive and forget what they’ve done? It matters little whether it happens today, in six months’ time or in a year from now, because these men are dead already.’

  He waited to see if there were any other moral objections but the brief note of protest had withered away and he began then to brief each man in detail.

  Kastner was a man drained of all confidence and willpower. He ate, he slept, he spoke, he moved, his body functioned, but his brain was dull and he was no longer capable of making a decision.

  Unable to shape events, he merely responded to them like an automaton. He had known all along that Kaltenbrunner would never believe his statement and that it was only a question of

  time before he was arrested and tried for murder. As he sat there in the car speeding towards the Wehrkreiskommando in the Hindenburg Platz, he wondered why Kaltenbrunner had thought it necessary to summon him to the local army headquarters when it was so obviously a matter for the criminal police. It did not occur to him that the Wehrkreiskommando was the only establishment in Münster which possessed a secure telephone link. He was therefore even more surprised when he was met on arrival and shown into the office of Lieutenant-General Graf von Macher.

  The General’s handshake was firm but the smile on his face was a little strained. ‘We’ll have your call through to Berlin in just a few minutes, Oberführer,’ he said.

  ‘Do you know what’s happening?’ Kastner said in a tired voice.

  ‘I’m as much in the dark as you are but I believe it has something to do with the conference. Naturally you’ll wish to be alone when you speak with Obergruppenführer Kaltenbrunner’—

  he indicated the armchair behind the oak desk—‘please make yourself comfortable,’ he said. ‘I’ll wait in the adjoining office until you’ve finished.’

  The room was full of photographs and everywhere he looked there was von Macher staring at him with the same set expression on his face—Macher as a young officer cadet in 1914, as a lieutenant posing with his officers and men of his battery in the Flanders mud of 1917, with the General Staff at the end of the autumn manoeuvres in ’36, and in the dress uniform of a Major-General on the steps of the Madeleine in June 1940. The photographs showed a lion in uniform but in the presence of a Gestapo officer, von Macher had been as timid as a field-mouse.

  The irony lay in the fact that Kastner too was afraid and when the phone rang, he answered it with great reluctance.

  Kaltenbrunner said, ‘I wish to speak to Oberführer Kastner.’

  Kastner cleared his throat nervously. ‘I’m here,’ he said in a strained voice.

  ‘Good. We’ll go to secure speech now. Are you ready?’

  Kastner moved the button to scramble, waited for the green light to show on the box and then said, ‘I’m on secure now.’

  ‘I won’t waste any word with you …’

  ‘But if you just give me the chance I can explain everything.’

  ‘What the hell are you talking about?’ Kaltenbrunner said angrily. ‘This is a matter of supreme national importance. We’ve just received information that there is a plot to assassinate Bormann while he is addressing the meeting of Party Gauleiters.

  I’m trying to get his plane diverted, but if I’m too late, you are to ensure that he does not leave the airfield until you are personally 166

  satisfied that his safety can be guaranteed. I want Lammers arrested and interrogated forthwith and you have my authority to cancel the conference if you should think it necessary. Is that understood?’

  ‘Yes, perfectly. May I ask one question?’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘About my statement?’

  There was a longish pause and then Kaltenbrunner said, ‘The Dollmann case is closed as far as you are concerned.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘And Kastner …’

  ‘Yes, Herr Obergruppenführer?’

  ‘I want you to know that the Führer and I have complete confidence in you.’

  Kastner slowly replaced the phone. The reprieve was totally unexpected and almost beyond belief. His mind found it difficult to accept the fact that the danger had passed and he had nothing to fear.

  Von Macher said, ‘I’m not disturbing you, am I? I was told that you’d finished talking to Berlin.’ He drew closer, puzzled at the expression on Kastner’s face. ‘You look pale,’ he said, ‘is anything the matter?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Do you feel unwell?’

  Kastner shook his head. ‘No,’ he said vaguely, ‘I’m all right—
r />   it’s Bormann …’

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘Someone means to kill him this afternoon.’

  ‘Nonsense.’

  Kastner looked up sharply. ‘If that is your considered opinion, General,’ he said spitefully, ‘perhaps you’d like me to pass it on to the Führer? I’m sure he’d be very interested.’

  The colour drained from von Macher’s face. ‘I spoke in haste and without being in possession of all the facts.’

  ‘Quite so. In view of the situation, I would like to think that I may call on you for assistance should it prove necessary?’

  ‘Of course. I’ll confine the garrison to barracks and warn all units to be at fifteen minutes notice to move.’

  ‘I appreciate your co-operation,’ Kastner said drily, ‘and I’ll make a point of mentioning in my report how helpful you have been.’

  Ten minutes after Kastner had left the Wehrkreiskommando, von Macher telephoned Vietinghoff and in veiled speech warned him that the Gestapo was on the alert. Acting on this broad hint, Vietinghoff decided not to send the Mercedes staff car to the 167

  Gauleiter’s residence that afternoon. He was a man of straw and in placing too much reliance on him, Gerhardt had made his second error of judgment.

  The time was 1337 hours and Lammers had already left for the Rathaus.

  From the small window in the loft above the barn, Ashby watched Gerhardt and Scholl as they strolled unconcernedly across the fields in the direction of Wolbeck. He could not help thinking that Scholl was just the sort of good-looking aide that a vicious degenerate would choose. Most of the team had wondered why he had persevered with Scholl when common-sense told them that the boy should never have been selected in the first place, but now perhaps they understood his motives; no one else looked the part or could have played it with any conviction. He waited until they were out of sight beyond the distant hedgerow and then left.

  Jost had been drinking steadily since eleven that morning.

  Sprawled in a wooden armchair, a glass clutched in his hand, he stared at the half-empty bottle on the kitchen table with bloodshot eyes as if trying to remember where all the Schnapps had gone.