Vengeance 10

Bethwig thought about that a moment. ‘But Kammler was supposed to arrive this afternoon and did not. How much importance can…?’

Prager dismissed the objection with an abrupt gesture. ‘Tempelhof was badly bombed. The runways are not usable at the moment, so Kammler is driving to Peenemunde. Walsch found out and alerted friends at Gestapo headquarters in Berlin. Roadblocks have been established to delay him. Again, all this is without Himmler’s knowledge; but then, it makes no difference in any case. Walsch is determined that von Braun and you be arrested before the rocket can be launched. Having failed yet again, you will both be discredited and no one will raise a voice in your defence. And do not forget that Walsch also has a hole card — the old charges of diverting war materials to personal ends are still pending against your friend. As soon as the arrests are made, the same charges will be made against you, using the V-Ten as evidence. An SS tribunal will find you guilty, and the sentence will be carried out. Kammler will have no choice but to agree or be charged as an accessory.’

‘What about the SS commander here? You said he might be persuaded to intervene?’

Prager shrugged. ‘He refused. He won’t help Walsch, but he won’t hinder him either. Hauptsturmführer Schulz knows that Kammler may be for the high jump, and wants to make certain he doesn’t go with him.’

There was no reason, Bethwig knew, to doubt Prager’s analysis. It made sense according to the Byzantine style of thinking that characterised the upper echelons of the SS.

His mind was working now at a feverish pace. There were two alternatives remaining. He could press ahead with the launch in the hope that it could be completed before Walsch received the warrants, but as soon as the thought was formulated, he saw its hopelessness. If, as Prager said, Walsch was that determined to stop them, he would merely have them arrested and held until the confession and the warrants were forthcoming. The man was a fanatic; he had known that since their first meeting in 1938. Logic did not affect his thinking. Walsch was determined to destroy them, to demonstrate his own power in return for the slights he had suffered, or supposed he had suffered, all these years.

That left the second alternative. Walsch had to be destroyed. They might then survive long enough at least to complete the launching. After that, nothing else mattered.

All these years he had built weapons of mass destruction, had worked willingly, joyfully and skilfully to do so, while enjoying the camaraderie that such difficult and complex tasks engendered among teams of specialists. He had seen such weapons move from his imagination to drawing board to test stand. He had participated in and directed operational launchings of the V-2 on London and Antwerp and Brussels with hardly a thought for the thousands of civilians he was killing by remote control. But now the moment had come when he must kill with his own hands, at close range, close enough to see into the eyes of the man he was murdering. The thought was sickening, and Bethwig experienced a rare sensation of futility and indecision.

Surprisingly enough, Prager did not protest the conclusion. ‘How would you go about it?’ he asked. ‘You couldn’t get near enough to Walsch now, nor could I.’

A scheme was already forming in Bethwig’s mind. ‘How many SS troops are left on Peenemunde?’ he demanded.

Prager glanced at him, then shook his head. ‘‘I’m not certain. Perhaps a hundred. Certainly not more.’

‘Would they obey orders given by Walsch?’

‘No!’ Prager’s answer was emphatic. ‘Not even if the Russians were crossing the River Peene.’

‘But they would defend him if he were attacked?’

‘Of course…’

‘How many Gestapo agents?’

‘Five including myself, plus another eight clerical staff.’

‘And where do you stand?’

‘With you,’ Prager answered simply.

‘Even if it means killing the policemen you work with…?’

‘I am a policeman. They are murderers,’ he answered simply.

‘Then we must work fast and finish them before the SS can interfere.’ Bethwig told him then about the Luftwaffe arms. Prager’s eyes lit up at the news, and for the first time the defeated slump was gone from his shoulders. They left the lavatory and drove the eight kilometres to the tracking station on the north shore where Magnus von Braun was at work.

* * *

Memling heard boots moving restlessly outside. He tensed, waiting for the painful flash of light and the shouted commands, which did not come. Perhaps this was more psychological pressure to intensify his fear.

He had only the haziest idea how much time had passed since his capture. He knew for certain that at least twelve hours had gone by. The woman’s execution had taken place in darkness; the man he knew only as Hans had been shot during the daylight, although the heavy overcast made it impossible to judge the time of day, and the final resistance agent had been killed in darkness again; there had not even been time to learn his name.