For a moment neither man moved. On Grauber’s face there was a look of incredulity; on Gregory’s, before he could check it, one of consternation. It was just such a chance meeting with his old enemy that he had feared when Goering had first had the idea of sending him and Malacou to Führer H.Q.
Since then he had become so immersed in the tremendous drama being played out in the bunker as the Nazi-controlled legions were being beaten to their knees, and in his growing influence over Hitler, that he had not given Grauber a thought.
Now he cursed himself for having failed to realise that in the chaos that was swiftly destroying all organisation in the Reich such private Intelligence services as Goering’s would have broken down, and that men like Grauber would not remain to die fighting with a defeated Army but scurry back to the seats of Nazi power where, for the time being at least, their lives would be safe.
Had Gregory not been caught off his guard and been able to greet Grauber with bland politeness he might, just possibly, have made the gorilla-like Obergruppenführer doubt the evidence of his eye. But Gregory’s jaw had dropped and his eyes had shown acute alarm. In that instant, despite the extreme improbability of a British agent’s having penetrated the Führer’s headquarters, Grauber identified him beyond all question. With a cat-like agility amazing in a man of his bulk, he jumped backwards and his hand slapped on to his pistol holster.
But it was empty. He had momentarily forgotten that before entering the bunker he had had to leave his weapon in the outer guard room. Knowing that Grauber’s recognition of him spelt death, had Gregory been armed he too would have whipped out a gun, in the hope of shooting Grauber first then shooting his way out of the bunker. Being used to having to check in his pistol before coming downstairs, his reaction was entirely different but equally swift.
Raising his eyebrows in surprise at Grauber’s backward spring, he glanced at von Below and said, ‘I’m sorry, Colonel, but I did not catch the Obergruppenführer’s name.’
Grauber’s high-pitched voice came in a screech of mingled hate and triumph. ‘He knows it well enough! And I know his! He is the ace British Secret Agent, Gregory Sallust.’
Von Below looked quickly from one to the other, then smiled and said, ‘My dear Herr Obergruppenführer. What you suggest is absurd. I …’
‘It is not absurd. It is a fact,’ snapped Grauber.
Gregory managed to raise a smile and shook his head. ‘I had no idea that I resembled this apparently famous character so closely. But my name is Protze, and I am a member of the Reichsmarschall’s staff.’
‘Then you have tricked him,’ Grauber snarled. ‘As you have many other people by your perfect German. I know you for who you are and now, at last, I’ve got you.’
‘Really,’ protested von Below. ‘I’m sure you are mistaken. Major Protze has been with us since the beginning of March. He could not possibly be a British agent. All of us here——’
‘You fool!’ Grauber piped in his feminine falsetto. ‘I tell you I know him! I’ve known him for years. Ever since the beginning of the war. We’ve been up against one another half a dozen times and each time he’s slipped through my fingers. But not now. Not now!’
At that Gregory resorted to a show of anger and stormed back, ‘You are talking nonsense! The strain we are all under these days has addled your wits. I’ve never met you before in my life. I’m as much a German as you are. The Reichsmarschall will vouch for me.’
‘I’ll take my oath he can’t. At least for only during the latter stages of the war. He cannot have known you as an officer of the Luftwaffe in ’39 or ’40 or even in ’42.’
The rank Grauber held made him the equivalent of a full General but, like most regular officers, von Below disliked and despised Himmler’s people; so he stood up for Gregory as an officer of his own service and said sharply, ‘Herr Obergruppenführer, this accusation you bring against Major Protze rests solely on your word. He has shown himself to be a loyal servant of the Führer, who has developed a high regard for him. Should you persist in this and be proved wrong you will have cause to——’
Grauber’s pasty moonlike face had gone white with rage and he cut in, ‘How dare you threaten me in the execution of my duty! I insist that this man be arrested and taken to the Albrecht Strasse. Round there we’ve plenty of ways to make him admit his true identity.’
Von Below drew himself up. ‘Your suggestion is outrageous. Under torture anyone will admit anything. To have an officer tortured simply because he resembles a British agent that you used to know is unthinkable. No-one can stop you from practising your barbarities on Jews and foreigners. But this is Führer Headquarters and the loyalty of every man in it is beyond question.’
For a moment Gregory took heart at von Below’s stout defence of him. But Grauber shrilled, ‘That does not apply to this one. I order you to fetch the guard. Whether you like it or not, I intend to remove him.’
