“Then let us be off,” she said.

  As they left the hotel, Gerhard wondered when Frau Kassel would get her revenge on Erich. The old lady had a mean streak. Wicklein had learned over the few years that he had known her that she assiduously kept score. When she got her revenge, it was usually in an epic manner. Gerhard was sure it would be memorable and hoped he was present when it happened.

  The building Meister was obsequious to Frau Kassel and carefully walked them through the banquet hall and the preparations room. He responded to her questions in detail as she inspected the area. Wicklein and Strang followed behind the pair as they proceeded.

  “How do you suppose she got the building Meister eating out of her hand like that? Strang asked.

  “I don’t know. Every time I have dealt with him before, he reminded me of something that came out of the back end of a camel.”

  Erich stifled a snort. “That’s about what I thought. How does she do it?”

  Wicklein held out his hands, palms up.

  “I’m just happy she’s helping,” Strang continued.

  “While I am thinking about it, Erich,” Wicklein replied, “don’t say anything in Berlin about how she ran this project for us all week. I will tell Karl that Frau Kassel showed up and helped us and leave it at that.”

  “So your report will be less than complete?”

  “We will tell Herr Rainer that we got the job done. I don’t propose to bother him with the details.”

  “I will leave that in your capable hands, then, Gerhard.”

  “Thank you.”

  The building Meister invited them into his office, where he entertained them with a coffee ceremony. An hour later, they walked towards the building entrance.

  “I thought we would never get out of there,” Strang commented.

  “You must understand that this is a necessary lubricant for German society,” Frau Kassel replied. “By accepting his invitation, we earned his goodwill. As you have probably noticed, he is not very popular, but he is influential.”

  Although Gerhard did not want to admit it, Frau Kassel made sense. On his courier trips, he learned it paid to be polite and self-effacing. He remembered his Da telling him once that it didn’t cost anything to be nice to people and often paid dividends.

  They stepped out of the entry doors to the town hall, and Gerhard stopped to wait for Frau Kassel. With a loud clink, something impacted the wall behind them. Strang immediately threw him to the ground. On the way down, they heard the report of a rifle.

  The two guards had pistols and frantically tried to locate the shooter. At the sound of another shot, one of the guards screamed and fell. Just as quickly, it seemed, the second guard was hit.

  People in the public square screamed and crouched, looking around wildly for escape. A bullet skipped across the paving stones in front of them and kicked stone chips in Wicklein’s face.

  “We must get back in the building,” Strang shouted.

  “Where are they shooting from?” Wicklein yelled.

  “Never mind that just get in the door. The Polizei will be here soon, and they can run down whoever it is.”

  They scrambled into the building when another shot rang out. Strang cried out as they rolled behind the wall.

  “Are you hit, Erich?”

  Strang swore. “Of course, I’m hit. He got me in the leg, and it has probably ruined my new uniform.”

  Wicklein looked at the blood pooling under the SS lieutenant. “Your uniform is probably the least of your worries right now, Erich. Hold still.”

  Gerhard pulled his belt off and wrapped it around Eric’s leg. He then looked around and spotted a dainty-looking table next to a window. He reached and grabbed the table, dumping a vase of flowers on the floor with a crash. He snapped one of the legs off the table and threaded it into the belt so he could start tightening the tourniquet.

  “Where did the old lady go?” Erich asked through gritted teeth.

  “I don’t know, and I don’t care right now. We’ve got to get you to a hospital.”

  “Mein Gott, this hurts.”

  “That’s probably a good sign, Erich.”

  “Just shut up,” Strang snarled.

  A Gestapo captain trotted into the building. “What happened?”

  “We just walked out of the town hall when someone started shooting at us,” Gerhard said. “Lieutenant Strang is wounded and needs a hospital quickly. Are the guards still alive?”

  “The guards are both dead. We have an ambulance on the way,” the captain said. “This is unfortunate.”

