Traitor's Gate (29 page)

Conrad waited for about half an hour on a bench in a little room, crammed next to an SS guard, before one of the Gestapo who had arrested him arrived and led him away to an office.

He sat in a small wooden chair facing a desk. Behind him the door opened, and as he turned a fist caught him in the mouth. He looked up to see Klaus rubbing his red knuckle, breathing heavily.

‘Stand up, de Lancey!’

Conrad stood up. Klaus swung clumsily and hit him in the abdomen a couple of inches below the solar plexus. Conrad could see the blow coming and tensed his stomach muscles. He managed to remain standing straight. Klaus hit him again and again, until Conrad finally doubled up. Then Klaus pushed him to the ground and kicked him in the back and the head. Everything went black.

When he woke up he found himself held upright on the chair by the other Gestapo officer. He wasn’t sure how long he had been unconscious, probably only a few seconds, because Klaus was still breathing heavily. Conrad’s torso and head ached, but he tried to ignore it, to pretend that he was somehow removed from his body. He knew the pain would get a lot worse before the night was over.

‘Do you know why you are here?’ Klaus asked him.

‘No,’ Conrad mumbled.

‘Racial defilement. You were caught having sexual relations with a non-Aryan woman. You know that this is forbidden in Germany?’

‘Oh, come on, Schalke, that isn’t a rule that you take any notice of, so why should I?’ said Conrad.

Klaus hit him again in the face. Conrad decided to stop goading his interrogator.

‘And don’t think your friend Hertenberg is going to ride in here at the last minute like the U.S. cavalry,’ said Klaus. ‘He doesn’t know where you are; we have kept your presence very quiet. By the time the Abwehr find out you are here it will be too late. For you.’

‘What about the British Embassy?’ said Conrad.

Klaus laughed. ‘I believe you spoke to the British Ambassador recently. From what I know of him, he won’t be very sympathetic to a British citizen who breaks such important local laws.’

‘My father was a government minister,’ said Conrad. ‘You cannot imprison and torture me without my government objecting.’

‘Of course we can,’ said Klaus. ‘We don’t always throw our prisoners into prison or a concentration camp where your diplomats can find them, you know. Quite often we just take them into the woods and shoot them. That’s what we will do in your case. When we have finished with you here.’

Conrad looked at Klaus’s implacable face and realized that a bullet in the head in the woods was inevitable. It was a question of whether he could avoid compromising the conspiracy before he received that bullet.

‘You were seen speaking to a Captain Foley last week in the Tiergarten. What was that all about?’

‘I wanted to thank him for getting a visa for Anneliese’s father and mother.’

‘Did you really need to go for a walk in the park to do that?’

‘I was intending to see him in his office. Captain Foley sug­gested the walk. I think he was finding the office a bit claustro­phobic.’

‘Liar!’ Klaus screamed, his face reddening. ‘Captain Foley is the British secret-service representative in Berlin. You know that! Everyone in this city knows that!’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘Of course you do!’ shouted Klaus and belted him again across the face. Conrad felt blood in his cheek, but his teeth were still all intact. For such a big man, Klaus didn’t really hit that hard.

Klaus stood in front of Conrad, shouting. But Conrad wasn’t listening. He was damned if he was going to accept his trip to the woods. There had to be a way out. He realized that small lies, deceit and misdirection wouldn’t work; Klaus would be expecting them. What he needed was a big bold lie. In a flash one came to him. But he needed to let it slip out slowly if he was to persuade the Gestapo.

Klaus stopped shouting and pulled himself together. In a voice pitched at a more normal level, but still heavy with menace, he repeated his question. ‘So, what were you saying to Captain Foley?’

‘I suggest you ask Lieutenant von Hertenberg that,’ Conrad said.

Klaus grinned and shook his head. ‘Your friend is not going to discover you were here until it is too late.’

‘I am working for the Abwehr,’ Conrad said.

Klaus snorted. ‘Horse shit.’

‘As you know Theo and I are old friends. You also know that my mother is German, I was born in Germany – in fact I consider myself German. I think that the Führer is leading Germany in absolutely the right direction.’

‘You are English, de Lancey. Your father is English, you have spent nearly all your life in England.’

‘That’s also true,’ said Conrad. ‘But there are many English­men who think the same way I do, especially those in the upper reaches of society. Adolf Hitler is the only hope Europe has of stemming the tide of Bolshevism.’

‘I’ve been watching you over the last few weeks. I haven’t seen you showing any enthusiasm for National Socialism.’