‘They will not obey you. They take their orders only from Herr Parteiführer Bormann.’
‘Then I demand to see him.’
Von Below gestured towards the partition. ‘He is in there at the Führer conference, so cannot be disturbed. And it may go on for hours.’
‘Gott im Himmel!’ Grauber suddenly exploded, driven to madness at the thought of the least delay in wreaking vengeance on his hated enemy. ‘Then I’ll arrest him myself. There are plenty of S.S. men upstairs who’ll obey my orders and take him to the Albrecht Strasse.’ As he spoke he shot out one of his enormously long arms and grabbed Gregory.
Once out of the bunker, Gregory knew that he would be finished. Even if von Below later secured from Bormann an order for his release, long before he could be got out of Grauber’s clutches the Gestapo would have reduced him to a gibbering, bleeding wreck. Jerking himself away, he hit out but missed. Grauber came at him in a bull-like rush. A chair went over with a crash. They fell to the floor together struggling wildly and yelling curses at one another.
Gregory had Grauber by the throat, but was underneath him and held down by his great weight. The Gestapo Chief had both his thumbs under Gregory’s eyes, endeavouring to gouge them out. The pain was excruciating. Gregory screamed, but managed to wrench his head aside. Then he fixed his teeth in Grauber’s right hand. The deep bite brought forth a yell of agony.
The door in the partition opened. Bormann appeared and shouted angrily, ‘What the hell is going on here?’
Spreading out his arms in a helpless gesture, von Below cried above the din, ‘The Obergruppenführer declares Major Protze to be a British spy.’
‘Stop it!’ bellowed Bormann. ‘Stop it, you two!’ And, taking a pace forward, he kicked at the writhing bodies on the floor. His heavy boot caught Grauber on the thigh. Gregory unclenched his teeth. They rolled apart and, panting heavily, came unsteadily to their feet.
Hitler had emerged behind Bormann and was surveying the scene with dull eyes, as Bormann rapped out at Grauber, ‘Explain yourself, Herr Obergruppenführer. On what do you base these accusations?’
‘I know the man,’ Grauber piped. ‘I’ve known him for years. His name is Sallust and he is the most dangerous agent in the British Secret Service.’
‘When did you see him last?’ Bormann asked.
‘In the summer of 1942, Herr Parteiführer,’ Grauber replied promptly.
‘But damn it, that is getting on for three years ago. However good your memory may be for faces that is a bit long for you to be so sure you recognise a man. Can you produce anyone else who could identify him as this British agent?’
Grauber hesitated, sucked at his bleeding hand, then admitted sullenly, ‘No, Herr Parteiführer. No. But I am certain of what I say. He was then passing himself off as a French collaborator. I ran into him in a night-club in Budapest.’
His hopes rising again, Gregory burst out, ‘That’s a lie. This whole business is an absurd mistake. I’ve never been in Budapest in my life.’
‘And that is a real lie,’ said another voice, that came from the far doorway. In it Ribbentrop had just appeared, having arrived to attend the conference. Addressing Hitler with a smile, he went on:
‘The Obergruppenführer is right, mein Führer. When I first saw this man here a few weeks ago I knew I’d seen him somewhere before, but could not place him. It was in Budapest in the summer of 1942. He is an exceptionally able British agent and his name is Sallust.’
It was the coup de grâce. Up to that moment Gregory had still hoped that with von Below’s help and by calling on Koller to protect him he might manage to get the issue postponed for long enough to escape and disappear among the ruins of Berlin or, if he were placed under arrest pending investigation, at least get them to insist on his being confined in the bunker and allow him to telephone Goering. What attitude the Reichsmarschall might have taken up there could be no telling. He would certainly not have been willing to admit that he had knowingly foisted an English spy on to his Führer and with everything going to pieces he might cynically have declined to intervene. On the other hand, out of loathing for Himmler, he might have used his still great powers in some way to thwart Grauber.
But Ribbentrop’s appearance on the scene had now rendered such speculations futile. It had been Gregory’s ill luck that, apart from Goering, the only other Nazi in all Germany who could identify him had arrived at that moment. The Obergruppenführer’s solitary eye gleamed with triumph. He passed his tongue swiftly over the thin lips of his mean little mouth and cried in his feminine falsetto:
‘I thank you, Herr Reichsaussenminister. Your arrival is most opportune. Now I’m proved right I’ll have my people take this fellow to pieces and we’ll learn what filthy game he has been playing here.’
