The Reich Device (8 page)

The steel floor of the cabin vibrated in tune with the idle of the ship’s engines. Heinkel automatically stooped to miss the sharp metal bulkheads. The robust smell of expensive cologne suddenly mingled with the stale air of the confined space. The narrow room contained two bunks and a small fold-out table with a slim, almost skeletal, German officer perched behind it.

‘Dr Goebbels, I am… I am… honoured.’ Heinkel tried to keep his facial expression formal to conceal his surprise.

‘Forgive me, the location is a little unusual,’ Goebbels smiled. The brass buttons on his crisp tunic reflected in the electric light. ‘I have your orders from High Command. In fact, from the Führer himself!’

‘I am humbled. I am at the Führer’s service of course.’ Heinkel nodded a dignified salute and clicked his heels gently together.

Goebbels threw open a leather satchel, pulling out a thick manila file onto the desk. ‘Study these documents – you’re going back to America.’ Goebbels suddenly hissed as he lowered his voice. ‘
It is time
.’

‘Tell me Herr Doctor, will we hit the Americans where it hurts the most this time – Wall Street?’

‘Of course… and more… much, much more.’ Goebbels gave a sadistic smirk.

Heinkel nodded slowly. ‘At last the waiting is over, I am ready to do my duty.’

‘You are tasked with obtaining funds, substantial investment shall we say… in the interests of the Reich. Charm the rich Americans out of their money. Take advantage of their greed.’

‘It will be done Herr Doctor.’

‘That’s not all. The Reich has lost far too many of its great intellectuals, engineers and physicists to the disgusting excesses of America. Bring back the technological advances that are rightfully ours!’

‘Yes, Herr Goebbels, I already have some weapons technology in mind.’

‘Good, I see you are prepared.’ Goebbels unfolded a crisp white handkerchief from his breast pocket, and wiped his hands. He continued. ‘Any German-American that will not return will be deemed a traitor… and we know what happens to traitors.’

‘Of course, Herr Doctor, they will be dealt with most severely.’ Heinkel gave a click of his heels.

‘Everything is in the file.’ Goebbels folded his handkerchief back up into an immaculate square and returned it to his pocket. He looked Heinkel directly in the eye. ‘Use your influence with these dim-witted Americans. Relieve them of their funds, steal their secrets, kills the ones that will not cooperate – kill them – kill them all!’

Sir Hugh Sinclair, head of the fledgling Secret Intelligence Service (SIS), considered the intelligence reports; it made grim reading. He stood at the head of the large ornate table in the cabinet office briefing room. The elegant fabric of his pinstriped suit, fresh from his tailor at Saville Row, easily accommodated his wiry frame. Hawk-like, he took in every detail of the men flanking each side of the oak monolith.

‘Gentlemen, welcome.’ The hubbub of the meeting room suddenly turned to silence. Sinclair had summoned his key field operatives and technical experts from SIS, and given the delicate political situation, the British Ambassador to South Africa, Lord Elgin-Smyth, also attended. General Gort, Commander of the British Army, sat next to the Ambassador.

‘Gentlemen, I hope you have done your reading, this intelligence is fresh information courtesy of my man just back from Leipzig.’ His sharp eyes flicked at the grey man, then went back to the report. Sinclair lifted the first page. ‘The situation in Germany is deteriorating.’

All eyes focused on Sinclair.

‘It is now clear that, since the Enabling Laws, Adolf Hitler has more or less complete control over the German people. Reports are coming in of Nazi brutality against minority groups. People are being murdered, and the police are doing nothing. In fact, it seems that some of the
disappearances
are being sanctioned by the state.’

‘I agree,’ the British Ambassador cut in with a polite smile, flashing his pristine white teeth momentarily, before pulling a gold pen from the pocket of his silk shirt. ‘If you don’t mind Sir Hugh… ’

Sinclair shrugged, offering the floor to Elgin-Smyth.

‘Gentlemen, the diplomatic situation could not be more fragile. The apparent lack of civil liberty in Germany is abhorrent. The idea of an undemocratic regime in any country bothers me. It’s morally objectionable. Also, I fear it will create regional instability, and the last thing we need is another war in Europe.’

‘I agree,’ Sinclair nodded, ‘and for that reason alone we are stepping up the number of field agents in Europe. The Prime Minister has already decided to support the democracies of Austria, Poland and others in Europe through diplomatic means. The intelligence services will, shall we say, supplement the diplomatic effort as and when required.’

