The Suicide Exhibition: The Never War (Never War 1) by Justin Richards Page A

insane. They will not believe a word of it.’
    Hitler nodded slowly. He dismissed them all with a wave of his hand, and started to rearrange the papers on his desk into neat piles.
    Outside, Himmler waited until Heydrich and the others had gone, then turned to Hoffman. ‘You will organise the report I mentioned.’
    ‘Of course, Herr Reichsfuhrer. And the Vril project?’
    The light glinted on Himmler’s glasses as he turned abruptly to look at Hoffman. ‘What of it?’
    ‘I appreciate you did not wish to confuse or worry the Fuhrer with details, but the Deputy Fuhrer was uneasy at Wewelsburg. He saw… everything. He understood the implications – the potential risks as well as the benefits. It unsettled him. It is possible that this insane mission of his—’
    ‘Yes, yes,’ Himmler snapped. ‘But there is nothing we can do about it now.’
    ‘Perhaps we should delay the project. Slow down.’ Hoffman swallowed. He was on dangerous ground here. ‘At least until we can be sure the allies know nothing.’
    ‘Slow down?
Now?
’
    ‘As a precaution, nothing more.’
    Himmler considered for a moment, staring down at the floor. Then he looked up, grasping Hoffman’s shoulder. ‘You are right, we cannot simply proceed as if nothing has happened.’
    ‘A little caution—’ Hoffman started to say.
    But Himmler was not listening. ‘If the Allies believe even a fraction of what Hess might tell them, then speed is essential.’
    ‘Speed?’
    ‘We must redouble our efforts. The Vril Project cannot be compromised. Write my report for the Fuhrer, and then signal Streicher in France.’
    Himmler had made up his mind, and Hoffman knew he could not be persuaded to change it. ‘Of course, Herr Reichsfuhrer.’
    ‘Tell Streicher he must finish his excavations now. Tell him to bring the Ubermensch to Wewelsburg immediately.’

CHAPTER 8
    THEY SAT IN a gloomy corner of the café, away from the windows, drinking hot, black coffee from small cups. Smith knew the man only as ‘Jacques’. They had met several times before, never in the same place and never for more than a few minutes. This was already their longest encounter.
    ‘Streicher thinks you’ve left the area,’ Jacques said. ‘He’s sent messages to other local forces to find out where you are. But he’s not really interested. Just covering himself in case anyone else asks where you went.’
    Smith nodded. ‘I left word that my nerves couldn’t take it after that last accident in the excavations,’ he replied in excellent French. ‘Gone back to my churches and castles. He’ll accept that. After all, it solves a problem for him.’
    ‘You think he’d have killed you if you’d stayed?’
    ‘It’s possible. Not a theory I’d like to hang around and test. Better that he thinks I’m out of the way and know as little as possible.’
    ‘Streicher won’t be here for much longer. They’re packing everything into crates ready to move out.’
    That made sense after what had happened. ‘So the painstaking, methodical business of archaeology has become an exercise in hasty evacuation.’
    ‘My colleagues are watching,’ Jacques said. He took a sip of his coffee. ‘They’re definitely clearing out. They have atrain waiting at Ouvon.’
    ‘When does it leave?’
    ‘Some time the day after tomorrow, according to the station master.’
    ‘So tomorrow they transport the crates to the train.’
    ‘You want us to intercept the trucks?’ Jacques asked. ‘It will be risky. Heavy casualties. I hope whatever you are after is worth it.’
    ‘So do I.’ Smith drained the last of his coffee. There were bitter grounds in the bottom of the cup that grated on his tongue and caught in his teeth. ‘But I don’t want Streicher to know he’s been robbed. Not for a while, anyway.’
    ‘How do you propose to manage that, my friend?’
    Smith rubbed his beard as he considered. ‘A little deception,’ he decided. ‘But not on the way to the station. How do you