Mary Dear - Redux Page 2

  ‘I guess the Captain wants be alone with the prisoner,’ he said with a shrug.

  Captain Keating made his way to the opposite side of the table, took a chair and sat down. He set the notepad and pen he had brought with him on the table and observed the German for a moment. The prisoner was small and chubby, not at all a fine exponent of the Aryan race. He had black hair that he wore swept back and small green eyes that looked red and watery. Despite the cold room, he was sweating and looked scared

  ‘Sprechen sie Englisch?’

  The soldier looked relieved to find himself without the MP in the room.

  ‘Ja... yes...s...sir, before the war I was a student in Brighton for a while,’ he said, studying his hands and trying unsuccessfully to keep them from shaking.

  Keating poured the man a glass of water that he drained before setting it back on the table. He took a pack of cigarettes from his breast pocket and lit one, drew a deep pull on it, savouring the taste and saw the pained look on the German’s face.

  ‘Cigarette?’

  ‘Yes, thank you,’ he accepted the cigarette and the light that Joseph offered.

  The cigarettes and the matches he left on the table, tantalizingly near to the German who was busy taking in the smoke deep into his lungs and coughing, unaccustomed to the taste of British tobacco.

  ‘You asked to speak to a British Officer. Well here I am, let’s start with you giving me your name.’

  The prisoner looked around the room as if making sure that no one else would hear him

  ‘They will kill me,’ he said in a shaky whisper.

  ‘Who? Who’s going to kill you?’ Keating could see that the man was frightened, his face was ashen; beads of perspiration pearled on his forehead, and he was shaking as if he had a fever. Bearing in mind how cold the room was; Joseph thought that he was either sick or scared witless and, if the latter, wondered who or what could have him so spooked.

  ‘Can you protect me sir? I’ll tell you what you want to know but I need to know you will protect me.’ The man’s eyes were red and watery and he seemed close to tears.

  ‘Protect you? From what exactly?’

  ‘The Americans...please don’t give me up to the Americans.’

  Joseph sat back and considered his position. He had been seconded to a U.S. department to help them identify looted works of art because of his civilian degree in fine art. He wondered just how much latitude he had and what his CO would say if he overstepped the mark, but he needed to know what was going on so he decided to chance it.

  ‘All right, but that will depend on what you tell me.’

  The prisoner seemed to consider this.

  ‘I am sorry sir but you must promise me. I must be a British prisoner of war.’

  A prisoner making demands, that’s a new one on me, thought Keating.

  ‘Look old chap; you’re not in a very strong bargaining position now are you?’ But, seeing the look on his face he thought that a softer approach would be better and, though he wasn’t sure how he’d pull it off, decided to take a chance.

  ‘All right I’ll make sure,’ he promised, ‘we have a POW camp nearby; I’ll get you sent there. Now who are you and what’s all this about?’

  The prisoner looked as if a large weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

  ‘I’m Unteroffizier Dieter Klein’—he said in an unnecessary whisper—‘and it’s about the train, sir...the one the Americans captured and brought here to Werfen,’ he began.

  ‘I was one of the guards on the train.’

  ‘All right Sergeant, that much I know, but what about the train? What’s so special about it?’

  Dieter’s expression was one of astonishment.

  ‘But surely you know sir?’

  Of course Joseph had heard about the capture of the train but did not know all the details; when the prisoners had been brought in he had been in a nearby town identifying looted works of art. Joseph’s curiosity had been pricked. What had our American cousins been up to?

  ‘Suppose you tell me?’

  ‘Well sir, it’s a long story,’ he began.

  ‘I have the time. Why don’t you start at the beginning,’ he said opening the notepad and unscrewing the cap of his Parker pen.

  Dieter took a moment to compose his thoughts. ‘When we left Budapest, on our way to Berchtesgaden, our train was 44 coaches long; the last 24 were special, very special. We made an unexpected stop, unexpected but not for me... I knew it would happen.’

  ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Because it was the reason I was on the train and guarding the last carriage.’