Sinclair paused to pick up his pipe, he flicked a match into the bowl and took a couple of long slow drags to get the embers burning, then continued. ‘Hitler has a security service, the newly formed SS, that seems to have no accountability to the army or police. We need to keep a close eye on this SS, and for all its lack of subtlety, it does seem to nurture a certain malevolence – and a new breed of German spies.’

‘From a diplomatic viewpoint the German state and the judicial system seem to be one. That has to be bad news for the civilian population.’ The Ambassador tapped his gold pen on the notepaper. ‘This is why the Prime Minister is keen to open up diplomatic channels with Chancellor Hitler. We will be seeking assurances… ’

‘Thank you Mr Ambassador,’ Sinclair took the chair. ‘Gentlemen, nonetheless, it would be foolish of us not to increase our intelligence gathering within Germany. We cannot let the situation spill beyond Germany’s borders, and we must understand the details of how this new regime is operating.’

‘Our island is well protected.’ General Gort crossed his arms, and scowled across the room. ‘The army has reasonable reserves, albeit mostly inexperienced young men on their national service, but they’re feisty and eager. If the Hun want to kick off again, we will be ready.’ Sweat trickled from his short grey hair, running down his chubby face onto the over-starched shirt collar of his uniform.

‘Sir, if I might make an observation… ’ The grey man leant forward.

‘Danny, go ahead… gentlemen, Major Nash has been our eyes and ears on the ground in Germany for some time.’

‘Leipzig is crawling with German troops. These are not conscripts or boy soldiers, but in the main, seasoned professionals. The security services are utterly ruthless with the civilian population. I have personally witnessed summary executions; and in broad daylight. Both the regular army and the SS seem to be driven by a single purpose: to impose Hitler’s ideology on the masses. The Nazi Party has become a ruthless killing machine. This situation is repeated in towns all over Germany as far as I can tell.’

Murmurs of disapproval went round the room.

Nash paused, absently rubbing his brow. ‘My gut feeling tells me there’s something else. I don’t know exactly… the SS are showing a particular interest in civilian engineers and physicists, but for what purpose? It doesn’t make any sense.’

‘I dunno man, that would tie in with goings on in South Africa.’ Rudy Temple, a weather-beaten and grizzled Africaan in his early fifties piped up. His muscular stocky frame stretched the fabric of his worn lumberjack-style shirt.

‘Go on… ’ Sinclair furrowed his brow.

‘Yep, the bloody Germans are messing with us. What they do at home is their business; but there are too many of them running around the Transvaal these days. It’s making some of the diamond traders a bit edgy; it’s not good for business.’

The Ambassador nodded. ‘I agree, it just isn’t cricket. We’re reliant on both the diamond and the precious metal trade in the region. The Germans are posturing, they want their old colony back – well they can’t have it! At the end of the Great War, the reparations were very clear. German West Africa, or
Deutsch-Südwestafrika
as they liked to call it, became a British territory. The west-coast diamond trade and other mineral rights in the colony are ours.’

‘But why do you think this is aggravating the Germans now?’ Sinclair probed the Ambassador.

‘I don’t know. The influence of the National Socialists is spreading, they’re finding sympathy with unsavoury types. Stirring up trouble in the colonies, as it were.’

‘So what are the Nazis up to?’ Sinclair spoke for everyone.

‘The intelligence reports make some bloody interesting observations. Several reasonably senior figures from the Nazi Party have made journeys to Cape Town via banks in Geneva; but what the hell for? Anyways, the visits have been all too damned regular for my liking.’ Temple spat his disgust, pausing to let the information sink in.

‘Are these confirmed reports?’ interrupted Sinclair.

‘Yes,’ the Ambassador nodded vigorously. ‘Signals experts have deciphered the code used by the diplomatic arm of the Nazi Party. We know the dates of intended arrivals of party officials, and who they are; what’s more they’re bringing large amounts of gold with them.’

‘Gold?’ Sinclair stood upright.

‘Yes, for several months now.’

‘I’ve seen it myself,’ Rudy Temple picked up the thread. ‘I purchased one of the gold bars on the black market, Swastika stamp an’ all. They’re selling the stuff like it’s going out of fashion.’

