Winter, page 38
‘And unofficially? I mean, what do you do, Lothar?’
‘My remarkable “Reini” persuaded the Reichsführer that the whole damned organization is riddled with police and communist spies. We track down antiparty elements within the party. We report on the communists and we keep a file index on everyone we can think of.’ He laughed and stabbed a sausage to lift it from its dish of hot water. Once it was on his plate, he skinned it expertly and started to eat. Lothar had always been a hearty trencherman: it was strange that he didn’t get fat. Maybe he worried a lot, thought Pauli, but he didn’t look like a worrier. A sad fellow, perhaps, but not a worrier.
‘Are there so many spies within the party?’ asked Pauli.
‘If Reini Heydrich wants them, I will provide them,’ said Koch.
‘Be serious, Lothar.’
‘I am serious. My God, Pauli. This fellow Heydrich has only just joined the party – in no time at all he’s on the Reichsführer’s staff. From then on I can hardly keep up with his promotions. Last night there was a teleprinter message to say that as of July 19 he’ll be formally appointed head of the SD, with the rank of Standartenführer to take effect ten days later. Can you imagine what he’s earning? And now, to cap it all, he’s on a trip round all the SD offices in Germany.’
‘How many offices do you have in Germany?’
‘Only a handful of informers here and there.’ He stuffed a piece of bread into his mouth and carried on talking. ‘That’s just Reini’s excuse for a jaunt: having his women, his luxury hotels and his fancy restaurant bills paid for by the party.’ He ate sausage.
‘Can he get away with that?’
Lothar had a mouthful of sausage but still he smiled. ‘Who’s going to stop him. Are you? Is some little party official in the cashier’s office going to object? No. We know how things are done in the party, don’t we, Pauli? Anyone who gets in the way of this cunning steamroller will find himself on a card index file and then in hot – very hot – water.’
‘What sort of hot water?’
‘I don’t mean a scented bath. Reini knows how to deal with opposition, whatever else he doesn’t know.’ There were no table napkins. Koch reached into his pocket and wiped the mustard from his lips with his handkerchief.
‘Sounds awful,’ said Pauli.
‘It’s all a big joke,’ said Lothar. ‘The biggest bloody joke I know since that bastard Woermann got his ass shot off in no-man’s-land, remember?’
‘Yes.’ Pauli remembered. He’d remembered that along with a thousand other nightmares, but had never been able to find amusement in the memory.
From Marienplatz came the sound of the brownshirt brass band. It started with a rousing old Bavarian march from the days of the monarchy. That would bring the crowds: young and old. Only later would they play the solemn Nazi songs, and finally the sentimental ones, to create a serious mood for the speeches. Then, at the very end, would come the merry, catchy tunes for the collection boxes. It was all worked out in great detail.
‘Damnit, Pauli, loosen up, man. If the law of averages was straight, we wouldn’t even be here. We’d be manure under a piece of French farmland. If these stupid bastards want to spy on each other, that’s all right by me. And the pay is good.’
‘Is it?’ said Pauli.
‘Ah!’ He laughed again and waved a finger under Pauli’s nose. ‘It’s well over twice what I’d be getting if I’d stayed in Munich Police Headquarters, and I was a senior inspector.’ So he was a policeman. That explained the way he bolted his food: cops took their refreshment on the move, that went with the job. ‘You’re a lawyer, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Pauli.
‘My Reini is looking for a lawyer. He said so only last week. And eventually we’ll have a proper Berlin office. If you played your cards right, you’d have a senior position there.’
‘I’m not sure I’d fit in.’
‘Don’t be a damned fool. No one would fit in better. You’ve had police court experience, you’re not one of these desk lawyers, you’re wise to the ways of the real world.’
Pauli nodded and wondered how Lothar Koch knew so much about him.
And if sensing this, Koch said, ‘I’ve seen you in court more than once when I’ve been sent to Berlin on prosecutions. You’re sharp, Pauli. I’ve seen you in action, and you’re damned quick.’
‘What would I be doing?’
