Hitler's peace

“Of course. But on Saturday the president is flying to Teheran to meet Stalin. Don’t you think that instead of quizzing me about whether I might have been a friend of the German propaganda minister you would do better to find out who it is among the American delegation that’s planning to assassinate Marshal Stalin?”

“That’s exactly what we were doing,” Rauff said, holding up the plaintext. “After all, this message was found on you.”

“I gave it to Inspector Luger.”

“He’d have found it when he searched you anyway. And let’s not forget that you were the one using the German radio back in Tunis.”

“I wondered what you were doing here, Rauff. I take it your clever theory is that ever since leaving Hampton Roads I’ve been crying wolf because I’m a wolf myself, is that it? Well, you’re certainly consistent, I’ll say that for you. Your stupidity looks chronic.”

I retrieved the Hamilton Hotel matchbook from my empty cigarette packet. I had hidden it inside the lining of my jacket.

“Whoever killed Princess Elena also killed Thornton Cole, back in Washington. I found this matchbook in the wastepaper basket beside that plaintext message from the Abwehr.”

“This is underneath the nonexistent radio, right?” said Rauff.

“It’s a little complicated, Agent Rauff, so I’ll speak slowly and in short words even you can understand. Cole was murdered because he stumbled onto a German spy ring. The Schmidts were murdered to help maintain the fiction that Cole had been cruising for homosexual sex-something that a State Department already nervous about losing presidential confidence in the wake of the Sumner Welles scandal was more than happy to see swept under the rug.

“The same man who killed the Schmidts-let’s call him Brutus-also killed his contact here in Cairo and is trying to frame me for it. My guess is that he hopes to clear the way for an attempt on Stalin’s life in Teheran.”

I thumped the table hard with the flat of my hand, which made Donovan jump. I upped the tone. “Look, you’ve got to listen to me. Someone, an American, is going to try to kill Stalin.”

Mike Reilly stirred in his chair. “Oh, there’s no doubt that there’s an assassination plot,” he said coolly. “In fact, the Russians know all about it. But there’s no American involved, Professor. That’s a fantasy. There was a plot to kill the Big Three. You were right about that. Two teams of German parachutists were dropped into the countryside outside Teheran on Monday. Most of them have already been arrested. And the rest are being picked up as we speak.”

I sat back on my chair, flabbergasted. “A parachute team?”

“Yes. They were SS. The same outfit that rescued Mussolini from the Hotel Campo Imperatore in Italy.”

“Skorzeny,” I said dumbly.

“As yet it’s unclear if he’s involved or not,” said Reilly.

“Our last intelligence was that he’s in Paris,” said Donovan. “Of course that could be a feint.”

“As many as a hundred men were dropped into Iran,” continued Reilly. “They were supposed to knock out local radar so that a team of long-range bombers based in the Crimea could attack the British embassy on Churchill’s birthday. When the bombers had done their worst, the two teams were supposed to coordinate a commando attack to kill any survivors. There’s your Operation Wurf, Professor. A renegade SS mission.”

“Renegade? What the hell do you mean by that?”

“It seems that the operation did not have official sanction.”

“But how do we know that?”

“We know it because it was the German government that betrayed their existence to the Soviets,” said Donovan.

I stood up from the table and put my hands on my head. Reilly’s mock-turtle story was beginning to make me feel like Alice in Wonderland. None of this made any sense.

“And why the hell would they do that?” I asked.

Donovan shrugged. “As I told you last Sunday, Professor Mayer. The last thing the Germans want right now is to kill President Roosevelt. For several weeks now our man in Ankara has been conducting secret talks with the German ambassador. I imagine that the Germans want nothing that might risk compromising these peace feelers. You should have paid more attention.”

“None of this explains Thornton Cole, the Schmidts, Brutus-”

“I’d say you’ve got quite enough to worry about right now,” said Donovan. “With the British, I mean. If I were you, Professor, I’d get myself a lawyer. You’re going to need one.”

XXIII

FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 26, 1943,

TEHERAN