  “I think I would use a different word,” Erich ground out through gritted teeth.

  “It might be helpful to track down whoever did the shooting,” Wicklein suggested.

  “That is in motion, and I believe they may have already caught the shooter. I know you think we hate you; to tell the truth, we probably do. But the Reichsprotektor sent a message down to us saying that if anything happened to you, we would answer to him. Plus, the Führer will be here this weekend, and we want things quiet.”

  “What would you suggest we do now, Herr Captain?” Wicklein asked.

  “I will issue orders to augment your security. We don’t need any more events like this one.”

  “We didn’t need this event,” Erich said, the sound of his grinding his teeth was evident.

  The high–low tones of the siren carried into the building, and they heard the ambulance pull to a stop outside. A few moments later, a medic trotted in carrying his bag. Two assistants followed him with a stretcher.

  Strang cried out when they lifted him onto the stretcher.

  “I need to go with him,” Gerhard said.

  “Might I suggest, Herr Wicklein, that you allow us to drive you to the hotel?” The SS captain said. “My main concern is that someone doesn’t try again. And you probably need to call Berlin.”

  Two hours later, the Gestapo captain entered the hotel suite. Gerhard was nursing a cup of coffee and stood as the other man approached him.

  “Lieutenant Strang is out of danger,” he said. “He will likely have to stay in the hospital for a few weeks. The security guards I have detailed for you will remain with you during your trip back to Berlin on Tuesday.”

  “How did you know I’m returning to Berlin on Tuesday?” Wicklein asked.

  The man gave him a thin smile. “It is my business to know things. And also, we discovered a man lying in an alley with two broken legs. A sniper rifle was next to him.”

  “Two broken legs?”

  “The man was nearly incoherent. He claimed an old woman tripped him and somehow broke his legs. Once we have dealt with his medical needs, we can begin questioning him. But I am fairly certain we have the shooter.”

  “What do you know about him?”

  “He is a member of the local criminal element. He did not know the person who hired him. He was offered a thousand Reichsmarks for the job.”

  “Money talks, I guess,” Wicklein commented.

  “Indeed. You have some enemies in this town, mein Herr.”

  Wicklein shook his head. “These things keep happening. Please understand that my interest in getting to the bottom of this is more than just personal. I represent the Parteileiter, and any threat needs to be understood as a threat against Herr Schloss.”

  “I fully understand that, Herr Wicklein. We are reluctant to interfere in party matters, but these things should not happen.”

  After the Gestapo captain left, Wicklein slumped back into the sofa. He felt drained of energy, and also wondered what happened to Frau Kassel.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  June 9, 1941, 8 PM

  Old Town Hall

  Munich, Germany

  Gerhard stood in the corner of the banquet hall and observed the activities of the servers. The subdued rumble of conversation contrasted with the clink of silverware and china. So far, the gathering had gone well. While Wicklein considered himself competent and had conducted several dinners like this one, he was honest enough to credit Frau Kassel for this evening’s feast. The old woman had outdone herself.

  The serving staff was attentive and worked with crisp efficiency. The food was exceptional. The roasted pork loin with potatoes and asparagus was as delightful as could be found in upscale restaurants in Munich. Frau Kassel frightened the vendors into providing their best. And they were also motivated because Wicklein wasn’t demanding kickbacks.

  The only regret he had was that Erich Strang was in the hospital. He was recovering from a painful wound in his thigh. The Gestapo had not been able to link the shooter with any of the party members in Munich. Neither had they been able to establish any connection with the fake steward on the train who had tried to poison them. Gerhard wondered if the Gestapo was involved in the attacks in some way.

  Wicklein was certain the attacks had been orchestrated by Marcel Daumer or someone close to him. But there was no proof. In addition to his faults, it appeared Daumer was an exceedingly sly creature.

  The caterer, Maurice Brabanel, stepped up next to Gerhard.

  “Things seem to be going well, Herr Wicklein. Have you identified any problems?”

