Vengeance 10 (23 page)

A recessed ceiling lamp shone directly on to a single hard- backed chair set squarely before a large walnut desk. A smallish man bent over a single sheet of paper.

As Bethwig approached, Heinrich Himmler looked up, then removed his gold-rimmed pince-nez, and studied him.

The man does have a weak chin, Bethwig thought in surprise. Everyone said so, and it was rumoured that the Reichsführer kept it disguised by forbidding photographs from low angles. But in person there was no hiding it. Dark, nearsighted, and paunchy, Himmler was hardly the propagandist’s classic Nordic. No wonder Hitler had preferred Heydrich.

‘Ah, young man. You are the son of Johann Bethwig.’ Himmler had neither risen nor offered to shake hands. He inclined his head towards the chair, his manner making it quite clear that he was seeing Bethwig only in deference to his father - a politician storing up small favours.

But Himmler surprised him. He studied Franz from pop eyes for a moment, then flicked the sheet of paper so that it shot across the desk. Franz had to lunge forward to catch it. ‘I suppose you have come to see me about that?’ He pronounced the word that as if it contained all that was contemptible.

Bethwig began to read the sheet of double-spaced typing, but the accusations were so absurd that he had to start over again and read each sentence deliberately, like a lawyer. It bluntly accused von Braun of complicity in the plot that had resulted in the murder of Reinhard Heydrich by English espionage agents. Further, von Braun was accused of diverting scarce raw materials to his own ends, and establishing liaison with an enemy foreign power to destroy the German Reich. When he finished reading, he placed it back on the desk.

‘These charges are patently ridiculous. This entire document is the work of an incompetent ass.’ Bethwig was both calm and assured, and Himmler was clearly surprised, having expected either fearful denial or indignant argument.

‘An ass?’ He pushed his chair back and half swivelled away, only to spin back immediately. ‘That indictment was prepared by an officer of the Gestapo. How dare you call him an ass?’

‘Because he is.’ Bethwig stared at the Reichsführer, thinking of what had happened the last time he had challenged a high security official. ‘Wernher von Braun is one of the brightest and most loyal scientists in Germany. There is not one shred of truth in these accusations. Perhaps, Herr Reichsführer, the man who composed this is your real traitor.’

Himmler’s face flushed. ‘How dare you insult one of the finest officers of the State Police ...?’

‘How dare he insult one of Germany’s finest scientists?’ Bethwig shot back. ‘Your man has disrupted a carefully thought out plan of research that can make Germany impregnable. The very man Doktor von Braun is accused of murdering commissioned this project and took an active interest in its development, with the express permission of the Führer.’

Himmler stood up and came around the desk. Bethwig could see that he was barely controlling his temper. ‘And that, Herr Bethwig, is the only reason I agreed to speak with you at all. Reinhard Heydrich was a close personal friend of mine. I was aware of his interest in the work being done at Peenemunde. I do not mind saying that he was so excited by it that I was obliged to counsel him against overeagerness. He, of course, was convinced that his plan was correct and chose to ignore my counsel.’ Himmler turned away then and paced around the desk.

‘That was his choice. But he is dead now, murdered in a conspiracy organised and directed by British intelligence. In a routine review of the circumstances the name of your friend von Braun came up. It was noted that he travels freely about Europe in a private aircraft, has access to the highest state secrets, and, in the past, has had contact with a British secret agent. As recently as 1938, if memory serves.’

Himmler held up a hand to forestall Bethwig’s protest. ‘You should know that less than eighteen months ago this same British agent was active at a factory in Liege, Belgium, which produces parts used in your experiments at Peenemunde. We know that this agent had direct contact with the criminal Belgian underground, members of which were also employed at the factory. Our investigations show that your von Braun has visited this factory several times.’

Bethwig felt his temper rising and drew a deep, if concealed, breath. Himmler was watching his reaction, his bright, protruding eyes staring fixedly.

