Sleeper Agent (20 page)

Tom laughed. “I wonder how many other cases have been solved by a dog,” he said. “And a sausage! A Gestapo dog—and a Counter Intelligence sausage! A hell of a tough act to follow.” He turned back to watch the Engineers wrestle the Luftwaffe boxes from the pit.

The bone-rattling explosion slammed into him with numbing force, shooting searing lances of pain through his ears. He whirled around while the deadly thunder still hung in the acrid air.

The Schloss Ehrenstein documents box had been opened! It was a mass of seething flame. Tom rushed toward it. The whole infernal scene instantly etched itself indelibly on his mind.

Sgt. Winkler lay writhing on the ground near the blazing box. His clothing spurted white-hot flames in several places. His face was a glistening mask of crimson ooze. His hands suddenly burned with a searing pain. With a mind-wrenching effort he forced his eyes open. He brought his pain-torn hands up. He held them to his face. And he screamed.

There—were—no—hands. Only two bloody stumps spurting his life away. It was the last sight he ever saw.

In the same instant Tom saw Larry run to the fiery box. He saw him thrust his bare hands into the flames. He heard him bellow with raw pain. He saw him tear his hands away, clutching a sheef of burning papers. He saw him hurling them to the ground, stamping out the flames.

Tom was at Winkler’s side. He saw at once he could do nothing. For an instant he looked at the dead soldier. Winkler . . . Sergeant . . . a boy . . . of German descent.

He felt a sudden sharp stab of all-engulfing identification.
Of German descent.
Dead.

The boy had let curiosity get the better of him. He had been impatient. With a pickax he had forced the lock on the Schloss Ehrenstein box. But the documents it contained were never meant to fall into enemy hands. The Germans had guarded well against it. As the lock was broken and the lid pried open, a violent incendiary charge exploded, spewing jagged steel splinters and instantly setting ablaze the papers inside.

Tom ran to Larry. His partner was sitting on the ground, dazed, his hands held tightly in the pits of his arms, his face a drawn mask of agony.

Tom gently pulled Larry’s hands from their inadequate sanctuary. He gasped. The hands were horribly burned. Bits of the white phosphorous from the incendiary charge—hot enough to burn through steel—had been imbedded in the skin and seared away the flesh to the blackened bone. The fingers on both hands were distended, encased in charred crusts.

Tom gagged. “You—goddamned—fool,” he sobbed. His voice broke. He looked up. “Medic!” he shouted. “Medic, dammit! Medic!” He looked at Larry. His eyes smarted. It was not the smoke.

Larry numbly examined his mangled, disfigured hands. “I . . . didn’t count on that damned phosphorus,” he mumbled. “I guess . . . I guess I brought myself a Stateside ticket.” He looked up at Tom. “Winkler?” he asked.

“He bought it. All the way.”

Larry shivered. His face was growing ghostly pale. He was rapidly going into shock.

Two Engineers came running up.

“Get him back!” Tom snapped savagely. “Get him to an aid station, dammit! Get—” He stopped. He stood up and turned away. His throat was too tight for him to go on.

The Engineers hurried Larry away.

Tom watched the lieutenant and some of his men valiantly trying to get at the still blazing documents box. They managed to overturn it, spilling the contents out on the ground. They stamped on the papers furiously.

But it was too late. The incendiary bomb had done its job too well. There was nothing left but still smoldering ashes and black flakes of scorched and burned paper. Nothing Except—

His eyes sought the papers Larry had pulled from the fire. They were lying on the ground where he had thrown them. Perhaps three or four sheets, the edges seared and browned. Numbly he picked them up. They had been bought at a terrible price.

Standing rooted to the spot he stared at the top sheet:

Beneath the code name someone had written in a careful, meticulous hand,

KOKON

PART 3

30 APRIL-5 MAY 1945

7

Obersturmführer Rudolf Kessler glanced impatiently at his watch. He was surprised to see that the day had come to an end. It was just past midnight. Living underground gave little sense of passing time.

He was restless. He had been waiting tensely almost an hour outside Bormann’s private bunker office. He knew that when the door finally opened and he was called in, he would be facing the Reichsleiter himself—and the climax of the last few frantic days of briefing.