‘Of course not,’ Conrad said. ‘Theo was quite explicit that I should be seen to disapprove of the Nazis while I am here. A basic precaution.’

‘You expect me to believe that you are a spy? For Germany.’

‘Of course. I would have thought Theo explained that when you released me the last time I was here.’

‘He didn’t explain anything like that to me,’ said Klaus.

‘Ah,’ said Conrad.

Klaus shook his head. ‘This is absurd. So what were you discussing with Foley?’

‘I cannot say.’

Klaus smiled and hit him again. ‘Once we get to work on you we’ll find out.’

‘Why don’t you just contact the Abwehr?’

‘That’s not going to happen,’ said Klaus. ‘But if you are spying for the Third Reich, you can tell me all about it. I do work for the Gestapo, after all.’

‘The Abwehr were very specific that I shouldn’t discuss what I was doing with any other department.’

‘And why not?’

‘You see, it’s quite... political.’

‘I’m not listening to this. I think we should just take you out to the woods and shoot you now.’

‘I’m getting somewhere, you know,’ Conrad said. ‘With Foley. In another week or two I might... Let’s just say that what I am working on is much bigger than you or me or Theo von Hertenberg. And some very senior people know that.’

 ‘I don’t have time to listen to all of this,’ Klaus said, his eyes narrowing under his glasses.

‘I’ll tell you what,’ said Conrad. ‘I’ll speak to Heydrich.’

‘Heydrich! Why him?’

‘Because he will understand what I am doing. And because I think I can trust him.’

‘Are you mad? Heydrich will have you for breakfast. Any­thing you have to say, you tell me. Now stand up!’

Conrad pulled himself to his feet. Klaus grabbed him, pushed him hard against the wall, and then beat the hell out of him. The last Conrad remembered he was sliding down to the floor.

He must have been out for more than a few seconds this time, because when he woke up, Klaus was no longer in the room. He felt battered and bruised; his head ached and his vision was blurred. With difficulty he got to his feet. One of the Gestapo officers who had arrested him was watching him with amusement. Conrad recognized his red hair and freckles: he remembered him from his first arrest when he had introduced himself as Dressel.

Conrad made his way over to a chair. ‘I don’t think your boss likes me,’ he said.

Dressel smiled. ‘It was a mistake to mess around with his girlfriend.’

‘He does seem in a bit of a bad mood today.’

‘Yes, it’s a real treat for me to see him beat you like that. He usually doesn’t take such a personal interest in his prisoners’ comfort. That’s my job.’

‘He looks as if he enjoys it,’ Conrad said.

Dressel laughed. ‘For such a big man, he really isn’t very effective.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said Conrad.

‘Let me show you,’ said Dressel. ‘Stand up.’

Conrad stood up.

‘Now, lift up your shirt and turn around.’

Conrad did as he was bid. He heard a brief swish, and then there was the sharpest, most excruciating pain in his kidney. He fell to the ground and, despite himself, groaned. After a couple of minutes he sat up and then vomited.

‘See what I mean?’ said Dressel. ‘I’m afraid the Kriminalrat just doesn’t have the technique. Never mind. It will be my turn soon. And then you’ll tell us all we need to know.’

Conrad pulled himself back on to the chair. For some reason it seemed important to be seated, rather than sprawled on the floor. It gave him some control. ‘Where is your friend the Kriminalrat?’

‘He’ll be back.’

‘He’s making a big mistake,’ Conrad said. ‘I know he hates me. But it won’t look good for him when Heydrich finds out what he has done. Or for you for that matter.’

‘I’ll take the risk.’

‘Look. I didn’t tell Schalke this, but the Abwehr believes that the British secret service has penetrated the German govern­ment at the highest levels. The very highest.’

‘Oh, yes?’ said Dressel, doubtfully. But Conrad could tell he was listening. ‘You mean one of our ministers is a spy?’

‘It looks like it. We don’t know yet. Which is why I still have work to do.’

‘You expect me to believe that?’

‘Yes. I know Schalke won’t. But Heydrich might, once he has spoken to Admiral Canaris. You know who he is?’

‘Yes, I do,’ said Dressel. ‘But you know what will happen to you if Canaris says he has never heard of you?’

‘Do you know what will happen to you if he has?’

Dressel looked doubtful. ‘I know you are loyal to your boss,’ Conrad said. ‘But he has clearly lost his sense of perspective. For both your sakes, find a way of letting Heydrich know I’m here. Then we’ll see.’

