Traitor's Gate (35 page)

‘The Jewish tart is in a concentration camp,’ Klaus said calmly.

‘I’m very pleased to hear it.’

‘But yes, I would be happy to see Conrad de Lancey die. In fact, I will see to it personally, if you wish.’

‘The Abwehr would never stand for it.’

‘Let’s do it and tell them afterwards. Say we have evidence that de Lancey was spying on senior members of the Gestapo for the British.’

Heydrich frowned, thinking. ‘Yes, that might work. The Abwehr would never want to admit to being involved in anything like that.’

‘De Lancey has hoodwinked them,’ said Klaus. ‘They’ll be as upset about him as we are. But I’m sure they would be fascinated by what he has discovered, if we ever let them get their hands on him. Which I suggest we don’t.’

‘All right, Schalke. Arrest him, find out who he’s working for and then kill him. But do it fast, and do it somewhere where the Abwehr won’t be able to find him. Nowhere official.’

‘Yes, Herr Gruppenführer!’

The taxi dropped Conrad outside his flat. He scanned the square and saw Warren Sumner waiting for him on a low wall under the old chestnut tree. The American waved and ambled over, carrying a bag.

‘Sorry I’m a bit late,’ Conrad said, shaking his hand. ‘I hope you haven’t been waiting long?

‘Ten minutes, that’s all. It’s good to see you.’

‘And you too.’ And it was. Warren’s friendly smile and his American accent were a breath of fresh air to Conrad, bringing signs of an outside world removed from the increasingly tense atmosphere of Berlin on the brink of war.

‘Are you sure you don’t mind me staying the next couple of nights?’

‘Not at all,’ said Conrad. ‘I could do with the company.’ He led Warren into his building and they climbed the stairs. ‘What is it exactly you are doing back here? I thought they needed you in Prague?’

‘Vernon Sherritt, our Berlin correspondent, has to go back to the States to sort out some family business. His father is very ill – he won’t last more than a few days. The paper doesn’t want to leave the Berlin office unstaffed, so they sent me back, at least until Vernon returns. I start next week.’

‘Interesting time to be here,’ said Conrad, unlocking the door to his flat.

‘It sure is. Vernon is going to try to return by the end of the month. That’s when the balloon goes up, apparently.’

‘So you’ll be back in Prague when the German tanks roll in?’

‘I’m not convinced they will,’ Warren said, dumping his bag in Conrad’s spare room.

‘Really? You don’t think Hitler will invade?’

‘You bet he will. But your military attaché in Prague thinks the Czechs can hold out for six months, maybe more. You should have seen the Czech army when they mobilized in May. They’re very professional and their weapons are all modern. I’ve been out and seen the border fortifications; they are as good as anything on the Maginot Line.’

‘But doesn’t the British government think the Czechs have no chance?’

‘That’s the Ambassador’s view. He says they’ll be overrun in days. He’s just as bad as Henderson here in Berlin. And for some reason your government listens to the diplomat rather than the soldier when it comes to assessing military capabilities. You know, you really should get yourself a new government some time. Do you still have elections in your country?’

‘We do, but they don’t seem to change anything,’ said Conrad. ‘Can I get you a drink?’

‘Here – I brought you some real whisky,’ said Warren. He dis­appeared to his room and reappeared with a bottle of Johnnie Walker Black Label.

‘Excellent,’ said Conrad, and poured them each a glass, adding a splash from his soda siphon.

 ‘So, how is Anneliese?’ Warren asked, sipping his whisky. ‘I hope I’ll get to see her.’

‘I’m afraid you won’t,’ said Conrad grimly. ‘She’s in Sachsen­hausen.’

Warren frowned. ‘Oh God, I am sorry. Boy, it doesn’t take you long to realize you are back in the Thousand Year Reich. Why did they take her there? Or was it just one of those random round-ups?

‘It was my fault. Her old boyfriend, the Gestapo officer, got jealous of us and had her locked up. But I’ve just seen someone who thinks he can get her out in the next few days.’

‘Is she OK? Have you heard from her?’

‘No, I haven’t. But I’ve been told she has a head injury.’ He frowned. ‘It’s quite serious.’

‘Is she going to be all right?’

‘I hope so,’ Conrad said. ‘I have to believe so. But in a camp, who knows?’ The reason that Conrad had been late to meet Warren was that he had just seen Wilfrid Israel again. Good news had been mixed with bad. The head injury worried Conrad.

