Traitor's Gate (47 page)

Conrad slowly moved his hand to the Luger at his side. In a moment, the dictator would be dead. In another moment, in all probability, so would Conrad. He didn’t care; it would be worth it. No one noticed Conrad; everyone’s eyes were on the Führer.

Or not quite everyone’s.

‘Don’t do it, Herr de Lancey. I order you not to shoot.’

The voice, little more than a whisper came from a foot behind Conrad.

Conrad turned to see Colonel Oster standing behind him, unarmed. ‘You can’t order me, remember, Oster. That’s why I’m here.’

‘I can order Hertenberg to shoot you.’

‘He won’t. At least not until it is too late.’ Conrad slipped his pistol from its holster and rested it in front of his belt, under his cap which he clutched with his other hand. Still no one had noticed.

‘Everything has changed,’ said Oster. ‘This morning, you were assisting a legitimate revolution, an attempt to bring democracy back to Germany. Now you are a lone assassin. Before, you were going to stop a war. Now, if you shoot Hitler, you will start one.’

‘He’s evil, Oster. You know that. How many Germans have to die before you realize how evil he is?’

‘You will make him a martyr. The German people will demand revenge on the British, the Czechs, the French, all of Europe.’

Conrad hesitated.

‘Hertenberg. Shoot de Lancey.’

Conrad waited. At the first movement Theo made towards his pistol, Conrad would shoot Hitler.

As Theo looked from his friend to his mentor, Conrad could see the excitement, the desire to seize the moment, overcome by Theo’s innate respect for authority – and for reason.

‘We don’t want to start a war, Conrad,’ said Theo. ‘Remember Algy.’

Conrad thought of Algernon Pendleton who had lost his life at Ypres in 1916. And he thought of Gavrilo Princip whose assassin’s bullet two years before had led to Algy’s death, and millions of others like him.

‘This is too big a decision for you and me to take,’ said Theo. ‘Let’s go.’

Conrad felt the weight of history bearing down on his shoul­­ders. He had spent years of his life studying German history. He, of all people, should know that the consequences of what he was about to do would be impossible to predict and could be truly disastrous. He had thought long and hard before he had convinced himself that the coup was the best way to bring peace.

Oster was right; an assassination was different. At that moment Conrad realized that he was being driven by hatred and a desire for revenge, rather than a sober calculation of the balance between right and wrong, peace and war.

He returned his Luger to its holster and turned to Theo.

‘Don’t worry. You don’t have to shoot me.’

The SS adjutant took his time to get to the telephone, there were so many people clamouring for his attention. When he eventually picked up the receiver, he was bombarded by frantic warnings from an overwrought Gestapo agent. He was getting weary of these histrionics.

He glanced up to see the two Wehrmacht officers leaving the antechamber, accompanied by a colonel.

‘Don’t waste my time, Fischer,’ he snapped. ‘I can see the men now. They are leaving the building.’

The next day, Chamberlain flew to Munich, armed with his neatly furled umbrella. The leaders of Britain, France, Italy and Germany discussed the future of Czechoslovakia in the Brown House, the Nazi Party headquarters. The Five-Power Conference had become a Four-Power Conference: the Czech delegation was left skulking in the corridors outside. Inside, the four governments decided that the Czechs should allow German troops to march into the Sudetenland by 10 October. The text of this agreement was handed to the Czech Foreign Minister at 1.30 a.m.; he was told that a response from his government was not required. Without the Sudetenland and its line of fortifications the rest of Czechoslovakia was defence­less. As the Czech Prime Minister put it: ‘We were given the choice of being murdered or committing suicide.’

The following morning, Chamberlain wrote out a brief note on a piece of paper and persuaded Hitler to sign it. This Hitler did quickly, and without much thought. The note stated:

We, the German Führer and Chancellor and the British Prime Minister, have had a further meeting today and are agreed in recognizing that the question of Anglo-German relations is of the first importance for the two countries and for Europe.

We regard the agreement signed last night and the Anglo-German Naval Agreement as symbolic of the desire of our two peoples never to go to war with one another again.

We are resolved that the method of consultation shall be the method adopted to deal with any other questions that may concern our two countries, and we are determined to continue our efforts to remove possible sources of difference and thus to contribute to assure the peace of Europe.

