The Night of the Generals (16 page)

Undeterred, Hartmann viewed the days ahead with a thrill of anticipation. Few military assignments could have presented such an enjoyable prospect.

"Don't worry, sir."

"Now go and report to Lieutenant-Colonel Sandauer. "

Hartmann did so. He stowed his civilian clothes away in the suitcase which he had also been supplied with and drove off to Romainville, where the headquarters of the Nibelungen Division were temporarily located. There he asked for the G.S.O.1 and was duly directed to Sandauer's office by a crowd of soldiers who gawped at the Bentley with befitting admiration. He might have been an ambassador presenting his credentials.

Sandauer inspected Hartmann's pass, examined his civilian clothing, scrutinized the Bentley and checked the papers that went with it, exchanging scarcely a word with Hartmann in the process.

"Show me your hands," Sandauer said.

Hartmann did so, feeling as though he were playing charades. Sandauer reminded him of a pompous uncle.

"Now get the Bentley ready for inspection," ordered Sandauer. "Sergeant Stoss, the General's driver, will supervise you. You'll receive further instructions in due course."

As Hartmann emerged from the office a bullock of a man lumbered over to him. It was Sergeant Stoss. He eyed the massive silver-grey Bentley with a blend of mistrust and envy and said: "The car's to be cleaned from top to bottom. Get cracking."

Hartmann got cracking. It was three o'clock in the afternoon when he started. At five o'clock he hadn't even finished the body-work. Stoss spoke little, and then only to criticize. He circled the Bentley like an alert sheep-dog, barking out complaints in a hoarse voice. By six o'clock he was not wholly dissatisfied with the body-work, and at seven he pronounced the interior to be "just adequate."

"Now the engine," he said.

Hartmann was glistening with sweat. He ground his teeth, muttered some inaudible imprecations at Sergeant Stoss and all the other sergeants in the world, and set to work again. Stoss seemed to relish his fury. He made him clean the sparking-plugs, polish the engine-block until it shone and rub the contacts down with emery-cloth.

At nine o'clock Sergeant Stoss declared himself satisfied. He nodded with evident reluctance, barked "That'll do!" and departed grumbling.

Shortly afterwards Lieutenant-Colonel Sandauer appeared. His pale blue eyes examined Hartmann's exhausted figure critically. "Change your overalls," he said, "clean yourself up-especially your hands--and then report to me. I want to introduce you to the General."

A quarter of an hour later Hartmann reported to Sandauer as ordered. The latter rose, opened an inner door and motioned to Hartmann to follow.

It was not the first time Hartmann had seen General Tanz. He had had an opportunity of observing him from a respectful distance in Warsaw, but now they were face to face. He saw a lean, angular countenance whose every detail was as clean-cut and precise as if it had been designed on a drawing-board.

"Lance-Corporal Hartmann," announced Sandauer in a flat, almost indifferent voice. "Christian name, Rainer. Height, five foot nine. Weight, eleven stone four. Has been in the army since the outbreak of war. Infantry. Driving licence since nineteen thirty-nine. Matriculation. Intends to study art history. Born in Berlin, age-group nineteen-twenty-two. Father, railway official medium rank, now dead. Mother resident near Berlin. No brothers or sisters. No criminal record. Unmarried."

The General did not stir. His eyes were narrowed to the point of invisibility, but his Knight's Cross with its various bars twinkled brightly. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.

"Come closer, Hartmann," bade Sandauer.

Hartmann complied. The General's immobile face seemed suddenly to grow in size. His thin, knifelike mouth moved, and Hartmann heard a voice, chill and clear as the reaches of outer space, say: "Show me your hands."

Hartmann obediently extended his hands towards the seated figure. After a short pause he turned them over so that his palms were uppermost. His fingers did not tremble.

"Carry on, Sandauer," said the General.

This concluded the interview. Back in his office, the G.S.O.1 indulged in a smile. He lowered himself into his chair and removed his glasses.

"You didn't make a bad impression." Sandauer sounded as though Hartmann had passed a stiff examination against odds. "The General has accepted you, and that's as good as a medal. However, it's early days yet. Everything will depend on whether you really do your stuff. You'd better sit down. There are still a few matters I want to discuss."

