Eagle Has Landed Read online

  During convalescent leave after being wounded at Leningrad, Steiner had visited his father in France and had found him considerably changed. The General had had his doubts about the new order for some considerable time. Six months earlier he had visited a concentration camp at Auschwitz in Poland.

  ‘The commander was a swine named Rudolf Hoess, Kurt. Would you believe it, a murderer serving a life sentence and released from gaol in the amnesty of nineteen-twenty-eight. He was killing Jews by the thousand in specially constructed gas chambers, disposing of their bodies in huge ovens. After extracting such minor items as gold teeth and so forth.’

  The old general had been drunk by then and yet not drunk. ‘Is this what we’re fighting for, Kurt? To protect swine like Hoess? And what will the rest of the world say when the time comes? That we are all guilty? That Germany is guilty because we stood by? Decent and honourable men stood by and did nothing? Well not me, by God. I couldn’t live with myself.’

  Standing there in the entrance to Warsaw Station, the memory of all this welling up inside, Kurt Steiner produced an expression on his face that sent the major back a couple of steps. That’s better,’ Steiner said, ‘and if you could make it downwind as well I’d be obliged.’

  Major Frank’s look of astonishment quickly turned to anger as Steiner walked past him, Neumann at his side. ‘Easy, Herr Oberst. Easy,’ Neumann said.

  On the platform at the other side of the track, a group of SS were herding a line of ragged and filthy human beings against a wall. It was virtually impossible to differentiate between the sexes and as Steiner watched, they all started to take their clothes off.

  A military policeman stood on the edge of the platform watching and Steiner said, ‘What’s going on over there?’

  ‘Jews, Herr Oberst,’ the man replied. ‘This morning’s crop from the Ghetto. They’ll be shipped out to Treblinka to finish them off later today. They make them strip like that before a search mainly because of the women. Some of them have been carrying loaded pistols inside their pants.’

  There was brutal laughter from across the track and someone cried out in pain. Steiner turned to Neumann in disgust and found the lieutenant staring along the platform to the rear of the troop train. A young girl of perhaps fourteen or fifteen, with ragged hair and smoke-blackened face, wearing a cut-down man’s overcoat tied with string, crouched under the coach. She had presumably slipped away from the group opposite and her intention was obviously to make a bid for freedom by riding the rods under the hospital train when it pulled out.

  In the same moment the military policeman on the edge of the platform saw her and raised the alarm, jumping down on to the track and grabbing for her. She screamed, twisting from his grasp, scrambled up to the platform and ran for the entrance, straight into the arms of Major of Police Frank as he came out of his office.

  He had her by the hair and shook her like a rat. ‘Dirty little Jew bitch. I’ll teach you some manners.’

  Steiner started forward. ‘No, Herr Oberst!’ Neumann said, but he was too late.

  Steiner got a firm grip on Frank’s collar, pulling him off balance so that he almost fell down, grabbed the girl by the hand and stood her behind him.

  Major Frank scrambled to his feet, his face contorted with rage. His hand went to the Walther in the holster at his belt, but Steiner produced a Luger from the pocket of his leather coat and touched him between the eyes. ‘You do,’ he said, ‘and I’ll blow your head off. Come to think of it, I’d be doing humanity a favour.’

  At least a dozen military policemen ran forward, some carrying machine pistols, others rifles and paused in a semi-circle three or four yards away. A tall sergeant aimed his rifle and Steiner got a hand in Frank’s tunic and held him close, screwing the barrel of the Luger in hard.

  ‘I wouldn’t advise it.’

  An engine coasted through the station at five or six miles an hour hauling a line of open wagons loaded with coal. Steiner said to the girl without looking at her, ‘What’s your name, child?’

  ‘Brana,’ she told him. ‘Brana Lezemnikof.’

  ‘Well, Brana,’ he said, ‘if you’re half the girl I think you are, you’ll grab hold of one of those coal trucks and hang on till you’re out of here. The best I can do for you.’ She was gone in a flash and he raised his voice. ‘Anyone takes a shot at her puts one in the major here as well.’

  The girl jumped for one of the trucks, secured a grip and pulled herself up between two of them. The train coasted out of the station. There was complete silence.

