Juan Gomez-Jurado - The Traitor's emblem

“No? The most recent reports, started when the SA was absorbed by the SS, say you have been somewhat ‘cool in the carrying out of your duty,’ that there’s ‘a lack of involvement’… Shall I go on?”

“That’s because I’ve been kept off the streets, sir!”

“It’s possible, then, that other people are concerned about you?”

“I assure you, sir, my commitment is absolute.”

“Well, then, there is one way you can regain the trust of this office.”

Finally the penny was about to drop. Heydrich had summoned Jurgen with a proposition in mind. He wanted something from him, and that was why he’d piled on such pressure from the start. He probably had no idea what Jurgen had been doing that night in 1923, but what Heydrich did or didn’t know didn’t matter: his word was law.

“I’ll do anything, sir,” Jurgen said, already a little calmer.

“Well, then, Jurgen. I can call you Jurgen, can’t I?”

“Of course, sir,” he said, swallowing his anger that the other man was not returning the courtesy.

“Have you heard about Freemasonry, Jurgen?”

“Of course. My father was a member of a lodge when he was young. I think he soon tired of it.”

Heydrich nodded. It didn’t come as a surprise to him, and Jurgen deduced that he’d already known.

“Since we took power, the Masons have been… actively discouraged.”

“I know, sir,” said Jurgen, smiling at the euphemism. In Mein Kampf, a book every German had read-and had on display at home, if they knew what was good for them-Hitler had pronounced his visceral hatred of Masonry.

“A good number of the lodges have dissolved voluntarily or reorganized. Those particular lodges were of little significance to us, as they were all Prussian, with Aryan members and nationalist tendencies. Having dissolved voluntarily and handed over their member lists, no measures have been taken against them… for the moment.”

“I gather, then, that some lodges are still troubling you, sir?”

“It is quite clear to us that many lodges have remained active, the so-called humanitarian lodges. The bulk of their members are of a liberal bent, Jews, that sort of thing…”

“Why don’t you simply ban them, sir?”

“Jurgen, Jurgen,” said Heydrich in a patronizing tone, “that would only hinder their activity, at best. As long as they retain a scrap of hope, they will continue to meet and talk about their compasses and squares and all that Judaic rubbish. What I want is each of their names on a little fourteen-by-seven card.”

Heydrich’s little cards were famous throughout the party. A vast room next to his office in Berlin stored information on those considered “undesirable” by the party: Communists, homosexuals, Jews, Masons, and generally anyone inclined to comment that the Fuhrer seemed a little tired in his speech today. Whenever someone was denounced, a new card would join the other tens of thousands. The fate of those who appeared on the cards was as yet unknown.

“If Masonry were banned, they’d simply go underground like rats.”

“Precisely!” said Heydrich, smacking his hand down on the desk. He leaned in toward Jurgen and said in a confidential tone: “Tell me, do you know why we want the names of this rabble?”

“Because Masonry is a puppet of the international Jewish conspiracy. It’s well known that bankers like Rothschild and-”

A huge guffaw interrupted Jurgen’s impassioned speech. Seeing the face of the baron’s son fall, the head of State Security restrained himself.

“Don’t parrot the Volkischer Beobachter editorials back to me, Jurgen. I helped write them myself.”

“But, sir, the Fuhrer says-”

“I have to wonder how far the dagger that took your eye went in, my friend,” said Heydrich, studying his features.

“Sir, there’s no need to be offensive,” said Jurgen, furious and confused.

Heydrich flashed an ominous smile.

“You’re full of spirit, Jurgen. But that passion must be governed by reason. Do me a favor, don’t become one of those sheep bleating at demonstrations. Allow me to give you a little lesson in our history.” Heydrich stood up and began to walk around the large table. “In 1917, the Bolsheviks dissolved all the lodges in Russia. In 1919, Bela Kun got rid of all the Masons in Hungary. In 1925, Primo de Rivera banned lodges in Spain. That year Mussolini did the same in Italy. His Blackshirts dragged the Masons out of bed in the middle of the night and beat them to death in the streets. An instructive example, don’t you think?”

Jurgen nodded, surprised. He knew nothing about this.

“As you can see,” Heydrich continued, “the first act of any strong government that intends to remain in power is to get rid of-among others-the Masons. And not because they’re following orders about some hypothetical Jewish conspiracy: they do it because people who think for themselves cause a great deal of trouble.”

“What exactly do you want from me, sir?”

“I want you to infiltrate the Masons. I’ll give you good enough contacts. You’re an aristocrat, and your father belonged to a lodge some years back, so they’ll accept you without too much fuss. Your aim will be to get hold of the list of members. I want the name of every Mason in Bavaria.”

“Will I have carte blanche, sir?”

“Unless you hear anything to the contrary, yes. Wait here a moment.”

Heydrich walked to the door, opened it, and barked a couple of instructions to an adjutant sitting on a bench in the corridor. The subordinate clicked his heels and returned a few moments later with another young man dressed in outdoor clothes.

“Come in, Adolf, come in. My dear Jurgen, allow me to introduce you to Adolf Eichmann. He’s a very promising young man who’s working at our Dachau camp. He specializes in, shall we say… extrajudicial affairs.”

“A pleasure,” said Jurgen, extending his hand. “So you’re the man who finds his way around the law, eh?”

“Likewise. And yes, sometimes we have to bend the rules a little, if we’re ever to hand Germany back to its rightful owners,” Eichmann said, smiling.

“Adolf has requested to join my office, and I’m inclined to make the move easy for him, but first I’d like him to work alongside you for a few months. All the information you obtain you’ll deliver to him, and he will be responsible for making sense of it. And when you complete this task, I believe I will be able to send you to Berlin, on a mission of greater magnitude.”

I’ve seen him. I’m sure of it, thought Clovis as he elbowed his way out of the tavern.

It was a July night and already his shirt was drenched with sweat. But the heat didn’t bother him too much. He had learned to overcome it in the desert, when he first discovered that Reiner was following him. He had had to abandon a promising diamond mine in the Orange River basin in order to throw Reiner off the scent. He had left behind the last of his excavation materials, taking only essentials with him. At the top of a low ridge, rifle in hand, he had seen Paul’s face for the first time and put his finger on the trigger. Afraid that he might miss, he had slid over to the other side of the hill, like a snake in tall grass.

He’d then lost Paul for several months, until he’d been forced to flee again, this time from a whorehouse in Johannesburg. That time Reiner had spotted him first, but from afar. When their eyes met, Clovis had been stupid enough to show his fear. He knew at once that the cold, hard shine in Reiner’s eyes was the look of the hunter memorizing the shape of his prey. He managed to escape through a secret back door, and even had time to go back to the dump of a hotel where he was lodged and throw his clothes into a suitcase.