Eagle Has Landed Read online

  ‘Your opinion?’ Hitler exploded with fury. ‘Your opinion? You’re as bad as my generals and when I listen to them what happens? Failure everywhere.’ He moved to Mussolini, who seemed rather alarmed, and placed an arm around his shoulders. ‘Is the Duce here because of the High Command? No, he’s here because I insisted that they set up a commando unit, because my intuition told me it was the right thing to do.’

  Goebbels looked anxious, Himmler as calm and enigmatic as usual, but Canaris stood his ground. ‘I implied no criticism of you personally, my Führer.’

  Hitler had moved to the window and stood looking out, hands tightly clenched behind him. ‘I have an instinct for these things and I knew how successful this kind of operation could be. A handful of brave men, daring all.’ He swung round to face them. ‘Without me there would have been no Gran Sasso because without me there would have been no Skorzeny.’ He said that as if delivering Biblical writ. ‘I don’t wish to be too hard on you, Herr Admiral, but after all, what have you and your people at the Abwehr accomplished lately? It seems to me that all you can do is produce traitors like Dohnanyi.’

  Hans von Dohnanyi, who had worked for the Abwehr, had been arrested for treason against the state in April.

  Canaris was paler than ever now, on dangerous ground indeed. He said, ‘My Führer, there was no intention on my part…’

  Hitler ignored him and turned to Himmler. ‘And you, Herr Reichsführer—what do you think?’

  ‘I accept your concept totally, my Führer,’ Himmler told him. ‘Totally; but then, I’m also slightly prejudiced. Skorzeny, after all, is an SS officer. On the other hand, I would have thought the Gran Sasso affair to be exactly the kind of business the Brandenburgers were supposed to take care of.’

  He was referring to the Brandenburg Division, a unique unit formed early in the war to perform special missions. Its activities were supposedly in the hands of Department Two of the Abwehr, which specialized in sabotage. In spite of Canaris’s efforts, this elite force had, for the most part, been frittered away in hit-and-run operations behind the Russian lines which had achieved little.

  ‘Exactly,’ Hitler said. ‘What have your precious Brandenburgers done? Nothing worth a moment’s discussion.’ He was working himself into a fury again now, and as always at such times, seemed able to draw on his prodigious memory to a remarkable degree.

  ‘When it was originally formed, this Brandenburg unit, it was called the Company for Special Missions, and I remember hearing that von Hippel, its first commander, told them they’d be able to fetch the Devil from hell by the time he’d finished with them. I find that ironic, Herr Admiral, because as far as I can remember, they didn’t bring me the Duce. I had to arrange for that myself.’

  His voice had risen to a crescendo, the eyes sparked fire, the face was wet with perspiration. ‘Nothing!’ he shrieked. ‘You have brought me nothing and yet with men like that, with such facilities, you should have been capable of bringing me Churchill out of England.’

  There was a moment of complete silence as Hitler glanced from face to face. ‘Is that not so?’

  Mussolini looked hunted, Goebbels nodded eagerly. It was Himmler who added fuel to the flames by saying quietly, ‘Why not, my Führer? After all, anything is possible, no matter how miraculous, as you have shown by bringing the Duce out of Gran Sasso.’

  ‘Quite right.’ Hitler was calm again now. ‘A wonderful opportunity to show us what the Abwehr is capable of, Herr Admiral.’

  Canaris was stunned. ‘My Führer, do I understand you to mean … ?’

  ‘After all, an English commando unit attacked Rommel’s headquarters in Africa,’ Hitler said, ‘and similar groups have raided the French coast on many occasions. Am I to believe that German boys are capable of less?’ He patted Canaris on the shoulder and said affably, ‘See to it, Herr Admiral. Get things moving. I’m sure you’ll come up with something.’ He turned to Himmler. ‘You agree, Herr Reichsführer?’

  ‘Certainly,’ Himmler said without hesitation. ‘A feasibility study at the very least—surely the Abwehr can manage that?’

  He smiled slightly at Canaris who stood there, thunderstruck. He moistened dry lips and said in a hoarse voice. ‘As you command, my Führer.’

  Hitler put an arm around his shoulder. ‘Good. I knew I could rely on you as always.’ He stretched out his arm as if to pull them all forward and leaned over the map. ‘And now, gentlemen—the Italian situation.’