  Frank said, ‘They’ll have her off at the first station, I’ll see to it personally.’

  Steiner pushed him away and pocketed his Luger. Immediately the military policemen closed in and Ritter Neumann called out, ‘Not today, gentlemen.’

  Steiner turned and found the lieutenant holding an MP-40 machine pistol. The rest of his men were ranged behind him, all armed to the teeth.

  At that point, anything might have happened, had it not been for a sudden disturbance in the main entrance. A group of SS stormed in, rifles at the ready. They took up position in a V formation and a moment later, SS Brigadeführer and Major-General of Police Jurgen Stroop entered, flanked by three or four SS officers of varying ranks, all carrying drawn pistols. He wore a field cap and service uniform and looked surprisingly nondescript.

  ‘What’s going on here, Frank?’

  ‘Ask him, Herr Brigadeführer,’ Frank said, his face twisted with rage. ‘This man, an officer of the German Army, has just allowed a Jewish terrorist to escape.’

  Stroop looked Steiner over, noting the rank badges and the Knight’s Cross plus the Oak Leaves. ‘Who are you?’ he demanded.

  ‘Kurt Steiner—Parachute Regiment,’ Steiner told him. ‘And who might you be?’

  Jurgen Stroop was never known to lose his temper. He said calmly, ‘You can’t talk to me like that, Herr Oberst. I’m a Major-General as you very well know.’

  ‘So is my father,’ Steiner told him, ‘so I’m not particularly impressed. However, as you’ve raised the matter, are you Brigadeführer Stroop, the man in charge of the slaughter out there?’

  ‘I am in command here, yes.’

  Steiner wrinkled his nose. ‘I rather thought you might be. You know what you remind me of?’

  ‘No, Herr Oberst,’ Stroop said. ‘Do tell me.’

  ‘The kind of thing I occasionally pick up on my shoe in the gutter,’ Steiner said. ‘Very unpleasant on a hot day.’

  Jurgen Stroop, still icy calm, held out his hand. Steiner sighed, took the Luger from his pocket and handed it across. He looked over his shoulder to his men. ‘That’s it, boys, stand down.’ He turned back to Stroop. ‘They feel a certain loyalty for some reason unknown to me. Is there any chance you could content yourself with me and overlook their part in this thing?’

  ‘Not the slightest,’ Brigadeführer Jurgen Stroop told him.

  That’s what I thought,’ Steiner said. ‘I pride myself I can always tell a thoroughgoing bastard when I see one.’

  Radl sat with the file on his knee for a long time after he’d finished reading the account of the court martial. Steiner had been lucky to escape execution but his father’s influence would have helped and after all, he and his men were war heroes. Bad for morale to have to shoot a holder of the Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves. And Operation Swordfish, in the Channel Islands, was just as certain in the long run for all of them. A stroke of genius on somebody’s part.

  Rossman sprawled in the chair opposite, apparently asleep, the black slouch hat tipped over his eyes, but when the light at the door flashed, he was on his feet. He went straight in without knocking and was back in a moment.

  ‘He wants you.’

  The Reichsführer was still seated behind the desk. He now had the ordnance survey map spread out in front of him. He looked up. ‘And what did you make of friend Steiner’s little escapade in Warsaw?’

  ‘A remarkable story,’ Radl said carefully. ‘An—an
unusual man.’

  ‘I would say one of the bravest you are ever likely to encounter,’ Himmler said calmly. ‘Gifted with high intelligence, courageous, ruthless, a brilliant soldier—and a romantic fool. I can only imagine that to be the American half of him.’ The Reichsführer shook his head. ‘The Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves. After that Russian affair the Führer had asked to meet him personally. And what does he do? Throws it all away, career, future, everything, for the sake of a little Jewish bitch he’d never clapped eyes on in his life before.’

  He looked up at Radl as if waiting for a reply and Radl said lamely, ‘Extraordinary, Herr Reichsführer.’

  Himmler nodded and then, as if dismissing the subject completely, rubbed his hands together and leaned over the map. ‘The Grey woman’s reports are really quite brilliant. An outstanding agent.’ He leaned down, eyes very close to the map. ‘Will it work?’

  ‘I think so,’ Radl replied without hesitation.

