‘Now I know,’ he said in a low voice full of grim satisfaction. ‘The fact that I left so soon shows that Providence is looking after me. Providence will ensure I fulfil my destiny.’
Fräulein Peters felt her whole body tingle. She knew that the Führer was right. She knew, right then, that she had just witnessed an important step in the destiny of the Führer, the destiny of the German people. Her destiny. She could feel her face flush with the emotion.
‘So, Joseph,’ he said, anger rising in his voice. ‘Who is it who tried to assassinate me?’
Düsseldorf
Somehow, in the depths of a heavy slumber, Schellenberg heard the insistent ringing of the telephone. His body was thick with sleep; he had taken a pill to make sure he was rested for the morning. He checked his watch – 3.30 a.m. He climbed out of bed in his pyjamas and picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘What’s that?’
Schellenberg didn’t recognize the voice, but it sounded shaken. ‘I haven’t said anything,’ he said. ‘Who is speaking?’
The reply was clear and direct now, all nervousness gone. ‘This is Reichsführer Himmler. Finally you answer. Is that you, Schellenberg?’
‘Yes, Herr Reichsführer.’
‘Have you heard the news?’
‘No, Herr Reichsführer.’
‘There was an explosion at the beer hall in Munich. Miraculously the Führer had just left the room, but several Party comrades were murdered. There is no doubt that this is the work of the British secret service. The Führer is convinced of this. He orders you to arrest the two British agents you are meeting tomorrow in Holland and bring them back over the German border. Use the SS detachment that arrived to protect you today. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Herr Reichsführer, but—’
‘No buts. This is an order from the Führer. Do you understand now?’
Schellenberg realized there was no point arguing.
‘Yes, Herr Reichsführer!’
Schellenberg put the phone down. It was going to be a long and dangerous day.
9
The Hague, 9 November
Conrad was waiting in the small lobby of his hotel in his freshly crumpled suit. He was nervous. There were a number of things that bothered him: the fact Theo didn’t know this Major Schämmel, the leaks in the British operation in The Hague and how to get the message about the planned German offensive to Van. He hadn’t agreed a means of communicating with Van directly, and the date of the offensive was less than a week away. He had just lost a day; he couldn’t afford to lose another. After he had met Schämmel he would insist on returning to London to report to Van directly.
He had spent most of the last twenty-four hours kicking his heels in the hotel, lying low as Payne Best had suggested.
‘Mr de Lancey, I have a telephone message for you, from a Professor Hogendoorn,’ said the woman behind the reception desk in German, handing him a note. It too was in that language, with some spelling errors; not surprisingly, the hotel receptionist’s German was not perfect. Please meet me on Sunday if you can. Prof. Madvig with me. Ask for me at the university.
That must be Theo, perhaps with some information on Schämmel. By ‘Sunday’, Theo meant that day, Thursday; he would be using the ‘subtract three’ code. But there was no chance of Conrad getting to Leiden that day. ‘Did Professor Hogendoorn leave a telephone number?’
‘I am afraid not, Mr de Lancey.’
Just then Payne Best’s long low car drew up outside the hotel. Conrad had no time to find a Leiden telephone directory and leave a message with the professor that Conrad would be unable to see Theo that morning. It was a shame: it would have been extremely useful to hear what Theo had to say about Schämmel before Conrad met him for the first time.
Conrad folded the note, stuffed it in his pocket, and went outside to greet Payne Best.
‘Not cancelled again?’ he said.
‘No. We’re on. Hop in.’
They drove through the centre of The Hague.
Fräulein Peters felt her whole body tingle. She knew that the Führer was right. She knew, right then, that she had just witnessed an important step in the destiny of the Führer, the destiny of the German people. Her destiny. She could feel her face flush with the emotion.
‘So, Joseph,’ he said, anger rising in his voice. ‘Who is it who tried to assassinate me?’
Düsseldorf
Somehow, in the depths of a heavy slumber, Schellenberg heard the insistent ringing of the telephone. His body was thick with sleep; he had taken a pill to make sure he was rested for the morning. He checked his watch – 3.30 a.m. He climbed out of bed in his pyjamas and picked up the receiver.
‘Hello?’
‘What’s that?’
Schellenberg didn’t recognize the voice, but it sounded shaken. ‘I haven’t said anything,’ he said. ‘Who is speaking?’
The reply was clear and direct now, all nervousness gone. ‘This is Reichsführer Himmler. Finally you answer. Is that you, Schellenberg?’
‘Yes, Herr Reichsführer.’
‘Have you heard the news?’
‘No, Herr Reichsführer.’
‘There was an explosion at the beer hall in Munich. Miraculously the Führer had just left the room, but several Party comrades were murdered. There is no doubt that this is the work of the British secret service. The Führer is convinced of this. He orders you to arrest the two British agents you are meeting tomorrow in Holland and bring them back over the German border. Use the SS detachment that arrived to protect you today. Do you understand?’
‘Yes, Herr Reichsführer, but—’
‘No buts. This is an order from the Führer. Do you understand now?’
Schellenberg realized there was no point arguing.
‘Yes, Herr Reichsführer!’
Schellenberg put the phone down. It was going to be a long and dangerous day.
9
The Hague, 9 November
Conrad was waiting in the small lobby of his hotel in his freshly crumpled suit. He was nervous. There were a number of things that bothered him: the fact Theo didn’t know this Major Schämmel, the leaks in the British operation in The Hague and how to get the message about the planned German offensive to Van. He hadn’t agreed a means of communicating with Van directly, and the date of the offensive was less than a week away. He had just lost a day; he couldn’t afford to lose another. After he had met Schämmel he would insist on returning to London to report to Van directly.
He had spent most of the last twenty-four hours kicking his heels in the hotel, lying low as Payne Best had suggested.
‘Mr de Lancey, I have a telephone message for you, from a Professor Hogendoorn,’ said the woman behind the reception desk in German, handing him a note. It too was in that language, with some spelling errors; not surprisingly, the hotel receptionist’s German was not perfect. Please meet me on Sunday if you can. Prof. Madvig with me. Ask for me at the university.
That must be Theo, perhaps with some information on Schämmel. By ‘Sunday’, Theo meant that day, Thursday; he would be using the ‘subtract three’ code. But there was no chance of Conrad getting to Leiden that day. ‘Did Professor Hogendoorn leave a telephone number?’
‘I am afraid not, Mr de Lancey.’
Just then Payne Best’s long low car drew up outside the hotel. Conrad had no time to find a Leiden telephone directory and leave a message with the professor that Conrad would be unable to see Theo that morning. It was a shame: it would have been extremely useful to hear what Theo had to say about Schämmel before Conrad met him for the first time.
Conrad folded the note, stuffed it in his pocket, and went outside to greet Payne Best.
‘Not cancelled again?’ he said.
‘No. We’re on. Hop in.’
They drove through the centre of The Hague.
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