Muller was trying to compose himself, his eyes closed. McQuade shut the saloon door and glared at him. ‘Heinrich Muller?’
The man opened his eyes. ‘You will keep your bargain?’
McQuade’s blood surged. The head of the Gestapo was pleading for mercy! ‘If you keep yours.’ He added, for credibility, ‘I want to enjoy my money, not spend the rest of my life hiding from your people. So, you are Heinrich Muller? And you sailed on the submarine all the way from Germany with the cargo.’ It was not a question.
But McQuade was wrong. The man suddenly seemed to have recovered his composure: he was again the military man. He said: ‘Yes, yes, yes! Perfectly legally! On the orders of Martin Bormann!’
McQuade was taken aback.
‘And you murdered the entire crew “perfectly legally” after the submarine got wrecked? As you would have done after you’d met the trawler, so that nobody was left alive to tell where Heinrich Muller had gone with the Nazi loot?’
No flicker of anxiety crossed Muller’s face, only weariness. ‘No, Mr McQuade. There was a riot on board. A mutiny, if you like, and some of the crew started to attack me and my SS bodyguards. My guards opened fire in panic, and the whole thing got out of control.’
McQuade wanted to bellow in rage. The man felt safe in lying on this detail! He didn’t intend wasting time arguing but he snapped, ‘Why did they mutiny?’
‘Half-way down the Atlantic we got the news on the radio that the war was finally over, and the crew was overjoyed. Some wanted to surrender in Walvis Bay. Others wanted to turn around and run for home or surrender in Gibraltar. But the commander refused all their pleas. There were tremendous arguments, and all their resentment was finally directed at me and my two men, the passengers, and the cargo. They didn’t know about treasure, but some of them said we were carrying valuables. So when the submarine went aground, and they had to risk their lives further, they mutinied. One man charged at me and then the whole lot were at us.’ He ended wearily. ‘It was forty-odd years ago, but that’s roughly how it was. And my guards opened fire.’
McQuade was smiling maliciously. No way did he believe any crew would mutiny during Abandon-ship. But he let it go for the moment. ‘And then?’
Muller shook his head impatiently. ‘The commander had already ordered the submarine to be flooded. I was in the Zentrale. I knew what to do. I got into the escape tube with my air-bottle, rose up out of the submarine, and eventually to the surface. I inflated my life-jacket and swam for the shore for dear life.’ He ended, ‘Fortunately I’m a strong swimmer.’
‘But unfortunately Seeoffizier Horst Kohler was pursuing you.’
Heinrich Muller clicked his tongue in dismissal. ‘Was that the madman’s name? Yes, I had no idea the man was behind me. I was desperately struggling in the breakers. Finally I was thrown ashore. Then saw this madman coming at me.’
‘Covered in blood. And with murder in his heart.’
Muller looked at him; and McQuade knew he was dealing with a practised actor. Muller’s eyes took on an exasperated expression. ‘Yes, Mr McQuade – with murder in his heart! Doubtless because he blamed me for the mutiny. I don’t know how he got the blood. Doubtless in the mutiny.’
‘And you tried to shoot him,’ McQuade murmured. ‘But your gun failed you. So you stabbed him and killed him.’
‘You over-simplify. But yes, I killed him in self-defence.’
McQuade frowned. ‘Amazing. That a senior and responsible naval officer attacks his very important official passenger after a shipwreck. What a waste of valuable energy in a crisis. Anyway, you buried Horst Kohler then set off down the coast. You had a wallet. This.’ He held it up. ‘You also had a bag of valuables. What was it?’
Muller looked mildly surprised that McQuade knew this last detail. ‘Gem stones. Why?’
‘Where did you get them?’
Muller said: ‘None of your business. I bought them. I converted my personal savings into hard assets I could re-sell one day.’
‘And where did you get the counterfeit English fivers?’
Muller said simply, ‘Operation Birkenbaum. That was an official operation which counterfeited English currency. Those,’ he nodded at the wallet, ‘were part of our first production. I took them to Martin Bormann, to show him.’
‘And you hung onto them. For a rainy day.’
‘Yes. Who wouldn’t?’
‘Was that legal?’
‘No. So what?’
‘In fact Jews were shot on the spot for possessing as little as one foreign banknote.’