  ‘And the Admiral? What does the Admiral think?’

  Radl’s mind raced as he tried to frame a suitable reply. ‘That’s a difficult question to answer.’

  Himmler sat back, hands folded. For a wild moment Radl felt as if he were back in short trousers and in front of his old village schoolmaster.

  ‘You don’t need to tell me, I think I can guess. I admire loyalty, but in this case you would do well to remember that loyalty to Germany, to your Führer, comes first.’

  ‘Naturally, Herr Reichsführer,’ Radl said hastily.

  ‘Unfortunately there are those who would not agree,’ Himmler went on. ‘Subversive elements at every level in our society. Even amongst the generals of the High Command itself. Does that surprise you?’

  Radl, genuinely astonished, said, ‘But Herr Reichsführer, I can hardly believe …’

  ‘That men who have taken an oath of personal loyalty to the Führer can behave in such a dastardly fashion?’ He shook his head almost sadly. ‘I have every reason to believe that in March of this year, high ranking officers of the Wehrmacht placed a bomb on the Führer’s plane, set to explode during its flight from Smolensk to Rastenburg.’

  ‘God in heaven,’ Radl said.

  ‘The bomb failed to explode and was removed by the individuals concerned later. Of course, it makes one realize more strongly than ever that we cannot fail, that ultimate victory must be ours. That the Führer was saved by some divine intervention seems obvious. That doesn’t surprise me of course. I have always believed that some higher being is behind nature, don’t you agree?’

  ‘Of course, Herr Reichsführer,’ Radl said.

  ‘Yes, if we refused to recognize that we would be no better than Marxists. I insist that all members of the SS believe in God.’ He removed his pince-nex for a moment and stroked the bridge of his nose gently with one finger. ‘So, traitors everywhere. In the Army and in the Navy, too, at the highest level.’

  He replaced his pince-nez and looked up at Radl. ‘So you see, Radl,’ Himmler went on, ‘I have the very best of reasons for being sure that Admiral Canaris must have vetoed this scheme of yours.’

  Radl stared at him dumbly. His blood ran cold. Himmler said gently, ‘It would not be in accordance with his general aim and that aim is not the victory of the German Reich in this war, I assure you.’

  That the Head of the Abwehr was working against the State? The idea was monstrous. But then Radl remembered the Admiral’s acid tongue. The derogatory remarks about high state officials, about the Führer himself on occasion. His reaction earlier that evening. We have lost the war. And that from the Head of the Abwehr.

  Himmler pressed the buzzer and Rossman came in. ‘I have an important phone call to make. Show the Herr Oberst around for ten minutes then bring him back.’ He turned to Radl. ‘You haven’t seen the cellars here, have you?’

  ‘No, Herr Reichsführer.’

  He might have added that the Gestapo cellars at Prinz Albrechtstrasse were the last places on earth he wanted to see. But he knew that he was going to whether he liked it or not, knew from the slight smile on Rossman’s mouth that it was all arranged.

  On the ground floor they went along a corridor that led to the rear of the building. There was an iron door guarded by two Gestapo men wearing steel helmets and armed with machine pistols. ‘Are you expecting a war or something?’ Radl enquired.

  Rossman grinned. ‘Let’s say it impresses the customers.’

  The door was unlocked and he led the way down. The passage at the bottom was brilliantly lit, brickwork painted white, doors opening to right and left. It was extraordinarily quiet.

  ‘Might as well start in here,’ Rossman said and opened the nearest door and switched on the light.

  It was a conventional enough looking cellar painted white except for the opposite wall which had been faced with concrete in a surprisingly crude way, for the surface was uneven and badly marked. There was a beam across the ceiling near that wall, chains hanging down with coil spring stirrups on the end.

  ‘Something they’re supposed to have a lot of success with lately,’ Rossman took out a packet of cigarettes and offered Radl one. ‘I think it’s a dead loss myself. I can’t see much point in driving a man insane when you want him to talk.’

  ‘What happens?’

  ‘The suspect is suspended in those stirrups, then they simply turn the electricity on. They throw buckets of water on that concrete wall to improve the electrical flow or something. Extraordinary what it does to people. If you look close you’ll see what I mean.’