Time was running out. Too fast. The place was rife with rumors. They said that the Russians were only a mile away. They said they would reach the Führerbunker on May 1st or 2nd. They said that General Wenck’s rescue army was still expected any hour.

Everything seemed to have been speeded up. Crazily. Even time itself. Months flew like days.

He had not liked his stay in the bunker. He felt both physically and mentally entombed. Life around him had a nightmarish quality. It made him feel constantly uneasy. Yet, never before in his life had he felt so exhilarated, so keyed up, as he did at this very moment.

His briefing on KOKON was completed. He had been instructed in everything: his own specific orders, Reichsleiter Bormann’s personal plans, the innermost secrets of KOKON! He—knew.

He shifted uncomfortably on the bench. He watched the steady stream of grim people passing before him. The domed yellow ceiling lights gave an eerie, unnatural cast to the scene. It seemed to him as if all the
Bonzen
—all the big shots—in Germany were hurrying through the bunker corridors deep under the Reichschancellery. Generals, admirals, diplomats and ministers. Nazi officers of the highest ranks.

He felt a fierce pride surge through him. At this moment, he, Rudi Kessler, was more important than any one of them! Again he looked at his watch. It had been an eventful day. Before it was over it would surely be the most eventful day in his life.

Early in the morning the Führer had married Fräulein Eva Braun. The ceremony had taken place in the map-room of the Führer’s private quarters. Reichsleiter Bormann had been there, of course. Rudi had not been present at the modest champagne reception afterward, but later he had congratulated the Führer with the others. He was pleased. He liked the friendly, unpretentious Fräulein Eva.

The Reichsleiter had been occupied with urgent affairs all morning, and at noon three important officer couriers, .one of them Standartenführer Wilhelm Zander, Bormann’s personal aide, had left the bunker on a vital mission. It was rumored that they carried copies of the Führer’s personal and political testaments. He had been awed. Papers, he thought. Papers covered with the marks of the future.

Later in the afternoon he had played for a while with the Führer’s Alsatian dog, Blondi, and her new litter of puppies. One of them had been his special favorite. It had reminded him of Mausi. He frowned. That was ridiculous. Anyway, it was completely immaterial. The dog had been ordered put to sleep.

Dr. Haase had given her poison while she was quietly nursing her four pups. She died almost instantaneously. So fast that her puppies were still trying to suckle her in death. Standartenführer Günsche, the Führer’s personal bodyguard, carried her body in a box to the garden above be buried. There he shot the pups, one by one, still clinging to their mother’s teats.

It was too bad, he thought unemotionally. But since the order had been given to do it, it was obviously necessary.

In the evening, while the Führer had been in conference with his military leaders, some appalling news had reached the bunker. Reichsleiter-SS Heinrich Himmler had turned traitor! He had made an offer to the Anglo-American High Command to surrender Germany! Himmler! That back-stabbing
Schweinehund!

And if that was not enough, only a few hours ago the Führer had finally received the delayed report that Mussolini and his mistress, Clara Petacci, had been caught by partisan terrorists the day before. They had been executed, their bodies desecrated and barbarously strung up by their heels. The news had depressed everyone. An ignoble end for such a valiant leader. A friend of the Führer himself.

He took a deep breath. He glanced toward the closed door.

An eventful day. A time of critical decisions. Momentous tasks. He, Rudi Kessler, was living history that would never die. But it all paled in his mind when he contemplated his own mission, yet to be carried out! KOKON.

The door to Bormann’s office suddenly opened.

Rudi had expected to see Bormann’s secretary, Fräulein Else Krüger, “Krügerchen—Little Krüger"—as she was affectionately called by the Reichsleiter’s staff.

The man standing in the doorway was familiar to him. It was the’ civilian who had examined him at Schloss Ehrenstein, Brigadeführer Arnold. This time he wore his SS general’s uniform. He motioned Rudi to enter.

Reichsleiter Martin Bormann sat in stocky stolidity behind his massive desk, brought down into the bunker from his offices in the Reichschancellery above. His arms were folded across his chest, the swastika armband prominent on his simple uniform. He was not an impressive man.

