Sam Eastland - Berlin Red

‘And if you were me, Fraulein S, whom would you accuse?’

She considered for a moment before replying. ‘Someone like me,’ she replied. ‘Someone who is an outsider. Someone who wouldn’t be missed.’

Hearing these words, a dazed look swept across Hunyadi’s face. In that moment, he was not thinking of the beautiful woman who sat before him, or of the reason she sat before him now. Hunyadi was thinking of his wife. He stood, resting his fingertips upon the desk, as if uncertain of his balance. ‘Thank you,’ he said hoarsely. ‘You can go.’

As Lilya Simonova left the building, taking the back stairs so as to avoid the duty sergeant. At the end of the staircase, the door opened out into a narrow alley, separating the police headquarters from a now-abandoned block of flats on the other side.

It was raining harder now. The air smelled of damp ashes.

For a minute, she rested with her back against the wall, feeling her heart rate slowly return to normal. Slowly, she unclenched her fist, revealing a small vial encased in a thin coating of brown rubber. The inner glass container was filled with potassium cyanide. She had been given the vial before she left England, what seemed like a lifetime ago, and had carried it with her ever since. Lilya had not known, when she walked into the police station, if she would ever walk out of there again. One question too many from the Inspector, and all she had to do was slip the vial into her mouth, bite down, and the shimmering liquid would snuff out her life before she could draw another breath. But Hunyadi had been kind to her. Too kind, perhaps. She was not out of danger yet. The time might come when she would have to put the vial to use. She slipped it into a tiny opening in the collar of her leather jacket. Then she walked out to the street, where Fegelein was waiting in the car.

‘You see?’ he asked with a smile, when she had taken her place again behind the wheel. ‘There was never anything to worry about, was there?’

‘No,’ she replied softly, as she put the car in gear. ‘It was just as you said it would be.’

‘What the hell is this about?’ demanded General Hagemann. He sat in the back of an SS staff car as it hurtled towards Himmler’s headquarters.

Three hours earlier, he had been in the middle of a dense pine forest, 20 kilometres east of Berlin, scouting new areas for deploying his mobile V-2 launch trucks. Then the staff car had appeared, slipping along a road which was little more than a horse track, its glossy black finish overpainted with sprays of khaki-coloured mud splashed up from the hundreds of puddles it had driven through to get this far.

Two men had climbed out, wearing the black uniforms of the Allgemeine-SS. Both men were clearly irritated to have left the relative comfort of their barracks. Brusquely, they ordered General Hagemann into the car.

Hagemann gave one helpless glance at the men who had been assisting him.

The look on the face of Sergeant Behr, who had stood by him since the earliest days of the V-2 project, confirmed the general’s own worst fears – that he was unlikely to survive whatever journey awaited him in the back of that SS staff car.

It would have been useless to protest. Hagemann simply ordered Sergeant Behr to take command of the mission, climbed into the back of the car and lit his pipe. As the smoke swirled around him, the general attempted to compose himself so that, at least, he might meet his end with some degree of dignity.

Hagemann realised, as the car slewed around and began making its way back in the direction from which it had come, that he might never know what he had done to deserve this punishment. There would be no trial. These days, there was no time for such elaborate productions. In all probability, the general guessed, he would simply be driven to some part of this bleak forest even more remote than the one where he had been when the men arrived to collect him. He would be walked into the woods, and forced to kneel in the dead leaves. He could almost feel the dampness in the ground against his skin as it soaked through the fabric of his trousers. And then he would be shot.

Hagemann found himself almost impatient for them to get on with their task.

But the car continued on its way.

By the time they emerged from the forest and turned on to the main east-west highway, known as Reichsstrasse I, Hagemann was beginning to wonder if he had perhaps misjudged the situation. A flicker of hope appeared in his mind. He leaned forward and cleared his throat. ‘Where did you say you were taking me?’ he asked the men.

‘We didn’t,’ replied the guard in the passenger seat.

The general’s optimism crumbled. He slumped back in his seat and folded his arms across his chest. As he did so, he felt the shape of his gun in its holster on his waist. It occurred to him that, provided he moved quickly, he might be able to draw the gun and shoot himself before the men in the front seat could stop him. That would, at least, deprive them of the twisted pleasure they were sure to take in carrying out their duties, and would bring an end to his suffering.

But he quickly set aside the idea. The truth was, he didn’t have the courage to shoot himself and he knew that he would probably only make a mess of it if he tried.

They did not travel into Berlin, but instead took a ring road, skirting around to the north.

By now, more than an hour had passed since Hagemann had climbed into the car and he had become completely confused.

Finally, Hagemann could stand it no longer. ‘What the hell is going on?’ he demanded.

‘Himmler wants to see you,’ said the driver.

‘You didn’t hear it from us,’ added the man in the passenger seat, ‘but I think he is giving you a medal.’

Hearing this, Hagemann’s whole body went numb. ‘A medal?’ he whispered. ‘From Himmler?’

He had never actually met the Reichsfuhrer before. In that, Hagemann considered himself lucky. Few people, no matter how highly they were ranked, emerged from meetings with the Lord of the SS without having been blackmailed, intimidated or otherwise brought to their knees. For a while, Hagemann had convinced himself that he might be able to avoid meeting Himmler altogether, and he would gladly have done without the medal in order to continue that streak of good fortune. But there was no way out of it now.

For the rest of the journey, Hagemann sat there in silence, slowly reassembling his self-control.

Arriving at the compound at Hohenlychen, the car pulled over in front of the red-brick building which served as Himmler’s residence.

‘In there,’ said the driver. ‘No need to knock. You are expected.’

Hagemann got out of the car and made his way into the building. Passing through the front door, he found himself in an elegantly furnished space, which had the appearance of an upscale doctor’s waiting room.

There was a door on the other side of the room but it was shut and Hagemann, being uncertain as to whether he should knock, decided to wait here instead.

He was just lowering himself down into one of the leather chairs when the door opened and Himmler appeared from the darkness on the other side. ‘Hagemann!’ he exclaimed with a smile. ‘I have looked forward to this meeting for a long time.’ He strode into the room and shook the general’s hand, as if they had always been friends.

Dazed, the general managed to nod in greeting.

‘Sit!’ commanded Himmler.

Hagemann felt his legs practically give out from under him and he subsided into one of the chairs.

‘I hear congratulations are in order,’ said Himmler, sitting down opposite him.

‘They are?’ asked Hagemann.

‘Come now,’ Himmler laughed. ‘There’s no need for false modesty here.’ He leaned forward and wagged a finger at the general. ‘I have learned that the Diamond Stream device is now fully operational. Even now, I expect, our rockets are raining down upon the enemy with pinpoint accuracy!’