  When Radl approached the wall he saw that what he had taken to be a crudely finished surface was in fact a patina of hand prints in raw concrete where victims had clawed in agony.

  ‘The Inquisition would have been proud of you.’

  ‘Don’t be bitter, Herr Oberst, it doesn’t pay, not down here. I’ve seen generals on their knees down here and begging.’ Rossman smiled genially. ‘Still, that’s neither here nor there.’ He walked to the door. ‘Now what can I show you next?’

  ‘Nothing, thank you,’ Radl said. ‘You’ve made your point, wasn’t that the object of the exercise? You can take me back now.’

  ‘As you say, Herr Oberst.’ Rossman shrugged and turned out the light.

  When Radl went back into the office, he found Himmler busily writing in a file. He looked up and said calmly, ‘Terrible the things that have to be done. It personally sickens me to my stomach. I can’t abide violence of any sort. It is the curse of greatness, Herr Oberst, that it must step over dead bodies to create new life.’

  ‘Herr Reichsführer,’ Radl said. ‘What do you want of me?’

  Himmler actually smiled, however slightly, contriving to look even more sinister. ‘Why, it’s really very simple. This Churchill business. I want it seen through.’

  ‘But the Admiral doesn’t.’

  ‘You have considerable autonomy, is it not so? Run your own office? Travel extensively? Munich, Paris, Antwerp within the past fortnight?’ Himmler shrugged. ‘I see no reason why you shouldn’t be able to manage without the Admiral realizing what’s going on. Most of what needs to be done could be handled in conjunction with other business.’

  ‘But why, Herr Reichsführer, why is it so important that it be done this way?’

  ‘Because, in the first place, I think the Admiral totally wrong in this affair. This scheme of yours could work if everything falls right for it, just like Skorzeny at Gran Sasso. If it succeeds, if Churchill is either killed or kidnapped—and personally, I’d sooner see him dead—then we have a world sensation. An incredible feat of arms.’

  ‘Which if the Admiral had had his way would never have taken place,’ Radl said. ‘I see now. Another nail in his coffin?’

  ‘Would you deny that he would have earned it in such circumstances?’

  ‘What can I say?’

  ‘Should such men be allowed to get away with it? Is that what you want, Radl, as a loyal German officer?’

  ‘But the Herr Reichsführer
must see what an impossible position this puts me in,’ Radl said. ‘My relations with the Admiral have always been excellent.’ It occurred to him, too late, that that was hardly the point to make under the circumstances and he added hurriedly, ‘Naturally my personal loyalty is beyond question, but what kind of authority would I have to carry such a project through?’

  Himmler took a heavy manilla envelope from his desk drawer. He opened it and produced a letter which he handed to Radl without a word. It was headed by the German Eagle with the Iron Cross in gold.

  FROM THE LEADER AND CHANCELLOR OF THE STATE

  MOST SECRET

  Colonel Radl is acting under my direct and personal orders in a matter of the utmost importance to the Reich. He is answerable only to me. All personnel, military and civil, without distinction of rank, will assist him in any way he sees fit.

  ADOLF HITLER

  Radl was stunned. It was the most incredible document he had ever held in his hand. With such a key, a man could open any door in the land, be denied nothing. His flesh crawled and a strange thrill ran through him.

  ‘As you can see, anyone who wishes to query that document would have to be prepared to take it up with the Führer himself.’ Himmler rubbed his hands together briskly. ‘So, it is settled. You are prepared to accept this duty your Führer places on you?’

  There was really nothing to be said except the obvious thing. ‘Of course, Herr Reichsführer.’

  ‘Good.’ Himmler was obviously pleased. ‘To business then. You are right to think of Steiner. The very man for the job. I suggest that you go and see him without delay.’

  ‘It occurs to me,’ Radl said carefully, ‘that in view of his recent history he may not be interested in such an assignment.’

  ‘He will have no choice in the matter,’ Himmler said. ‘Four days ago his father was arrested on suspicion of treason against the state.’

  ‘General Steiner?’ Radl said in astonishment.

  ‘Yes, the old fool seems to have got himself involved with entirely the wrong sort of people. He’s being brought to Berlin at the moment.’