The Reich Device (6 page)

But where to hide it?

Keep it safe
, Einstein’s words echoed through his mind.

Locking it away in his desk drawer would be secure, but also the first place the authorities would look. Hiding the manuscript amongst the many books and papers on the shelves of the office was too risky. The laboratory was out of the question: too many students. His apartment on campus was too obvious; the authorities were certain to look there.

Where should he conceal it?

Somewhere safe where it will not be disturbed, somewhere that no one else is likely to look.

Mayer looked around the office for inspiration. The bottom of the bookcase caught his eye, raised just half an inch from the floor by some ornately carved mahogany feet.

Perfect!

He quickly sealed the manuscript in an unmarked brown envelope; almost with indecent haste. Then, with the greatest precision, as if making an offering to the Gods, he carefully slid the envelope underneath the bookcase.

He stood back and inspected his handiwork. The manuscript seemed to be well hidden; he couldn’t see it, even when stooping. He ran his finger under the edge of the bookcase – nothing – all cleverly concealed in a place that only he was likely to find.

Mayer, pleased that the deed was done, grabbed his coat and headed for the door, pausing momentarily to switch off the lights. He carefully locked the door, checking the handle twice. Patting his waistcoat pocket to confirm the office key was secure, his thoughts turned to the welcome comfort of his own bed.

In the twilight, the earlier draft of the manuscript containing the pencil mark corrections from Einstein sat neatly on top of a pile of papers; right next to the typewriter and in plain view for anyone to find.

C
ommandant Kessler stared at the visa application with suspicion. It was from Professor Einstein – a request to leave Germany for England, and then onto the United States of America on some lecture tour. What should he do? The timing was definitely suspect, but then it might also be very convenient. He could just process the visa application in the normal way. After all, one of the administrative roles of his office was to complete such tasks for the districts of Leipzig; and with an internationally renowned University in the city, such applications were not uncommon.

Or he could deny the visa, but that might draw unwanted attention.

The visa application contained a supporting letter. It was an invitation from the Royal Society, inviting Einstein to attend a physics conference being held at Oxford University. Kessler held it up against the light: definitely official-looking notepaper embossed with a logo. It probably wasn’t a forgery.

But what should he do? On the one hand, it was an opportunity to get a potential troublemaker out of the way for a while; for several months in fact. But on the other hand, Einstein was known to speak openly against the political situation in Germany; and while he was careful not to specifically direct adverse comments at the Nazi Party, the inference was there.

Kessler made his decision. It was better to have Einstein out of the way.

He called in his orderly to process the visa application immediately, with the necessary stamps and signatures. It would eliminate any administrative foul ups and get Einstein on his journey.

‘The morning post, sir… ’ the orderly handed over a pile of envelopes, ‘… and this has just come in. It’s a telegram from Berlin.’

Kessler opened the telegram and sat bolt upright in his chair as he read the contents.

‘Detain Professor Gustav Mayer for questioning. STOP. Hold in isolation until further orders from Admiral Dönitz. STOP. Immediate action. STOP.’

Kessler smiled; things were looking up; two pieces of good news in the same morning. He could get shot of two troublesome academic types in one go.

‘Corporal! Have my car ready at once and include an armed motorcycle escort.’ There was no time like the present.

The orderly clicked his heels in acknowledgement, and dropped what remained of the morning post back into the in-tray as he headed for the door. A trip out in the car was always more interesting than shuffling paper. He attended to his new task with gusto.

Kessler considered the situation. Professor Mayer was in his late fifties, and would not present any problems. It would be a simple matter – his car with two police officers, a few minutes to quietly collect the Professor from his office at the University. There would be no fuss, and the Professor would be detained. The motorcycle escort would deter the Professor from doing a runner on foot.

