The White Vixen (34 page)

Willy looked out the nearby window at the night. Thousands of feet below him, dark and sleeping, lay Argentina. His country, the land where he had been born, the land he was risking everything to build into a major power in the hemisphere. For so long, he’d believed the only way to do that was with CAPRICORN. They were so close. It would work. But it would be a trigger for something far more horrible. He looked at Heinz. “What can we do?”

Heinz sat down again and leaned forward intently. “There are several others within the Bund who have come to the same conclusion,” he said carefully. “Men of our generation. Argentines first, Germans second. We have decided there is a need for action.”

“I’m listening.”

“It is too late to stop CAPRICORN, but not too late to prevent it from touching off a catastrophe in Europe. The invasion of the Malvinas will go forward. The English fleet will sail to recapture them. We will launch the CAPRICORN attack, but we will make sure the pilot is one of our people. He will detonate the weapon well away from the English. At the same time, we will move on the government here. Sarmiento is with us. We will announce to the world that we have more weapons but do not wish to use them. Instead we wish to negotiate with the English over the Malvinas. At the same time, we will alert the Americans, and the Soviets, about VALKYRIE.”

Willy stood now as well, as agitated as Heinz. “What about the leadership of the Bund? What about the Reichsleiter? What about our own fathers?”

Heinz gripped Willy by the shoulders. “Sarmiento will have the Kabinett arrested. The Reichsleiter as well. Our fathers…well, we will do all we can for them. They may spend time in prison. The Reichsleiter, though, will be handed over to Israel. Sarmiento will be a hero. Argentina will gain enormous prestige. Think of it: we will have prevented World War Three, and given the Jews one of the men who planned the Holocaust. The English will probably sign over the Malvinas with gratitude.”

“This is a dangerous game you are playing, Heinz. What if the Reichsleiter finds out?
Or your father?”

Heinz held his head down, heavy with emotion. “It pains me greatly to work against my father, Willy. But I have to think of Argentina first. We have to think of our country.” He looked back at Willy. There was a fire in his blue eyes. “Germany will reunite eventually, Willy, with a democratic government. The Soviets will fall. Their economy can’t possibly compete with the Americans. Reagan intends to build up his defenses and the Soviets cannot match America. It’s inevitable. But that doesn’t mean we cannot make our own country strong and free, instead of a vassal of a new Nazi Germany. Or, worse yet, a pariah nation, blamed for touching off a nuclear war that kills millions.” He stood up as much as the cabin allowed. “But we need you, Willy. Are you with us?”

Willy’s heart was hammering. Everything he’d worked for, everything the Bund had worked for, all these years, supposedly for a strong Argentina…all a sham? A front? He thought of his father. Dieter had always been a good father to him, and Willy truly loved him. But, if Heinz was right, what Dieter and the rest of the Kameraden were doing was wrong. It was a betrayal of everything they’d been told the Bund stood for.

He looked straight at Heinz and made the toughest decision of his life. “I’m with you, my friend.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Munich, West Germany

Thursday, March 25th, 1982

“Any plans for the evening, Heinrich?” Colonel Johann Becker of the ASBw asked his adjutant.

“Not really, Herr Oberst,” Captain Heinrich Altmann said. “Dinner and then home for a good night’s rest.”

“Are you sure you’re not married, Heinrich?” Becker asked with a chuckle as he stuffed the last papers from his desk into his briefcase. He did not notice one file that had been partially hidden under the day’s edition of
Suddeutsche Zeitung.
It had, after all, been a long day. “I believe my Greta has
sauerbraten
on the menu this evening. Then I will have to help the boys with their homework. Then to bed, and tomorrow we do it all over again, eh?”

“As you often say, Herr Oberst, the excitement never stops,” Altmann said with a wry grin. In truth, he was often more than a little bored with his job. Serving in the Army of the Federal Republic had been his idea, but he’d dreamed of assignment to a front-line combat unit, perhaps ultimately as a Panzer commander as his grandfather had been in the last war. But here he was, twenty-seven years old and a staff officer in Military Intelligence. Interesting work, sometimes, but not thrilling. For thrills, lately, he’d come to seek out other things.

Becker reached for his overcoat on the nearby coat tree. “Well, Heinrich, if it’s excitement you crave, bear with me. Soon we may have more than we bargained for.”

That perked up Altmann’s ears. “Oh, Herr Oberst? Something is brewing?”

The question brought only an enigmatic smile from his superior. “Perhaps,” he said. “Perhaps not.” His coat and cap on, Becker picked up his briefcase. “See you tomorrow, Heinrich.”

“Good night, Herr Oberst.”

Paperwork occupied another half-hour of Altmann’s time. When the last paper had been put in his
Ausgaben
tray, it was nearly 1830 hours. As was his habit, Altmann got up to take a look around Becker’s inner office, just to make sure nothing was out of place. Like most German officers, Becker was efficient and neat, but occasionally he left something lying about that Altmann would put in its proper place. Tonight he could see nothing amiss except the newspaper. Becker normally read his paper right away in the morning, over his first cup of coffee, and then gave it to Altmann. Today something must have caught his superior’s eye; he’d probably laid it aside in the morning and come back to it later in the day.

Altmann picked up the paper and casually flipped through it. One item drew his attention. It had a small blue check mark next to it, Becker’s way of marking something of interest in a document. This story was a piece about a planned exercise by Bundeswehr troops in the vicinity of Baumholder, a city in the Rhine Valley west of Frankfurt. The U.S. Army’s 2nd Brigade, 1st Armored Division, was stationed at a large base outside of the city. The article noted that the base had recently been targeted by Green Party protestors who demanded that the stockpile of tactical nuclear warheads supposedly housed on the base be removed from the country. A Green leader was quoted, saying that the Bundeswehr maneuvers were the government’s way of disrupting the peaceful anti-nuclear protestors who only wanted a nuclear-free Germany.