‘I didn’t make the laws.’
Jesus, McQuade hated him. ‘How did you survive the Skeleton Coast?’
‘With difficulty. What’s the purpose of this questioning? I’m here, aren’t I? But, to satisfy your curiosity, I had one of the strandlopers’ bags containing water-bottles, and I had a pistol. I dug for water in the Ugab river bed. I stayed a week at the Ugab, getting my strength back. Later I shot a buck and drank its blood. I was in a bad way when I reached Swakopmund.’
McQuade took a deep angry breath. ‘So you got your teeth fixed. And you established contact with the Germans who were supposed to meet the submarine in the trawler.’
‘No. I knew nothing about them – who they were or where they were. I managed to get some local money by selling some gemstones. I bought some clothes and a train ticket and disappeared inland. In Windhoek I sold most of my diamonds. Land was dirt cheap in those days, so I bought a farm and settled down to my new life.’
‘And you never found the people who were supposed to meet you. Through the German community?’
‘No. All I knew was the codename: Swordfish. I wasn’t told any more for security reasons, and for the same reason Swordfish didn’t know who I was. I couldn’t start asking around town who Swordfish was, could I?’
McQuade did not know whether to believe this. But he let it go for the time being. And moved on to the all-important question. ‘But Reichsleiter Martin Bormann did give you detailed instructions as to what to do with the cargo contained in the dummy torpedoes.’ It was not a question.
Heinrich Muller looked at him. And the eyes took on a glint of triumph again. ‘Correct.’
‘And those instructions were to use the money for the re-creation of the Nazi Party in South Africa! To resurrect the Third Reich!’
Heinrich Muller slowly smiled. ‘No, Mr McQuade. That would have been illegal. The Nazi Party was banned under South African law.’
McQuade could not believe his ears. Illegal? … And he wanted to guffaw in rage and leap at the bastard and strangle the truth out of him. He shouted; ‘Illegal! Suddenly the Nazis, who had broken every law in the book of mankind, wanted to do things legally?’
Heinrich Muller smiled, and played his trump card.
‘Yes, Mr McQuade. Absolutely legally. Because, you see, my instructions were to use the money to get the Afrikaners into power in South Africa.’ He paused and then pointed at the deck. ‘This very same government which is now in power and has been since 1948.’ He smiled. ‘And we succeeded. Even without the money.’ He smiled at McQuade again. ‘All I was told to do was to rally support and help the Afrikaner people into political power, legally, at the polls.’ He raised his eyebrows. ‘We played it by the book. There’s nothing illegal in that, is there? I doubt the Attorney General or P.W. Botha would think there is …’
McQuade stared at him. Of course … That was the best way of resurrecting the Third Reich – and perfectly legally. By taking in, being absorbed into, an existing compatible political organization, namely the Afrikaner’s Nationalist Party. The Nats hated the British and wanted South Africa for themselves. Many supported Hitler during the war because they hated the British so much. When the Nats got into power, they would open the door to the Germans, and then the way would be open for them to take over the Nationalist Party, from the inside. Then Hitler’s blueprint for Africa, his Grand Design would be a reality! He said: ‘Infiltrate the Nationalist Party? And take it over. And did you succeed in that, too?’
Muller said with weary exasperation: ‘You know we did not. The German momentum was lost. For the next forty years the Afrikaners were far too self-centredly consolidating their power and their Apartheid apparatus, as well as turning themselves into a middle-class nation of civil servants and bourgeois farmers and businessmen, to let anybody but an Afrikaner into their privileged circle.’ He shrugged. ‘Oh, they opened the immigration doors and Germans flooded into the country. But the original German momentum was lost. Over the years they largely became Afrikaners themselves, and lost their original identity. To the point where today over half the Afrikaners are of German descent.’
McQuade glared at him. ‘And so Martin Bormann’s instructions are now a dead letter? So what are you going to do with your share of the loot?’
Muller shrugged. ‘Keep it for myself.’
‘And the Nazi movement has got nothing to do with it?’
Muller snorted softly. ‘What Nazi movement?’
McQuade snapped, ‘The AWB! And the Nazis behind it!’
‘The AWB?’ Muller said with surprise. ‘A bunch of Afrikaners who want to turn back the clock?’
‘You’re not a member of the AWB?’