Dressel stared at Conrad. Then he picked up the telephone and barked a quick order. A moment later an SS guard came into the room and Dressel was gone.

Conrad sat on his chair and waited. His vomit was splattered over the floor behind him. It stank. He thought about Anneliese, her joy when he had told her that Foley wanted to see her, and then a few minutes later the look of fear and horror on her face as he was marched out of her room, her plea to him to come back and his promise to her that he would. Well, he would do his best to keep that promise.

After half an hour, Klaus came in, with Dressel, followed by two guards carrying a metal bathtub. They placed it a few feet from Conrad and returned with buckets of water. No one said anything until the tub was three-quarters full.

‘You know this is how your cousin died?’ said Klaus.

‘I thought he had a heart attack.’

‘He did. After we drowned him. He was lucky, really. Now, are you sure you don’t want to tell me anything more about what you were saying to Foley?’

At that moment the door was flung open and a tall young man wearing the black uniform of an SS Gruppenführer came in. Klaus, Dressel and the guards snapped to attention. Conrad recognized the high forehead and the wide-lipped mouth of Heydrich.

‘Is this the man?’ Heydrich said to Dressel in a surprisingly high-pitched voice. Dressel nodded. Klaus shot a bitter glance at his deputy and gave up his chair to Heydrich. The Gestapo chief shone the desk lamp into Conrad’s eyes. Conrad could barely see the man, just his long, almost feminine fingers resting on the desk.

‘Herr de Lancey,’ Heydrich said. ‘You have been caught having sexual relations with a Jew. In this country that is a serious crime. If you are wasting my time, you will be shot without delay. I don’t care who your father is. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ said Conrad. His mouth was dry or, to be more precise, his tongue was: there was still quite a lot of blood in both cheeks. There was something in Heydrich’s calm self-assurance that spoke of power, absolute power, the power to maim, torture and kill, the power to get what he wanted. But fear sharpened Conrad’s wits and his determination.

‘You claim you are working for the Abwehr?’

‘That’s correct. I suggest that you confirm this with Admiral Canaris himself.’

‘And what are you doing for them?’

‘Can I speak to you alone?’ Conrad said.

Heydrich paused, and then turned to Klaus. ‘Leave us!’ he snapped. When the guards, Klaus and Dressel had all left the room, he turned back to Conrad. ‘Well?’

‘We believe, or at least the Abwehr believes, that there is some­one at the highest levels in the German government pass­ing secrets to the British. By getting close to the British secret service, they hope that I will be able to find out more.’

‘Ridiculous,’ said Heydrich. ‘Who is this man?’

‘We don’t know for sure yet, but the evidence is pointing towards one suspect.’

‘And who is that?’

‘I cannot say.’

‘You cannot say because you do not know.’

‘I cannot say because if I am right, the consequences for the Third Reich would be very grave. And I may be wrong.’

‘Tell me who it is, and I will speak to Admiral Canaris.’

Conrad hesitated. He had to pitch this just right. ‘I know that the Abwehr would not want me to tell you.’

Heydrich snorted. ‘That may be true, but they are not here, are they? And I am.’

 ‘All right,’ Conrad said. ‘I will tell you. But don’t for God’s sake tell the admiral I did so.’ He paused. ‘It’s Göring.’

‘Göring! Working for the British! Absurd. What evidence do you have?’ But Conrad could tell that some part of Heydrich rather welcomed the idea. The rivalry between the SS and the Fat Boy was well known, ever since Himmler had snatched Göring’s Prussian police force, put Heydrich in charge of it and created the Gestapo. Which was why Conrad had selected him as his putative traitor.

‘I really can’t tell you my evidence. And it is by no means conclusive.’

‘Why should I believe you?’

‘Telephone Canaris.’

Heydrich switched off the light. Still dazzled, Conrad couldn’t see Heydrich’s expression. But he could feel him gather­ing his thoughts. ‘Wait here,’ he ordered.

So Conrad sat and waited, watched over by two SS guards. It might work. Canaris was clearly aware of von Kleist’s visit, and would know of Conrad’s part in it. Conrad had never met the Chief of the Abwehr, but he assumed that given his position he was almost certainly a man of intelligence and some deviousness. When he received Heydrich’s telephone call he would probably realize what was required of him. Of course he wouldn’t necessarily go along with it, he might decide that it was safer to abandon Conrad to the Gestapo. It was his choice: Conrad’s life was in his hands.