The Reich Device (32 page)

The personal assistant roused him from his thoughts. ‘Mr Krumbach will see you now, sir,’ she beamed at Heinkel.

The plan was working.

Heinkel entered the room and was assaulted by the smell of stale tobacco and furniture polish. Krumbach waddled out from behind his mahogany desk, cigar in hand. The buttons on his expensive waistcoat strained against his portly midriff.

‘Ah! Mr Heinkel, it is very nice to meet you at last. I hear you have been buying titanium from us, is that right?’

Heinkel shook the flabby outstretched palm, concealing his disgust with a polite smile. ‘Yes, I have been making some purchases for my employer.’

‘Well good, good, please take a seat.’

He waved Heinkel towards one of the green leather chairs in front of the desk, whilst puffing on his cigar.

Heinkel ignored the putrid odour, and sat down with the satchel on his lap.

‘So, how can I help? You want to purchase some more titanium?’ Krumbach chewed on his cigar.

Heinkel maintained his neutral but polite expression. ‘Yes, I will be making another purchase, and also some orders for a few other metals: manganese, aluminium and so on.’

‘Well, we have the finest materials around. It shouldn’t take too long to get you everything you need. Your employer?… You represent one of the big manufacturing industries in Germany?’

‘Yes, something like that. You might say that I am expressing interests on behalf of a large consortium of industrialists and government departments.’

Krumbach’s eyes expanded at the prospect. ‘Well, that makes you an important customer indeed!’

Heinkel dropped his polite smile slowly. ‘Perhaps, but I am also here on another… shall we say… more delicate matter.’

Krumbach stopped drawing on his cigar. ‘Delicate matter?’

‘Well, it’s a question of politics really.’ Heinkel gave a controlled smile and continued. ‘You know how it is, politicians always seem to interfere with big business.’

Krumbach snorted. ‘You’re not wrong there. Sharks, the lot of them.’

‘Quite so, you are Dutch I think, not British?’

‘Yes, my family was from Amsterdam originally.’

‘And I hear the British investment in the Cape Mineral Company hasn’t gone so well?’

Krumbach furrowed his brow. ‘Where did you hear that?’

‘Come now, Mr Krumbach, one has only to look at your share price.’

‘Alright, so it’s slipped a little, where is this conversation going?’

‘The people I represent would like to offer you a business proposition.’

Heinkel took the letter from his breast pocket and tossed it onto the table.

Krumbach flicked his eyes at the envelope, then at Heinkel. ‘What’s this?’

‘Open it. It’s a letter of introduction from Mr Rockefeller.’

‘What,
the
John Rockefeller?’

Heinkel smiled as he folded his arms. ‘Yes, one and the same. Read… please.’

Krumbach removed his cigar, depositing it smouldering in a glass ashtray. He slit open the letter with an ivory-handled paper knife, then blanched at the contents.

‘This is an aggressive takeover? You want to buy out the British shares to give a Germany consortium control of the company?’

‘Strictly speaking, no. It’s a re-investment, and technically the shares would belong to Mr Rockefeller. The British and Americans are allies, surely the board will not object to an American investor of such calibre.’

Krumbach shrugged. ‘Perhaps not.’

Heinkel leant forwards and spoke in an even tone. ‘Persuade them, you are the director of the company.’

Krumbach rubbed his fingers across the sweat forming on his brow. ‘Well, that’s not so easy. The current investors are mainly British gentry, Lord this, and Lord that – powerful men with the ear of the British Prime Minister. Rockefeller’s sympathies with Germany are well known.’

‘Please consider the proposition.’ Heinkel paused to open his satchel. He took out a gleaming bar of gold, stamped with the emblem of the old Kaiser’s Imperial Germany. He held it up to the light for a few seconds and gently placed the block on the table.

Heinkel gave a reassuring smile. ‘Your cooperation is appreciated, Mr Krombach.’

Krombach stared at the gold bar, then at Heinkel.

‘And all I have to do is persuade the board to take Mr Rockefeller’s offer?’

Heinkel maintained a passive facade. ‘Yes.’