  Dieter’s eyes darted round the room; he reached for the glass but it was empty. Joseph filled it for him and waited for him to take a long drink.

  ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to explain that.’

  Dieter didn’t need more encouragement, ‘No one else knew what we were carrying you see; they thought it was military equipment but I knew. It was gold...diamonds, treasure and valuable paintings. My mission was to wait until the train was stopped and to uncouple the last carriage. It had to be left behind you see.’

  Dieter paused for a moment, but realized that what he was saying was not making much sense.

  ‘Perhaps I should go further back...before Budapest.’

  ‘Perhaps you should.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Dieter said, struggling to get his story across, ‘but it’s all a bit complicated...I need you to know some things...so... so you can understand, you see.’ And again he paused as if waiting for approval. Joseph urged him to continue.

  ‘Before the war, my father was a successful business man but unfortunately someone—a business rival we think, though we never found out for sure—somehow found out our dreadful secret...’

  ‘What secret?’

  Dieter was quiet for a moment. How could he make this Englishman understand what even he could not understand? He had to try.

  ‘In another time or another country this would not have been considered a secret worth keeping but in today’s Germany, unfortunately for us, it’s like a death sentence. You see, this man...he knew that we...my family that is, are descended from Jews and he saw a way to get at us by giving us up to the Gestapo.’

  Joseph could easily understand why that kind of information would be worth hiding; after all, the Allies had known as early as ’41 about the existence of the death camps, there was even some intelligence from a Polish officer...what was his name? Pilecci, no, Pilecki, that was it—Witold Pilecki. He’d read the file and had been horrified. Joseph himself had many Jewish friends and thought he understood how the German was feeling but he could not understand what the hell a Jew was doing in the Wehrmacht wearing a Hungarian army uniform and guarding a train loaded with treasures? First things first, thought Joseph ‘But you’re here...how did you escape from the Gestapo and what happened to your family?’

  ‘Well sir, a good friend of our family heard a rumour that the Gestapo had been tipped off and he came to warn us to get away as fast as possible. We knew that would not work, I mean, where would we go? Well, as I said, my father...he was quite successful before the war and had made some money though that alone would not have helped us, but he has some influential friends and one of them is Göring’s half-brother Albert.’

  That information came as a complete surprise to Joseph.

  ‘I was not aware that he has a brother...but how did that help?’

  ‘Albert is a good man. Hates the Nazis and all they stand for but despite their differences Hermann loves him. Albert has asked him for help on many occasions. The Gestapo has arrested him more than once but his brother’s always intervened and had him released.’

  ‘Are you saying that your father went to Albert and he got his brother to protect you before the Gestapo could get to you?’

  ‘Das ist richtig...I mean that is right sir...we lost everything of course but at least we kept our lives. But I am jumping ahead. I should explain our escape
was not easy. Albert told us about his meeting with his brother. He said his brother was not happy at all. Hermann said it would be dangerous, even for him, to get involved but, when Albert explained we were both in the armed forces fighting for Germany and my brother a decorated U-Boat captain in the Kriegsmarine, he agreed to see us.’

  When Albert turned up on his doorstep with yet another request for his intercession, Göring had been annoyed. More than that, he’d been exasperated that Albert could not grasp the difficult position his constant demands put him in but, when he heard that a member of the family was a U-Boat commander, he agreed to see them. Maybe fate had put in front of him a solution to a problem he had been pondering long and hard. Göring knew that the war was all but lost, but defeatist talk in Hitler’s Germany got you a firing squad—if you were lucky. He had a plan to secure his future but he needed help from people he could trust which meant people whose lives he held in his hand.

  Albert and the Klein family arrived shortly before midnight. It was pitch dark and the blacked-out headlamps of the Mercedes barely gave out enough light to drive by. Albert was relieved when at last he stopped outside his brother’s impressive residence. They emerged from the car, their breath freezing like smoke in the air. All the houses on the street had blackout curtains drawn tight as a precaution against the regular Allied air raids. The small group followed Albert up to the front steps that led to the entrance. He knocked on the door and, after a few moments, the butler opened it.