It was this declaration that Chamberlain had been working so tirelessly to secure. This was the goal of Plan Z; it was for this that he had let Hitler remain in power. This was the piece of paper he waved to the cheering crowd at Heston Airport later that day on his return to London. This it was that guaranteed ‘peace in our time’.

Three days later, Hjalmar Schacht, Colonel Oster, Theo and Generals von Witzleben and Beck all met at von Witzleben’s house. There they tossed all their plans for the coup into the fire, including Theo’s notebook. Perhaps one day in the future Hitler would overreach himself and give them another opportunity to act, but for now they had to watch an ecstatic populace cheer their führer as he absorbed the Sudetenland into the Reich without a drop of blood being shed.

The debate on the Munich Agreement in the House of Com­mons lasted three days. Duff Cooper duly resigned, but the prevailing tone was in favour of the Prime Minister who had preserved peace. At the end of the debate, Winston Churchill gave his own summary of what had happened:

‘One pound was demanded at the pistol’s point. When it was given, two pounds were demanded at the pistol’s point. Finally, the dictator consented to take one pound, seventeen shillings and sixpence and the rest in promises of goodwill for the future.’

The traffic in the Potsdamer Platz was as busy as ever and, with the threat of war suddenly removed, crowds thronged towards Wertheim’s department store on the far side of the square from the Café Josty. Theo and Conrad toyed with small cups of coffee each. Throughout 1938 the quality of coffee available in Berlin’s cafés had deteriorated steadily, but however bad it was Berliners were still in the habit of drinking it.

‘Are you sure this is safe?’ Conrad asked.

‘Quite sure,’ said Theo. ‘The last thing the Gestapo wants to do is find you. For some reason, Heydrich is convinced that you have been spending your free time in Halle checking up on his ancestry. It didn’t take much for us to hint that Klaus Schalke’s death was connected to that somehow. It was amazing how quickly the Gestapo dropped their investigation.’

‘I’m sorry I couldn’t come to Sophie’s funeral.’

‘It was sad. The saddest thing was that her father insisted on all the Nazi paraphernalia. But I don’t believe she died a Nazi.’

‘She didn’t,’ said Conrad.

‘Hey, fellas!’ They looked around to see Warren strid­­ing towards them, white teeth flashing. ‘Conrad! I didn’t expect to find you here. But I’m glad to see you are still in one piece.’

‘My name is Lars. Dr Lars Bendixen.’ The Abwehr had given him new papers to replace those of Lieutenant Eiche.

‘Whatever you say, doctor. But I’m not going to put up with that cod-Danish accent all afternoon.’

‘All right,’ said Conrad, ‘let’s speak German, then,’ although he persisted with the Danish accent in that language.

‘That’s better,’ said Warren. ‘So, doc, I’ve got this pain in my back. Have you got anything for it?’

‘Doctor of history, you imbecile. At the University of Copen­hagen.’

‘Shame. I thought you might have learned something useful for a change.’

‘Are you returning to Prague soon?’

‘Next week. Vernon arrived back in Berlin yesterday. It will be interesting. From what I understand the Czechs are hopping mad.’

‘That doesn’t surprise me.’

‘I shipped all your things back to your family in England, by the way. Just in time, too. The Gestapo showed up at your apartment to confiscate them the day afterwards.’

‘Thank you, Warren.’

‘What shall I do with the place?’

‘Just leave it. I’ll write to the owner in Paris to explain what has happened. If I send him a big enough cheque, I’m sure he will understand.’

Warren ordered a cup of coffee. ‘Oh, and I got a friend who was flying to Paris to post that letter to your father from there.’

Conrad smiled. ‘I knew I could rely on you. I thought you would be in front of the Chancellery to watch the parade. I was lucky there were so few other people there so I could find you.’

‘I didn’t spot you,’ said Warren.

Conrad glanced at Theo, who was frowning. He hadn’t told him of his quick escapade the afternoon before the coup to get a message to his father. Come to think of it, the poor man must be mystified. ‘Could you do me one more favour, Warren? Could you just let him know that I am alive?’

‘OK,’ said Warren. ‘Say, with all this toing and froing to Munich and places, did I miss a story?’

Conrad and Theo exchanged glances and grinned. ‘I would say that you did,’ Conrad said.

‘Am I going to hear about it now?’

‘One day,’ said Theo. ‘One day, I hope.’

Warren frowned. Then he looked over towards the door of the café. ‘Isn’t that Captain Foley?’