Rudi always felt a twinge of disillusion when he saw the Reichsleiter in person. But it was just that. A fleeting thought. He knew that Bormann’s mind was the sharpest, the most cunning in Germany. He knew him to be the true heir of the Führer himself.

Arnold took his place at the side of the Reichsleiter. He placed his uniform cap on the desk: Rudi glanced at it Once before—how long ago?—he had stood before a desk staring at the death’s-head emblem on a black peaked SS uniform cap.

The meaning of the skull and crossbones flashed through his mind. “Obedience and loyalty to the Führer and to one another unto the grave and beyond!” It had been the credo of the ancient Teuton knights. He believed in it.

Bormann’s small piggish eyes set deeply in his coarse-featured face fixed Rudi with a penetrating stare. “Obersturmführer Kessler,” he said solemnly.

Rudi snapped to attention.

“You are about to embark upon the most crucial mission of your life.” Gravely he paused. Then he continued. “For some time now you have undergone intensive briefing. By me. By others. I should have liked to examine you thoroughly, to ascertain without doubt that you are ready for your mission. But time will not permit.”

He glanced at Arnold. “Brigadeführer Arnold assures me, however, that you are a young man of exceptional abilities. Of great resourcefulness. I rely on his judgment. He and I will cover only the essential facts of your mission with you now. Understood?”

Rudi clicked his heels. “
Jawohl,
Herr Reichsleiter!”

Bormann nodded.

Arnold spoke. “You realize the enormous trust placed in you,” he said solemnly. “By your country. Your people. Your Führer. And most especially by Reichsleiter Bormann himself?”

“I do, Herr Brigadeführer,” Rudi said. “I shall honor it!”

“During the last few days you have been instructed in the most sacred secrets of the German Reich,” Arnold continued. “Secrets that spell life or death for her future.” He leaned forward in his chair and gazed at Rudi. “The Reichsleiter felt that you had to be fully and completely informed on all levels in order to function at peak efficiency. On my assurances, Obersturmführer Kessler, no restrictions, I repeat
no
restrictions, were placed on your need to know.”

He leaned back in his chair. “You are already fully conversant with your duties as a Sleeper Agent. At this moment you possess full knowledge of the preparations and plans for our entire Sleeper Agent network in the United States of America. There is no need to discuss these matters further. You are well aware of the importance, of the potential value, of Operation Sleeper Agent. It was proven by our quick victory in Poland. You were there. We shall limit ourselves, here and now, to your mission for KOKON. Is that clear?”

“It is, Herr Brigadeführer,” Rudi answered crisply. He began to feel impatient. He wished they would get on with their questioning. He was eager to show them that he had mastered everything he had been told. That his comprehension was complete.

Arnold went on. “I asked you once before, Obersturmführer Kessler, to recite to me the solemn oath of loyalty to your Führer, which you swore as an officer in the SS. I ask you now to do so again!”

Rudi drew himself up proudly. He delivered the familiar, stirring oath in a ringing voice. “I swear to you, Adolf Hitler, as Führer and Reichschancellor, loyalty and valor. I vow to you, and to those you have named to command me, obedience unto death, so help me God!”

Arnold leaned forward. His eyes bored into Rudi’s. “. . . and to those you have named to command me,” he repeated slowly, significantly. He looked at Reichsleiter Bormann, then back to Rudi. “Obedience unto death! You understand?”

“
Jawohl,
Herr Brigadeführer. And I obey!”

Arnold nodded. “
Gut.”
He sat back. “You will now recapitulate your orders. Begin with your departure from the bunker.”

Rudi spoke crisply, to the point. “At a designated time I shall leave the Führerbunker and the Chancellery through the underground garages exiting on Hermann Göring Strasse,” he began. “I shall proceed through the Tiergarten, through Charlottenburg to Pickelsdorf at the north end of Havel Lake. Here the bridge is being held by a battalion of Hitlerjugend. I shall then proceed south to Wannsee. From there west toward the Elbe River. I shall follow the east bank of the Elbe, heading for Hamburg and Schleswig-Holstein. I shall bypass Hamburg proper and proceed to Flensburg on the Danish border, which I have been told will be held by German forces as long as possible.”