Warren shook his head. ‘Good luck with that. The sooner you get her out the better.’ A thought seemed to strike him. ‘Say, I thought I saw some Gestapo boys in this square when the cab dropped me off.’

‘What!’

‘They weren’t in uniform, but I can still identify them a mile off.’

‘Were they watching this building?’

‘It’s hard to say. Why, are you expecting a visit from them?’

‘They’ve picked me up twice so far,’ Conrad said. ‘I suspect third time is unlucky.’ He sprang to his feet and moved over to the window. ‘I can’t see anyone in the square.’ He looked closely at the church, the chestnut tree, the parked cars, the doorways. ‘Of course they might be in one of the flats. Wait a moment, I think there’s someone in that car!’

‘Take it easy. They are probably after someone else.’

‘Believe me, Warren, it’s never a good idea to take it easy these days. Christ, here they come!’

Two Mercedes drove rapidly into the square and stopped outside Conrad’s building. Several men got out, including a large figure Conrad recognized. The door of the car Conrad had spotted opened and the watcher hurried over to the group.

Conrad thought rapidly. He only had a minute at most before the Gestapo reached his flat. Hiding there was impossible. He could try hammering on the door of another occupant of the building, but the Gestapo would be sure to search the whole building if they didn’t find him in his own flat. The only way out was the back window, which overlooked a small courtyard. The Gestapo probably didn’t have a man in there. Yet.

‘Look, Warren. When they come in, say that I left the flat a couple of minutes ago to buy some cigarettes. They’ll think I’m hiding out somewhere else in the building.’ He moved over to the rear-facing window and opened it. ‘Shut this behind me, will you?’

‘Sure,’ said Warren, still bemused.

‘And Warren?’

‘Yes?’

‘You’re welcome to stay here for the next few days. In fact I’d appreciate it if you looked after the place. I might be gone for a while.’

With that he clambered out of the window. Outside was a small ornamental iron balcony, no more than six inches deep, and scarcely wider than the window itself. There was nowhere to crouch out of sight; he would have to move on, and move on fast.

Conrad had spent a few summers in his teens climbing in the Alps with his elder brother, Edward. He was agile and strong and had no fear of heights. But the wall of the building was smooth, the balcony was four floors up and there was nowhere to go. Except perhaps the next balcony along. It would require a leap and a stretch, and then, most importantly, the strength to grab the railings and hang on. Conrad thought he could leap the distance, but wasn’t sure he had the strength of grip required. Also the gaps between the bars of the next balcony were quite narrow. He would have to judge it perfectly. There was a chance, a good chance, that he would fall.

He considered the odds. He had wriggled out of Gestapo interrogations twice in the past, couldn’t he do it again? On balance, he thought it highly unlikely. Schalke wasn’t here to play games with him. He was here to kill him, Conrad was sure of it.

So he jumped.

Arms outstretched, his fingers slipped through the gap in the bars and wrapped around the iron. As his body swung under the balcony, its weight tore at his wrists and hands, and his grip almost broke. But it held. It required all the strength in his forearms to heave himself up on to the balcony. He heard a short scream from within, and through the window recognized one of his neighbours, a woman in her thirties whose husband put on a brown uniform on Sundays. Not the kind of neighbour to hide him from the Gestapo. In fact, as soon as they knocked on her door they would know where he was.

He moved fast. Another balcony. And another. His wrists and forearms were on fire. He wasn’t sure whether he had the strength for many more. Fortunately a drainpipe ran down the wall right beside the next balcony. He jumped and his grip held. The drainpipe looked easy to climb, either up or down. Down below was the courtyard with no direct opening out on to the street. The Gestapo would be out there any moment. Up was the roof.

Conrad shinned upwards.

He came to the eaves when he heard a window opening below. He swung himself up on to the tiles. Keeping to the reverse slope of the roof away from the street, he stumbled along for thirty or forty yards until he came to a corner. Another twenty yards, and he slid over the gable of the roof on to the slope facing the street, a small road leading off the square. He could see no Gestapo below, but he could hear the sound of tiles slipping off behind him. They were on the roof.

He searched for a likely drainpipe, but couldn’t immediately see one. But there was a plane tree whose branches reached almost to the eaves. Another leap, another scramble and he was hanging from a branch. It seemed to take forever to get down the tree. Any moment the Gestapo might crawl over the gable of the roof and spot him. He jumped the last eight feet on to the pavement, and then ran as silently as he could along the narrow street.

