The Haigerloch Project

The air in the conference room at Gasthof Schwan literally crackled with antagonism. Tight-lipped, Professor Dieter Reichardt glared at the two Gestapo officers seated with him at the big table. Normally he considered himself an easy-going man. Slow to anger. He did not relish personal conflict and avoided it whenever he could. But this was too much. Verflucht! Did he not have to contend with enough problems without being saddled with the insufferable interference of a high-handed Gestapo colonel? Had he not been as much as ordered by the Führerhauptquartier to achieve final and complete success? With time cut to the bone — in fact, scraping it raw — and in the process straining to the breaking point the nerves of every one of his colleagues — risky short-cuts and hazardous procedures had already been adopted in order to meet the deadline Intolerable delays were already occurring. The shipment of vital materials from the Kernphysik laboratories at Stadtilm was still sitting on the railroad siding outside, waiting for security to complete the screening of every single man who would be handling the transfer from the boxcar to the caves. Preposterous! And now this — this obnoxious Gestapo upstart wanted to place his verdammte watchdogs inside the reactor caves! Getting in everyone's way. Inhibiting progress by their very presence. Causing unacceptable delays with their snooping. Outrageous! In no way was he willing to surrender his authority over the Project. When it succeeded, his would be the glory. Not to be shared with this — this boor. He would tolerate only a minimum of interference.

He fixed his cold eyes on Harbicht. “I must insist, Herr Standartenführer,” he stated deliberately. “It cannot be allowed.”

“May I point out to you, Herr Professor—” Harbicht's voice was dangerously low—“the Führer has charged the Gestapo with the security at Haigerloch. And I command the Gestapo.”

“The Führer had also charged me, Herr Standartenführer, with developing a process which may well be of cardinal importance to the survival of the Reich!” He looked straight at Harbicht, an icy gleam of anticipated triumph in his eyes. “However, should you personally wish to take the responsibility for possible failure because of unwarranted interference by your men — feel free to place as many of them as you see fit in the reactor chambers.” He made a slight bow with his head. “I shall, of course, require a written statement to that effect from you.”

Harbicht clamped his jaws shut. He seethed. Abruptly he stood up. He walked to the window and stared out — without seeing. He needed a moment to get control of himself. That insolent, self-important test-tube polisher had bested him. Him! Standartenführer Werner Harbicht He raged at having left himself open to such humiliation It was no excuse that he knew the reason why. For the first time in his career, he was not completely sure of himself and his invincibility. He was convinced that two enemy agents were holed up in his area. Enemies — on German soil! And he had been unable to apprehend them. In nine full days! Because failure was utterly foreign to him, it unnerved him. He did not know how to cope with it.

He was struck with a sudden thought. Those saboteurs. It seemed impossible that they could have eluded him this long — without local help. Was there a Widerstandsgruppe—a resistance group — active in this area?

Like the Kreisaur Circle, built around the traitor Helmuth, Count von Moltke? Daring to call the National Socialist movement a “recipe for disaster”! Von Moltke, of course, had been executed. Only this last January….

Or the group of traitors with the code name Die Weisse Rose—The White Rose?

That case still made him uncomfortable. It had been a great embarrassment for the Munich Gestapo chief, a good friend and competent officer….

The group members had been students at the Maximilians University in Munich. He still remembered their names. Probst. Graf. Schmorell. And, of course, the Scholls, the leaders, Sophie and Hans. Brother and sister. And their advisor, the Herr Professor Huber. Germans all. Disgusting! Their underground propaganda sheet had been filled with lies. About Stalingrad. About Poles being murdered in Warsaw. Hate propaganda. “Der Tag der Abrechnung ist gekommen! — the day of reckoning is here!” they had written. “Die Weisse Rose lässt Euch keine Ruhe—the White Rose will not leave you in peace!”

Quatsch! Nonsense! Traitorous nonsense. And they had the audacity to paint slogans on official buildings. “NIEDER MIT HITLER! — Down with Hitler!”