Winter's Bullet (15 page)

A team of Luftwaffe service personnel hurried past Krüger to begin unloading its cargo. Satisfied all was in order, Krüger turned and walked back into the trees until
he reached a small clearing, in the centre of which was another transport plane. Camouflage netting had been strung above it.

It was one of the few remaining Arado heavy transport planes that were still serviceable. It looked a bit like the Liberator that had taken him to Barcelona, with a high wing above the fuselage and four beefy engines. But its tail was different; it had a long pontoon from the wing to the double tail at the back. This meant that the fuselage itself, which was fat and stubby, actually ended just past the front wing. Krüger made his way to it and found that the doors had been folded back and a ramp lowered to allow easy loading. Inside was a cavernous space.

Now Krüger was close up, he noticed the strange undercarriage. In addition to the normal three-wheel tricycle arrangement, it also had two neat rows of smaller wheels along the bottom of the fuselage. It was an amazing-looking craft, he thought.

Krüger decided to take a look inside while he waited for the cargo to arrive from the other plane. He walked up the ramp and stared at the open cargo area. It was completely open right up to the cockpit, except for a compartment on the right-hand side. He walked down towards it. Several metal seats had been bolted in pairs down the side of the fuselage before one reached the compartment, and other equipment was attached to the side, including fire extinguishers and a metal axe. The compartment had clearly been specially fabricated and fitted inside the plane; there were scorch marks to the metal where the welds had been made.

Krüger carefully opened the door to the compartment. This was to be for the Führer's exclusive use. It was surprisingly spacious, and had been furnished like a sitting room, with wicker armchairs bolted to the floor, a day bed along one wall, and a table and a set of chairs next to it. A copy of Hitler's favourite portrait of Frederick the Great had been screwed to a wall in a metal frame. There was even a cold box for food and drink. Krüger closed the door and made his way back down the plane, mentally selecting a suitable seat for himself.

A few moments later the ground crew appeared through the darkness, with two tracked vehicles being driven at a walking pace. This type of vehicle was known as the Kettenkrad, and consisted of a motorbike at the front with a set of tracks behind it, perfect for pulling heavy loads.

The first one spun round when it reached the bottom of the ramp, and then reversed slowly up, its tracks smacking on the metal.

Strapped to it was a rocket – an A-4B, about five metres in length with a smooth conical nose, a metre-long needle at its tip. In the middle of the rocket were two winglets, and at the end four long fins. A fat rocket exhaust cone sat beneath them. It was lashed to a wooden pallet which had bright yellow buoyancy bags fitted all round, with CO
₂
cylinders to inflate them.

Krüger watched as it was carefully unloaded from the Kettenkrad and secured to the floor of the cargo hold. The Kettenkrad rolled back down the ramp, and the second one reversed up.

This one was carrying a wooden crate about the size of a tea chest, which the men unloaded very carefully. Krüger was not surprised – next to the Reich's eagle, together with the serial numbers from Krüger's file, was stamped in large letters:
GEFAHR DES TODES. NICHT ÖFFNEN
.

Danger Of Death. Do Not Open.

So Müller had been telling him the truth. This was the wonder weapon that would soon attack New York and win them the war.

‘I want a permanent guard around this plane from now till take-off,' he said. ‘Ten men – six outside, four inside.'

‘Yes, Herr Oberst.' A sergeant saluted him.

He turned at the sound of a girl's cry and saw Willa being manhandled by a soldier at the front of the cargo plane.

‘Bring her here!' he barked, and the soldier led her down towards him. Krüger pointed to the inside of the plane.

‘Take a good look, you foolish child.'

Willa craned her neck and stared into the plane.

‘What do you see?'

Willa shrugged. ‘Some sort of rocket.'

‘You have just seen the future. A single weapon that has the power to obliterate an entire city.'

‘I don't believe you,' said Willa.

‘
Ja
, I know.' Krüger smiled. ‘I don't believe it either, but fifty years ago, no one would have believed we could fly in such huge machines such as these.' He touched the side
of the ramp, then started to walk back towards the main camp. Willa followed him. ‘Perhaps fifty years from now, we will be doing things no one believes possible now. Living on the moon perhaps.'

Willa shook her head.

‘Why not? With these weapons we will win the war, and then with our technology we will transform it.' Krüger glanced at her. ‘So you had better hope Frettchen soon appears with that stone, if you are to have any chance of seeing that day.'

‘What about you?' Willa said, almost contemptuously.

He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. But in fact, she was right: the Führer had promised the stone to the Duarte woman. If Krüger couldn't produce it, he was finished.

‘Take her back to my tent, and if she escapes again I will have the guard shot.'

CHAPTER 20

G
eneral Müller was finally feeling human again. Having arrived at the Adlerhorst early in the morning, he had managed five hours of sleep. Upon rising he had enjoyed a hot bath – the first in days – and a good shave from Bormann's valet, and was now wearing a fresh uniform. He had just finished his excellent breakfast of ham and eggs, and was walking across the castle courtyard with a swing in his step and a smile on his face. Müller was not one to smile – ever – but today he treated himself to an approximation of one. He felt optimistic; everything was going according to the plan and was on time. How very German.

