The Berkut (42 page)

They had no idea what he was talking about. "Capitalist philosophy?" Gnedin asked ironically.

"Capitalist insistence upon a return. Don't reject the capitalists out of hand. They look to the future, not the past. Such orientation has value, even to good socialists."

Shifting again, he continued, "We have to assume that Hitler's appearance must also have been drastically altered."

"Surgically?" Gnedin asked.

"No. To change appearance one need only modify certain prominent features. The mustache will be gone, the hair parted and cut differently. A broken nose, perhaps, to thicken it near the bridge. Caricaturists and criminologists learned long ago that small changes in reality can produce immense changes in perception. That's the technique of the makeup artist in the theater."

Petrov gestured with his cup for a modest portion of pertsovka.

The leader of the Special Operations Group had no interest in contending with the vodka for control of his brain. The others were less judicious, he noted, but he did not mind; this evening was meant to combine celebration and business. He watched them like an analyst. Over time they had solidified into a truly cooperative and productive unit. They had learned one another's strengths and weaknesses and deferred to another's skill when conditions dictated. Gnedin had lost his intellectual haughtiness, and in so doing seemed to have increased his intellectual capacity. He had learned, as Petrov had hoped, a kind of steely pragmatism from Ezdovo's native cunning and instincts. In turn, the Siberian seemed to be adopting a more cerebral approach to problem solving, learning from the physician. Bailov had brought enthusiasm to them and an excellent blend of special skills. Rivitsky had not changed at all, which was as Petrov expected and wanted. Of all of them, he was more like his leader, and during their years together, Petrov had grown to rely on him in particular. Now he needed his instincts and intelligence as never before. They had six days to locate Brumm.

51 – June 25, 1945, 7:30 A.M.

For six days Petrov had driven his people to find something that would tell them where Brumm had gone. They had worked relentlessly, sleeping seldom, but the effort had produced nothing, and now they were running out of time. Petrov sat at an empty desk, staring at his tea. In desperation he'd tried to arrange another interrogation of Skorzeny, but though the Red Badge had whipped his own countrymen into a
frenzy, and despite repeated initiatives, the Americans had refused; Skorzeny was theirs.

At midnight a few hours earlier Petrov had called the Special Operations Group together. Rivitsky could not be found, but Petrov grilled the others for four hours; when he had finished, they were no further ahead and a sense of dread was beginning to assert itself. He was about to fail. Brumm was gone and they couldn't find him. Now, pushing his cup away, he considered how to tell Stalin, but even the thought made the veins in his neck throb. There was still time, he told himself, and time is life.

Suddenly Rivitsky burst into the room, brandishing an open bottle of vodka, which he banged loudly on Petrov's desk. The other members of the group were right behind him. "Comrade," Rivitsky shouted, "I know that you are not an emotional man, but I would propose a toast. I have uncovered Hitler's secret."

The others watched nervously for a response from their leader, who calmly crossed his arms and said, "You borrow from Conan Doyle." It was a predictable response from their leader.

Rivitsky coughed to clear his throat and took a swig from the bottle.

"Is that necessary?" Petrov asked.

"Yes," Rivitsky said happily, taking another gulp. "The army has collected reams of messages that came from the bunker communications center," he went on. "I read every one of them with the idea that there might be a clue, some hint about where we could begin our search. As I read, I was impressed that Hitler's military decisions were quite sound. The problem was that the various units to which he attempted to give orders at the end simply did not exist. The German General Staff lacked the fortitude to tell him the truth; they chose to let him waste his energies on ghosts. I'm convinced that he believed, to the end, that many of his divisions were still intact and that the failure to relieve Berlin was due to the failure of his field commanders."

"A radical conclusion," Petrov observed.

"Not to my mind," Rivitsky answered. "Had such divisions existed, the outcome might have been delayed considerably, perhaps even reversed. Some of Hitler's attempts were militarily brilliant. Thus, I examined the communications for anything that would fall outside the norm-that is, for an example of shoddy military judgment, a decision that could
not
be supported by military circumstances as Hitler knew them." He paused. "And it was there. Actually," he added, "I looked past it several times before it showed itself."

The group took chairs, sat down and listened attentively. Petrov observed with satisfaction that Pogrebenoi had moved into the arc formed by the men.

Rivitsky unfolded a map and spread it on the floor for all of them to see. "Here are the Harz Mountains," he said, tapping the paper loudly with his finger. "Down here, just below the mountains, is Nordhausen, the provincial capital. Here is the site where the V-2 weapons were being mass-produced underground by slaves."

He showed them the line of the Rhine River. "The Allies were aligned thus." He marked the chart with arrows. "The Americans captured this bridge at Remagen, then their General Patton got his tanks across down here." Again he pointed to the site. "Montgomery and the British crossed up here." He marked the place. "The bunker communications record shows that Hitler and the General Staff organized a controlled withdrawal from the Rhine. Their intent was to slow down the Allied advance from the west so that the German forces could regroup on the Elbe, the next natural barrier they could depend on for a defensive advantage."

"The mountains provide an equally useful advantage," Gnedin interjected.

"Only in an academic sense," Pogrebenoi cut in. Her voice was firm and confident. "If the Germans concentrated their units in higher elevations, they could be bypassed and cut off. We did this to them at Konigsberg, at Elbing and at Poznan: it was a standard tactic. By not fighting them, you don't allow
them
to fight. It conserves your resources."

