The Reich Device (10 page)

Heinkel stepped out of the elevator onto the tenth floor of the Rockefeller Centre, and walked smartly across the plush carpet to the reception desk. The smell of the new carpets and fresh paint assaulted his nostrils.

‘Mr Oliver Heinkel for Mr Rockefeller.’ Heinkel handed his business card to the receptionist at Standard Oil.

‘Please take a seat sir, Mr Rockefeller is a little behind schedule, it will be a few minutes before he can meet you.’ The receptionist smiled.

Heinkel gave a sharp nod, and took to one of the leather armchairs in the reception. Irritated, he started to tap his fingers on the arm of the chair; and then immediately stopped. It would not do to let his composure slip, even in the company of allies. He went over his strategy. If he played it right, he could walk away with some substantial investment for the Reich; and all legitimate, at least on the surface.

The receptionist suddenly interrupted his train of thought. ‘Mr Rockefeller will see you now.’ She ushered Heinkel into the office.

The room was elegantly furnished in the art deco style. Rockefeller sat behind a large, teak desk that had ornately carved legs, and was covered in gold leaf. In front of the desk sat two high backed chairs that were similarly carved. Rockefeller was in his late nineties, and while his body was frail, relatively speaking, he was in good shape for someone who was nearly a hundred years old. Despite his great age, his mind remained as sharp as a razor. He gestured for Heinkel to take a chair in front of the desk.

‘Ah, Mr Heinkel, it’s nice to see you again. How is my little science project going in Germany, all good I hope?’

‘The research and development has progressed very well. We are most grateful to the Rockefeller Foundation for supporting our scientific research.’ Heinkel gave a cautious smile.

‘Good, good, tell me more. What have you made of your scientific endeavours?’ Rockefeller showed genuine interest.

‘Your generous and substantial funding has enabled us to bring together some of the greatest scientific minds in Germany. Our physicists are working on a new type of engine and propulsion system that may revolutionise transport. The potential for faster travel around the globe will have obvious benefits to industries, such as yours. The German government is also grateful for your support.’

As far as the Rockefeller Foundation was concerned, this was just a pure physics and engineering project to make high-performance engines. The military application of rocket technology was of no interest to the American sponsor. Heinkel could see no point in bothering his benefactor with this detail.

‘I am pleased this project has put German science on the international stage. It is vitally important for every country to take pride in its scientific works, and the technical skills of its people. The German people, in particular, achieve through hard work. This is something my father taught me at an early age, and I have remembered that lesson throughout my life. I got where I am today through hard work, not by luck. Science and technology in Germany can achieve the same great heights, and you have a strong leader to help you. Herr Hitler shows you the way by his good example. Germany has gone from strength to strength in the last decade, grasping new technology, and now has the potential to lead the world into a new age,’ Rockefeller lectured. He was preaching to the converted.

‘I too share this ambition for German science and technology, and this is why your generous funding is so important to us. We are on the cusp of a great new technology.’ Heinkel talked up the idea.

‘Actually, Mr Heinkel, to increase my collaborations with German industry I’ve just signed an agreed on behalf of one of my oil companies – Exxon – with two of your country’s leading chemical corporations; BASF and I. G. Farben.’

‘This is excellent news indeed, and I am sure the Reich Ministry will do all it can to smooth trade between these companies.’ Heinkel gave a polite smile.

‘Yes, and in return, perhaps the Ministry can renew our contract with your aviation industry?’

Standard Oil had struck lucky in the Middle East at Bahrain and was directly supplying Hitler’s Luftwaffe air force with aviation fuel.

‘Yes, I would be delighted to make this suggestion to the Reich Ministry,’ Heinkel smiled, giving another polite but cautious answer.

Rockefeller was deeply involved with Germany’s affairs. He had established the Schroder Investment Bank. The board of directors included senior members of the Nazi Party, Rockefeller, and German financiers who were close to Hitler. This included the German industrialist Fritz Thyssen, arguably the biggest financer of the Nazi Party, and a man on personal terms with the Führer. The list of connections went on. Rockefeller was a Nazi supporter and, by default, so were many American institutions controlled by the Rockefeller Empire.