‘I tell you what you’d be doing: almost nothing. My Reini is nervous about falling foul of one of these liberal lawyers who enjoy making trouble for everyone these days. He likes everything legal, my Reini does. At present we take our proposals round to the lawyers at the Brown House. Well, that’s bad security, isn’t it? We need our own lawyer to run through our plans and okay them. You’d be our tame lawyer.’
‘It sounds good.’
‘It’s as easy as skinning weisswurst, old comrade. Can I put your name up to my Reini when he gets back, exhausted, from his womanizing Olympics?’
‘Yes, thanks, Lothar.’
‘You’ll feel more at home with us, Pauli. More laughs and more freedom. You were never meant to be working with all those brownshirted riffraff or those stiff-necked freaks from the party.’
They sat and drank another beer and talked of old times. They talked of the trenches in 1918 and the friends they had lost there.
‘I’ll have to go now or I’ll miss my train back,’ said Pauli, looking at his pocket watch.
‘I’ll walk over to the cab rank with you,’ said Lothar Koch.
They walked across the market place. When they said goodbye, Lothar Koch said, ‘You’ll not regret joining us, my old friend. You’re our sort.’ The band music from Marienplatz ended suddenly. There was only a brief pause before the first speech began. They were using amplifiers and loudspeakers, so that from this distance the voice was distorted into an incomprehensible shudder of sound from which only the odd word could be recognized.
‘Lothar,’ said Pauli, on nothing more than an inspired guess, ‘did you know I was coming to Munich? Did you follow me today? Did you follow me from the railway station to see where I went, and then follow me all the way to the Viktualienmarkt before talking with me?’
Lothar laughed, and this time Pauli could see two gold teeth. ‘There you are, Pauli, my old comrade – I said you would be at home with us!’
1933
‘We think something is definitely brewing over there’
‘Sometimes I think I’ve wasted my life,’ said Alan Piper. Though he was sixty years old, he had the same pink baby face and innocent eyes that at Oxford had earned him the nickname Boy. He was dressed in a suit of green Harris tweed, the shapeless sort of outfit such Englishmen wore on their country estates rather than here in government offices in London S. W. 1. Piper offered his young visitor a cigar. He said it again – ‘wasted my life.’ There was a slight drawl in his voice, the warning that Englishmen like Piper used when they didn’t want to be taken too literally.
Brian Samson took the cigar gratefully. He knew that few field agents ever met the European Controller, let alone got invited up to his top-floor office to enjoy a chat and a cigar. It was a pleasant room, but dark and shadowy, and furnished in a style that suggested the consulting room of an Edwardian physician. ‘Wasted, sir?’ Piper tossed the matches and cutter to him. He cut the end from the cigar and put it in his mouth.
‘Because the politicians take no notice of what we tell them, Samson. They think I sit up here inventing it all.’
Samson laughed nervously. My God, this was as near as the senior staff of M.I. 6 could get to mutiny. ‘I’m sure they don’t,’ said Samson awkwardly.
‘No, they believe it all right, Samson.’ It was a firmer sort of voice now. ‘That’s why they ignore it. Right, Glenn?’ He looked at a man seated in the corner smoking a curly pipe.
‘Sure thing,’ said the man. He smiled. So ‘Mr Rensselaer’ was an American, thought Samson; he’d not noticed the accent when they were so briefly introduced. He could see it now: a middle-aged cowhand with weathered face and slow smile. He was younger than Piper: wide face, big-boned, with a lot of black hair which was beginning to grey at the temples.
‘And now Hitler’s made it: Chancellor Hitler,’ said Piper. ‘It was inevitable, I suppose.’
Samson got the cigar lighted. ‘Yes. He’ll rule Germany forever. They’ll never get rid of him. But it was inevitable,’ said Samson. ‘He knows how to appeal to middle-class Germans: the farmers, the schoolteachers, the doctors and so on. The communists couldn’t reach such voters as those.’
‘Then maybe you’ll explain it,’ said Glenn Rensselaer gloomily. ‘Because it sure beats me.’