Krumbach leant over the desk and slid the gold bar towards himself. ‘Then perhaps we can do business after all.’ He picked up his cigar and gave a couple of sucks to get the embers going again.

‘Good, good. There is one other minor logistics detail you can help me with on my current visit.’

‘Logistics?’

‘Yes, we would like to do some prospecting on the east coast, around Zululand.’

‘What the hell for? There’s nothing but swamp and yellow fever to be had there.’

Heinkel nodded appreciatively. ‘I know, but please indulge me. The terrain is rough going, and I need a crew of local workers… as well as some permits… but done discretely.’

‘Discretion is my middle name. I can find you a crew of blacks, no problem.’

‘Thank you Mr Krumbach.’

Heinkel stood, concluding the meeting with another flabby handshake, before heading for the door.

The greedy fat oaf had been easy to bribe, and would be so distracted by Rockefeller’s apparent offer, enabling the little venture in Zululand to go unnoticed. Heinkel could spirit the real prize away, and secure some essential rare metals for the German rocket programme. Mr Himmler would be pleased.

N
ash took a swig of the warm, rank water in his canteen. It was better than nothing in the heat and humidity. At least the lush jungle undergrowth was good cover.

A distant chugging sound caught his attention.

Nash swung the binoculars up stream. It was just one of the natives – only three small boats had idled along the river all day. It was definitely a quiet backwater.

The perfect place for going about one’s business unnoticed.

Nash zoomed the binoculars towards the task in hand, and tried to concentrate on the dilapidated house boat moored only a few yards away.

The noise of insects buzzed in his ear. He absently scratched his neck; the full strength mosquito repellent had stopped working hours ago. It was hard to tell what was worse; the heat and humidity of the day, or the insect fiesta that seemed to start with the approaching twilight. Thick clouds of mosquitoes were already hovering over the water’s edge.

To hell with it.

He wiped the sweat off the binoculars, and focused on the boat.

There was movement at the stern, with men gathering around a small table and chairs on the open deck.

He scanned forward. The binoculars picked up the square bulk that constituted the cabin area. He ran the binoculars over the cabin, but it was impossible to see through the small grubby windows. Nash shifted the binoculars up to the open-top wheelhouse. The guard was still sitting there, but that was no surprise; it was the highest point on the boat, giving a good view over the river.

A sudden splash in the water.

Nash swung the binoculars, tensing his muscles.

Just a catfish.

He exhaled.

The binoculars followed the waterline of the hull. It was a very shallow draft, ideal for coping with the muddy tributaries that fed into the Mfolizi swamp forest. The jungle was relentless. Tangled masses of mangrove roots gave way to knee-deep mud effervescing with the stench of stagnant water. The mangrove swamp merged seamlessly with mile upon mile of dense jungle, riddled with sodden malaria-infested ditches, and humidity – going by boat was the only civilised way to travel.

‘Gentlemen, be seated.’ Heinkel spread the map out on the table as he beckoned the men forward.

Briefing time!

Nash tuned in, trying to stay alert. It had taken hours to inch through the undergrowth to get within a few yards of the target. It was close enough to hear everything, but also close enough to get caught.

Making fine adjustments to the zoom, Nash picked out the details of the book spine sitting on the table.

A geology text? What were they looking for? Gold? Diamonds?

It didn’t make any sense.

‘Dr Steinhoff what is your assessment of the situation?’ Heinkel paused, offering the floor to his companion.

Nash assimilated the mystery guest.

Late forties, average height, slouching a little, certainly not fit – a civilian of some kind, probably a geologist or scientist going by the textbook. But why is he here in the middle of the jungle?

A third man appeared. Tall and muscular, in the peak of physical fitness. He sported a side arm, several clips of ammunition, and a large knife. The third man was clearly a soldier; very professional, very alert.

Boots clanked on the stairs.

Two men appeared in the wheelhouse.

Scruffy, dark oily skin – they must be locals. The skipper and his mate perhaps?

The waterways could be treacherous. It made sense to hire local people who knew the river. The guard gave them a disdainful look of tolerance.

Yes, definitely, just the hired help.

It was probably their boat.