  Canaris and Himmler were returning to Berlin by Dornier that night. They left Rastenburg at the same time in separate cars for the nine-mile drive to the airfield. Canaris was fifteen minutes late and when he finally mounted the steps into the Dornier he was not in the best of moods. Himmler was already strapped into his seat and, after a moment’s hesitation, Canaris joined him.

  ‘Trouble?’ Himmler asked as the plane bumped forward across the runway and turned into the wind.

  ‘Burst tyre.’ Canaris leaned back. ‘Thanks very much, by the way. You were a great help back there.’

  ‘Always happy to be of service,’ Himmler told him.

  They were airborne now, the engine note deepening as they climbed. ‘My God, but he was really on form tonight,’ Canaris said. ‘Get Churchill. Have you ever heard anything so crazy?’

  ‘Since Skorzeny got Mussolini out of Gran Sasso, the world will never be quite the same again. The Führer now believes miracles can actually take place and this will make life increasingly difficult for you and me, Herr Admiral.’

  ‘Mussolini was one thing,’ Canaris said. ‘Without in any way detracting from Skorzeny’s magnificent achievement, Winston Churchill would be something else again.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Himmler said. ‘I’ve seen the enemy newsreels as you have. London one day—Manchester or Leeds the next. He walks the streets with that stupid cigar in his mouth talking to the people. I would say that of all the major world leaders, he is probably the least protected.’

  ‘If you believe that, you’ll believe anything,’ Canaris said drily. ‘Whatever else they are, the English aren’t fools. MI five and six employ lots of very well-spoken young men who’ve been to Oxford or Cambridge and who’d put a bullet through your belly as soon as look at you. Anyway, take the old man himself. Probably carries a pistol in his coat pocket and I bet he’s still a crack shot.’

  An orderly brought them some coffee. Himmler said, ‘So you don’t intend to proceed in this affair?’

  ‘You know what will happen as well as I do,’ Canaris said. ‘Today’s Wednesday. He’ll have forgotten the whole crazy idea by Friday.’

  Himmler nodded slowly, sipping his coffee. ‘Yes, I suppose you’re right.’

  Canaris stood up. ‘Anyway, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ll get a little sleep.’

  He moved to another seat, covered himself with a blanket provided and made himself as comfortable as possible for the three-hour trip that lay ahead.

  From the other side of the aisle Himmler watched him, eyes cold, fixed, staring. There was no expression on his face—none at all. He might have been a corpse lying there had it not been for the muscle that twitched constantly in his right cheek.

  When Canaris reached the Abwehr offices at 74–76 Tirpitz Ufer in Berlin it was almost dawn. The driver who had picked him up at Tempelhof had brought the Admiral’s two favourite dachshunds with him and when Canaris got out of the car, they scampered at his heels as he walked briskly past the sentries.

  He went straight up to his office. Unbuttoning his naval greatcoat as he went, he handed it to the orderly who opened the door for him. ‘Coffee,’ the Admiral told him. ‘Lots of coffee.’ The orderly started to close the door and Canaris called him back. ‘Do you know if Colonel Radl is in?’

  ‘I believe he slept in his office last night, Herr Admiral.’

  ‘Good, tell him I’d like to see him.’

  The door closed. He was alone and suddenly tired and he slumped down in the chair behind the desk. Cana
ris’s personal style was modest. The office was old-fashioned and relatively bare, with a worn carpet. There was a portrait of Franco on the wall with a dedication. On the desk was a marble paperweight with three bronze monkeys seeing, hearing and speaking no evil.

  ‘That’s me,’ he said softly, tapping them on the head.

  He took a deep breath to get a grip on himself: it was the very knife-edge of danger he walked in that insane world. There were things he suspected that even he should not have known. An attempt by two senior officers earlier that year to blow up Hitler’s plane in flight from Smolensk to Rastenburg, for instance, and the constant threat of what might happen if von Dohnanyi and his friends cracked and talked.

  The orderly appeared with a tray containing coffee pot, two cups and a small pot of real cream, something of a rarity in Berlin at that time. ‘Leave it,’ Canaris said. ‘I’ll see to it myself.’