Gregory paled; but he possessed that fine trait in the British character—he was at his best in defeat. Whatever he said now could not save him, but he might yet win himself a quick death instead of one after prolonged, excruciating torment. Facing Hitler he burst into a torrent of words, shouting down Bormann’s efforts to check him.
‘Mein Führer! You are a just man. I ask you to see justice done. It is true that I am an Englishman. But I am not a British agent. Many years ago I realised that any democratic government dominated by Jews must lead to corruption and the exploitation of its people. I became a Fascist but disguised my beliefs in order to enter the British Secret Service and work against the decadent Government. In the early years of the war I twice managed to get sent to Germany with the intention of offering my services to the Nazi Reich; but on both occasions I came up against the Obergruppenführer. He had already known me in London as a member of the Secret Service so would not believe the honesty of my intentions. On both occasions I was forced to go to earth and return to England. Otherwise he would have had the Gestapo torture me to death.’
‘You lie!’ screamed Grauber. ‘This is a tissue of lies. He never offered to come over to us. In Budapest he was plotting to persuade those accursed Hungarians to go over to the Allies.’
‘On the contrary,’ shouted Gregory. ‘I was persuading some of their leaders to give more active support to Germany. And from the Baroness Tuzolto I was receiving invaluable assistance. Everyone knows that she is a wholehearted Nazi.’ Suddenly he swung round on Ribbentrop and cried:
‘You can vouch for her, Herr Reichsaussenminister. Is it likely she would have given me her aid if I had been working for the British? But the Obergruppenführer’s vindictiveness wrecked everything. I had to get out to save my skin and to save hers from this ham-fisted lieutenant of Herr Himmler’s I had to take her with me. And it was you who enabled us to escape. Isn’t that true?’
Ribbentrop had helped them to get away in order to spite Himmler, and he was quick enough to see that, since Gregory had been Sabine’s lover, if she were brought into the matter she might side with him. As he could not afford to be accused of aiding a British agent to escape, he decided to hedge and replied:
‘I knew only that he was an Englishman and that Sabine Tuzolto vouched for him. I’ve known her for years and she is above suspicion. When Grauber got after them it occurred to me that by helping this man to escape I might make use of him; so I sent the Baroness with him to London hoping that through her high connections there she would obtain valuable information for us.’
‘And she did,’ added Gregory. ‘With my help she obtained for you the Allies’ plans for their entry into the Mediterranean—Operation “Torch”.’
Suddenly Hitler spoke. His memory for facts, figures and events was prodigious and, despite the shocking deterioration in his health, his memory had not suffered. In his hoarse, rasping voice, he said:
‘I recall the affair. A few days before the North Africa landings, through the help of the Moldavian Military Attaché, the Baroness got back to Germany. She brought the plans with her. But they proved to be false. False!’
‘Mein Führer,’ Gregory cried, ‘that was no fault of mine. I had them from a man I knew in the Offices of the War Cabinet. But the swine had sold me the Deception Plan. That, though, is only half the story. M.I.5 had got wise to the Baroness’s activities. She was arrested; sent to the Tower of London. She was to have been court-martialled and would have been shot as a reprisal for the Gestapo’s having executed British women landed in France by parachute. And what then? Did I leave her there to her fate? No! At the peril of my own life I rescued her from the Tower, and with Colonel Kasdar’s help succeeded in getting her away. Is that not proof enough that I believed the plan she took with her to be the genuine one and did my best to serve Germany?’
Ribbentrop nodded. ‘That is true, mein Führer. She could never have escaped had it not been for this man’s skill and daring.’
‘And I paid for it,’ Gregory went on quickly. ‘I was caught within a few minutes of having got her into the motor boat that Kasdar had brought alongside the Tower water front. I was court-martialled and received a long prison sentence. I was let out only because the British knew that I know Berlin better than most of their agents and they wanted an eyewitness account of the bomb damage. They offered me my freedom if I would get it for them and dropped me outside the city by parachute. I went to the Reichsmarschall and laid my cards on the table. He had the sense to see that my intentions were honourable and that I could be of use.’
For a moment Gregory paused for breath, then he went on. ‘And, mein Führer, I can claim that I have. You have honoured me with your confidence; and during the past few weeks with the aid of my Turkish servant I have obtained for you from occult sources much valuable information.’