He turned into Bülowstrasse, a larger thoroughfare, and slowed to a rapid walk. A running man was just too conspicu­ous, but a walking man was too slow. He was debating what to do when a tram swished past him and then ground to a halt at a stop not far ahead. He hopped on just as the doors were closing. Through the window he glimpsed the Gestapo men spilling out on to the street, and swiftly found a seat on the opposite side, away from the pavement, where they wouldn’t be able to see him. He took the tram all the way up to the Kur­fürsten­damm and then changed on to a bus heading east towards Hohenzollernstrasse.

He needed Theo’s help.

Ten minutes later he was in Theo’s flat, glass of whisky in hand, recounting the story of his escape. Theo listened closely.

‘Stay here tonight,’ he said. ‘I’ll speak to Canaris tomorrow, I’m sure he can sort this out. I can’t believe the Gestapo would arrest someone they know is one of our agents.’

‘That seems to be what they are trying to do,’ said Conrad. ‘Perhaps Schalke is acting on his own initiative.’

‘If he is, he’ll be in big trouble,’ Theo said. ‘That’s not a wise thing to do in this country. More whisky?’

He poured out two more glasses of Scotch from a decanter. They were still speculating on what the Gestapo were up to when the doorbell rang. Theo raised his eyebrows, found his belt and buckled it on. With his pistol at his hip, he went downstairs to where the door to his flat opened out on to the street.

There was Schalke with three men behind him. ‘Lieutenant von Hertenberg, please let us in,’ said Schalke.

Theo stood up straight. ‘Why?’

‘We are searching for a British spy. A friend of yours.’

‘A friend of mine? I don’t know any British spy.’

‘Conrad de Lancey.’

‘You are correct, Herr de Lancey
is
a friend of mine. And, as you know, he is doing some confidential work for the Abwehr.’

‘Spying on the Gestapo?’

‘What do you mean?’ said Theo.

‘We have evidence that de Lancey has been spying against senior members of the Gestapo.’

‘Ridiculous,’ said Theo.

‘We went to his flat and he evaded arrest half an hour ago. We think it is possible that he is here.’

‘Well, he isn’t.’

‘Let’s see,’ said Schalke and raised a hand to push Theo out of the way.

In an instant Theo had pushed him back into the street and drawn his pistol. ‘How dare you try to force your way into my home!’ Theo screamed. ‘I give you my word as a German officer that de Lancey is not in here, and that should be enough. I know what this is all about, you ignorant pig!’ Spittle was flying from his lips now and his face was going red, the scar on his jaw showing up a livid white. ‘You are jealous of him because he became friendly with your Jewish girlfriend.’ Schalke stiffened at the word ‘Jewish’. ‘The problem with swine like you is that you think with your dick, not with your brains.’ Theo’s eyes were bulging, and Schalke took two steps back. ‘I will permit you to enter my flat if, and only if, I receive a direct order from Admiral Canaris requiring me too. Until then, piss off, the lot of you!’

Tall as Theo was, Schalke was two centimetres taller, yet he was intimidated by the pistol and by the fury. For a moment he looked as if he would stand and argue, then he turned on his heel and, with a quick order to his henchmen, he got into the car and drove slowly off.

‘Whew,’ said Theo when he returned to Conrad in the flat. ‘That certainly got the circulation going.’

‘Very impressive,’ said Conrad. ‘Your face is still red, you know.’

‘It’s the Prussian breeding,’ said Theo. ‘Von Hertenbergs have been screaming at ignorant dogs like that for centuries.’

‘Well, I’m glad they took your word as a German officer.’

Theo smiled. ‘Don’t tell Father.’

‘Did they leave?’

‘Just around the corner. You can be sure they will be watch­ing this place like hawks.’ Theo corrected himself. ‘Or like cats around a mouse hole.’

‘Did he say why they are after me?’ Conrad asked.

‘Yes. Something about you spying on senior Gestapo officers. Do you know what that is about?’

‘No,’ said Conrad. ‘No idea.’

‘Are you sure?’ Theo looked at his friend closely. ‘No secret mission for our friend Foley?’

‘No,’ said Conrad. ‘And please don’t scream at me.’

Theo smiled. ‘All right, I won’t. It could cause a problem, though. If the Gestapo have a convincing story about you spy­ing on them, it will be difficult for Canaris to stand up for you without provoking a showdown with Heydrich. Which is some­thing he will wish to avoid, at least for the next few weeks until things are resolved one way or the other.’