  The hall inside was gloomy; a faint strip of light shone weakly at the bottom of a door at the end of a corridor. The butler led the way and ushered them into the library, where Hermann was waiting. He had decided not to wear his uniform—so as to present a less intimidating image—and greeted them in a most friendly manner.

  ‘Come in Albert, come in everyone,’ he said, ‘you must be frozen.’

  Albert could not believe the turnaround in his brother’s behaviour but hoped it meant that they would get the help they so desperately needed.

  When they saw Göring, Wilhelm and his brother gave the customary Heil Hitler salute. Göring smiled and returned a half-hearted version.

  The imposing room was lined with leather-bound books, most of them on aerial combat tactics. In front of the window, with its curtains tightly drawn, stood a large desk on which were some silver frames displaying family photographs and a leather-framed photograph of Air Chief Marshal Lord Dowding, Göring’s opposite number.

  ‘I think you’ll be more comfortable here,’ he said, showing Mr Klein and his wife to a large sofa in the middle of the room.

  ‘Albert, you must introduce me to your friends.’

  ‘Forgive me Hermann, of course. This is Mr Günter Klein and his wife Elsa. Their sons, Dieter and Wilhelm.’ He said indicating the young men who had elected to stand by the elegant fireplace that was lit and gave comforting warmth. Günter Klein stood up to shake hands with his host and Göring kissed the hand that Elsa had extended.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you all,’ he said smiling, ‘I know it is late but is there something I can offer you? A small cognac perhaps to chase away the cold?’ They thanked him but declined the offer. Göring dismissed his butler and turned to them, ‘Albert has mentioned to me that you have a problem. How may I be of help?’

  The moment had come for Albert to speak and he was wondering how best to begin. The others waited taking in their surroundings. Above the mantelpiece, an ornate gold frame displayed an oil portrait of the Führer in his grey uniform, a Swastika armband around his left forearm. The artist had captured a look of madness burning in his eyes as he looked down imperiously on the unlikely gathering.

  Albert shifted uncomfortably in his armchair while his brother surveyed his guests.

  ‘Well Hermann, my friends have been...’ he stopped and began again, ‘someone, it appears, has told the Gestapo that my friends are Jews. It’s preposterous. They are good Germans. Their sons are fighting for our glorious fatherland...Wilhelm has even been decorated by the Führer himself,’ he said pointing to where he stood, ‘how can anybody...’

  ‘Yes of course Albert; an obvious mistake,’ he said. ‘These are difficult times and sometimes people can be, how shall I say, a little overzealous.’ His face expressed how regrettable he found the situation.

  While Albert had been defending his friends, his brother had been studying the Klein’s. Günter was a smart looking grey-haired man in his sixties and his wife a handsome woman, a few years younger than her husband, whose youthful beauty had followed her well into middle age. Their youngest son was clearly the runt of the family. Wilhelm, on the other hand, was something else. He stood before him in the smart uniform of a U-Boat captain of the Kriegsmarine, a six-foot two, lean, handsome man with ash-blond hair, rugged bronzed face and the coolest slate-grey eyes he had seen in a long time. A Knight’s Cross with Swords, Oak Leaves and diamonds hung loosely around the Captain’s neck and Göring thought a regular little hero of the fatherland, yes he’ll do nicely, very nicely indeed.

  This was something Joseph had not expected to hear but it explained a lot of what he’d learned before and, eager to find out what happened at that meeting, he asked Dieter to continue.

  ‘Well sir, you see Wilhelm was in charge of leading the wolfpacks of the Kriegsmarine. His mission was to hunt convoys in the North Atlantic and he was under the direct orders of the Befehishaber der Unterseeboote, commanded by Karl Dönitz. Everyone knows Göring and Dönitz don’t see eye to eye, they don’t like each other much but I soon understood that Göring needed the use of a U-Boat, more precisely, one of the newer Type VIIC’s.’ Dieter paused to see if the British officer was following what he was saying and continued: ‘He could ask Dönitz to put one his U-Boats under his command, that was not the problem, but he needed a captain he could trust and now here was my brother, a Fregattenkapitan of one of these very special U-Boats and one that Göring could control due to this lucky encounter that his brother Albert had arranged.’