The
click-clack
of a weapon being cocked drew Nash immediately back to the main deck. A fourth man stood towering over his companions, lean, very alert, and carrying a machine gun. He was obviously on patrol duty around the deck, but also gave close interest to the proceedings.

This gathering is getting interesting. Some kind of German agent, a scientist, and what looked like two guys from Special Forces, or at least very disciplined mercenaries. What the bloody hell is Heinkel up to?

Nash was sure about one thing. There would be no boarding the boat tonight; the machine gunner would hose him down long before he made the gangplank. Observation was the name of the game right now.

‘Gentlemen, we have found what we were looking for.’ Steinhoff took a small glass vial from an ornate box on the table. He held it up in the lamplight, pausing to watch the dark crystals twinkle, before passing it around. ‘There’s more… ’

Steinhoff placed a shiny black rock sample in the centre of the table.

Nash was perplexed. Whatever was being passed around the table was of great interest – that much was clear – each man took the opportunity to study the contents of the tube. But what was in it? And what was the rock sample? Nash had to concede: he had no idea.

He strained to catch the conversation.

‘Well gentlemen, you see we are looking for a very special sub-type of carbon deposit. I had a local ranger bring some samples to me; the ones you just examined. From my initial analysis I have identified this location as the best source of the material.’ Steinhoff duly pointed at the map.

Heinkel interrupted. ‘Dr Steinhoff, excellent work! Our instructions from Berlin are to recover as much of the material as possible, and without attracting too much attention.’

Steinhoff continued. ‘Yes, well, the main deposit is located here on the Mfolizi strata. Millions of years ago this area alternated between a shallow sea and lush tropical forest. The mud on the seabed was compressed over geological time to create the mudstone deposits we see all around in this area today. However, the brief periods of tropical forest also created some thin, but exquisite, seams of carbon.’

Heinkel wondered. ‘How much carbon are we talking about?’

‘Each deposit is about a metre thick, and sandwiched between much thicker layers of mudstone.’

‘Are the deposits accessible from the surface or do we need to dig?’ Heinkel was full of questions.

‘Well, providence is on our side. Part of the riverbank has collapsed, revealing the rock strata for us. Here on the edge of this bend in the river. The geology is nicely exposed.’ Steinhoff pointed at the map again. ‘There is a nice rock face that we can simply dig the material from. There is no need for subterranean mining. We can drive a coal barge right up to the shoreline, and simply load the material directly from the rock face into the boat.’

Heinkel raised an eyebrow. ‘Will this not attract attention?’

The huge soldier replied. ‘No, the boat traffic around the site will be minimal, just the odd fisherman. There is nothing of interest here for the locals.’

Heinkel gave the soldier a fixed stare. ‘All the same, we will keep tight security on this operation.’

‘The position will be easy to defend. The riverbank is steep, and the dense jungle behind means that any attack would most likely be an amphibious assault from the river. The perimeter will be secure,’ the soldier confirmed.

‘What about the work force, the miners?’ Heinkel turned to Steinhoff.

‘We will use a small gang of locals. They will live on site until the operation is completed. There will be no leave for them, but they’ll be well paid. It’s easy to buy a man’s silence when he can earn a year’s pay in a month.’

Heinkel gave the soldier another hard stare. ‘The cargo must be returned securely to Germany.’

‘The coal barge will drive down the river to the main port, and the cargo will be transferred to a steamship. We will be hidden amongst the routine activity of the quayside. The steamship will then depart for Hamburg when it is loaded. With luck, we can send a boatload of the stuff back to Germany within the month.’

‘Good. You will escort Dr Steinhoff and the cargo all the way to its destination.’ The soldier nodded. Heinkel’s decision was final.

With that the meeting was over.

Nash lay in the undergrowth dumbfounded – what the hell was going on? Some kind of top secret geology trip financed by Berlin? But it didn’t make any sense – digging up gold or diamonds – that
would
make sense. But carbon? What was so special about carbon? How was this tied to the Cape Mineral Company? Nash was clueless. The geologists and chemists back in London would have to figure it out.

Then there was the clandestine mining operation. Whatever was being dug out of the ground was extremely valuable to the Nazis – important enough to use Special Forces for its security all the way back to Germany.