‘My dear Mr Heinkel, the Foundation is pleased to fund your research for another two years with a further five million dollars. I hope this will speed progress.’ Rockefeller leant back in his chair with a satisfied grin.

‘We are of course delighted with this news, sir! We will make swift progress indeed, and the Rockefeller Foundation can share the glory of this new technology!’

‘Good, good… ’ Rockefeller smiled, but then he changed his tone to a more hushed and personal voice. ‘… but there is something of a personal nature that you might do for me… ’

‘Anything, anything at all, I am at your service.’ Heinkel leaned forward to get closer.

‘It is a small favour; a little bit of trade union trouble you understand. The American work ethic has been infiltrated by communists and layabouts. You can imagine that trade unions cost me a great deal of money. It is time the unions changed, and took on the German work ethic. I believe you have some colleagues, German-Americans, who might take a greater interest in the affairs of our unions… ’ Rockefeller looked Heinkel directly in the eye.

‘Of course, I am pleased to help with this personal matter. There are many Germans working overseas, and my office in Berlin takes a special interest in their welfare.’ Heinkel was happy to comply with the request; after all, he’d just been given five million dollars.

He smiled inwardly. Much of the union trouble that Rockefeller was experiencing was in part due to the activities of the German-American Bunde; a network of activists that enjoyed the full support of the SS and other parts of the Wehrmacht. It was just unfortunate that the Rockefeller Empire was affected. The German-American Bunde occupied positions in government departments, the road and rail networks, in industry, as well as commerce. Heinkel was amused. Using this network he could shut Rockefeller down in an instant; but for now the old goat was useful.

‘There is one more thing… give my regards to Herr Himmler,’ Rockefeller smiled.

‘Of course, I would be delighted.’

Heinrich Himmler was the Minister for the Interior in Germany, with legitimate ties to Rockefeller through the Schroder bank. Germany was in a growth phase, and fleecing rich Americans was all part of the plan.

The meeting was evidently over. Heinkel stood and extended his hand. ‘You will have my every assistance on these matters.’

‘Thank you Mr Heinkel, tell Minister Himmler that I personally appreciate his help.’

Heinkel headed for the door. He would enjoy reporting to his commander. After all, Herr Himmler was also the head of the Gestapo and could arrange any number of arrests.

Danny Nash stood on the street outside the Admiralty building, staring at the ornate facade and whitewashed mock Grecian pillars. He mumbled under his breath.

‘Jesus… what the hell am I doing?’

He leapt up the steps two at a time and suddenly found himself in the lobby, breathing rapidly, sweat welled up on his palms. A wave of heat flushed from his pounding chest. He unfastened the buttons on his grey coat, and momentarily flapped the heavy fabric to get some cool air circulating against his skin.

He caught his own reflection in the shimmering glass facade: not great. The grubby marks on his regulation khaki shirt stuck out a mile. He grinned like an idiot and shoved his left hand deep inside the pocket of his grey coat, pulling out an old metal comb. He quickly slicked back the edges of his dark hair.

‘Okay, here goes nothing… ’

He walked straight for the closed double doors that marked the entrance to the Admiralty office. His boots echoed on the marble floor. He grasped the door handle, taking a deep breath of the bees wax polish on the pristine ash panels, and then stepped inside.

There she was.

Emily sat busily tapping away on the typewriter. Her golden brown hair was tied back, but a few stray locks had escaped to frame her perfect complexion. Nash soaked up her slim, elegant features. The white blouse and business suit concealed an athletic, but feminine physique.

Nash walked quietly up to the desk and waited. The delicate fragrance of lavender filled his senses.

‘I will not keep you a moment, sir.’ Emily, head down, kept typing. The letter for Mr Churchill was urgent.

Nash smiled as he took in the view of her cleavage for a second, then stopped himself.

‘How are you Emily?’

The clatter of typewriter fell silent. Emily looked up.

Nash dropped the smile, and searched the blank expression on her face.

He spoke quietly. ‘So, how are you?’

Her eyes filled with tears.

‘Emily?’

