Storm Front (Twilight of the Gods Book 1) (20 page)

Classes, not entirely to her surprise, were a joke.  The professors were clearly nervous; the students were chattering away in small groups, telling one another what they’d seen when the policemen had entered the university.  Gudrun did her best to keep her head down by reading her book, waiting for a chance to meet up with her friends after lunch.  The professor dismissed class early, to her mingled dismay and relief.  They’d learned nothing - and they had exams coming up in a matter of months. 

Not that exams will matter that much
, she thought, as they ate lunch and headed for the study room. 
If we get caught, I’ll be lucky if I get exiled to the east
.

“They must have taken the professor’s fingerprint from one of the leaflets,” Horst said, once the door was closed and the bug was neutralised by bad American music.  “He was the one who loaded the printer, I suspect.  They took his fingerprint and assumed it was one of ours.”

Gudrun swallowed.  “Is there anything we can do about that?”

“Not unless you want to be arrested yourself,” Sven said.  “We should just count ourselves lucky that the professor knows nothing.”

“But he’s innocent,” Gudrun protested.

“They’ll find that out while they’re interrogating him,” Horst reassured her, again.  “But for the moment, we can only consider our next move.”

Sven took a breath.  “We sent copies of the leaflet to every email address in the
Reich
,” he said, “and worked additional copies into some of the more complex computer programs in existence.  They may wipe the first set from the network, but the second set will be resent every Sunday until a genuine computer expert removes them completely.  It will take some time for them to even realise there is a problem.”

“A week, to be precise,” Isla added.

“More or less,” Sven said.  “There have been some covert messages exchanged on the network, Gudrun, and promises to share the leaflets widely across the
Reich
.”

“I heard that copies were found on trains and aircraft,” Günter said.  “Word is spreading, is it not?”

“Yes, it is,” Gudrun said.  “How did the leaflets get so far?”

“I believe some people took them, read them and dumped them,” Horst said, calmly.  “And the more people who read them, the better.”

“We did ask readers to pass on the leaflets as quickly as possible,” Sven agreed.  He sounded surprisingly cheerful.  “They might just be taking us at our word.”

“That’s good,” Gudrun said.  She held up a hand.  “What do we do now?”

“Nothing,” Horst said.

Günter stared at him.  “You think we should do
nothing
?”

“Yes,” Horst said, unabashed.  “Right now, the security services will be on the alert.  I would be surprised if we don’t get a few dozen new spies inserted into the university, now they think they can pin everything on poor Professor Murken.  Anything we do may be noticed and lead back to us.  We keep our heads down and wait for an opportunity to spread the word still further.”

Gudrun frowned.  “But shouldn’t we strike while the iron is hot?”

“We’re more likely to be struck,” Horst countered.  “Besides, what are we going to do?”

“We don't have any weapons,” Leopold pointed out.  “But we could get some, couldn't we?”

“We’d be smashed flat in an instant if we tried an armed uprising,” Horst said, curtly.  “I thought you would have learned that in the Hitler Youth!”

“So we keep pressing the issue,” Gudrun said.  “I could go to Konrad’s father and ask him about the leaflets, convincing him to go demand answers about the fate of his son...”

“It might be dangerous,” Horst warned her.  “He could report you to your father - or the SS.”

“We’ve already crossed the line,” Gudrun snapped.  “If we can't do anything spectacular, Horst, we can at least try to do something on a smaller scale.”

“I suppose,” Horst said.  “But, right now, they
will
be wary.  We need to be wary too.”

He was right, Gudrun knew, but it galled her.  She didn't want to admit it, yet she had a sense that time - her time - was running out.  Maybe, just maybe, it would be better
not
to go visit Konrad’s family, not to ask his father to demand answers.  Because, once they
got
an answer, Gudrun’s father would start insisting she looked for another potential husband...

He could at least give me time to mourn
, she thought, bitterly. 

“We could talk to our mothers,” Hilde offered, shyly.  “My mother hosts bake sales and dozens of other activities.  She’s involved in
everything
.  She might well start asking questions of her friends.”

“That’s a possibility,” Gudrun agreed.  Hilde’s mother was the kind of person who pulled
everyone
into her orbit.  “My mother might be interested, if she were invited... so might Konrad’s mother.”

Horst nodded in agreement.  “The SS would have problems if they tried to round up mothers running bake sales,” he said.  “There’d be a riot.”

Gudrun nodded.  “But be careful,” she warned.  “Not all of our families are going to be happy when we start asking questions - and suggesting that
they
ask questions.”

“Everyone knows about the leaflets now,” Sven said.  “The risk may not be as great as you think.”

“I hope you’re right,” Horst said.  “But be careful.  Be
very
careful.  Because if we are caught, we will be killed.”

Chapter Nineteen

Reichssicherheitshauptamt
(RHSA), Berlin

30 July 1985

“You’re late.”

