The Vengeance of Rome (54 page)

One of the workers did ask Röhm if he wasn't Captain Röhm of the Nazis and, when he reluctantly admitted it, thumped him on the back and wished him all the best. I wanted only to leave. Of course, that acceptance was exactly what Röhm enjoyed about the place. In the past he'd joked about what they'd say if they found out the ‘smear' stories, so vehemently dismissed in the
Völkischer Beobachter
, were only a fraction of the truth.

He relished the weight of their heavy hands on his back and arms. Their congratulations. Their manly approval. Their balls. He blossomed. Good luck! Good luck!
Grüss Gott
!
Grüss Gott
!

Even I picked up some of their approval by association, especially when I explained my bad German. ‘
Amerikaner!
' they roared happily. They all had relatives in Texas and Wisconsin. Many people forget that the greatest American settlement after the colonial years was by Germans.

I envied Röhm his sense of place and people. I had lost both in Russia. I longed for the comradeship I had known with Shura in Esau's in Odessa's Moldavanka. We, too, might have formed a corps and gone off to fight together. Shura and I could have driven the Bolshevik from our homeland and put a beneficent new Tsar upon the throne. A Tsar who acknowledged the universal rule of Christ and the eternal grace of Jesu Kristos, Lord of the Greeks. Raboni!

We took Strasser some coffee and sausages and returned to the car. ‘You'd better get yourself a girlfriend,' Röhm said thoughtfully, not looking at me. ‘You know—something smart or tarty—whatever you prefer, as long as people notice. It's just a precaution, like dragging a false trail and turning signposts. Standard practice. For my own part I intend to spend more time with my mother and sister.' Absently, he again patted at my leg and continued to stare out of the window. He spoke in rapid associative phrases, revealing him as the fine field officer he had been. ‘Yes, that'll be useful. Cover all our backs. And we'll have to see what we can do with those engineering ideas of yours. The one thing Alf and I are agreed on is that armour's the secret of winning tomorrow's wars. Musso's going to have to give you up. The bigger, better and faster the armour, the quicker the victory.'

Because of our particular histories, I had never been much of a Germanophile, but I had high respect for Germany's great writers like Goethe and May. And I liked their hard, practical approach to modern problems. The Greeks were their models. That balance of mind and body, that celebration of human ingenuity. These Nazis understood that the future lay in a healthy populace, a rigorous pursuit of excellence and of technological superiority.

My ambition was still to get to England and work for one of her forward-looking engineering firms, to exploit my patents as a recognised inventor. Mussolini had betrayed me. Another mind poisoned against me. I had money waiting for me in Whitechapel. Relatives. Yet I sensed something in the German soul yearning for what I had to offer. Ernst and the others had the courage and the vision to be clear about what they wanted. Nothing less than a renewed Fatherland.

Would it be here, rather than under a Duce whose mind had been poisoned against me, a Duce no longer approachable by the common man, that the revolutionary machines of the future would be embraced? As usual my idealism, my hopes for improving the world, were leading me to become involved in the politics of a race that had never much engaged my attention, while my original plans to reach England were increasingly neglected.

I blame myself as much as Röhm. We had so much in common. Our views on history and politics were almost identical. Only in our solutions to the problems were we in any sort of disagreement, because I had experienced Red Terror at first hand. He was a persuasive, flattering host. His cocaine came from Vienna, from the same source as Freud's. I had not enjoyed this life of luxury so much since Hollywood. But my vocation was forever calling me. I felt an even greater need to get to a drawing board, to found an engineering works and begin one of the projects I had planned. Though Röhm appreciated my worth as an inventor, if I was to stay, I needed to meet someone who envisioned Germany's future in the hands not of a disciplined workers' army but of a scientific elite working in harness with that army.

I began to speak of this to Röhm, but he was not in the mood to listen.

‘We'll go to the pictures tomorrow afternoon,' he said. ‘There's a film I want to see at the Karlsplatz. A comedy. It'll cheer us up. We'll meet at the
Kino
. Fourteen forty-five sharp. In the foyer. Dress down. We're going to have to take some ordinary precautions.'