‘Of course Wernher visits the factory. As I do. When Wernher last met this man, we were not aware that he was a British spy. I say “we”, as I also met the man. We learned his identity from a Gestapo officer a day later. That officer, the man who arrested von Braun, was sitting in the same room that night and did not think it important enough to warn us at the time. In fact, he waited until the man had slipped away before doing so. Now he claims - and I have no doubt that the one who prepared this indictment is that same officer - the encounter was of sufficient importance to implicate Doktor von Braun in a plot to murder his sponsor, Reichsprotektor Heydrich. I say it is nonsense and would not be permitted in any German court of law!’

Himmler walked behind his desk again and stood tapping his fingers on the wood. ‘Young man, you clearly are not aware of all the facts. Your defence of your friend does you credit, but it is also quite dangerous. Because of my long friendship with your father I will overlook your arrogance. Perhaps there are oversimplifications in that document; it is a preliminary indictment and this entire matter is under administrative review at the moment.

‘I am given to understand that powerful friends of Doktor von Braun, some of them of questionable loyalty to the Reich, made representations against this officer merely for doing his duty. As did your father.’ Himmler raised a pale eyebrow.

‘If my father did so,’ Bethwig answered stiffly, ‘it was without my knowledge. The man was ...’

‘His personal deportment is neither here nor there,’ Himmler snapped. ‘The man has been completely reinstated, and his superiors speak highly of him. As for a court of law, the SS needs no court to instruct it in its duty. Herr von Braun is accused of treason. He will be tried by an SS tribunal.’

Even though Bethwig had expected nothing else, Himmler’s pronouncement shook him. The SS had the power of life and death over every party member in Germany through its secret police, the Gestapo. But members of the armed forces were exempt. Von Braun was a civilian employee of the army. Is that enough? he wondered.

Before he could capitalise on the theory, Himmler resumed his seat and, in abstracted manner - as if the subject really did not interest him - asked, ‘Just what was the objective of this so-called A-Ten project? I believe it involved rockets of some sort?’

‘The A-Ten is...’ Bethwig hesitated only the barest fraction of a second as the thought occurred to him that Himmler had set this whole ridiculous drama in motion only to discover what his second-in-command had been up to.

‘But surely you know, Herr Reichsführer’ - he tested - ‘as your subordinate, Reichsprotektor Heydrich certainly would have explained the details of the project to you?’

Himmler’s eyes flashed at him, and in that instant Bethwig realised that his flippancy had made him an extremely dangerous enemy.

‘Of course he explained it to me; however, I am essentially a non-technical person so I did not understand all of what he was saying,’ Himmler answered smoothly. ‘Reinhard trained at Kiel and understood complicated engineering and scientific concepts. Myself, I am little more than a simple country farmer, serving the Reich as best I can.’

This last was said with a completely straight face, and Bethwig coughed to smother the laugh that threatened to overwhelm him. Choosing his words with care, he explained the concept of the A-10 rocket as applied to the military situation, and ended with Heydrich’s latest information concerning the uranium bomb.

After he finished, Himmler was silent for several minutes, staring at the huge party banner that dominated one wall of the immense room. ‘An interesting, if risky, conjecture.’ Turning back to Bethwig, he said, ‘It all smacks of that silly cinema film of a few years ago in which a girl goes to the moon.’ Bethwig knew he was referring to the Fritz Lang film of the late 1920s
Frau in Mond
-
The Girl in the Moon
- inspired by Hermann Oberth’s first serious study of the problems of space travel
Rakete zu den Planetenraumen
-
The Rocket in Interplanetary Space
. His own first experience with building rockets had come about because of that movie. He had been part of a group of young amateur scientists and technicians, as was von Braun, hired by Hermann Oberth in 1928 to help with the construction of his famous Model B rocket, which was to have been launched in conjunction with the film’s premiere.

Himmler questioned him closely for twenty minutes, showing a greater grasp of technology than he admitted. It became clear later, when Bethwig had a chance to think about it, that Himmler’s questions signified some, but not a great deal of, knowledge about the project; it was as if he were filling gaps. It occurred to him that perhaps Heydrich had kept his boss in the dark about the project, and Himmler, never one to ignore a possible advantage, was now taking the opportunity to explore it fully - before someone else did.

Himmler appeared satisfied and hummed to himself as he made notes on a small pad. ‘You could be in a great deal of trouble yourself.’ He looked up suddenly.

Bethwig smiled. He had nothing to fear from this, in his father’s words, ‘jumped-up chicken farmer’.

