Hitler's peace

“So I was rather hoping you might help me at the same time as I help you. It’s rather strange, really. You and Major Reichleitner both having been investigating the Katyn Forest massacre for your respective governments.”

“Yes, that is a coincidence.”

“Of course, that’s what he was doing then. He has told us quite a bit about himself, but he won’t tell us what he was doing so close to Tunis. Where he was going. What his mission was. At first he said he was on his way to Ankara when his plane hit some bad weather and they were forced to go south around it. Which was when he was shot down by your people. Only we checked the weather reports and conditions over the south of Europe and the northern Med were perfect that day. When I said as much to our Jerry-and this is where you come in-he went all stiff on me and told me that it was imperative he speak to someone close to President Roosevelt. That he had an important message he could put only into the hands of a member of FDR’s delegation. So, as you can see, it’s a stroke of luck your needing our help, too. Once he’s got whatever it is off his chest, I don’t see how he can fail to cooperate with your request.”

“Yes, that is good news.”

“If you don’t mind, we’ll play it the way I outlined it. I’ll wear the black hat and you can wear the white one.”

“I get the picture.”

Grey Pillars was a stately-looking building at number 10 Tolombat Street. British officers called it “number ten,” but it was better known to almost everyone in Cairo as Grey Pillars, because of the four Corinthian colonnades that enclosed its stately foyer. It was the headquarters of the British army in Egypt, although GHQ had long outgrown the original building and now occupied the whole street. Beyond the glass doors, things were less like a military HQ and more like a large Swiss bank, probably because Assicurazoni, a Trieste-based insurance company, had occupied the building before the British.

Deakin led the way down a plain marble staircase to a makeshift series of prison cells guarded by a bespectacled lance corporal reading a copy of Saucy Snips. Seeing Major Deakin, he hurriedly put the obscene magazine aside, snatched off his glasses, and sprang to attention. Despite a large fan on the ceiling, the heat in the cell area was almost unbearable.

“How’s our Jerry?” asked Deakin.

“Claims he’s sick, sir. Wants the khazi all the time.” The khazi was a British army term for lavatory.

“I do hope you’re taking him, Corporal. He is an officer, you know. And, as it happens, a damned important one right now.”

“Yes, sir. Don’t you worry about the Jerry, sir. I’ll look after him.”

The lance corporal unlocked the cell door and there, on an iron bedstead, wearing just his underwear, lay the German officer, apparently none the worse for his recent experiences. Major Reichleitner was a heavy-looking man with shortish fair hair and cornflower blue eyes. His jaw was as big as a sandbag, and his lips were thick and pink. He reminded me a little of Hermann Goring, the Reich’s air marshal. Seeing his two visitors, he swung his legs off the bed. They were pink, with lots of short fair hair, like a breeding pair of Chester White pigs. They didn’t smell much better, either. He nodded affably.

I leaned against the cell wall and listened patiently as Deakin spoke in a coarse, chewed-up, oatmeal kind of German. Probably it was the kind of German that the Holy Roman Emperor Charles V employed when he was famously speaking to his horse. Only the French spoke worse German than the English. I lit a cigarette and waited for a verb.

“This is Major Willard Mayer. He is with American intelligence, the OSS. He has come to Cairo as part of President Roosevelt’s delegation. But previously, when I met him in London, he was the president’s special representative.”

For all of the lance corporal’s assurances about Major Reichleitner’s welfare, I thought he could have used a shave and a comb. There was a burn mark on one cheek, presumably received when his plane had been shot down, and it lent a belligerent cast to his face.

“What can I do for you, Major?” I asked.

“I’ve no wish to insult you, Major Mayer,” Reichleitner said. “But have you any way of proving you are what he says you are?”

I showed Reichleitner the Cairo Security pass given to me at the airport. “Do you speak English?”

“A little.” Reichleitner handed me back my pass.

“So what’s this all about?”

“Have you heard of the massacre in the Katyn Forest?” asked Reichleitner.

“Of course.”

“I was part of the investigating team,” said Reichleitner.

“Then I’ve read your report,” I said, and explained the circumstances of my having been appointed FDR’s special representative. “Is that what you wanted to talk about?”

“No. Not directly, anyway. Something similar. Murder on a massive scale.”

“Well, that’s worth some cigarettes, at least.” I handed Reichleitner a cigarette and lit it, before tossing him the packet. Then we all sat down at the table as if we were about to play a game of cards.