Philip Kerr - The Lady from Zagreb

“That’s true, Patrizia. Still, it’s up to us now — to help deter them even more.”

“That’s a tall order for the people who weren’t deterred by the sheer size of the task of invading Russia.”

“Which is precisely why, Gunther, I’m here at Wolfsberg now,” insisted Schellenberg. “All war relies on spies to discover information that reveals the enemy’s true intentions. But that has never been enough. Deception is just as important. Bonaparte was a master of deception. Maneuvers from the rear, he called this. At the Battle of Lodi he had some of his army cross the River Po to persuade the Austrian commander de Beaulieu that he was attacking him; but in reality he had the bulk of his army cross further upriver, enabling him to attack de Beaulieu from the rear, and to defeat him. I’m the chief of SD Foreign Intelligence. It’s my job to discover the enemy’s true intentions. But it’s also my job to devise deceptions. The Russians have a good word for this that I rather like. It’s maskirovka , and in my opinion there is no one better at devising effective and persuasive maskirovka than a writer of fiction. Especially detective fiction. A man such as Paul Meyer-Schwertenbach, who possesses an imagination second to none. Between us, we’ve cooked up a plan that I’m going to take back to Germany and present to the High Command. It will be a complete work of fiction, of course. But as with all the best fiction, it will have a strong element of truth. The kind of truth that some of the generals in Germany, like poor Johann de Beaulieu, will simply want to believe.”

In an elegant dining room a horse-faced maid served a dinner of cold rabbit fillets with creamed horseradish, and pike and perch with a peppercorn sauce, on Meissen tableware that was the same color as the napkins and the blue-and-white curtains. A virtual cornucopia of pears, red currants, and plums occupied a central spot between two candelabra. Silver place settings glittered and crystal glasses chimed lightly as Meyer poured a delicious Spätburgunder from an ancient-looking and probably very valuable wine jug. Patrizia was up and down from a mahogany Zopfstil chair with a back that was almost as straight as hers, helping the maid to bring to the table tureens of vegetables and more fish, bowls of radishes and pickles, bread baskets, and sauce boats. On the wall, a picture of a lady wearing a wimple as tall as a circus tent stared down at our simple Swiss dinner and licked her lips at seeing so much food. She was probably German.

“Hans was telling me that you were married just before you came to Switzerland,” said Patrizia. “That you hadn’t even managed to go on your honeymoon.”

I glanced at Eggen and gave him my best blue eyes.

“That’s right, Frau Meyer.”

“Tell me about her? Is she very pretty?”

“Her name is Kirsten and yes, she’s pretty. She’s younger than me. Her father owns a small hotel in Dachau. Which is where she’s from, originally. But she’s a schoolteacher at a girls’ school in Berlin.”

“Was it a sudden thing?” she asked.

“It was rather.”

“Well, I wish you all the luck in the world.”

“Thanks, but we won’t need that much. Besides, I think the general is going to need quite a bit of luck himself if he’s going to pull off this plan he was talking about. I’d like to hear some more about that, if I may.”

Schellenberg nodded. “Yes, I think you deserve that.” He shrugged. “The deals done by the Nordhav Foundation with the Swiss Wood Company weren’t just designed to provide Switzerland with much-needed foreign currency, and to demonstrate my good faith to Swiss Army intelligence. They were also meant as a useful cover for me. So that I could work on Operation Noah with Paul without attracting too much suspicion. Although it doesn’t seem to have worked where you were concerned, Gunther.”

I nodded, but I was just beginning to understand the complexity of Schellenberg’s existence and how carefully he was obliged to tread. By contrast my own life seemed almost carefree, not to say somewhat feckless. While the little general had been devoting himself to ensuring Switzerland’s continued neutrality so that peace negotiations between the Allies and the Axis might finally get under way, I had been dallying with a beautiful actress. And it seemed the least I could do was offer him the respect he deserved.

“Yes, sir. I’m sorry about that. I can see that now.”

“I’m leaving tomorrow, for Berlin and then Rastenburg,” he said. “With Mussolini’s overthrow imminent, I’m afraid there’s not a moment to lose. While Paul is in Bern, presenting these genuine plans to his masters in Swiss Army intelligence, I’m going to be at the Wolf’s Lair, giving these fake ones to mine. Quite possibly to Hitler himself. Whatever people say about him, Hitler always listens to his generals. Even me, I have to confess. And being so much younger than the others, I am allowed a certain licence to speak freely.”

“Is Hitler a monster?” asked Patrizia. “One always imagines that he must be.”

“To be honest with you, Patrizia, he is the most extraordinary man I have ever met,” said Schellenberg. “Had he died in 1940 he would have been the greatest German who ever lived. If only he had been more interested in diplomacy he might have been better served diplomatically and we could have avoided war altogether. It doesn’t help that von Ribbentrop was Germany’s foreign minister. The man is a fool. Not that this ever mattered much to Hitler, who always seems to prefer military solutions to almost every problem. That’s what you have to remember about Hitler. He favors getting what he wants by violent means. Which means that speaking to him — giving him advice — is a prospect that always makes me nervous. I feel a little like that fellow Franz Reichelt, who jumped off the Eiffel Tower to demonstrate his new invention: a parachute. It didn’t work, unfortunately for him, and he was killed. I can still remember as a small boy seeing the newsreel footage of Parisian newspapermen using a ruler to measure the depth of the hole in the ground made by his body.”

“Please be careful,” said Patrizia, touching his hand. “We’ve grown very fond of you, Schelli. And you, Hans. Haven’t we, Paul?”

Meyer nodded. “Absolutely. Considering he’s my enemy, he’s also one of my best friends.”

“Thank you, Paul.”

“Before you throw yourself off the Eiffel Tower, General, I’d like to hear some more of these fake plans,” I said.

“Good idea,” said Eggen. “I think a healthy degree of Berlin skepticism is just what we need around here.”

“That sounds like you’re not convinced this plan will work, sir,” I said. “Are you? Do you think it will work?”

“If anyone can make it work, it’s Schelli,” said Eggen. “In my experience there’s no one better than him at the practice of maskirovka .”

“Oh, I don’t know,” said Schellenberg. “I think Captain Gunther himself does quite a job of concealing what he really is.”

“That’s not what I asked, sir,” I told Eggen. “I asked you if you think his plan will work.”

“Then let me say this. I think Hitler and his generals will believe the plans, yes. I think the Operation Noah plans are quite plausible. What Paul and Schelli have done is create a rather brilliant scenario in which it would seem like folly and madness to invade this country at all. The trouble is that folly and madness rule right now. The folly and madness of continuing this war for another week is there for all to see in the person of our leader, Adolf Hitler. Hitler doesn’t live in the real world. He has an absurd faith in the German Army. He still believes that the impossible can be achieved. That’s the real problem with these plans. Not that they are wrong or inadequate or even too far-fetched, but that Hitler is wrong and inadequate. He might think the destruction of this country is a price worth paying for its daring to oppose his will in the first place. I’ve an awful feeling that he has something similar in mind for Germany if we dare to let him down.”