“Yes,
Mein Herr
,” Horst said.  The summons to the RHSA had come at an inconvenient time and he'd been forced to come up with an excuse on the spur of the moment.  “I offer no excuses.”

“I’m pleased to hear it,”
Standartenfuehrer
Erdmann Schwarzkopf said, sarcastically.  “There is nothing more important than serving the
Reich
.”

“Yes,
Mein Herr
,” Horst said.  “However, if I were to act suspiciously, the other students might regard me as a potential spy.”

Schwarzkopf eyed him for a long moment, then nodded and turned to lead the way down the corridor.  Horst followed him, feeling nervous; he hadn't been summoned to the RHSA since he’d first come to Berlin, a year before he’d entered the university for the first time.  Any citizen of Germany would feel worried at the thought of entering the building, knowing that the doors could slam shut at any moment, but Horst knew he had reason to be afraid.  If his superiors had figured out what he’d done, he’d die slowly and painfully.

They don’t know anything
, he reassured himself, as they entered the interrogation section and walked past a handful of unmarked doors. 
If they knew something, I would be in one of these rooms already
.

“We interrogated the professor quite extensively,” Schwarzkopf said.  “He knew nothing, it seems.  It was a dead end.”

Horst kept his face impassive, even though Schwarzkopf was in front of him.  Who knew
who
was watching through a hidden camera?  “The professor was quite an important man,” he said, flatly.  “Killing him will have unfortunate consequences.”

“The professor will not be returning to the university,” Schwarzkopf said, coldly.  “His future is none of your concern.”

“Yes,
Mein Herr
,” Horst said.  There was no point in pressing the issue.  As a good son of the east, he was meant to disdain computers and other American toys.  “I...”

“Officially, he will have retired,” Schwarzkopf added, cutting Horst off.  “No one will know any differently.”

They reached a small office and stepped inside.  Schwarzkopf shut the door firmly, gestured to a chair and sat down on the other side of an empty desk.  It wouldn't be his real office, Horst knew; it was just a place to talk to the agents he handled, a place they’d never be able to describe if they ran into trouble.  Personally, Horst thought Schwarzkopf was uncomfortably paranoid, but even paranoids had enemies.  Besides, it
was
good tradecraft.

“The students know, of course,” Schwarzkopf said.  It wasn't a question.  “How are they taking it?”

Horst took a moment to compose his answer. 
He
wouldn't be the only spy, of course; there would be others monitoring the university and if his answers didn't match theirs, he would be in deep trouble.  The only evidence that he was the
only
spy in Gudrun’s group was the simple fact that none of them had been arrested yet, not after they’d started distributing leaflets.  Horst rather doubted that anyone, even Schwarzkopf, would allow a tiny rebel group to get that far.

“They are asking questions,
Mein Herr
,” he said, finally.  “Many of them have family or friends who are currently serving in South Africa and quite a few have dropped out of contact with their relatives.  They thought nothing of it until they realised that other families had had the same experience. 
Then
they started wondering what
else
they might have been told that was also a lie.”

“Questions,” Schwarzkopf repeated.  “You
have
attempted to distract them, of course?”

“I have tried,” Horst lied.  “However,
Mein Herr
, the public arrest of a popular professor has only given the leaflets credence.  I do not believe there is any way to stop the spread of the rumours.”

Schwarzkopf’s face darkened.  “That is not good.”

“No,
Mein Herr
,” Horst agreed.  “However, the students need to focus on passing their exams.  They may well lose interest if the matter is allowed to die.”

“Perhaps,” Schwarzkopf said.  He didn’t sound convinced, unsurprisingly.  “Do you know who might have written the leaflets?”

“
Mein Herr
, there are too many students with relatives who are in South Africa,” Horst said, seriously.  “I have no proof that any of them are responsible for writing the leaflets, let alone passing them out in the streets.  I will, of course, keep my ears open.”

“You’ll do more than that,” Schwarzkopf said.  “First, we expect you to find and infiltrate the rebel group.  We believe a small cabal of students was behind the leaflets.”

That
, Horst had to admit, was frighteningly accurate.  He’d assumed they would deduce as much, to be fair, but... he couldn't help feeling a shiver running down his back.  Gudrun might be in more danger than she knew.  And yet, with a policeman for a father and an SS boyfriend, she didn't actually match the pattern of a rebellious student.  Horst himself fitted the pattern better than she did.

And I am a rebel
, he thought, with a flicker of wry amusement. 
The pattern fits
.

He cleared his mind as he looked up at his handler.  “Why a small group of students?”

“A large group would be easy to notice,” Schwarzkopf pointed out, dryly.  “We’re looking, I suspect, for three or four students, close friends or family.  Probably students with relatives in South Africa.  We expect you to find that group and root it out.”

“I will do my best,
Mein Herr
,” Horst said.  He’d have to seriously consider betraying a handful of uninvolved students, if only to give himself cover.  By now, he was sure, there would be hundreds of other small groups in the university.  “If the group can be found, I will find it.”