She stood up abruptly, pushing back her office chair. It coasted gently back on its rollers, sinking into the lush carpet.

Silence filled the room.

Heart pounding, Nash moved slowly around the desk.

‘Emily, I… ’

‘Where have you been? I thought… I thought… ’

‘I am alright. I… ’

‘Father said you were on another mission.’

‘Yes.’ Nash shrugged.

‘You just vanished without saying goodbye.’

‘I am sorry, it just happened that way. You know how it is. King and country and all that.’

Nash stiffened against the crushing lump forming in his gullet.

‘Danny, I thought you were lost.’

‘I was in a manner of speaking, but I am back now.’

‘Oh, Danny!’

She flung her arms around his neck.

Nash hesitated. Lifting his arms robotically, he found the curve of her waist and pulled her in. He closed his eyes, and soaked up the moment.

She was the only one who could take the pain away.

K
essler sat at his desk, making involuntary adjustments to his tunic. He cleared his throat before picking up the receiver.

‘Admiral Dönitz, this is Kessler, how may I be of service?’

‘You received my telegram I trust, and have located Professor Mayer?’ The Admiral’s voice crackled down the long-distance phone line.

‘Yes, Admiral, I received your telegram and personally took charge of the situation. The Professor was detained within an hour of your orders arriving.’

‘That is good Commandant. I have some new orders from Berlin. From the Führer himself!’

‘Of course, I am at your disposal.’ Kessler sat up sharply.

‘The Professor has some skills that are essential to the Wehrmacht. He will be moving to Berlin and you will accompany him. You are responsible for his safe passage. Please report to the Armaments Corp on the outskirts of Berlin by 21.00 hours tomorrow.’

Kessler registered the new orders. ‘Yes Admiral, it will be done; but what of my preparations here for the Führer’s visit?’

‘These must continue in your absence, but you will return in a few days. Now the priority is to deliver Professor Mayer to Berlin,’ clarified Dönitz.

‘May I ask, is this related to the Professor’s work here at the University?’

‘I am afraid I am not permitted to discuss this. However, you should be clear that the safe and intact arrival of the Professor at the Armament Corps is of vital importance.’

Kessler got the message. Mayer was now valuable cargo.

‘Then I should also like to report an incident that occurred at the University last night: a break-in, and theft of some of the Professor’s papers.’

‘What? A theft you say?’

‘Yes Admiral. It was late last night. Unfortunately, the perpetrator got away, but not before dropping a couple of pages of the documents he was stealing.’

‘Pages? Pages of what?’

‘I am not exactly sure yet, sir. Some kind of technical information.’ Kessler stared at the mud-stained pages sitting on his desk. ‘The Professor says the pages are some kind of fuel consumption calculation for a new projectile, called a rocket.’

Dönitz spoke urgently. ‘Keep your voice down! It is not safe to speak of such things over the telephone, who else knows about this?’

‘Only my orderly has heard the Professor speak. There is also the squad who searched the Professor’s office.’

‘Move them all to Berlin. In any event, the squad will be useful for providing armed protection on your journey. I will send you fresh replacements. Bring the pages of the document with you. There are other physicists here who could interpret this information.’

‘Very good Admiral, it will be done.’

‘Keep the papers safe… and the Professor.’

‘Yes, Admiral, I will attend to this immediately, Heil Hitler!’ Kessler snapped to attention as the phone went dead.

So, a change of duties: from interrogator to protector. The Professor would arrive safely in Berlin. He would make sure of it. Besides, there would be plenty of opportunities to quiz the Professor later. Nonetheless, it was odd; the theft from Mayer’s office on the
same
day as the telegram arriving from Berlin. Had there been a security breach? Suspicious, Kessler headed for the telegraph.

Kessler scanned the layout of the radio room. It was a small box room with no external windows, crammed into the corner of the office. Everything seemed in order: a desk, chair, some notepaper, the usual communications log book, and the telegraph itself.

‘Pass me the log.’

‘Yes, my Commandant.’ The fresh-faced radio operator extended a shaking hand with the log book.

Kessler flicked through the pages. Everything seemed neatly recorded.