“You have calculated the length of your journey?” It was Bormann.

“Yes, Herr Reichsleiter. Four hundred and twenty kilometers, if no detours are necessary.”

“You have five days.”

“Yes, Herr Reichsleiter. It will be enough.”

“The Schleswig-Holstein area, including Hamburg, is held by our forces. The Americans have stopped their advance on the west bank of the Elbe River,” Arnold said. “Our latest information indicates that scattered Russian combat patrols have penetrated to the east bank. However, no enemy forces are present in strength.”

Rudi knew. He had to run the gantlet between the American and the Russian forces until he reached territory held by the Wehrmacht. He was confident he could succeed.

“Show caution,” Arnold said. “The situation is extremely fluid.”

“
Jawohl,
Herr Brigadeführer.”

“And trust no one!” Bormann interjected. “Not the civilians. Not our own troops. Rely exclusively on yourself.”

Rudi looked at Bormann with surprise, quickly controlled. “
Jawohl,
Herr Reichsleiter.”

“Reports have reached us of . . . severe action taken against suspected deserters and defeatists by roving patrols of SS troops,” Arnold explained. “You may see the results hanging from several lampposts,” he added. “Should they question you, search you and find your papers . . .” He shrugged eloquently.

“Your papers have been issued to you?” Bormann asked.

“Yes, Herr Reichsleiter. One set of German ID papers in my own name and rank. One set of Danish papers in the name of Rudolf Rasmussen.”

He carried the German papers in the breast pocket of his uniform tunic. The Danish set was taped to the small of his back. He had examined the false papers minutely. They were perfect, including the Danish passport produced by the SS Department of Forged Documents. No one could possibly detect they were not genuine.

“After I have arrived in America I shall revert to the cover identity prepared for me by Operation Sleeper Agent.” He looked from one officer to the other. “I have also been issued a sum of money in German as well as Danish currency,” he added.

“Very good. Proceed.”

“In Copenhagen I am to meet an Abwehr contact on the staff of Generalgouverneur Dr. Werner Best, whose name has been given me. Sturmbannführer Dettling. Gestapo. This contact will hand over to me the final list of Sleeper Agents to be deployed in the United States. I will memorize this list and destroy it. This man has also arranged passage for me to New York City in America, traveling as a Danish subject, a technical expert. As corroboration in case of any future check on my identity he has had my cover name inserted on the Gestapo list of employees of the Adler Motor Works in the Sydhavnen district of Copenhagen suspected of collaborating with the Danish terrorists who earlier in the year destroyed the plant. Sturmbannführer Detting will give me my instructions.”

He looked at Bormann. “Shall I elaborate, Herr Reichsleiter?” he asked.

“Not necessary,” Bormann said. “Proceed.”

“Once in America I have orders to stay in New York City. Get a job. Settle down. This city will be headquarters for Operation Sleeper Agent, as well as my immediate mission, KOKON.”

Bormann’s small beady eyes fixed the young soldier standing before him. “And what, Obersturmführer Kessler, do you understand KOKON to be?” he asked, his voice weighty with importance.

Rudi tensed. His mind raced. He wanted to express his concept in the very best, the very clearest way possible. He drew himself up. “I have been told, Herr Reichsleiter, that the present conflict is coming to an end,” hesaid. “That the war will be over within a few months.” His voice grew quiet. “That Germany at this moment lies defeated.” He paused. Then: “I have been told that the Führer is determined to remain in Berlin with his people. That his health, his strength, given so bounteously to the German people, will not permit him to carry on the cause of the party. But his ideals, the ideals of Nazism, of our fatherland, must be carried on, reborn. To serve this goal it is imperative that selected German leaders endure to plan and head the resurrection of the New Order. KOKON will make certain that this occurs. KOKON will assure the rise of the Fourth Reich!” He paused to collect his thoughts.

Bormann at once shot at him: “How?”

“A number of specially chosen political and military leaders will be assisted in leaving Germany and the postwar chaos certain to follow. These men will make their way to a predetermined foreign country and go underground. They will form the nucleus of a new power. They will work together for the re-establishment of the New Germany, the new world in the spirit of Adolf Hitler.”