  “Things are going very well,” Gerhard replied. “There have been no problems. I am pleased.”

  Wicklein continued studying the room, hoping another untoward event would not mar the evening. The phalanx of guards assigned to him was efficient and seemed to pay close attention to the environment. He had to admit that, even if they were Gestapo swine. Hitler’s SS guards held the perimeter, and nobody messed with them.

  The dinners were kept to a tight schedule, and Gerhard watched as things began breaking up. Hitler would speak at a rally a little later in the evening and was adamant about staying on time. Wicklein would have to supervise the cleanup after the banquet and probably would not make it to the rally. An SS major stepped up to him. Gerhard recognized him as a member of what Rainer called the palace guard.

  “Herr Wicklein, would you come with me, please?”

  “Of course, Herr Major.”

  Gerhard followed the officer through a side hallway and opened the door into a small room where Hitler waited.

  “I want to congratulate you on your arrangements for the banquet, Herr Wicklein. This is probably the finest dinner I have attended. Thank you for your attention to detail.”

  “I am honored to serve, mein Führer.” Gerhard managed not to stammer through his nervousness.

  Hitler hesitated for a moment. “Your friend Strang is in the hospital, I understand.”

  “Yes, mein Führer. The doctors expect a complete recovery, though.”

  “Good, good. And one other thing, Herr Wicklein. It is sometimes difficult to identify the true enemies of National Socialism. They are like termites that hide in the walls. But when they are identified, you must not hesitate to take action.”

  “Of course, mein Führer. I shall take your advice to heart.”

  Hitler nodded. “See that you do.”

  The despot, who was the unquestioned ruler of the German Reich, then turned and walked out of the room. Gerhard was confused as he watched the man leave.

  Now what did he mean by that? I must talk to Rainer.

  It was nearly 11 o’clock when the caterer finished cleaning up after the banquet. Rather than walk to the hotel, the Gestapo arranged a motorcade for him. He was embarrassed to be the center of five cars full of heavily armed Gestapo agents rolling across downtown Munich. Even though two guards stood at the door of his hotel suite, the entourage would not allow him to enter until they had inspected the place.

  Before going to bed, Gerhard completed writing his report that he would deliver to Rainer upon his arrival in Berlin the next evening. He felt like the week's stress had caught up with him now that the event was complete, and he could relax. He slept heavily and well.

  § § §

  June 10, 1941, 8:30 AM

  Military Hospital

  Munich, Germany

  The next morning, he paid an early visit to Erich Strang at the hospital. The SS lieutenant seemed to be getting good care and looked almost cheerful. The Gestapo had insisted he be placed in a private room, and they kept the area covered with guards.

  “We survived the banquet, Erich,” Gerhard stated. “Things went well. The Führer even complimented me and said it was the best dinner he had attended. He asked how you were doing.”

  “I get shot full of holes, and you get to meet the Führer,” Erich grumped. “What is wrong with this picture?”

  “Cheer up. You get a couple weeks’ vacation at government expense. I would say you have nothing to complain about.”

  “Hopefully, you will be in a train wreck and die messily on your way back to Berlin,” Strang responded.

  “Tut, tut, Erich. I would say you got up on the wrong side of the bed. But wait; you have yet to get up this morning.”

  “The doctors will be in around 10 o’clock, and they will make me walk around. I think I would rather stay in bed.”

  “I received a rather cryptic statement from the Führer,” Gerhard commented.

  “Is that so?”

  “He told me that the enemies of National Socialism were like termites hiding in the walls and hard to detect. And when I discovered them, I must act.”

  Strang rolled his tongue around his cheek as he considered what Wicklein had told him. “He told you this?”

  Wicklein nodded. “I need to talk to Karl about it, but I wonder what he was talking about.”

  “It sounds to me like he knows what is going on but doesn’t want to take official notice.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Gerhard replied. “But he was being very subtle if that’s what it was. It seemed like he was encouraging me to deal with Daumer.”