  The orderly withdrew and as Canaris poured the coffee, there was a knock at the door. The man who entered might have stepped straight off a parade ground, so immaculate was his uniform. A lieutenant-colonel of mountain troops with the ribbon for the Winter War, a silver wound badge and a Knight’s Cross at his throat. Even the patch which covered his right eye had a regulation look about it, as did the black leather glove on his left hand.

  ‘Ah, there you are, Max,’ Canaris said. ‘Join me for coffee and restore me to sanity. Each time I return from Rastenburg I feel increasingly that I need a keeper, or at least that someone does.’

  Max Radl was thirty and looked ten or fifteen years older, depending on the day and weather. He had lost his right eye and left hand during the Winter War in 1941 and had worked for Canaris ever since being invalided home. He was at that time Head of Section Three, which was an office of Department Z, the Central Department of the Abwehr and directly under the Admiral’s personal control. Section Three was a unit which was supposed to look after particularly difficult assignments and as such, Radl was authorized to poke his nose into any other Abwehr section that he wanted, an activity which made him considerably less than popular amongst his colleagues.

  ‘As bad as that?’

  ‘Worse,’ Canaris told him. ‘Mussolini was like a walking automaton, Goebbels hopped as usual from one foot to the other like some ten-year-old schoolboy bursting for a pee.’

  Radl winced, for it always made him feel decidedly uneasy when the Admiral spoke in that way of such powerful people. Although the offices were checked daily for microphones, one could never really be sure.

  Canaris carried on, ‘Himmler was his usual pleasant corpse-like self and as for the Führer…’

  Radl cut in hastily. ‘More coffee, Herr Admiral?’

  Canaris sat down again. ‘All he could talk about was Gran Sasso and what a bloody miracle the whole thing was and why didn’t the Abwehr do something as spectacular.’

  He jumped up, walked to the window and peered out through the curtains into the grey morning. ‘You know what he suggests we do, Max? Get Churchill for him.’

  Radl started violently. ‘Good God, he can’t be serious.’

  ‘Who knows? One day, yes, another day, no. He didn’t actually specify whether he wanted him alive or dead. This business with Mussolini has gone to his head. Now he seems to think anything is possible. Bring the Devil from Hell if necessary, was a phrase he quoted with some feeling.’

  ‘And the others—how did they take it?’ Radl asked.

  ‘Goebbels was his usual amiable self, the Duce looked hunted. Himmler was the difficult one. Backed the Führer all the way. Said that the least we could do was look into it. A feasibility study, that was the phrase he used.’

  ‘I see, sir.’ Radl hesitated. ‘You do think the Führer is serious?’

  ‘Of course not.’ Canaris went over to the army cot in the corner, turned back the blankets, sat down and started to unlace his shoes. ‘He’ll have forgotten it already. I know what he’s like when he’s in that kind of mood. Comes out with all sorts of rubbish.’ He got into the cot and covered himself with the blanket. ‘No, I’d say Himmler’s the only worry. He’s after my blood. He’ll remind him about the whole miserable affair at some future date when it suits him, if only to make it look as if I don’t do as I’m told.’

  ‘So what do you want me to do?’

  ‘Exactly what Himmler suggested. A feasibility study. A nice, long report that will look as if we’ve really been trying. For example, Churchill’s in Canada at the moment, isn’t he? Probably coming back by boat. You can always make it look as if you’ve seriously considered the possibility of having a U-boat in the right place at the right time. After all, as our Führer assured me personally not six hours ago, miracles do happen, but only under the right divine inspiration. Tell Krogel to wake me in one hour and a half.’

  He pulled the blanket over his head and Radl turned off the light and went out. He wasn’t at all happy as he made his way back to his office and not because of the ridiculous task he’d been given. That sort of thing was commonplace. In fact, he often referred to Section Three as the Department of Absurdities.

  No, it was the way Canaris talked which worried him and as he was one of those individuals who liked to be scrupulously honest with himself, Radl was man enough to admit that he wasn’t just worried about the Admiral. He was very much thinking of himself and his family.

  Technically the Gestapo had no jurisdiction over men in uniform. On the other hand he had seen too many acquaintances simply disappear off the face of the earth to believe that. The infamous Night and Fog Decree in which various unfortunates were made to vanish into the mists of night in the most literal sense, was supposed to only apply to inhabitants of conquered territories, but as Radl was well aware, there were more than fifty thousand non-Jewish German citizens in concentration camps at that particular point in time. Since 1933, nearly two hundred thousand had died.