Samson turned to see the American better and said, ‘The violence in the streets. Mobs – communists, Nazis and troublemakers – roamed through the cities looking for a fight. No one was safe. For the middle-classes – and lots of other people, too – nothing mattered except feeling it was safe to walk along the streets, and it seemed like only a Nazi government could bring back law and order.’
‘And has he brought back law and order?’ Piper asked.
‘Yes and no. In Berlin thousands of party members were appointed police auxiliaries. Certainly the communists have been suppressed. But most of the current lawlessness is due to his millions of brownshirts. They’ve set up improvised prisons in empty factories, warehouses and cellars. They’ve locked up anyone they don’t like. Many have been tortured to death. They are a law unto themselves, and they listen only to their Chief of Staff, Röhm.’
‘So how will Hitler deal with that?’
‘You want my opinion or the facts?’ said Samson.
‘I have the facts in your report,’ said Piper. ‘I sent for you to get your more personal impressions.’
Samson puffed at his cigar. ‘Since getting into power he’s been as active as a wagonload of monkeys. The emergency decrees enabled Hitler to ban public meetings and newspapers, tap phones, intercept mail, search homes and so on. But a reliable source told me that he is slowly taking control of the political police in every state in Germany and putting them under one man. This would be a big step towards total control. I mean total control!’
‘My knowledge of the German constitution is rusty,’ said Piper, ‘but I would have thought that was illegal.’
‘It is illegal,’ said Samson. ‘That’s why it’s all being done in secret. Even Interior Minister Frick seems not to be aware of what’s happening.’
‘Who is aware?’
‘Himmler. He’ll end up as chief of the Political Police for the whole of Germany.’
Samson glanced out of the window. Across the road was a beautiful Georgian house, and behind it the tops of the trees of Green Park. It was winter now – almost Christmas – and the trees were bare. There would be parties, paper hats, Christmas crackers, turkey and pudding flared with rum. A sudden homesickness hit him. He’d love to live in England again. He’d had enough of boardinghouses and cheap hotels and interminable foreign voices.
Glenn Rensselaer said, ‘Perhaps Himmler is doing it in his own behalf.’
‘I don’t think so, Mr Rensselaer,’ said the young man. ‘In each state the Gauleiter will have to approve such a change to the state’s police force. The Gauleiters are old Nazis, very touchy, very jealous of their powers. Only Hitler could persuade the Gauleiters to agree to such a change.’
‘Yes, and eventually Göring will also have to approve, if Himmler is to take over the Prussian Political Police,’ said Rensselaer reflectively. ‘Yes, Hitler would have to be a party to it.’
‘Make no mistake, sir, Röhm could win. The next heads to roll could be Hitler’s, Goebbels’s, Göring’s and Himmler’s. Röhm is energetic and he has millions of men who’d back him against Hitler.’
‘Tell us about getting the job with Winter’s organization,’ Piper asked the young man. He’d heard all he wanted to hear about Röhm’s ambitions.
‘It was luck, really. A dentist, a decent old cove, invited me to dinner, and Peter Winter was one of the guests. His brother, a Nazi Party lawyer, was there, too. Pauli, they call him. He let slip a couple of remarks that confirmed my other source. Peter Winter asked about my work. I just floated my job at Dornier past him, and he jumped at it. It was easy.’
‘What do you think of Peter Winter?’ said Glenn Rensselaer.
Samson thought for a moment before replying. ‘Very German. He even looks German. Authoritarian, very proper …and fair, I suppose. Not the sort who’d cheat anyone…’
Boy Piper nodded. Samson’s description of Peter could pass as a description of Samson himself. It was always like that: men had a sharp eye for their own attributes when looking at others. But Glenn wanted to hear more. ‘Go on,’ said Rensselaer.
Samson said, ‘Sophisticated. Single-minded, perhaps narrow-minded in some ways. Speaks wonderful English: his wife is American, of course.’
‘Artistic?’
Brian Samson hesitated. He was no judge of art. ‘Playing the piano and so on? Yes, I heard that he’s mad about the theatre, and plays jazz on the piano. But, after that one evening, I only met him in connection with work.’
‘And his wife?’ Glenn Rensselaer had taken over the questioning.