Sandauer began to ply Hartmann with questions. They struck him as superfluous, if not absolutely pointless, but he did his best to answer them fully. The G.S.O.1 wanted to know where he had spent his childhood, what schools he had attended, what subjects he had specialized in, what his special interests were, where he had normally spent his school holidays and what his favourite reading-matter was.

Hartmann was tempted to ask what it was all about, but Sandauer's patient inquisitorial technique allowed of no digressions. He fired his questions with the regularity of a man reading from a carefully devised questionnaire.

"Don't bother to work out whether there's any point in my questions or not," Sandauer said with a smile. "You're not qualified to judge, Hartmann--not yet, anyway. You'll just have to take it from me that there is. Right, let's get on with it."

Hartmann found the next group of questions even more peculiar than the preceding one. Sandauer wanted to know if he had ever had an unusual illness, if any of his family had had an unusual illness, if he had any medical knowledge, if any close or distant relation of his was a doctor, if he had any friends who were interested in illnesses and discussed them with him.

"No," answered Hartmann resignedly.

"Don't be surprised by my curiosity, Hartmann." Sandauer wiped his glasses with meticulous care. "Anyone who is to be introduced into General Tanz's immediate vicinity has to be put through a fine-tooth comb."

"Yes, sir."

Sandauer leaned back and heaved a deep sigh, closing his lustreless eyes. "You will begin your duties with General Tanz tomorrow, July 18th, at eight o'clock in the morning. At that hour you will be waiting outside the Hotel Excelsior in the Place Vendôme with the Bentley. The General's room number is thirty-three. At eight o'clock, mark you, not a second before or after. Detailed instructions have already been worked out and will be handed to you at the end of this interview. Sergeant Kopatzki, who is the General's No .1 orderly for the time being, will be able to give you a number of tips. Pay the utmost attention to all he tells you. By tomorrow morning you will have worked out an exact itinerary for submission to the General. It must take in all the main places of interest in Paris. Concentrate on works of art. But steer clear of tombs--even Napoleon's! Remember, the watchword is relaxation."

"Yes, sir."

Sandauer replaced his glasses. "Among the particulars I shall give you will be a telephone number at which I can be reached at any time. If anything out of the ordinary happens--anything which exceeds your competence, Hartmann--ring me at once. It only remains for me to wish you good luck. You'll need it."

Rainer Hartmann felt an overwhelming desire for a double cognac, but that was not the only reason why he made for the Mocambo Bar late that night. Raymonde would be there, Raymonde with her gentle smile, tolerant good humour and straightforward willingness to please. To Hartmann, she was like a life-line in a sea of troubles, and he could happily have spent the rest of his life with her.

He forced a path through the closely entwined couples.

One or two French people nodded to him, and his spirits rose slightly at this mark of distinction.

Hartmann pushed his way up to the bar and grasped Raymonde's cheerfully extended hand. He didn't say "Good evening" or "How are you?"--just held her hand tightly for as long as she would let him. It was not a situation which could last indefinitely because Raymonde was on duty and he wanted his double cognac.

"I'm out on my feet, Raymonde. I don't know why, but I feel as if I'd swallowed the cat."

"Cheer up, it won't last." Raymonde flashed him an encouraging smile. "There are a couple of people over there just dying to take your mind off things." She pointed to the far corner of the cellar.

Otto, who sat there beaming like an amiable dumpling, raised his hand and beckoned Hartmann over. Then he jerked his thumb sideways at the girl sitting next to him. It was Ulrike von Seydlitz-Gabler. Otto's gesture was rich in unspoken hints of primitive pleasures to come.

Hartmann muttered something which Raymonde failed to catch but was certainly not expressive of delighted surprise. She told him not to keep his friends waiting and remonstrated with him when he protested that the two at the comer table were acquaintances, not friends.

"She's a nice girl, and really attractive. Most men would be happy to have her as a girl-friend."

"But I've got you."

"Not tonight you haven't," she said with a grin. "I'm a bit off-colour."

As ever, Raymonde was entirely undismayed by the presence of competition, being convinced that any man who knew her and went elsewhere would only find confirmation of her own superior charms.

Reluctantly, Hartmann strolled across to the table where Otto and Ulrike were sitting. Otto shouted a few words of welcome above the noise of the band, waving his arms like flails. Ulrike said simply: "I'm glad you came."