  Joseph had been taking notes and could see where this was going.

  ‘So Göring offered you a way out...’

  Dieter nodded. ‘Yes, he arranged safe passage for my father and mother to Switzerland in exchange for our services. The price we had to pay was to help him. I guess he wanted to escape to a new life somewhere after the war, maybe South America. So he commanded my brother to take a very special assignment.’

  Joseph was starting to believe the story that was unfolding.

  ‘What was the assignment? Did your brother tell you?’

  ‘Yes sir, what Göring needed was for a very special cargo to be taken somewhere, I know that much, what I don’t know is where, because he said only my brother was to know and that this was a top secret mission...but my brother was troubled you see, he did not trust Göring. He told me not to worry, said he did not want to tell me all he knew, and that it was to protect me. He told me that he had taken some insurance; he repeated I was not to worry that all would go well.’

  ‘The carriage you had to uncouple, the one left behind. Did you think that the special cargo were the contents of the last carriage?’

  ‘Yes sir, I’m sure of it. No one knows about it; just me, you and of course, Göring himself.’

  ‘And your brother as well,’ he reminded him. ‘What happened to him?’

  ‘He’s dead sir, I’m sad to say.’ Dieter’s face looked drawn and sad, ‘I heard that an American destroyer depth charged him in the North Atlantic. Wilhelm and his entire crew were killed.’

  On meeting the prisoner his first instinct had been that the German might be mad or suffering from shellshock or some such condition but now he wasn’t so sure. Dieter seemed so plausible and his fear was the genuine article; Joseph had seen that look too many times not to recognize a fake when he saw it.

  ‘But how is what you’ve told me going to get you killed by the Americans?’

  ‘No, not all the Americans sir...just one particular American,’ h
e said.

  ‘Which particular American? What’s his name?’

  Dieter hesitated as if uttering that name would be like signing his death sentence. Joseph noted his reticence but he needed proof, something tangible to convince him that Dieter was on the level.

  ‘How do I know you are telling me the truth? You’re expecting me to put my neck on the line for you just on what you’ve told me. It’s an incredible story I grant you and I’d like to believe you but I’m sorry my friend, I need a lot more than what you’ve said so far or, I’m afraid, I will not be able to protect you.’

  Dieter, who had begun to feel better, looked terrified

  ‘But sir...but you promised...you gave me your word.’

  The look on Dieter’s face was pitiful and Joseph almost felt sorry for him. He was clearly at the end of his tether and in that moment must have decided he had nothing to lose. He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a little black leather notebook, its front cover embossed with an oval wreath, adorned by a fan of six oak leaves on both sides. A submarine lay in the middle of the wreath with a German eagle above it. He pushed it towards Joseph.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘My brother gave it to me. It’s what he’d called his “insurance”. Before we went our separate ways he came to see me. He was worried Göring would not want him around with all that he knew.’ Joseph could understand Wilhem’s concern.

  The moment Wilhelm knew what Göring was up to and what his plans for Dieter were he wasted no time and contacted Werner Bauer, a friend of the family in Budapest. Werner had helped out many people who had been in serious difficulty when no one else had been able to. Privately they all called him the miracle worker; this was going to take a miracle. He had many contacts that owed him favours. What Wilhelm needed was classified information but, if anyone could pull this off, Werner was the man. It was one hell of a favour and he wasn’t sure his friend would be able to deliver but when he spoke to him Werner told him not to worry even though he knew that under normal circumstances what Wilhelm wanted would have been impossible. But these were not normal circumstances. Budapest was in turmoil; the Russian army was virtually on their doorstep; and clerical staff was in disarray.