Up till that moment Gregory had played his poor hand as though inspired. While succeeding in neutralising Ribbentrop, he had recalled his extraordinary feat of enabling Sabine to escape from Britain, and it could not be proved that he had not been imprisoned for doing so. He had cashed in on the assumption that the shrewd Goering believed him to be a fanatical pro-Nazi, and derided Grauber as a blundering fool for having earlier refused to believe in his honesty and driven him out of Germany. But in mentioning the occult he had made his one fatal error.
Hitler’s face suddenly went livid. His semi-paralysed arm began to shake and he raised the other accusingly. Foam flecked his lips and his rage was such that he could hardly get his words out.
‘You … you … you filth!’ he cried. ‘You came here under false pretences. Goering must have been insane … insane to have believed in you. I put my trust in you and … and like all others you have betrayed me. You have used your occult affinities to make predictions. And they came true. But why? Why? Why? So that in the big thing … the thing that mattered, I should believe you. You buoyed me up with false hopes. You promised me a miracle. It was a lie! A lie! A deliberate lie because you hoped that when your prophecy failed to mature I should be driven to despair.’
Turning to Grauber he yelled, ‘Take him away, Herr Obergruppenführer. Take him away. Do what you like with him.’
His outburst was followed by a moment’s complete silence. Grauber’s thin mouth broke into the sort of catlike smile that came to it when he watched his victims being reduced for his amusement to whimpering idiots, as he had the skin flayed piece by piece from their backs.
Bormann shrugged and said to von Below, ‘Herr Oberst, call the guard.’
Gregory’s mouth was parched and he felt the blood going to his head.
During the past few weeks he had frequently contemplated attempting to kill Hitler. Owing to the thoroughness of the search to which they had to submit no one could ever have smuggled a weapon down into the bunker; so to assassinate him would have been extremely difficult and, whether the perpetrator succeeded or failed, it would have resulted for him in a most ghastly death.
But now that a ghastly death at Grauber’s hands was inevitable Gregory nerved himself for the attempt. He was standing within two yards of Hitler. One spring and he could be upon him. As none of the others had weapons they could not shoot him through the head. Between them they would haul him off; and in much less time than it would have taken to kill a normal, healthy man. But Hitler was already a physical wreck. A grip on his throat with the left hand, and an all-out blow over his heart with the right, could well be enough to finish him. White as a sheet and with the perspiration standing out on his forehead, Gregory gathered himself for the spring.
He was actually on his toes when a shout came from the outer door of the passage. All heads turned in that direction. Heinz Lorenz burst in among them. Shooting out his right arm, he cried wildly:
‘Heil Hitler! Heil Hitler! Tremendous news, mein Führer. It’s just come over the air at the Ministry. I ran all the way here. The President is dead! Roosevelt died last night. It is official, announced by the Americans. Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!’
Again there was a moment’s pregnant silence. Hitler let out a long whistling breath. Then he whispered, ‘A miracle! The Miracle of Brandenburg has been repeated. The Reich is saved. I knew it! I’ve always known it. The decrees of fate are unalterable and it is decreed that I should triumph over my enemies.’
His voice had risen to a shout. At the sounds of the excitement Keitel, Jodl, Koller, the new Chief of Staff General Krebs and the Admiral Voss, who represented Doenitz, had all come out of the conference room, while several others, including Johannmeier and Hogel, Chief of the Führer’s personal S.S. guard, had emerged from the far end of the lounge passage. Now they all raised their arms with shouts of Heil Hitler! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!
When the tumult had died down Hitler said to Gregory, ‘Herr Major, you have justified yourself. I have been under a great strain—a great strain. For a moment, just for a moment, I lost faith. That a man should not be born a German is not his fault. At this moment there are thousands of Frenchmen, Dutchmen, Czechs, Danes, yes and even Russians, fighting beside us for our ideals. That you should share them is enough. You will remain here and may count upon my friendship.’
Still sweating, but now from relief at his miraculous escape, Gregory shook the limp hand extended to him. As Hitler withdrew it he scowled at Grauber and said, ‘You understand, Herr Obergruppenführer. You have been mistaken in this man. Your campaign of malice against him is to cease. Should any harm come to him through you, you will answer for it to me with your head.’
Then, smiling round, his lips trembling and slobbering a little, he cried, ‘And now we must celebrate. Champagne! Champagne for everyone.’
If ever anyone had needed a glass of good wine it was Gregory at that moment; but never in his wildest dreams had he imagined that he would clink glasses with Grauber, yet ten minutes later that was what Hitler made them do.