But where to put him? The most pragmatic solution, and low profile, would be house arrest. The Professor could be detained at his own home until the orders from Berlin were clarified. It was odd that such a senior figure in the Reich Chancellery was interested in Mayer. Admiral Karl Dönitz was a highly respected naval officer. He had come to fame for his gallant service on the cruiser
Breslau
in 1914, and had been instrumental in bringing Turkey into the Great War. He was a brilliant commander – but that was at odds with the situation – why was an academic of importance to a navy man like Dönitz?

Kessler hurried down the stairs to the waiting escort. His orderly revved the engine of the brand new Daimler to warm it up. Kessler paused at the passenger door, and used his reflection in the gleaming metal to adjust his uniform: it was important to look neat and authoritative when making an arrest.

The Daimler fitted his status with a very spacious interior. The rear of the car was divided from the driver by a glass screen to give the passengers some extra privacy. One could ask probing questions in private. It was all part of the show. Kessler opened the door and was greeted by the rich smell of polished leather. He took a seat. A police officer was already waiting in the back for him.

‘So glad you could make it, Detective,’ sneered Kessler.

The detective ignored the sarcastic tone of his superior; he knew his place in the pecking order. ‘Not at all, where are we going?’

Kessler tapped on the dividing glass impatiently. ‘Drive!’ He didn’t bother answering the detective’s question. The local police were under the control of the Party, but nonetheless, Kessler liked to take the precaution of giving minimal information.

The journey to the University only took a few minutes, and the car stopped directly outside the front door of the Physics Department. Kessler stepped quickly out of the car, without waiting for his orderly or the detective, and walked briskly into the lobby. His steel toe-capped boots echoed on the flagstone floor, announcing their arrival. A quick inspection of the notice board identified the Professor’s office on the first floor. Kessler headed for the stairs.

Mayer sat at his desk, absently doodling on the notepad. His shoulder throbbed. He rubbed his aching muscles, and exhaled. It had been a close-run thing. Wandering the streets at night like that… how could he have been so stupid?! He dropped the pen on the desk, and rubbed his eyes with his palms. He took a deep breath and gave a long slow exhalation.

It didn’t help.

Things
were
too dangerous. Who was the strange figure last night? Not a Nazi judging by the way he dispatched the two Brown Shirts, but what did he want? The damned Brown Shirts! They prowled everywhere. There were more guards on the campus now; and where was Nico?

Poor Nico.

It was certain the authorities had him. He’d been gone nearly two days now. It was only a matter of time before they came asking questions.

Mayer gazed at the photograph on his desk. She’d had an inner strength, his beloved Sophia. How she had thrashed on the bed, defiant, as the fever took hold. Her blue-green eyes burned into his soul as he held her clammy, blanched hands.

Suddenly, the door burst open.

‘Good day Professor Mayer.’

A neatly dressed German officer stood in the doorway, smiling. Seconds later, two other men appeared, one in a corporal’s uniform, the other in a dark suit. The three men formed an intimidating reception committee.

Mayer swallowed down his fear. Who were they? What did they want? It seemed best to do nothing and play ignorant. He remained seated at his desk, frozen to the spot.

‘Good afternoon Commandant, forgive me, how can I help?’ Mayer, struggling to maintain his composure, forced a polite smile.

‘Let me say for now that your assistance is needed.’ Kessler swaggered forward towards the desk; proximity was always more intimidating.

‘I see, well… er… what assistance can I give?’

‘If you would accompany me, please… ’ Kessler gestured politely, but with authority.

Mayer, seeing that he had no choice, started to rise from his chair. Suddenly his heart missed a beat – the draft manuscript – on his desk! Mayer coughed in a vain attempt to draw attention away from the papers. Involuntarily, Mayer glanced down at the manuscript.

Kessler registered the concern. His eyes darted around the room. What was it? His eyes scanned the shelves and desk area for anything out of the ordinary – nothing. Kessler went with his gut instinct: something was out of place. The Professor was agitated, for sure, but there was also fear.

Mayer decided to play the bumbling academic. ‘Let me get my coat.’ He fumbled with his jacket. At least it would buy some time to think.

Suddenly a plan popped into his head, idiotic, but worth the risk.