‘How is that, Herr Reichsführer?’

‘You, my boy, are in possession of one of the most closely guarded secrets of the Reich - the uranium bomb. I believe that if our files were checked for those persons with access to such information, your name would not be among them. The penalty for such an offence ranges from ten years’ imprisonment to death.’

Bethwig inclined his head politely. ‘In that case, Herr Reichsführer, you would have to imprison or shoot half the scientists in Germany.’

Himmler laughed. ‘Probably so,’ he conceded. ‘Probably so. But in any event, I must take what steps I can to remedy this situation. We do know that the Allies are also working to develop a uranium bomb, and we would not want them to learn of our progress.’

‘No, we would not,’ Bethwig answered, his voice smug.

Himmler stood up abruptly. ‘Well, we shall get to the bottom of this. My aide has arranged quarters for you in the city. You are not under arrest, but you must not leave Berlin. I will give every consideration to the case against Wernher von Braun, but I can tell you that it does not look good. In spite of what you think, the evidence is strongly against him.’ He held up a hand to prevent Bethwig’s protest, and the door opened behind them.

‘Right this way, sir,’ the aide announced. Himmler had already resumed his seat behind the desk. Glancing up to see Bethwig hesitating, he waved a hand in dismissal.

‘That is all. I will call on you if necessary.’

Bethwig stalked from the room, and the aide had to hurry after him, waving a small card with the address of a hotel written on it. Bethwig snatched it from the man and pushed through the door into the corridor as the aide tried vainly to describe the restrictions imposed on him. Bethwig had no intention of paying them the slightest attention.

Himmler kept him waiting for two days. During that time Bethwig remained at the Hotel Bauer, staring for long hours through the window at passing traffic. The weather had turned quite hot and the room was stifling, even with the windows thrown wide. On the afternoon of the second day, when he could stand it no longer, Bethwig went out for a walk. In the Liepziger Platz he watched a passing military convoy for nearly an hour - long lines of Mercedes lorries and tank carriers with their cargoes of Panzer IV tanks destined for the Russian front and the summer offensive everyone seemed to know was coming. The troops filling the transport lorries waved and shouted to the pretty girls who threw them small packets of candy, ersatz coffee, and cigarettes. Franz found that he was smiling. This is what the war is all about, he thought; Germany regaining its rightful place as it should have done long ago.

He turned away as the last of the tank transporters disappeared towards the Tiergarten, and found a small sidewalk cafe only half- filled. He took a table, ordered the house wine - which turned out to be French, surprisingly good, and cheap at the same time - and a plate of wursts.

The convoy had done much to restore his spirits. The war would end within a few years - no one thought it would be over within the year - and the future would be Germany’s to shape. The A-10 would give them their first step to the moon. Guided rockets with uranium bombs would be followed by lunar bases manned by scientists and technicians. God only knew what benefits would be derived and how they might change the world. It was good to be alive, to be a pioneer. For a moment he was embarrassed by his private enthusiasm.

A thin-faced man in an old trench coat stopped by the next table, flipped open a wallet, shoved it under the nose of a soldier wearing an eastern front campaign ribbon, and ordered him and his girl to leave. The soldier started to protest, but the gaunt man asked the girl for her name. They went quickly then, and the man sat down and snapped his fingers for the waiter. He turned and smiled at Bethwig. Captain Jacob Walsch.

Bethwig hesitated. Uncertain, then angry, he got up and approached the table. Walsch, smiling lazily at him, stood. The other patrons had witnessed the scene with the soldier and now stopped their conversations to watch.

‘Captain Walsch, I believe?’

The Gestapo officer inclined his head. ‘Major, Herr Bethwig. I received a promotion a year ago.’

‘My congratulations, Major. Cream rises to the top, they say. But then, so does sewage. I was speaking about you just the other day, to Reichsführer Himmler.’

Walsch nodded, on guard now. ‘I am most flattered that you remembered me.’

‘Yes,’ Bethwig went on, his voice rising a bit so that the other patrons could hear. ‘I believe I told Herr Himmler that you were an ass.’ Bethwig chuckled into the sudden silence. ‘An incompetent ass, I think I said.’