The following day Hitler again took Gregory up to walk with him while he gave his dog Blondi a run in the garden. For a while they talked of reincarnation and Gregory was asked what he thought would become of the ego that had been President Roosevelt. He replied:
‘According to the ancient wisdom, mein Führer, he is thoroughly enjoying himself, not only because he has now cast off all his responsibilities, but because he is meeting again a number of people many of whom were not in incarnation during his most recent life but were dear to him in others. It is said that between each life we are granted a period of carefree happiness, like a holiday between terms at school; then, when we are fully recovered from the strain to which we have been put here, we are born again and given new tasks to perform. Having achieved such a high position in his last life it is certain that Roosevelt’s accumulated experience will qualify him for leadership again in his next. But the probability is that it will be on a Planet of some distant star.’
Hitler only grunted, as his mind was too occupied with new plans to pursue the subject. He said that since the opening of the last Russian offensive, which looked like spelling the doom of Berlin, he had been seriously considering remaining there and making the great gesture of sacrificing himself on the altar of the ideals for which he had striven so hard. But Roosevelt’s death had fired him with a new faith in his star. It could be only a matter of weeks now before the Americans offered terms, during which there would be no difficulty in holding the Bavarian redoubt. Even if the Russians did take Berlin the Western Allies could not be so crazy as to allow those Communist swine to advance further into Europe. For him, of course, politically it would be the end. Churchill would never agree that he should continue to lead Germany against Russia. That was a tragedy, because the Allies would deprive themselves of his abilities as a strategist, which everyone acknowledged equalled those of Napoleon. But he would make the final sacrifice for the sake of the German people. When terms had been agreed he would retire from public life. He had long wished to do so. He would spend his declining years in his old home town of Linz. There he would live with Eva Braun, the one friend he could utterly trust: the only creature other than his dog Blondi who, whatever happened, would remain unshakeably loyal to him. He was, too, already planning to build an Opera House there and a big gallery to hold his fine collection of pictures.
Uttering hardly a word, Gregory listened for over an hour to these extraordinary pipe dreams; then they returned to the bunker.
On the following day, the 15th, to everyone’s astonishment Eva Braun appeared. It was said that at times she could be temperamental if denied the only thing she asked—to be constantly in Hitler’s company. But never before had she been known to disobey an order from him. When it had first been thought that the Russian armies might possibly reach Berlin he had packed her off to Munich. Now news that Berlin was really threatened had brought her back determined to share her Adolf’s fate should he decide to remain in the capital.
At first he ordered her to return to the south, but she flatly refused. He then gave way and welcomed her with open arms, declaring that the more he was called on to face calamities and treachery the more his thoughts had turned to her.
Gregory was presented to her, and his stock went up still higher from Malacou’s prediction that in mid-April the Führer would unexpectedly receive from a female source great comfort and support in his trials.
Eva was given a bed-sitting room and tiny dressing room adjacent to Hitler’s bathroom, which she shared with him. The vegetarian cook, Fräulein Manzialy, with whom he always took his meals in Eva’s absence, was banished to the kitchen and Eva again presided over the teacups and cream buns at the interminable evening sessions.
With the object of endeavouring to show herself superior to the roughnecks who made up such a large percentage of the Führer’s entourage, she had given some time to studying art, but Gregory soon saw that her culture was no more than superficial and that basically she was a typical, healthy, fresh-complexioned German woman with bourgeois tastes, and that her real happiness lay in an outdoor life of winter sports and mountain climbing.
For the next two days Hitler seemed a new man. He was cheerful, friendly to everyone and laughing off the news of fresh disasters that continued to come in from the battle fronts. But by the third day it had again got him down.
There was no indication whatever that Roosevelt’s successor, Mr. Harry Truman, intended to make any change in the attitude of the United States to Germany; and at the midday conference on the 18th it emerged that the situation was rapidly becoming desperate.
The British were reported to have reached the outskirts of Hamburg and Bremen. General Alexander had captured Bologna and his troops had broken through into the valley of the Po. The French had arrived on the Upper Danube. The Russians were in Vienna and were now threatening both Dresden and Berlin. The Americans had crossed the Elbe and it now looked as if any day they would meet the Russian spearheads, thus cutting Germany in two.