He feigned a coughing fit and theatrically struggled into his coat. It flapped about, taking a perfect arc over the desk. Piles of papers cascaded across the floor. With seemingly lightning reflexes Mayer grabbed handfuls of the papers and dumped them back on the desk. It did the job; the manuscript was now at least hidden in an anonymous pile.

‘Professor… ’ Kessler gestured his impatience by offering Mayer the door.

He didn’t bother to introduce the detective, or the orderly. They simply fell in on either side of Mayer and marched him briskly to the waiting car.

The orderly opened the rear passenger door of the Daimler, the detective climbed in first. Kessler pressed close to the Professor. The body language was enough for Mayer to understand that he was to get in next. Kessler stepped into the car, quickly bringing up the rear, to ensure his guest was sandwiched in the back with no chance of escape. The orderly took to the driver’s seat and with typical efficiency started the engine and closed the cab window to give his Commandant some privacy.

A crushing chest pain and the taste of bile rose in Mayer’s throat. He breathed deeply through his nostrils, forcing an outward facade of calm; but the illusion wasn’t working.

Kessler came to an easy conclusion. The Professor wasn’t just scared, he
was
hiding something. The furrowed brow, the small beads of sweat forming on his temple, and the look in his eyes – yes, the eyes – they always gave the truth away.

Kessler decided to let him stew in his own thoughts. The silence would make his captive uncomfortable for a while, and then there would be some small talk to give his prey some sense of security. He knew all the tricks of the trade when it came to softening up a prisoner for interrogation. It was a matter of psychology, tailoring the approach to the psyche of the individual. If that didn’t work, some straightforward pain and suffering would always do the trick. Kessler was mildly amused by the idea; there would be plenty of time for the interrogation.

Mayer stared despondently at his surroundings. The interview room, if you could call it that, sat deep in the bowels of the district headquarters. Things were not looking good. Everything about the room screamed interrogation. The cold tiled floor, the spartan furnishings of just a small table and two chairs was all very functional. Then there was the waiting. How long had he been here now? It was hard to tell – they had taken his watch – no doubt all part of the process of softening him up. Well, it was working! The guard had made a show of firmly locking the door; the iron grill on the window confirmed things. There was no means of escape. The orderly was still on duty outside the door. The telltale noise of shuffling feet, and the click of a heavy rifle butt on the floor gave his position away.

The situation could not be any worse.

Mayer gazed at the floor in a fit of depression and wished he hadn’t: bloodstains! The pinky red discoloration in the grouting of the floor tiles told an ugly story. He wanted it to be floor polish, but it wasn’t. God only knew how many beatings had taken place in this room. The crushing pain returned to his chest as he began to hyperventilate.

Kessler’s tactics were proceeding exactly as planned. He skipped down the stairs into the basement. The Professor had been wallowing for some hours now. Things would start with the usual cryptic questions to further unsettle the captive – then who knows what next?

Kessler entered the room. Mayer sat compliant in a chair at the small wooden table.

‘Ahh… Professor Mayer… Professor Mayer… Gustav isn’t it?’ It is always more effective to extract information if one is on first name terms with the captive. It was just another standard procedure from the Interrogator’s Handbook.

‘How long have you lived at your address?’ asked Kessler.

Mayer replied.

‘And you have worked for the University all this time?’

‘Some twenty years. Most of my working life.’

‘So Professor, tell me, when were you last in Berlin?’

‘Let me see… a meeting at the University there, about two years ago.’ Mayer was being truthful; he really could not remember the exact time of his last visit.

‘And who do you know in Berlin?’

‘Just my fellow academics at the University. A small group of physicists, some engineers and a few chemists.’

‘So please explain why I should get this from Berlin!’ Kessler hissed as he showed the Professor the telegram.

Mayer flushed with sweat. Was he about to become another statistic? Another disappearance? It wasn’t looking good.

‘I am sorry Commandant, please… I am just an academic… I teach at the University. I do not know.’ Mayer realised he was grovelling, but decided to put life ahead of dignity; at least for now.