Rivitsky clapped his hands together. "You see," he said happily to the others. "The major sees the tactical situation clearly. Therefore, for Hitler to have chosen to fight in the Harz would have been a stupid decision. I repeat: all of his decisions before and after this decision to make a stand here were basically sound. Hence I conclude: if all decisions before and after this were sound, then he made no mistake in this decision. He had a
reason
for doing it."

"May I interrupt?" Pogrebenoi asked. Rivitsky nodded and smiled. "Can you estimate the size of the blocking force?"

Rivitsky smiled. "Six to ten divisions. Probably not full strength. Sixty to seventy thousand men. With tanks. Beyond that we're guessing. It was not, however, a small force."

"If that's accurate, then you have additional evidence for your thesis," she said.

"Explain," Petrov said to her.

"The contours of your chart show the Harz area to be rugged terrain. Moors, wilderness, a barren wasteland. One would need no more than a fraction of seventy thousand men to block entry to it. It's the kind of terrain best suited to a small mobile force employing unorthodox tactics."

Rivitsky blinked several times as he evaluated her observation. "Of course," he said quietly. "Given the sheer defensibility of the position, the inordinately large commitment seems even more extraordinary."

"What's the point?" Gnedin asked.

"Militarily, absolutely none," Rivitsky concluded. "None whatsoever. At first I think the Americans thought they'd run into Model and his Army Group Eight. But the bunker communications show that the Americans disengaged almost immediately and veered east below the lower Harz."

"Go on," Petrov said. Rivitsky could see that their leader was absorbing the information as fast as it came.

Rivitsky returned to the chart. "Montgomery's group was on top here. Of the Americans, Bradley was in the center, Devers below. The American First Army crossed the Rhine at Remagen. Patton's Third crossed the river south of Mainz. Elements of Patton and Hodges merged near Kassel-here." He tapped the map again, then continued, "Together this spearhead drove northeast to G6ttingen. Draw a line here." He did so. "This takes them directly toward the Harz Mountains, on an almost direct line toward Mount Brocken, the area's highest elevation. But when they crossed over the Leine River, they hit German resistance, and with hardly a pause they swerved toward Nordhausen and Halle." Rivitsky took a deep breath. "Meanwhile, the
u.s.
Ninth Army skirted north of the Harz and drove up to Magdeburg on the Elbe. General Model was surrounded in the Ruhr, and those troops that had been gathered in the Harz Mountains on Hitler's order were left alone with no enemy to fight. Eventually the Americans engaged them, but not until after their strategic goals were secured, and even then it was a token battle. By and large the mountains were left unpenetrated. After all, the Americans were looking toward Berlin, not the Harz Mountains."

"Thus," Petrov said, "the Harz
Festung
remained inviolate. I accept this analysis. If we believe he had control of his faculties-and we, more than anyone else, know that he did-we must accept that this move was made for a nonmilitary reason."

"Even so," Pogrebenoi pointed out, "this does not rule out a simple error, however gross. Every commander makes such mistakes; it's unavoidable."

"I submit," Rivitsky countered, "that there are errors and
errors.
You understand? One miscalculates the enemy's strength, the weather goes bad, one takes a wrong turn or overextends. But look at the map; the mountain range sticks up like a monument. No commander could err in concentrating his forces there. It requires premeditation or monumental stupidity."

Petrov leaned over the map. "A blockade ordered that the enemy can easily outflank. What was the level of resistance along the route in the foothills?"

"Virtually none," Rivitsky said. "Scattered small units. The Americans drove the remaining two hundred and fifty kilometers to the Elbe in less than ten days-an unmolested dash."

Who would notice? Petrov asked himself. Fronts collapsing east and west, orders going out of the bunker, battle reports flooding in. Rivitsky had hit on the key they were searching for.

There was a pause, and then the leader of the SOG spoke slowly, choosing his words with care. "I told yo
u that I was responsible for Mü
ller's death. But my time with him was not without compensation. Before he died, I recovered the Gestapo's records on Skorzeny's personnel-all of them." They waited anxiously. "Colonel Brumm, I learned, was raised in the area once known as the Melicobus."

"That's a new one," Bailov said, making a face.

Petrov stepped on the chart and pointed with his toe. "The area is more commonly known as the Harz Mountains."

There was silence as the implications of this information were digested by the team. Finally Ezdovo raised his cup and grinned at his leader. "Now we hunt for real."

An hour later Petrov called Stalin with the news. The premier listened, then grunted. "Good. Now go get them," and hung up abruptly. Petrov was jubilant; the Special Operations Group and its mission were still alive.

52 – July 5, 1945, 5:10 P.M.

At their elevation the summer was comfortable. It rained infrequently, a sign, Brumm knew, that autumn and snow would come early. Since the incursion of the Jews they had established around-the-clock security and constructed an elaborate minefield near the entrance. It was an intricate maze, an art Beard had learned over many years under a wide range of conditions. To conceal their presence, there were several different routes through the mines, and a different trail was used each day to allow the grasses in the area to replenish themselves. A sentry was stationed in a cuplike rocky outcrop, which provided a full field of fire over the valley's southern end.

With the exception of Herr Wolf's unpredictable ebbs in mood, it was a quiet and pressureless time. A curious bond had formed between the Jewish woman and Herr Wolf, and while most of the time he avoided referring to her as his niece, the relationship made Brumm uncomfortable. The woman was with Herr Wolf at all times; she was the only one of them allowed into his sleeping quarters, she served his meals and she listened to his constant ramblings. If nothing else, she kept him busy and out of the way of the others; from that view her presence was positive. Often the two perched on the rocks near the dam. From time to time Brumm and the others eavesdropped, but Herr Wolf's speeches were not designed for listeners.