To the acute discomfort of Hitler’s so-called advisers, sitting silently round the conference table, he again went berserk. Foaming at the mouth he declared that Stalin had been right in 1937 to kill off nine-tenths of his General Staff. He had been lucky to find out before the war that they were conspiring against him. It was now clear that the Army was deliberately betraying Germany. The weak-kneed cowards wanted peace at any price. And not only the officers. The men, too, were now thinking only of saving their own skins. They should be shot. All of them! All of them!
Hours later, hoarse, exhausted, staggering, the demon-possessed Führer was led back to his room by the ubiquitous Bormann and handed over, first to the ministrations of the slimy Dr. Morell, then to those of Eva. After resting for two hours on his bed, restored to some degree of calmness, he sent for Gregory to walk with him in the garden.
Up there, in a still strained voice, he repeated the gist of the reports that had been submitted to him at the conference; then he went on callously, ‘The Russians will capture Berlin. That seems certain now. But what of it? That is the fault of these traitor Generals who ignore my commands. Not mine. If the Berliners have to suffer it is the Army that will be to blame. I now have a more important thing to think of—my own future. The really bad news is that General Patton has begun a drive with his armour towards the Bavarian Alps. Of course, it is difficult country. But he is a determined man. This new drive of his threatens the Obersalzberg—Berchtesgaden itself. Can I trust the troops who are defending it? Shall I be safe there? Shall I be safe?’
At last there had come the moment for which through six weeks of strain and danger Gregory had striven. With Malacou’s help, however questionable its source, he had won Hitler’s complete confidence. He had never had the faintest hope of persuading him to ask for an armistice; but he had planned a campaign that, if he could achieve his object, might result in shortening the war by several months. Now was the time to risk everything by speaking out. He said firmly:
‘Nein, mein Führer. You must not seek refuge in the Obersalzberg. Any attempt to prolong the war there would be futile. There is no sign of an American change of heart and, at most, you could hold out there only for a few weeks. You spoke to me a few days ago of remaining here until the end; of going down fighting in your capital as an example for all time of courage and devotion to the German people. That is the course you should adopt; and in future time, which is endless, I am convinced that you will never regret it.’
For a moment Hitler was silent, then he asked, ‘Have you any idea what the future holds for me?’
‘Yes,’ Gregory declared, without a moment’s hesitation, ‘I have consulted Malacou. You will be reborn on Mars.’
‘Mars! But the Planet is almost burnt out. There is no life on it except, possibly, vegetation.’
‘Mein Führer, on that you compel me to contradict you. Owing to its smaller size Mars has aged more rapidly than Earth. But it has passed through exactly the same stages of development. And what would man do here when the seas gradually began to dry up and shrink? Even with science as far advanced as it is at present he could devise ways to prolong life on the Planet. Alternately, each spring and autumn, a great part of the ice-caps melt. That last reservoir of water would be conserved and used to bring fertility to plains in the old temperate zones in which there are great areas of crops. And that the Martians have done by constructing their fifty-mile-wide canals. But they are now in peril of extinction.’
‘Why so, if they have solved their problem?’
‘This solution was the best they could achieve; but it could not save them indefinitely. Evaporation decreases their water supply a little every year, and the time has come when the amount of ice that melts is no longer sufficient to fill the more remote canals. They must now seek some other solution to their difficulties, or they will perish. But it is written in the stars that they will find it and continue to survive.’
‘Their scientists are far in advance of ours. They have already solved the problem of overcoming gravity and sending manned space-ships up into the stratosphere. Since Mars is becoming uninhabitable they intend to invade and conquer another Planet where crops, fruit and animal life are still abundant. Earth is their objective. They will need thirty or forty years to improve their spacecraft and build a fleet large enough to send sufficient forces to overcome resistance here. But when they do come they will have weapons of a type we have not even conceived; so, just as happened with Cortés in Mexico, a few hundred of them will be sufficient to overcome a whole nation. All they will need then is an outstanding leader.’
‘A leader!’ Hitler echoed. ‘A leader! Do you really think …?’
‘You, mein Führer,’ Gregory lied with every ounce of conviction of which he was capable. ‘That is your future. Malacou is certain of it, and so am I.’
‘To conquer the world! The whole world! And with a really determined people behind me, instead of these cowardly Germans. What a prospect! It would make death welcome.’