  “That’s what it looks like to me. But you are correct. You should talk to Rainer. Our Führer is very clear on where he wants to take the nation,” Strang said. “But he also seems to like having his underlings scheme against one another. I suspect it makes him feel safer. I wonder if he said something like that to Herr Schloss before he had to deal with Bormann.”

  “This is like wheels within wheels.”

  “And never forget it. What time is your train?”

  “I will be on the noon train. They don’t have to serve a meal when they leave at noon.”

  “That’s probably all right,” Strang said. “You have been getting a little pudgy lately.”

  “Oh, go to hell, Erich.”

  Strang was still laughing when Gerhard left the room.

  § § §

  June 10, 1941, 2 PM

  Deutsche Reichbahn

  Central Germany

  Although it was not an overnight trip, Gerhard was given a private compartment because of the guards. Not expecting lunch, he had stopped by a deli to pick up a sandwich on his way to the Reichsbahnhof. He was surprised when a steward carried a covered tray into his compartment after leaving Munich. He thanked the steward, who then left. Gerhard stood and walked over to the door.

  “Do you suppose the food is safe to eat?” he asked the guard.

  “We have a man in the kitchen,” the guard responded, “and the steward is one of us. So it should be quite safe. I cannot make any promises, though, as to the quality.”

  Gerhard looked quickly at the guard and saw the twinkle in his eye. “If the food is not to my satisfaction, I will be happy to share it with the guards.”

  The Gestapo guard grinned. “You do that, mein Herr.”

  The dinner was roasted pork loin with potatoes and asparagus. Gerhard sampled it and determined that it wasn’t bad, even if it wasn’t up to the quality of the banquet meal. He wished he hadn’t eaten the ham sandwich before boarding the train.

  Wicklein surprised himself by finishing the meal. He decided he would say nothing to Strang about having eaten two lunches. He was getting sensitive about his weight.

  He set the tray aside and opened the portfolio a courier had delivered that morning. He was somewhat amused that he was considered important enough to warrant the use of a courier. The portfolio contained a stack of paperwork that Brucks had apparently decided required his attention. He leaned back and began to work his way through the documents. He was happy to have something to occupy his time during the trip.

  The train pulled into a station at one of its scheduled stops. Gerhard glanced out the window to gaze at the platform. A paperboy was hawking what seemed to be a special edition, and it drew a lot of interest. On impulse, he stood and opened the door to the compartment. The guard turned with an eyebrow raised.

  “Do me a favor and have someone buy a newspaper. It looks like a special edition.”

  “At once, mein Herr.”

  A minute later, the guard stumbled into the compartment. Gerhard stood quickly and studied the man’s pale countenance.

  “Whatever is the matter?”

  The guard wordlessly handed the newspaper to Gerhard. When he saw the headline, he thought his heart would stop beating.

  Der Führer ist tot!

  Gerhard sat down heavily in his seat and stared at the newspaper. The Führer is dead!

  “Mein Gott!” the guard exclaimed. “Whatever are we going to do, now?”

  “I don’t know,” Gerhard replied. “Let me read the article, and then you can share the newspaper with the other guards. Things have just changed.”

  The guard nodded and backed out of the compartment.

  The brevity of the article meant that not much information was available. Witnesses had seen Hitler’s airplane crash upon landing at Tempelhof. The aircraft was engulfed in flames, and the Führer was killed. Gerhard reread the article and then quickly scanned the rest of the newspaper to see if anything else could shed light on the story. The newspaper publisher must have rushed to get the story out, as the extra addition was tabloid-sized and consisted of only four pages.

  Gerhard handed the newspaper to the guard and returned to his seat. He stared into the distance and pondered what this meant for Germany and him personally. He knew Karl was not ecstatically happy with the Führer, and he suspected Schloss was not either. He wondered if Rudolf Hess, the Deputy Führer, was up to the task before him.

 

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