As I have said, Röhm was rapidly distancing himself from me emotionally. For once in my life I was too dim to realise it. I should have known a soldier like him could not afford to lose himself in love. Part of his contradictory nature was explained by his masculine duty being constantly at odds with his feminine sensitivity.

The sun had still not risen when we returned to Röhmannsvilla. Yet I had to remain in the car while Röhm went cautiously in to get my things. Strasser said very little. Not once had his eyes met my own. He seemed no friendlier towards Röhm. No doubt he considered himself superior to us. He was a deputy, of course. He had a wife. A business. He had his own car. He would drive it home.

Our chauffeur restarted the Mercedes's engine. Röhm was embarrassed and a little apologetic. He offered Strasser a reassuring gesture and turned to me. ‘It's no good your staying at the villa. We'll have to avoid too much friendly association for a bit. Don't want you to be endangered, you know. Don't want anyone putting one and one together and making two, eh?'

I murmured that I appreciated the need for discretion, but what would our driver report? Röhm was amused by this. His driver was a trusted SA man willing to die for his Captain if necessary.

We drove directly to Munich and the Königshof. Noticed only by a frowning night porter, I made my way swiftly to my room. Dawn came at last. The night seemed to have gone on for ever. Another foul dream over. I must admit I was totally exhausted and wished only to forget the entire disgusting episode. Why had I allowed myself to be dragged into Röhm's scheme? And for what? How could that perverted creature in Tegernsee ever hope to be Chancellor of Germany?

A man's life plan takes him down some strange paths, I thought. Then I sniffed one of my powders and, my mood much improved, was soon in a deep and dreamless sleep.

I slept until noon when I was forced awake by the loud banging on my door. Thinking it was a telephone message from Röhm to change the time, I dragged on a dressing gown and stumbled to answer the knocking. Instead of a busboy, I was greeted by a somewhat surly Frau Socking, the head housekeeper, who had until now been rather pleasant. Her speech seemed rehearsed. ‘I am sorry, Herr Peters, but you have to vacate your room today.'

‘At once? An emergency?'

‘Refurbishment works,' she said firmly but without conviction. ‘The manager has asked me kindly to ask you to find fresh accommodation.' She softened apologetically but recovered herself. ‘By tomorrow.'

I was baffled, suspecting every kind of attack from every possible source. Had Hitler found out about me? Unlikely. Had Röhm turned against me? Equally unlikely. Mussolini's people? My male and female nemeses, the Baroness, Frau Oberhauser, and Comrade Brodmann? Surely neither of these would have influence over such a respectable hotel? I protested. I would speak to the manager.

Realising I would be meeting Röhm in a couple of hours and knowing that he had considerable influence in Munich, I decided to avoid serious confrontation. After bathing, ‘coking' and preparing myself elegantly for the day, I strolled down to the lobby and ordered some coffee. At the reception desk I asked to speak to the manager, knowing he was almost certainly at his lunch. Sure enough he was not currently available. I left my card and said I had an important meeting this afternoon. I would return later. Meanwhile I assumed my room would not be disturbed. I would no doubt be ready to leave by that evening or the next morning. I also took it for granted that the presentation of a bill would not add insult to injury. I
spoke with some force. I had no intention of being identified as a common bilker. They knew that I was a Hollywood star. To his credit the youth at the reception desk dropped his gaze, blushed and promised to pass on the message. I made it clear that I was extremely displeased.

My own belief at that time was that my association with various high-ranking members of the NSDAP had not improved my standing at the hotel. Röhm and Strasser were associated with the party's left wing and had once even proposed a pact with Soviet Russia. The party was not, after all, the party of the rich and powerful, but the party of the poor and powerless. What was more, hoteliers were infamous snobs. Too many Prussian noblemen had declared themselves socialists for a gentleman's politics to be trusted any longer.

Influential anti-Nazi elements in Munich included top policemen and politicians. The press speculated wildly about the Raubal case. Some hotels, shops and restaurants went so far as to refuse Nazis service. What possessed them to punish only the Nazis, when the Sozis were equally guilty of excesses, I need not tell you. The flow of stolen imperial gold from Russia into Central and Northern Europe at that time was as steady and as unstoppable as the Rhine herself.