  When he went into the office, Sergeant Hofer, his assistant, was going through the night mail which had just come in. He was a quiet, dark-haired man of forty-eight, an innkeeper from the Harz Mountains, a superb skier who had lied about his age to join up and had served with Radl in Russia.

  Radl sat down behind his desk and gazed morosely at a picture of his wife and three daughters, safe in Bavaria in the mountains. Hofer, who knew the signs, gave him a cigarette and poured him a small brandy from a bottle of Courvoisier kept in the bottom drawer of the desk.

  ‘As bad as that, Herr Oberst?’

  ‘As bad as that, Karl,’ Radl answered, then he swallowed his brandy and told him the worst.

  And there it might have rested had it not been for an extraordinary coincidence. On the morning of the 22nd, exactly one week after his interview with Canaris, Radl was seated at his desk, fighting his way through a mass of paperwork which had accumulated during a three-day visit to Paris.

  He was not in a happy mood and when the door opened and Hofer entered, he glanced up with a frown and said impatiently, ‘For God’s sake, Karl, I asked to be left in peace. What is it now?’

  ‘I’m sorry, Herr Oberst. It’s just that a report has come to my notice which I thought might interest you.’

  ‘Where did it come from?’

  ‘Abwehr One.’

  Which was the department which handled espionage abroad and Radl was aware of a faint, if reluctant, stirring of interest. Hofer stood there waiting, hugging the manilla folder to his chest and Radl put down his pen with a sigh. ‘All right, tell me about it.’

  Hofer placed the file in front of him and opened it. ‘This is the latest report from an agent in England. Code name Starling.’

  Radl glanced at the front sheet as he reached for a cigarette from the box on the table. ‘Mrs Joanna Grey.’

  ‘She’s situated in the northern part of Norfolk close to the coast, Herr Oberst. A village called Studley Constable.’

  ‘But of course,’ Radl said, suddenly rather more enthusiastic. ‘Isn’t she the woman who got the details of the Oboe installa
tion?’ He turned over the first two or three pages briefly and frowned. ‘There’s a hell of a lot of it. How does she manage that?’

  ‘She has an excellent contact at the Spanish Embassy who puts her stuff through in the diplomatic bag. It’s as good as the post. We usually take delivery within three days.’

  ‘Remarkable,’ Radl said. ‘How often does she report?’

  ‘Once a month. She also has a radio link, but this is seldom used, although she follows normal procedure and keeps her channel open three times a week for one hour in case she’s needed. Her link man at this end is Captain Meyer.’

  ‘All right, Karl,’ Radl said. ‘Get me some coffee and I’ll read it.’

  ‘I’ve marked the interesting paragraph in red, Herr Oberst. You’ll find it on page three. I also put in a large-scale, British ordnance survey map of the area,’ Hofer told him and went out.

  The report was very well put together, lucid and full of information of worth. A general description of conditions in the area, the location of two new American B17 squadrons south of the Wash, a B24 squadron near Sheringham. It was all good, useful stuff without being terribly exciting. And then he came to page three and that brief paragraph, underlined in red, and his stomach contracted in a spasm of nervous excitement.

  It was simple enough. The British Prime Minister, Winston Churchill, was to inspect a station of RAF Bomber Command near the Wash on the morning of Saturday 6 November. Later on the same day, he was scheduled to visit a factory near King’s Lynn and make a brief speech to the workers.

  Then came the interesting part. Instead of returning to London he intended to spend the weekend at the home of Sir Henry Willoughby, Studley Grange, which was just five miles outside the village of Studley Constable. It was a purely private visit, the details supposedly secret. Certainly no one in the village was aware of the plan, but Sir Henry, a retired naval commander, had apparently been unable to resist confiding in Joanna Grey, who was, it seemed, a personal friend.

  Radl sat staring at the report for a few moments, thinking about it, then he took out the ordnance survey map Hofer had provided and unfolded it. The door opened and Hofer appeared with the coffee. He placed the tray on the table, filled a cup and stood waiting, face impassive.