‘The American? Well, she’s…’
‘Jewish. Yes, she is.’
‘She told good jokes that night. A very clever woman. Attractive, too. And she seems to know a lot of history: I wouldn’t like to get into a political argument with her. Outspoken about the Nazis – too outspoken, I’d say. Her husband gets embarrassed at some of the things she says.’ Samson looked at the two men, wondering what he was expected to say. He couldn’t understand why the questioning had become so personal.
Piper decided to elucidate. ‘Life will get difficult for them under the Nazis, won’t it, Samson?’
‘Unendurable, sir.’
‘We were wondering whether to make an approach to Peter Winter. He could be useful to us. He knows a lot of things we’d like to find out more about.’
‘Offer him a job in England?’ said Samson.
‘Or America. He has relatives in America.’
‘Oh, yes, someone told me that his mother is American.’
Piper did not deny or confirm this suggestion. He said, ‘Do you think the time is ripe? You worked for him; what do you think?’
Samson smoked his cigar for a moment. ‘He’s very loyal to his father, sir. He might feel he was letting his father down. But the regime might start to put pressure on his wife. She loves him – that’s obvious – but how much does he love his wife?’
‘I see,’ said Piper. Samson noticed that the American was biting his lip.
Samson said, ‘But there’s a close relationship between the brothers, too, unusually close. The elder man treats his younger brother with exaggerated consideration. Anything you plan would have to take the younger brother into account.’
‘That’s very useful, Samson. Well, thank you.’ The meeting was at an end. Samson wondered what he was expected to do with his magnificent cigar. He placed it carefully in the big cut-glass ashtray before he got up and shook hands with both men. ‘Ever meet the parents, Samson?’ said Piper as Samson was about to leave the room. He couldn’t resist asking.
‘Only once, sir. They came to the Bremen factory. Old Mr Harald was presenting certificates to young workers finishing their apprenticeship.’
‘What do you think of them? Did you see the American mother?’
‘A nice old couple, sir.’ Samson looked from one man to the other. Piper looked a little flustered, and the American was wearing his slow smile.
‘Thank you, Samson. Drop in on Tuesday morning. I’d like to see you again before you go back.’ Samson eyed the cigar but decided not to pick it up and continue smoking it.
When Samson had left the room, Glenn Rensselaer grinned broadly and said, ‘A nice old couple. It serves you right, Boy. For that young man we are both old fossils.’
Piper ignored the remark. ‘What do you think?’
‘He’s a good kid.’
‘A lad like that should have gone to university. He left school at fourteen and educated himself in public libraries and night schools. It’s a crying shame. With a decent education he might have ended up doing my job. As it is, unless something unexpected happens, he’ll be lucky to end up downstairs in Registry.’
‘He’ll be lucky to even survive,’ said Glenn Rensselaer. ‘The Nazis will tighten everything up. It will get more and more dangerous for him. You notice what he was saying about the Political Police? That was a cry from the heart, Boy.’
‘I know, but I can’t pull him out yet awhile. He’s one of the best men we have. He’s a very experienced engineer, you see. He can get a job where others can’t.’
‘It was good of you to let me sit in.’
‘I know you are going to Berlin next week. I particularly wanted you to hear that business about the Political Police all coming under one control.’
‘It’s not really my department, Boy.’
‘I think it is, Glenn, because if my sources have got it right, your nephew Paul Winter is one of the SS lawyers working on that development.’
‘Is he?’
‘So if you learn anything that we could use…’
‘Sure, Boy, sure.’ Wasn’t that just like the British? They never gave anything away without strings being attached. Glenn sometimes regretted starting these unofficial exchanges of information. If the State Department got to hear, they’d roast him.
‘We think something is definitely brewing over there, something big. We know for certain that Röhm now has a million paid, active brownshirts, with no fewer than three and a half million men on reserve. That is to say, five times as many men as the German army. We want to know everything there is to know about this new SS formation under Himmler. Whose side will he be on when the crisis comes?’
‘Okay, okay, okay. If I find out what’s cooking, I’ll be sure to let you know.’
‘I would appreciate it, old chap.’