‘No!’
McQuade strode to the door and flung it open. ‘Pottie!’ he yelled up to the bridge. ‘Bring down Inspector Dupreez!’
Heinrich Muller looked taken aback. ‘Dupreez?’
There was a clatter on the companionway and Inspector Dupreez appeared, his hands manacled in front of him. His hair was dishevelled and his heavy face was bruised and anxious. McQuade grabbed his arm and pulled him into the saloon. He pointed at Muller furiously. ‘You know this man!’
Muller was ashen. Inspector Dupreez looked at him imploringly, then blurted to McQuade, ‘I swear to God I never knew he was Heinrich Muller! I know nothing about war-criminals! I swear to God I just thought he was our regional leader!’
McQuade snapped, ‘Regional leader of what?’
Dupreez said imploringly, ‘Of the AWB. And that is a perfectly legal organization, Mr McQuade—’
‘Is it legal for a policeman to be a member of the AWB?’
Dupreez implored, ‘No, but hell, man, I was only being patriotic. I don’t want to see this country handed over to the kaffirs—’
‘And how do the AWB propose stopping that?’
‘Got, man, we’ve got to fight, hey?’
‘And when does the fighting start?’
‘Got, man, Mr McQuade, I’m not a politician, hey. I’m just an honest-to-God policeman with a wife and three children who wants to see law and order, not the streets unsafe to walk in because communists are ruining the country like every other bladdy African country—’
McQuade interrupted, ‘So you, as a policeman, will mount an armed revolution against your own legal government because it starts dismantling Apartheid and starts some power-sharing with the blacks—’
‘RUBBISH!’ Heinrich Muller suddenly bellowed.
McQuade and Dupreez both turned, astonished.
Heinrich Muller’s face was suffused, his eyes ablaze. Gone was the surprised man of a few minutes ago; the arrogant Nazi was back. He glared witheringly at McQuade, then at Dupreez; then he said softly: ‘You’re both ignorant fools! Fools!’ He shook his grey head at them. ‘Don’t you realize that there will be no reason for illegal armed revolution? Don’t you stupid people understand that we will win this country absolutely legally?’ Then the blood seemed to rush to his face. ‘Because this South African government is going to make itself illegal! And I mean in terms of International Law! In terms of South African Law!’ He glared at them. ‘The South African government is about to make itself an outlaw! And the AWB will then take power absolutely legally!’
McQuade stared at the man. Inspector Dupreez’s astonished face was flushed with emotion. Muller glared at them; and he was no longer a war-criminal making a deal, he did not give a damn any more for all that; here was an angry political man who was sick and tired of fools. He turned his back in contempt and then whirled around again.
‘What you fools don’t realize is that we have never been so strong! And we’re going to get stronger! We’ve never had it so good and it’s going to get better! And the South African government has never been so weak and it’s going to get weaker!’ He shook his head at them. ‘The South African government which has ruled this magnificent country for forty years is coming apart at the seams like Ancient Rome! And like Ancient Rome it will collapse in a shambles and the AWB will have to come to the rescue and pick up the pieces and restore order – perfectly legally …’
Dupreez was hanging on his words. Muller sneered at them, then rasped venomously. ‘Think about it – if you can. Think how the Afrikaner people are split down the middle with dissension because their government is making reforms. And realize that whereas the Nazi Party has been banned for sixty years it is now almost the official opposition in parliament for practical purposes.’ He glared at them, then went on softly: ‘For God’s sake understand that this government will only weaken itself with its so-called reforms because they will please nobody! Neither the left nor right, neither so-called world opinion, nor the Afrikaner backbone of this country. The party will be split even further as more and more Afrikaners flock to the AWB banner and as more members cross the floor of Parliament to our Conservative ranks leaving the government further weakened.’ He smiled at them. ‘Think what will happen then – when the government’s made a proper mess of it, when there’re riots in the streets and the Afrikaner nation is even more frightened of the future and really rallying to the banner of the Conservative Party and the AWB. Think about the fact that the government must continue to try pushing through these muddle-headed reforms they’re promising and in order to recover their numerical strength they must move even more to the left! So even more Afrikaners will flock to the right and make us stronger still! Now, even if the government doesn’t collapse like Ancient Rome, think what is going to happen at the next election …’ He paused, then shook his head at them angrily. ‘Only two things can happen …’
He glared, then held up both manacled hands and a finger. ‘One. The government, despite its chaotic troubles, just manages to win the election. But with such a reduced majority, the party so compromised by deals it’s had to make with the left, the people so split and the opposition so strong, so many people crossing the floor, that it cannot govern!’ He waved his manacled hands. ‘With riots in the streets and terrorists planting bombs and our soldiers fighting on the border trying to hold back the ANC …’ He paused, then shook his head at them. ‘And the AWB will have to come to the rescue and take over … Perfectly legally! Because a government which ceases to govern has no more legal or moral mandate!’