I had already experienced the management's animosity, and they had been cavalier in moving my room. Whatever the reason—and I did not suspect a mistake—it was prudent to look for a hotel that would give me credit. My credit at the Königshof was overextended. No doubt this had not improved their attitude in spite of my assurance that I was due to receive sums from Los Angeles and New York at any moment.

Without credit, however, it would be difficult to find a decent place. I would have to make some rapid arrangements. Taking a discreet pinch of ‘snuff' on my wrist, I strolled through the pleasant autumn weather to meet Röhm at the Karlsplatz. No doubt he or one of his powerful friends might be able to help. Yet underlying my pleasure in the day was a shadow of a question. Had I already been betrayed? I pushed the ideas aside. I am not by nature a suspicious man.

In compliance with Röhm's request, I had dressed ‘German' in my borrowed Crombie and Tyrolean hat with a big scarlet scarf flung over my shoulder. On the inside of my lapel was my party badge, the fashion among many middle-class Nazis.

Still something of a somnambulist, I managed to get to the big cinema at Karlsplatz. An historical extravaganza was playing as the main feature. I remember being mystified by the title,
Der Kongress tanzt (Congress Dances)
.
Would I have to endure some unfathomable expressionist film of which the Germans were so proud? I had already seen
Caligari
and the like, and while I had found
Der Golem
especially involving, I was not a great fan.

I entered the lobby at the same time as my friend in his wide-brimmed beaver hat, a loden overcoat with a tall wolfskin collar, dark glasses, the usual make-up over his scars. Today Röhm, too, wore his badge inside his lapel. Pretending to take an interest in the posters for coming presentations, he indicated I should join him in the men's urinal. As soon as we were alone, he gave me my ticket. We would go in separately, he said. I had not, he was sure, been followed.

This was surely overly cautious? But Röhm was a planner; his success was due to his ability to foresee every possible detail. So we entered the auditorium individually after the lights had dimmed. When it was safe, we joined each other in the dark of the expensive back rows. He had bought one of those boxes of chocolates they sell in foyers. He told me to eat all the dark ones. He preferred milk. He shouldn't have chocolate at all with his arthritis.

Even as we settled in our seats, the interior was slowly transformed to a glorious cathedral of multicoloured neon. There came the wafting scents of spring roses. Pretty blonde girls in traditional costume went up and down the aisles freshening the air with spray guns. Then the whole theatre vibrated to the roar of a single, massive chord. Playing selections from well-known film scores, from the lovely operettas of Strauss and Lehár, the great organ began to rise from the pit.

My Virgil seemed tense, but he was jovial enough in his passing remarks, loosening his clothing and lighting a cigarette. The back of the
Kino
was completely empty. A few couples occupied the front seats together with some solitary men, but nobody was interested in us. Unusually, Röhm smelled of spirits. I heard the swill of a bottle in his pocket.

We began as usual with a newsreel. The excitement of the current political situation, the dominance of the Nazis in the Reichstag. The need for strong government. A rally of Nationalists and their own supporters, the impressive Stahlhelm battalions. Various Nationalist politicians were prominent. There were pictures of Hindenburg and of Hitler, of von Schleicher, von Papen and various other politicians. A general milling about outside parliament. Sozis raising their clenched fists in the air. Storm Troopers giving Nazi salutes, clearly in defiance of a disapproving constabulary. Nazi deputies returning the salutes as they made their way en masse into parliament. Socialists returning the clenched fist signal. All it needed was a deputy or two making scissors with their fingers and we should have
had the entire scissors-paper-stone routine. Perhaps that was the origin of Churchill's famous V-sign?

A mixture of Nazi uniforms and conventional pinstripes. Hess and Strasser mounting the steps. Scenes inside the Reichstag. Where is Hitler? Goebbels speaking to the congress. Shots of the corner of Prinzregentenplatz. Policemen interviewed. Considerable space given to the death of the niece of ‘prominent young Munich politician' Adolf Hitler. Various other men gesticulating urgently. A general sense of tension and uncertainty. Röhm seemed horrified when, for a few moments, his gigantic uniformed image appeared on the screen. He was, of course, an increasingly well-known figure. No mention of him was made by name, but the marshalled ranks of Storm Troopers were testimony to his power.