Philip Kerr - The Other Side of Silence

“I thought that was the end of it. But a few days later Schmidt-that’s his true name, Otto Schmidt-returned with another man, who turned out to be a real Gestapo officer called Harold Heinz Hennig, who worked for Department II-H, which exists, I am informed, to investigate homosexuality. They asked me for more money-to be precise, another thousand marks. And once again I paid up. They said if I refused to pay they’d make sure I was sent to a concentration camp, where I’d be lucky to last the year.”

“Cash?”

“Always. Small bills, too.”

“Hmm.”

“But this was just the start, and since then I have paid this pair of scoundrels a thousand a week, which at this present moment in time amounts to almost two hundred and fifty thousand marks. I’m afraid I could ill afford the taxi that brought me here this morning.”

I whistled. Two hundred and fifty thousand marks is as attractive a figure as any you can see outside of a life class in the Berlin School of Art.

“That’s a lot of money.”

“Yes it is.”

“Look, with all due respect, sir, this horse has bolted. I fail to see how it might help for me to help you close the stable door now.”

“For the simple reason that I am now being blackmailed by the same people-or at least one of them, Captain Hennig-in an entirely different way and for an entirely different reason. Not for money. At least not for the moment. It’s my silence that seems to be required right now. If it wasn’t so tragic it might be funny. But this is where I need your help, Gunther. I assume that the Gestapo possesses a code of conduct. That corruption is frowned upon even among Nazis. Presumably this Captain Hennig has a superior, and one imagines he would hardly welcome the news of bribery in his own department.”

“What’s this man Hennig like?”

“Young, smooth, arrogant. Clever, too. Always plainclothes. Good suits. Buys his hats at Habig. Rolex wristwatch. Drives a black Opel Kapitan, which means I’ve never been able to follow him. We always meet in public places. And never the same place twice.”

I nodded slowly. I don’t mind trouble. It’s an occupational hazard, but already this case was starting to look as if it might be more than the usual amount of trouble, which, in Nazi Germany, is always dangerous.

“As far as I can remember,” I said, “II-H is run by two revolting bastards, Josef Meisinger and Eberhard Schiele. The chances are that they’re getting a large piece of everything this man Hennig’s extorting from you. I’d be very surprised if they weren’t. But Meisinger does have a superior he reports to. A man I know called Arthur Nebe, who’s not entirely without principles. It may be that he takes a dim view of these sordid activities. I suppose we might persuade him to get them to lay off.”

“I hope so.”

“But wait, you said they were now blackmailing you to keep quiet. If it’s not too embarrassing, maybe you’d like to explain why. I’m not entirely clear about that.”

“Actually, it’s not embarrassing at all. Otto Schmidt spent time in prison. While he was there Schmidt informed some other people in the Gestapo that he had been blackmailing me for some years and the idiots managed to confuse me with the commander in chief of the army-Blomberg’s number two, Colonel General Freiherr Werner von Fritsch. That’s Fritsch with a t , you understand. He’s an officer of the old school and very definitely not a Nazi, so perhaps they are looking for an excuse to get rid of him. In other words, it would seem they have deliberately mistaken him for me in an attempt to smear his name and force his resignation from the army. And I am now being blackmailed to keep my mouth shut regarding what I know about this.”

“By Hennig.”

“By Hennig.”

“And who’s the officer in the Gestapo who’s trying to pin this on General von Fritsch?”

“A commissar by the name of Franz Josef Huber. And a Detective Inspector Fritz Fehling.”

“But it doesn’t make any sense,” I objected. “They’re already trying to get rid of von Blomberg. Surely von Fritsch is best placed to succeed von Blomberg. Why get rid of him, too?”

“Sense? None of this makes sense. As far as I can see, dumb and unswerving loyalty to Hitler is all that matters to the Nazis. The question as it affects me is this: How far up the chain of command does this go? That is what I need to know. Does this knowledge that von Fritsch is entirely innocent extend all the way up the chain to Goring and to Hitler?”

“And if it did? What then, sir?”

“Just this. A military court has been appointed to hear General von Fritsch’s case on March tenth in the Preussenhaus. It will be chaired by Goring, Raeder, and Brauchitsch, and the charges will relate to Paragraph 175 of the German Penal Code, which makes homosexuality illegal. Before then I need to decide whether, as a point of honor, I should insist on giving evidence and tell the court that it was me and not the general who was the subject of the Gestapo’s blackmail. In other words, how much am I risking by taking on the Gestapo?”

“Off the top of my head I’d say that it’s never a good idea to go toe to toe with the Gestapo. The concentration camps are full of people who thought they can be reasoned with. How ill are you, sir? What I mean is, can you travel? Have you considered leaving the country? There’s no dishonor in running away from the Nazis. Many others have already done so.”

“I might have done that,” he admitted, “if it wasn’t for my elderly mother. I might just find the strength to travel somewhere. But she certainly would not. And I could never leave her. That would be unthinkable.”

“I can see you’re in a difficult position.”

“That’s why I’m here.”

“Look, have you spoken to General von Fritsch about this? I imagine he’d be quite interested in what you have to say.”

“No, not yet. As I say, I want to find out how far up the chain this goes before I go out on a limb for the general. But if it should come to that, I’d prefer you to make the first contact with his legal counsel. I’m afraid I have little energy for waiting around the Bendlerstrasse to see him. I intend to retire to my bed the minute I return home.”

“Do you know who his legal counsel is? I take it this is another senior army officer.”

“Count Rudiger von der Goltz. You’ll find him at the Bendlerstrasse, too.”

“All right. But first I’ll speak to Nebe. And perhaps also to Franz Gurtner, the minister of Justice. Perhaps he’ll know what to do.”

“Thank you.” Von Frisch took out his wallet and opened it and thumbed two Prussian blues onto my desk. “From what your colleague told me earlier, this should be enough to secure your services on my behalf for one week.”

“That’s more than enough, sir.”

The fact was, I’d have handled his case for nothing. But there was no point in arguing with the old man; Achim von Frisch was an old-school Prussian with a lot of pride and he’d no more have taken my charity than he’d have offered to clean my office or fetch my cigarettes.

After he’d gone I sat around and took the Lord’s name in vain a lot, which only raised my blood pressure. Then Bruno came back with my Murattis and I had to smoke one right away and also take a bite of the bottle of Korn I had in my desk drawer. Then I told him what von Frisch had told me and he cursed a lot and took a drink, too. We must have looked like a couple of priests on holiday.

“This isn’t a case,” he said, “it’s an unfolding political scandal. Take my advice, boss; leave it alone. You might as well look for Amelia Earhart as try and help this old Fridolin.”

“Maybe.”

“There’s no maybe about it. If you ask me, you’d be putting your head in the lion’s mouth, with little prospect of getting it back with both ears. This is just the Nazis consolidating their grip on power. First the Reichstag fire, then the Night of the Long Knives when they murdered Ernst Rohm and the SA leadership, and now this-the emasculation of the army. It’s just Hitler’s way of telling the Wehrmacht that he’s in charge. You know, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he makes himself the new minister for War. After all, who else is there?”