Gregory stole a glance at the maniac beside him, then hammered home his grandiose deception. ‘It would, indeed, mein Führer. With that in view, to struggle on against overwhelming odds and risk becoming a prisoner of the Allies would be madness. How infinitely better to make a spectacular end of things here in Berlin, with the ruins of your capital about you. My most fervent prayer is that I may be permitted later to join you on Mars and become one of your lieutenants in this new and greater glory.’
‘You shall! You shall,’ muttered Hitler, now utterly bemused by this prospect that had been held out to him of becoming Emperor of the World. ‘You have given me more than new hope: a vision, the sooner to attain which I could die happily.’
It was on the following evening that Goering sent for Gregory. The Reichsmarschall had spoken personally to Koller on the telephone and said that the matter was urgent; so, reluctant as Gregory was to leave the bunker now he had, temporarily at least, manœuvred Hitler into a position where he might soon be dead, he set off in an Air Ministry car for Karinhall.
For a time he thought he would never get there. Now that the Allies had overrun a great part of Germany they had the use of airfields within such easy reach of Berlin that they bombed it not only every night but all night and in the daytime as well. Five out of every six streets had been rendered impassable by bomb craters, or great heaps of rubble that had fallen from wrecked buildings. The obstructions were so numerous and new ones of such frequent occurrence that all attempts to put out diversion signs had had to be abandoned; so the progress of the car was like that of a person in a maze, who comes up against a succession of dead ends and has again and again to turn back and try another way.
Meanwhile a thousand ack-ack guns were blazing away, the explosion of heavy bombs shook the ground, scores of searchlights raked the sky and the flames from dozens of burning buildings, reflected from the clouds, gave the night sky the hue of hell. Even when they at last got clear of the city the car could proceed only at a moderate pace, as the area was now the rear of a battle front. The headlights frequently glinted on water-filled potholes, in places fallen trees partially blocked the road, and from time to time they were held up by convoys of lorries or columns of weary, marching troops. The hideous journey took over five hours; but they made it and, soon after midnight, Gregory arrived at Karinhall.
When he gave his name, an adjutant took him straight up to Goering’s vast study. The Reichsmarschall was not in fancy dress but wearing a uniform of pure white silk, the tunic of which was smothered with stars and decorations, for he had collected not only every German order but also those of every country Germany had overrun.
With a curt nod he said to Gregory, ‘Sit down. I imagine you had the hell of a time getting here; but I’m glad you’ve come and I think you’ll find the effort worth it. Have you ever heard of Allen Dulles?’
‘Yes,’ Gregory replied. ‘He is the head of the Office of Strategic Services; or, to call it by another name, the American Secret Service.’
‘That is so. Well, for some time past he has been operating from Switzerland. Of course, we knew that, as we have plenty of our people there too. He runs all the escape routes for their prisoners of war who can break camp, and a vast espionage system. But recently he’s been after bigger game than that. Quite a number of prominent Germans have been into Switzerland and had discussions with him on ways in which the war might be brought to an end.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ Gregory commented.
‘Yes. The sooner it’s over now the better. No man with an ounce of sanity could contest that. Incidentally, I’ve been too occupied to give you a thought lately, but are you making any progress with the Führer?’
Gregory did not wish to disclose his hand; so he replied, ‘Yes and no. I felt from the beginning that there was very little hope of getting him actually to order a surrender. But I’ve succeeded in becoming his chief witch doctor. He now treats me as a friend, has long private talks with me and pays heed to what I say; so there is just a chance that I may succeed in persuading him to throw in his hand and let someone else take over.’
‘Good luck to you, then. Unless he alters the succession his mantle will fall on me, and I’ll open negotiations with the Allies within the hour. But reverting to Dulles. He has sent an emissary to me, and the suggestion is that I should arrest the Führer, or ignore him, and broadcast an order for our forces to lay down their arms.’
‘Thank God for that!’ Gregory exclaimed.
Goering frowned. ‘You go too fast. When we spoke of this before I told you that I would never betray the Führer, and I still stand by that.’
Gregory knew that it would be futile to start an argument, so he simply shrugged and asked, ‘Why, then, did you send for me?’
The Reichsmarschall heaved himself to his feet. ‘Because I thought it would interest you to have a talk with Mr. Dulles’ emissary. Come with me.’
Side by side they left the lofty room, walked down a flight of stairs and along several corridors. Then Goering halted at a door, turned the handle and threw it open. In the room, near the fire in an armchair, sat a woman dressed as a hospital nurse.
Gregory’s heart missed a beat. He could hardly believe his eyes. It was Erika.