Sure enough the unassuming Englishman was making his way towards their table. Behind him was a woman, walking awkwardly in clothes that were too big for her thin body.

Anneliese.

Her face was pinched and pale, the skin drawn tight over her cheekbones. But there was nothing unfamiliar about her smile when she saw Conrad.

She sat in the empty chair next to him.

‘Captain Foley says I am not to kiss you,’ she said to Conrad. ‘But consider yourself kissed.’

‘And you. It’s so good to see you! I thought I would never see you again.’

‘I look dreadful, though, don’t I?’

‘No,’ said Conrad. ‘You look wonderful.’

‘We only have a few minutes,’ said Foley. ‘Anneliese has to leave the country tonight, so we must catch a train.’

‘Do you want anything to eat?’ asked Theo.

 ‘Captain Foley gave me lunch on the way from Lichtenburg. But I’ll have a Menzeltorte.’

The Menzeltorte was a Café Josty speciality. It was a square pastry with a hard layer of iced chocolate, underneath which was soft cream in lighter chocolate, then a crisp base.

‘I know I’ll only be able to manage a couple of mouthfuls, but I’ve been dreaming of it for the last six weeks.’

‘Are you... all right?’ Conrad asked.

‘You mean, what was it like?’

‘I suppose I do.’

‘It was worse than last time. I had been in the camp a couple of weeks when I knocked myself out, falling against a wall. I spent a day in the infirmary, and after that I was in solitary confinement, first at Sachsenhausen, and then in Lichtenburg Castle. I had no idea why, until Captain Foley explained it to me.’

‘Klaus wanted to hide you away.’

‘So you couldn’t have me.’

‘I’ve got you now.’ Their eyes met and Anneliese smiled. The café was crowded and noisy and Theo, Warren and Foley were carrying on a lively conversation right next to them, but Conrad didn’t care. As far as he was concerned, Anneliese and he were the only two people there.

‘You know he’s dead now?’ Conrad said after a few moments.

‘Yes. Captain Foley told me that too. He also said that it was thanks to your persistence that they found me.’

‘Before he died, Klaus said that you hadn’t been killed, that he had whisked you away to another camp. Frankly, I didn’t believe him, but I couldn’t leave Germany until I had found out for sure. So I pestered a friend of Foley’s called Israel, who pestered the commandant at Sachsenhausen, who admitted that Klaus had told him to announce that you were dead and transfer you somewhere else. It took a few days, but Israel was able to track you down to Lichtenburg. We owe him a lot.’

‘Oh, Conrad, it’s awful in those places, cut off from the outside world, not even knowing if the people you love know you are there. Not knowing whether you will ever get out.’

‘Well, after Munich they decided Berlin was safe enough for Foley to return. So he came back here and got you out.’

‘Munich? What happened in Munich?’

‘There was nearly a war when you were in the camp. Munich was the conference that stopped it. Or delayed it. You can read all about it when you get a newspaper.’

‘And Theo’s little scheme?’ Anneliese glanced at the Abwehr officer.

Conrad shrugged. ‘Nothing came of it.’

‘That’s a shame.’

‘It is. One day, perhaps.’ Conrad hesitated, not wishing to add to Anneliese’s troubles, but he couldn’t hide what he had to say from her, either. ‘Sophie’s dead.’

Anneliese closed her eyes, and seemed to slump forward. Despite Foley’s strictures about no signs of affection, Conrad reached out a hand to steady her.

‘Let me guess. Klaus?’

Conrad nodded.

A tear ran down Anneliese’s cheek. She wiped it away. ‘I can’t wait to get out of this country.’

The Menzeltorte came, and Anneliese took two bites, pushing it aside. ‘What a shame. My poor stomach: it’s far too rich. Any more and I think I will be sick.’

‘Never mind,’ said Conrad. ‘Next week I’ll take you to the Ritz for tea.’

Anneliese smiled. ‘It will be so good to see my parents. But I’m nervous about England. I’ve never been there: I’ve no idea what I will do.’

Conrad fished a scrap of paper out of his pocket and scribbled down an address. ‘I know you will be staying with your parents, but if you need anything, get in touch with my mother. She will help you, and she speaks German of course.’

‘I hope my brother will be all right. He says the Luftwaffe need every pilot they can get and so they won’t ask him any difficult questions.’