James Becker - Echo of the Reich

24 July 2012

“That tiny island is an anachronism that Europe simply doesn’t need,” Marcus Wolf said. “We came so close in the last war to utterly destroying it, and if the Fuhrer had not turned his attention to the east and awoken the sleeping Russian bear, we could have-we should have-succeeded.”

Klaus Drescher nodded. The leader of Die Neue Dammerung — The New Dawn-was treading familiar ground but, as usual, Drescher didn’t disagree with anything that Wolf said. They had both studied, in considerable detail, the history of the Second World War, and their analysis was unequivocal. If Hitler had pressed home his advantage, prevented the mass evacuation of Dunkirk that had been hailed as-and indeed was-an Allied triumph, and forced Hermann Goering to commit every aircraft he had to destroying the British Royal Air Force, Britain would certainly have been defeated in the winter of 1940. Then Hitler’s Operation Sea Lion could have proceeded as planned, and would have resulted in an overwhelming victory for the Fatherland. Only after the war had ended did it become clear just how close Britain had come to ultimate defeat and inevitable surrender.

But now, thanks to the Laternentrager, Germany had a chance to redress the balance, though it had been a long wait.

When it had become clear to even the most dedicated and fanatical Nazi that Hitler’s dream was over, and that Germany would be overrun by enemy forces within a matter of weeks, farsighted individuals began implementing the plans they had already drawn up. Some of these later became public knowledge. The Vatican, for example, had been perfectly happy to facilitate the transport of high-ranking Nazis out of Germany in exchange for financial donations, and even Red Cross officials knew that many of the so-called “refugees’ they were processing were actually wanted Nazis. And the Odessa-the Organization Der Ehemaligen SS-Angehorigen, the Organization of Former SS Members-had established numerous “rat lines” to allow the escape of senior SS officers from Germany and Austria to other countries, primarily South America.

Marcus’s grandfather hadn’t needed to avail himself of any of these organizations, simply because he had been on board the Junkers Ju-390 that had spirited Die Glocke out of Poland and on to its ultimate destination in Argentina. There, he had found a number of like-minded former German officers, and within a fairly short time he had set up Die Neue Dammerung: the group that would herald the new dawn of the Nazi dream.

They had hoped, even after the end of hostilities, to quickly regroup and re-arm and, allied with the threat of the devastating military capability promised by Die Glocke, to force the Allies to surrender. And then they would have returned to the Fatherland in triumph. But the destruction of Germany had been so complete, so devastating, and the work required on Die Glocke so complex and time-consuming, that they were never able to realize their dream. Until now, that is, when their scientists had finally perfected the weapon that was even then on its way to London.

Leadership of the New Dawn had been passed from father to son, to ensure that the organization never lost its focus or clarity of purpose, and now Marcus Wolf held the reins, and was preparing for the triumph that had eluded the group for so long.

“Eventually, the people of Germany will thank us,” Klaus said now. “It was a mistake, a bad mistake, to have allowed Britain ever to become a part of the European Union. We have nothing in common with them, and they have been nothing but trouble, just as they were in the nineteen forties.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Marcus agreed. “After we have succeeded with our mission, we will be able to ignore the United Kingdom, and that will allow Germany, the Fatherland, to again take its rightful place as the most powerful nation within Europe. The Fuhrer failed to achieve that using tanks and soldiers and aircraft, but we are going to succeed. We will eliminate Britain as a political and economic force by the application of pure science, by the triggering of our weapon, and our nation will then go on to dominate the continent because of the power of our economy and our implacable political will. Within five years, my friend, I believe that Germany will be the fourth most important nation on Earth, and we can then, perhaps, begin making plans to topple America and Russia, and maybe even China as well.”

“When they see what the Laternentrager can do, and they realize that there is no defense against it, the political climate will change dramatically,” Drescher agreed.

“Exactly,” Marcus said. “There is nothing to stop us now.”

24 July 2012

Bronson removed the battery from the mobile phone, placed the components in the Hyundai’s glovebox, then started the car and drove out of the service area and back onto route 13, heading south.

As he pulled out into the light early-morning traffic, he glanced frequently in his rearview mirror. And what he saw confirmed his suspicions. He’d only just cleared the end of the slip road when he noticed two marked police cars heading south toward him, and traveling very quickly. A short distance behind them, a Mercedes van was matching their speed. As he watched, the two police cars slowed and turned into the service area, disappearing from view. The Mercedes van continued along the autobahn, slowing all the time, and then turned right onto the end of the slip road, partially blocking it.

It could, of course, have been some kind of exercise, or a mere coincidence that the German police had arrived in force at a location he had just left, but Bronson didn’t believe in coincidences. He was now certain that his mobile phone was being tracked. If he’d spent just two more minutes on his call to Angela, he knew he’d now be in custody and awaiting extradition back to England to face whatever charges Detective Inspector Davidson thought he could make stick.

The phone would have to go, obviously, but he would still need to be able to contact Angela, and using public pay phones simply wouldn’t work. He needed another mobile phone. And, just as important, so did she, because the only way the Metropolitan Police could possibly have worked out that he was using this particular mobile was if they’d placed a watch on Angela’s home, office and mobile numbers.

He would have to risk one final call to her from that phone.

The next exit from the autobahn was the Gro? Koris junction. Bronson took the slip road and then turned east toward Klein Koris. As soon as he found somewhere to park safely beside the road, he stopped the car, reassembled the mobile phone, and called Angela’s mobile. She answered almost immediately.

“It’s me again,” Bronson said. “This is important, so just listen and please don’t interrupt. My phone’s being tracked by the police here, and they must have discovered the number by monitoring my calls to you. I’m getting a new phone this morning, and I want you to do the same. Just buy an ordinary pay-as-you-go mobile for cash and load the SIM card with as much credit as it’ll take, but at least twenty pounds. Keep your present mobile with you, and I’ll text you the number of my new phone as soon as I’ve got it.”

“If you do that, won’t the police also know your number?” Angela protested. “And you’re in even more trouble now, aren’t you?”

“No, I’m at about the same depth as usual, I suppose. And sending a text should be safe. I’ll explain why later. Now, I’ve got to go. I’ll talk to you this evening.”

Bronson again removed the battery from the phone and drove on. He hoped he was right about a text message being safe. It was one thing for the Metropolitan Police to ask a mobile phone company to locate the position of a particular handset by checking which radio masts the unit was in contact with, or even to obtain a listing of the calls made and received by that mobile, but it was quite another to monitor the calls and messages themselves. That needed warrants or court orders, and Bronson doubted if Davidson had enough evidence to convince anybody that he needed to be able to listen to what Angela Lewis, a respected ceramics conservator working for the British Museum, a lady who had never been given so much as a parking ticket in her life, was saying, or what her texts comprised.