“Good,” Schwarzkopf said.  “Your second task, however, is harder.  We intend to insert more agents into the university.  You will be responsible for assisting them to blend into the student population.”

Horst kept his face expressionless with an effort.  “It isn't easy to blend in with the other students,” he warned.  “I only fit in so well because I
am
a student.  Anyone else would have problems fooling any of the other students.”

Schwarzkopf’s eyes narrowed.  “Why?”

“You were trained as an SS officer,” Horst said, carefully.  “From the moment you entered Wewelsburg Castle as a new recruit, you were steeped in the history and traditions of the SS, everything from songs to precisely how to stand when inspected by a superior officer.  You aren’t posing as an SS officer, you
are
an SS officer.  Every little detail confirms your identity as one of us.  Could a civilian, even one with the correct uniform, mimic you so precisely that they’d fool a
genuine
SS officer?”

“Of course not,” Schwarzkopf said, flatly.  “They wouldn't be quite
right
.”

“Nor would your agents,” Horst said.  “The university isn't a parade ground,
Mein Herr
, or an army barracks.  Your agents would stand out like a nude woman in the middle of the Victory Day parade.  The only way to pass as a student is to
be
a student.”

“You could prepare them,” Schwarzkopf said.

“Not in less than six months,” Horst said.  “They’d need to unlearn a great deal,
Mein Herr
.”

“But we have orders to insert more agents,” Schwarzkopf said.  “You’ll just have to try your best.”

“Associating with them may blow
my
cover,” Horst warned.  Unless he was underestimating the SS agents, Gudrun and the other students would have no difficulty identifying the spies and isolating them.  Newcomers in the middle of term would raise more than enough eyebrows.  “I’d have to be put in a position where I would be forced to work with them.”

“That can be arranged,” Schwarzkopf said.  “Now, here’s what we want you to look out for...”

***

“He knew nothing,” the interrogator said.

Reichsführer-SS
Karl Holliston peered through the one-way mirror. 
Herr Doctor Professor
Claus Murken sat in a metal chair, his naked body strapped to the metal and his face battered into a bloody pulp.  The interrogators had been quite precise, as always, combining physical torture with a brutal beating that rarely failed to drag answers out of uncooperative suspects.  But it seemed as though it was nothing more than a waste of effort.  Either Murken had the ability to fool a pair of experienced interrogators or he was innocent all along.

Karl turned to look at the interrogator.  “You’re sure?”

“He was practically pissing in his pants as soon as we strapped him into the chair,
Herr Reichsführer
,” the interrogator said.  “It took us some time to actually focus on the leaflets because he wanted to confess to fucking two of his female students.  But he knows nothing about the leaflets.”

“I see,” Karl said. 

He gritted his teeth.  It was possible that the professor was concealing something - he might have given up one piece of information to keep the rest hidden - but he had faith in his interrogators.  Besides, he rather doubted a pampered university professor, a man who hadn't experienced real pain since the Hitler Youth, could have endured a torture session without breaking.  The man really was disgustingly unfit.  Karl took a look at his chest and shuddered at the thought of him huffing and puffing over a nubile young German maiden.  No doubt he was on the verge of a heart attack every time he took off his trousers.

Torture worked, he'd been told,
if
the interrogators were careful to convince their subject that they would always be able to detect a lie.  A proper session could take hours, with the interrogators confronting their subject - their
victim
- with what they knew about him, just so he would lose the habit of lying before they reached the questions they couldn't verify.  But it could be maddeningly imperfect if the victim retained his presence of mind.  The fact that the professor had confessed to seducing not one, but two students was a good sign he hadn't managed to keep himself under control, yet Karl knew he’d always have doubts.  What if the bastard
had
managed to fool the interrogators? 

“Take him to the cells and have the medics see to him,” Karl ordered, finally.  He could have killed a rebel out of hand - or handed him over to the
Reichstag
for a show trial - but there was no point in killing someone who had been scooped up by accident.  “And make sure he knows he won’t be returning to the university.”

He strode out of the torture chamber before the interrogator could reply and headed up to his office, barely noticing the uniformed officers who saluted as he walked past.  It was frustrating.  The only lead they’d had was the fingerprint and that had turned into a damp squib.  Whatever the professor was guilty of - and Karl was sure that everyone was guilty of
something
- it wasn't being involved with the rebels.  And that meant... what?  The professor’s fingerprints being on the leaflet suggested the rebels studied under him, but there were over two thousand students at the university.  Tracking down the true rebels would take a long time...

... But Karl was no longer sure they
had
time.

He stepped into his office and closed the door behind him, then sat down and forced himself to think.  There
had
to be a way of locating the rebels quickly, before word spread further... if, of course, it hadn't already spread right across the
Reich
.  The computer network was a security nightmare because it allowed instant communications right across the whole continent - the Americans had offered to link their network into the
Reich’s
network, a thought that had made the SS have a collective fit - and word could spread to every email address in the country.  And who knew where it would go after that?