Two other bits of information registered with Altmann. One was the planned date of the exercise: it was set to begin about three weeks from now. Another was a listing of participating German units.
Panzergrenadierbrigade
32 was one of them, and Altmann recognized it because he knew it was commanded by a close friend of Oberst Becker’s, another oberst, what was his name? Oh, yes, Richard Mainz. The oberst had spoken of him before. Well, perhaps that explained Becker’s marking the story.

Altmann put the paper back on the desk and noticed the file that had been hidden underneath. It was bordered in blue, but it wasn’t an official ASBw file, that was certain. The markings on it were different. Not terribly so, but to a trained intelligence officer, they were apparent. Altmann quickly looked back at the door. Nobody there. He picked up the file.

Fifteen minutes later, Altmann put the file back on Becker’s desk and replaced the newspaper on top of it. His hands were shaking.

Altmann’s despair grew over his dinner, taken at a small restaurant in the Schwabing district. Why would his trusted superior completely exclude him from such an operation? The file on Becker’s desk had detailed the orders to Mainz and his unit of motorized infantry. During the upcoming maneuvers near Baumholder, Mainz was to break off from the main Heer battalion and assault the American base, securing the warhead storage facility and the base’s command-and-control structure. It was a daring and risky plan, but feasible. The Americans would never suspect brother NATO troops of such a thing. Becker’s notes suggested that similar strikes were to be made against the two other American nuclear strongholds in the Federal Republic and similar Soviet bases in the East. The whole operation was code-named VALKYRIE.

Altmann didn’t need to think hard about the overall aim: the overthrow of the government of the Federal Republic. And if such a thing were also happening in the East, then reunification would be the only possible logical goal. Reunification!
Ein Volk, ein Heer, ein
Vaterland!
One people, one Army, one nation! The thought was staggering, but intoxicating.

But Altmann had been left out of the picture…

After his third beer, Altmann paid his bill and left the beer hall, somewhat unsteadily. Anger was starting to mix in with his anguish. How could Becker do this to him? After five years of faithful service. He’d made Altmann privy to many other sensitive ASBw and NATO operations. He said more than once that Altmann held great promise as an intelligence officer. And now this. The most important operation of all, and he was cut out of the picture.

Perhaps the oberst meant to bring him in later? There were still some three weeks to go, after all. Altmann shook his head and muttered as he passed a laughing, drunken American soldier with his arm around a pretty young German girl. No, he would’ve been in on the planning right from the beginning. Altmann was smart, he was inventive, Becker had told him that before. He could have contributed much to the planning of this VALKYRIE business.

Altmann began to feel the hunger deep inside him, as he did whenever he felt lonely or depressed. It was a hunger he’d first fed as a teenage boy, and despite its risks, its public veneer of disapproval, he’d felt moved to satisfy it several times since then. Now was one of those times.

He found the small storefront on the same side street it had been the last time. Of course it was. He entered, had a word with the woman behind the counter, paid his marks and was shown through a curtain and down a hall to a door. He knocked and entered. Lying seductively on a divan, the young man waited. “Hello, Heinrich,” he said. “It’s been too long.”

***

Becker was in his private study, after a pleasant dinner with his wife and children, when he opened his briefcase and discovered the VALKYRIE file was missing. The cold needles of panic momentarily gripped him, but he took a deep breath and shrugged them off. He rapidly considered the possibilities. He knew he’d been studying the file that afternoon at his desk, after seeing the newspaper article he had planted. Stirring up the Greens was part of the plan; if the anarchists caused problems near Baumholder during the maneuvers, it would be only reasonable for the Heer commander in the field to detach a unit to assist the Americans with security. Richard’s unit would be the one for the job.

After checking his car and failing to turn up the file, Becker went back to his study and placed a call to the head of ASBw internal security for the Munich station, ordering him to seal off Becker’s office immediately. No one was to be allowed inside except for the oberst himself, who would be there shortly. After hanging up, Becker changed back into his uniform and placed another call. Altmann’s private phone rang several times before Becker broke the connection and called the security office again. “Hauptmann Altmann is not answering his phone,” he said. “Locate him and bring him to the office. You know where he’s likely to be found.” He hung up again, had a brief word with his wife, and left the house.

***

Matthias could hardly wait for the
Schwuler
to leave. This was only his second time with the young ASBw officer, and he’d struck gold long before he expected to. As during the first visit, Altmann requested certain services, which Matthias supplied with feigned enthusiasm. This time, though, he offered his guest a “popper”, a small bottle of butyl nitrate that produced a quick high when inhaled. One of its effects was the relaxation of the sphincter, which made it popular among homosexuals. This particular dose, provided to Matthias by his real employer, contained an additional chemical that acted almost like sodium pentothal.

Altmann gladly took the popper and squealed with delight as Matthias completed his performance. He’d been told that if the drug took hold, he would notice it within a few minutes. Sure enough, Altmann began to get drowsy, and was barely able to pull his pants back up before falling into a nearby chair, his eyes half-closed, his breathing slow. “Can you hear me?” Matthias asked.

“Yes,” Altmann answered slowly.

“I am going to ask you some questions, Herr Hauptmann. You will answer them truthfully.”

“Truthfully…”

“What is your name and rank?”

Altmann’s mouth moved, but it was as if his tongue had thickened. Momentarily fearful, Matthias repeated the question, and the young officer finally answered. “Hauptmann Heinrich Altmann.”

“What is your current posting?”

“I am adjutant to Oberst Becker, Amt für Sicherheit der Bundeswehr.”

Matthias looked at the door. It was still closed. He knew he only had a few minutes. “Tell me about Oberst Becker. What is he working on?”