Even the weather was good, with some rays of
sunshine that bode very well for their departure to Zandvoort at nine o'clock. The only fly in the ointment remained the Führer's chronic indecision. He had changed his mind at least a dozen times in the last two days, from agreeing to the plan to believing a return to the bunker in Berlin was the better option. Müller had left Bormann to work on him with his subtle persuasive skills.

Müller reached the radio room and composed a short message to Oberst Krüger, advising him of their expected departure and arrival time and requesting confirmation that everything was ready at the airfield. He handed the message to the operator, who quickly encoded it and sent it out on the Enigma machine. Then he sat and smoked a cigarette while he waited for the reply, which duly arrived. Excellent – the cargo had arrived safely, but, Müller noted, there was no mention of the Red Queen.

Müller walked back across the castle courtyard to call on Bormann and to check the time of departure. He stopped to make a final inspection of the vehicles waiting there; as with the airstrip engineers, he had had to twist arms in order to put together a secure convoy.

For the sake of speed and secrecy, he had ruled out using the Führer's armoured train and had instead found the fastest armoured cars available. These were Pumas fitted with Porsche engines – one with flak guns, one with a double cannon and one with radio capability. They could reach up to fifty kilometres an hour, and had long-range tanks fitted. There would be two at the front and the flak one at the back. Between the Pumas were two of Hitler's own six-wheeled Mercedes, capable of carrying
seven people in comfort and safety. Müller had asked for machine guns to be fitted to the running boards at the front, and had had the tyres switched to road ones in order to lift the top speed to that of the armoured cars.

Finally, there was a fuel truck, a mechanical support truck, a field ambulance and a transport with a platoon of the Führer's own Leibstandarte SS troops.

He turned from his inspection and found that Bormann was coming to meet him. It was hard to tell if he was smiling or experiencing an attack of indigestion. Müller hoped it was the former.

‘Good news?' Müller asked.

‘Not for me, I feel like my stomach is on fire.' He rubbed his stomach with his gloved hand.

‘Has the Führer made his decision?'

‘He is conducting the morning briefing with the OKW now, reviewing the position on the Western Front. I will ask him for a decision as soon as that meeting finishes.'

The two men stood in the snow for a few minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. Then the door to the Führer's hut opened and a series of army generals started to drift out with their adjutants. They all looked tired and dispirited.

‘We cannot hold this operation beyond tonight, you know that,' said Müller quietly. ‘Either we leave or we stand it down.'

‘Don't tell me my business,' snapped Bormann. ‘I will speak to him. Wait here.'

He pushed through the thinning crowd and disappeared inside. Müller lit a cigarette and glanced around. In
the west corner of the courtyard Eva Braun was standing with her sister, Gretl. The two women were both dressed for the road, in wool skirts and coats, strong walking books and fur hats.

Müller thought they looked tense as they chatted together and stamped their feet. Well, if all went to plan, in two weeks they would be wearing cotton dresses and enjoying the warm winter sunshine of Buenos Aires. The Führer would give the final order, and the Type XXI U-boat which would by then be waiting underwater just off the coast of the United States would launch the missile that would reduce New York to dust.

After ten minutes Bormann emerged from the hut, wearing the same tight smile on his face.

‘Good news?' Müller asked again.

‘Not for our boys in the Ardennes.'

‘It's bad?'

‘It's over. Retreating on all fronts, no fuel for the Panzers, no bullets for the infantry. Same in the east – a massive offensive by the Reds, over two million men.'

‘Well then, surely . . .'

‘Of course the Führer has made the right decision!'

Müller rubbed his gloved hands. ‘Operation Black Sun is authorized?'

Bormann nodded. ‘Get the vehicles started and the crews ready,' he said. ‘We leave in thirty minutes.'

CHAPTER 21

A
fter Tygo had escaped from the taxidermist, he had immediately cycled back to Gestapo Headquarters. On arrival he had been informed that Krüger had left some time ago with Willa, heading for an undisclosed location. He had left a sealed envelope in his office for Tygo.

Tygo had run upstairs to Krüger's office. On his desk was the envelope. Tygo ripped it open and saw that Krüger had written out the co-ordinates of the airfield. He recognized them: 52–37 Nord 4–53 Ost. He looked over at the large-scale map on the wall, and quickly located the place . . . only there was no sign of an airfield there. It was all woods and dunes on the coast not far from Zandvoort,
which had been a holiday resort before the war. The whole area had been out of bounds to civilians since the Occupation. It would take a couple of hours to cycle there, Tygo reckoned, perhaps a little more.

He sat down at the desk, jotting a route out below the co-ordinates on the piece of paper. When he had finished he sat there and stared at the paper package from the taxidermist's. What if the stone wasn't inside? What then?

Finally he reached forward and started to open it. He slipped off the string and tore at the paper, revealing a stiff cardboard box. Slowly he took off the lid and stared at the contents.

It was a stuffed field mouse wearing traditional red wooden clogs, and a striped sailor's jersey topped off with a little red pointed Dutch hat.

Tygo held it in his hand for a moment, then gave it a squeeze; he could feel something hard in the mouse's abdomen. He pulled up the jersey and saw an incision from neck to tail. He pulled roughly at the stitching, and out it popped on to the desk in front of him. The Red Queen. Bigger than a gobstopper, a single red diamond. From his work with Krüger, he knew enough to know that red diamonds like this simply did not exist.