Dupreez was mesmerized. Muller was glaring at McQuade. Then he held up two fingers.
‘Or two … The AWB and the Conservative Party wins the election …’ He raised his eyebrows, then leant towards them. ‘The Nationalist Party would refuse to surrender power!’ He glared, then jabbed his finger at them: ‘They would refuse to accept defeat!’ He waved his hands. ‘The Nationalist Party has not the slightest intention of giving up the power it has held for forty years! The power it lost at such cost during the Boer War! The power it struggled for all those years against the English-speaking South Africans afterwards! The Broederbond was formed so that the Afrikaner could get power, and when they got it they prepared military plans to enable them to hang onto that power forever!’ His eyes were bright. He leant forward again. ‘No, my fine friends … If they lost the election they would declare a state of emergency and try to rule by decree!’ He looked at them triumphantly. ‘And then there will be your armed rebellion from the AWB … Then there will be big trouble. Fighting street by street, city by city, town by town, hill-top by hilltop, valley by valley across the land. And the AWB will be fighting legally! And we will have most of the police on our side! And at least sixty per cent of the entire Afrikaner nation. And then most of the army will follow …’
McQuade was staring at him. Exactly as Johan Lombard had said! Muller paused, his cold-blooded eyes afire: then he went on maliciously: ‘And that day is much closer than you think, my fine friends. Because this government has just brought disaster upon itself by selling Namibia down the river for thirty pieces of silver. By bowing to the tin-pot black states in the United Nations and shamelessly selling us out to SWAPO and its Cuban bandits, by selling us out to a bunch of black communists who’re going to turn this country into yet another one-party, corrupt, African basket-case!’ He glared at them with withering triumph. ‘Just like the British did in the rest of Africa … And why? Why are they doing it when they know full well what the consequences will be, when they know full well they’re handing this well-run country over to corrupt, inefficient Marxist despots who’re going to ruin it? Why? For the same reason the despicable British did it – because it’s cheaper, my fine friends.’ He paused and shook his head: ‘And that weak-kneed surrender is going to be their downfall. Because the AWB is not going to take this treachery lying down! They’re going to fight! For justice! They’re going to refuse to hand themselves over to a black Marxist dictatorship …’
Dupreez was a mesmerized man. McQuade said grimly: ‘And that’s what you’re going to use your share of the loot for?’
Heinrich Muller ignored the question. ‘We may not win that battle, gentlemen, for the simple reason that we will be fighting thousands of United Nations soldiers, and the SWAPO terrorists and probably the South African army itself … And it will be a tragedy, a travesty of justice that we lose. But that battle will only be the first round! The decisive battle will be the second one, and it will be fought in South Africa, and the prize will be South Africa itself … And that battle we will win! Because the Afrikaner people – the whole South African people – will see how their precious government failed their kith and kin in Namibia and realize that if the government can sell us down the river they’ll do the same in South Africa …!’ He glared at them triumphantly, then hissed: ‘And the people will really flock to the AWB banner, and there will be riots. And the Conservative Party will win the next election – or the next after that. And then this government will refuse to surrender power and the civil war will follow. And that battle we will win …’
Dupreez’s eyes were alight with emotion. Muller’s cold-blooded eyes were blazing. He ended witheringly:
‘So don’t talk to me about legalities, Mr McQuade.’ He looked at him with contempt. ‘What you stupid people don’t realize is that this Afrikaner government are the typical, true Africans! Because, like the African, if they cannot rule by the ballot box they will rule by the sword!’ He glared, then he leaned forward and hissed: ‘“And he who lives by the sword will die by the sword”…!’