Before Hartmann had a chance to reply a mountainous figure loomed over the table. It was Sergeant Stoss, but a new Sergeant Stoss, apparently inflamed by vast quantities of alcohol.

"Hartmann!" he yelled, flinging his arms wide. "So you're still alive, old cock! You won't be for long, take it from me. You're as good as dead--done for--finished--kaput! Just a heap of manure--good for daisies and dandelions and nothing else!"

Hartmann tried vainly to extricate himself from the Sergeant's clutches, but there was no stopping him. Stoss had tanked up with alcohol for the first time in years because tomorrow morning he would be able to sleep off the effects like a hibernating bear. After an eternity of abstinence, he was enthralled by the prospect of two or three days' concentrated drinking. And he owed it all to Hartmann--that poor, clueless, good-natured imbecile Hartmann!

"Write him off, girlie!" hiccupped Sergeant Stoss, bowing unsteadily in Ulrike's direction. "Believe me, he's done for only he doesn't know it yet. Come on, give us a dance. Cheer up, sweetie-pie, Hartmann's had it but old Stoss is here. Let's go!"

Hartmann got up and stood between him and Ulrike. "I'd better warn you, Sergeant," he said in an undertone. "This young lady is General von Seydlitz-Gabler's daughter."

"Marvellous!" Sergeant Stoss roared ecstatically, swaying like a flag-pole in a high wind. "That's the best story I've heard for a long time. As a man who appreciates a joke--and I'm one--I can only say: if she's the Corps Commander's daughter I'm Goering's brother!" He slapped his thigh with a noise like thunder.

"I'm off duty now," Hartmann said warningly.

"Shit!" said Stoss. "Don't talk to me about your private life. You haven't got one any more."

"You're drunk," said Hartmann.

"Of course I am!" yelled Sergeant Stoss, clinging to the back of a chair. "Of course I am, but I'm a sergeant too, and I don't like to see lance-corporals being annoyed by drunken sergeants. So get lost, Lance-Corporal. That's an order!"

"You can't do that!" cried Ulrike, outraged.

"Keep out of this, sweetie-pie," Sergeant Stoss told her contemptuously. "This is man's business. It's above your head."

Hartmann stationed himself protectively in front of Ulrike. "Sergeant, you've absolutely no right..."

"Shut up! Go off and get some kip--right now. That's a direct order. You've got a heavy day in front of you, take it from me, and if you aren't out of here in five minutes I'll call the M. P. s and have you locked up. Got me?"

"I'm going," said Hartmann, his face dark with shame and fury. He knew he couldn't risk another brush with the military police. "I'm going, but you haven't heard the last of this."

"I hope not," Stoss growled. "If you're still in a condition to discuss it this time tomorrow I'll be the first to congratulate you."

"What about me?" Ulrike asked.

"You can stay as far as I'm concerned," said Stoss condescendingly.

Hartmann strove to save his face. He turned to Ulrike. "Otto will take you home. Try to understand my position. I must go--there's no alternative. We'll have to say good-bye for now."

"Will I see you tomorrow?"

"Perhaps, I don't know. I hope so."

"So do I."

"Your five minutes is just about up," barked Sergeant Stoss. "Either you make yourself scarce or I go and 'phone the M. P. s. I'm sure you wouldn't want me to do that, or your girl-friend either."

"I don't put up with boorish behaviour from anyone," Ulrike said pugnaciously.

"No?" Stoss grinned at her. He liked a girl with spirit. "I tell you what. Go and complain to your daddy--you know, the general. I'd be interested to see what happens."

INTERIM REPORT

FURTHER DOCUMENTS

Expert opinion of Herr B., the former sergeant in German counterespionage who has a special knowledge of events which occurred in the Paris area during July 1944: "Frenchmen were generally kept under surveillance by Frenchmen, as much for linguistic reasons as anything else. However, since Germans also came into contact with Frenchmen, it frequently happened that members of the occupying forces were watched at the same time. As a result, many confidential discussions were recorded by the French authorities, and it is highly probable that these included conversations relating to the officers' conspiracy.

"I met Monsieur Prévert, who has been repeatedly mentioned in this connection, on only one occasion. Prévert was a strange man. He did not seem particularly impressive at first sight, but as soon as he opened his mouth one knew without doubt that he had extraordinary ability.