Hitler's peace

Schellenberg smiled. “Same as me. I wanted to be a lawyer for one of those big companies in the Ruhr. I suppose I rather fancied myself as a big-shot industrialist. Instead I was recruited into the SD by two of my professors. The SD has been my life. I was in the SD before I was even a party member.”

They came closer to Himmler, who seemed to be having a problem undoing his last fly button, and Schellenberg turned back to the car, with Wagner following.

The gunshot, almost deafening in the woods, felled Oberleutnant Wagner as if his bones had turned to jelly. Instinctively Schellenberg took one pace away and then another as Himmler advanced on Wagner. Staring down at his victim with forensic interest, his chinless face trembled with a mixture of horror and excitement. To Schellenberg’s disgust, the Walther PPK in the Reichsfuhrer’s hand was made of gold, and as Himmler held it at arm’s length once again to deliver the coup de grace, he could see Himmler’s name inscribed on the slide.

“I took no pleasure in that,” Himmler said. “But he betrayed me. He betrayed you, Walter.”

Almost casually, Brandt and von Dem Bach walked over to inspect Wagner’s body. Himmler started to holster his weapon. “I took no pleasure in that,” he repeated. “But it had to be done.”

“Wait, Herr Reichsfuhrer,” Schellenberg called out, for it was plain Himmler was trying to holster a weapon that was cocked and ready to fire. He took hold of Himmler’s trembling, clammy hand and removed the pistol from his grip. “You need to lower your hammer-thus, sir.” And holding his thumb over the hammer, Schellenberg squeezed the trigger lightly and then eased the hammer forward against the firing pin, before working the safety catch. “To make your pistol safe. Otherwise you might blow your toe off, sir. I’ve seen it happen.”

“Yes, yes, of course. Thank you, Schellenberg.” Himmler swallowed uncomfortably. “I never shot anyone before.”

“No, Herr Reichsfuhrer,” said Schellenberg. “It’s not a pleasant thing to have to do.”

He glanced down at Wagner, shook his head, and lit another cigarette, reflecting that there were many worse ways to get it if you had been stupid enough to incur the wrath of Heinrich Himmler. When you had seen Russian POWs doing hard labor in the quarry at Mauthausen you knew that for a fact. Following the attempt on Schellenberg’s life in Himmler’s private plane, a discreet investigation had revealed Ulrich Wagner had been the only one who could have telephoned Hoffmann at Tempelhof Airport and alerted him that there was something in Schellenberg’s briefcase that had a bearing on the secret peace negotiations being conducted by Felix Kersten. As soon as Wagner had seen the Swedish currency on the cashier’s desk in the Ministry of the Interior, he would have known Schellenberg’s destination. And then there was the fact that before joining Himmler’s personal staff, Wagner had worked in Munich for the Criminal Police Council at a time when the senior police counselor had been Heinrich Muller, now chief of the Gestapo. It seemed that Ulrich Wagner had been Muller’s spy on Himmler’s personal staff for years. Not that there was any real proof of Muller’s direct involvement. Besides, Himmler had no wish to bring formal charges against the Gestapo chief; that would be to risk exposing the complete history of Kersten’s peace negotiations, about which the Fuhrer was, perhaps, still unaware.

“What shall we do with the body?” asked Brandt.

“Leave it,” said Himmler. “Let the beasts of the forest have him. We shall see if Muller’s Gestapo is equal to the task of finding him here.”

“So close to the Wolfschanze?” Schellenberg asked. “It’s probably the last place they’ll think of looking.”

“So much the better,” sneered Himmler, and led the way back to the car.

They drove on and reached a turnpike barrier across the road. It was manned by four SS men. All four recognized the Reichsfuhrer but went through the motions of checking his identity, asking for SS paybooks and Fuhrer visitor chits. Their papers were examined again at a second checkpoint, and the duty officer in the guardhouse telephoned ahead and then told Himmler that his party would be met by the Fuhrer’s ADC at the Tea House. Waving the car through into Security Zone 2, the officer smiled politely and administered his usual warning before giving the Hitler salute.

“If your car breaks down, sound the horn and we’ll come and get you. Above all else, stay with the car and don’t ever leave the road. This whole area is mined and observed by hidden marksmen who have strict orders to shoot anyone who strays from the road.”

They drove on until a barbed-wire fence and a few buildings came into view. Some had grass growing on their flat roofs; some were covered with camouflage nets to help hide them from reconnaissance planes. It was only after a third checkpoint that the car finally reached Restricted 1, which was the most secure zone of the three.