‘Yes, but why are they selling gold?’

‘Gentlemen, my diplomatic sources confirm some very large deposits of gold in the banks in Cape Town, and elsewhere. There is also evidence that the gold bars are being used to purchase supplies,’ reported the Ambassador.

‘Supplies? What kind of supplies?’

‘All kinds of crap. Industrial materials, large quantities of chemicals.’ Rudy Temple shook his head.

‘If I may, Hugh. I have an inventory of some of the materials… ’ the Ambassador flicked through his notes, ‘… including titanium, sodium permanganate, and mercury. Also… an assortment of dried goods… coffee beans, sugar, and the like.’

‘Is there cause for concern about these industrial materials?’

‘It’s hard to tell. The materials could be used in construction, for any number of legitimate peace-time activities. The chemicals are a bit of a worry, but again, they could be used as catalysts in several industrial processes. It may all be legitimate,’ concluded the Ambassador.

‘Legitimate? I don’t think so,’ Nash shook his head. ‘It doesn’t stack up. These materials can be used for armaments, and the chemicals in the production of high explosives. I believe the Germans are up to something.’

‘That may be so, but I don’t understand; the Germans have access to minerals and they are in the heartland of European industry. Why get these materials from Southern Africa?’ mused Sinclair.

‘I would like to bloody know, that’s for sure!’ Rudy Temple pulled out a smoke and lit up.

‘Alright, Rudy, we will need more intelligence on these activities in South Africa. Find out the connection to Berlin, it may be nothing more than state-sponsored money laundering, but we need to be mindful that such large quantities of gold might interfere with the money markets. Look for a motive.’

Temple nodded as he puffed on his cigarette.

‘Major Nash, I need you back in Leipzig, find out what connects the SS to these chemicals; it must be some kind of technological ambition.’

The grey man acknowledged his orders.

‘To work gentlemen, find the pieces of this Nazi puzzle.’

With that the meeting was over, and the assembled team began to disperse. Sinclair gathered his papers and waited for the men to file out the door, leaving Nash at the back of the queue.

‘Danny, hold back a second… thanks.’ Sinclair gave a gentle smile.

Nash hesitated.

The two men waited for the door to close. Silence engulfed the empty room. Nash dropped his heavy grey trench coat over the back of the nearest chair and exhaled.

‘Emily is asking after you.’ Sinclair gave a knowing look.

‘It’s been a while… ’ Nash shuffled his feet involuntarily.

‘Look, I know my own daughter. She can be stubborn at times, and I don’t want to interfere; but while you’re here in London… ’

‘Okay, okay! I get the message,’ Nash raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘She still at the Admiralty office?’

‘Personal assistant to the first Lord of the Admiralty, no less.’

‘Why doesn’t that surprise me? It would take a woman like Emily to keep that cantankerous old git, Churchill, in line!’

‘Just go and see her, that’s all.’ Sinclair raised an eyebrow.

‘Okay, don’t worry, I will.’ Nash gave a wry smile as he picked up his grey coat. It was only a short hop on the number seven bus across town, and he had to face the music sometime… and it may as well be now.

A quick glance at the Rolex told him that everything was on schedule. That was just as well. Heinkel was bursting with inner pride at the task bestowed upon him by his beloved leader, Adolf Hitler. The Americans would be relieved of their wealth on a grand scale, but guile and cunning were needed. Subtly, insidiously, the USA would fall to the superior might and intellect of Germany.

A shout from the bridge snapped Oliver Heinkel back to reality. The Captain barked orders to cast off and, with a scurry of activity from the crew, the boat lurched into life. The engine revved, causing a cloud of smoky soot to engulf the deck. Heinkel instinctively choked on the smog. The sooner he could get off this old tub the better; he did not want to be distracted by his filthy surroundings. There was so much work to be done, secret work.

He straightened the gold Nazi part pin on the lapel of his jacket as a second rush of patriotic fever swept over him. He shuddered, a tingling sensation worked through his body; was it excitement at the prospect of what was to come? He dismissed it. Who wouldn’t feel this way? After all, this was going to be the single most important event in the last two thousand years.
He
would live on in the hearts and minds of Germans, long after his mortal body had died of old age. More importantly, what
he
did now would secure the Reich’s place in history for all eternity. Despite the stench of diesel oil, smoke and rotting fish, a sadistic smile etched across his face.