To Catch a King (13 page)

Schellenberg laughed out loud. “And do you seriously expect him to believe it?”

“I have it from Reichsminister von Ribbentrop himself,” Von Stohrer said stiffly. “A report from a Swiss informant who has had for many years the closest of contacts with the British Secret Service.”

“The Marques will return tomorrow with details of the hunting trip, the date and so on,” Serrano Suner said. “These will be communicated at once to Huene at our Portuguese Legation who will, in turn, pass them on to you.”

A manservant appeared through the French windows and bowed. “Berlin on the telephone, Excellency.”

“Excuse me, gentlemen. I'll be back in a minute.”

Von Stohrer went out and Serrano Suner offered Schellenberg a cigarette. “You looked skeptical, General, about this report from the Swiss agent concerning the British Secret Service and their designs on the Duke.”

“One of the problems of intelligence work is to sift the truth from the lies,” Schellenberg said. “Or what is even more difficult, to learn to recognize the distortions so that you can at least extract what little truth there is available.”

“You think the Swiss may be lying?”

“There are men like him in every capital in Europe. I can see him now, sitting in the corner of some café in Geneva with a bottle at his elbow, wondering what story to satisfy his masters with this week.”

The Spanish Foreign Minister said, “General Schellenberg, I know your reputation, which in your line of work is legendary, so I will be frank with you. We are anxious, here in Madrid, to see a successful conclusion to this Windsor affair for one reason only—to accommodate the German government.”

“And why would this be important at this time?” Schellenberg said. He could guess why, but preferred having the cards on the table.

“The Führer would like nothing better than for Spain to enter the war on the side of Germany. He feels very much that we owe him this if only because our triumph against the forces of Communism in the Civil War was largely due to the massive military aid we received from the Reich.”

“But there is more to it than that?”

“Yes. At the moment Britain is still supreme in one respect—her navy. Our entry into the war would give Germany Gibraltar and strike the most crushing blow against the British Navy possible by denying entry to the Mediterranean.”

“In return, what would General Franco require?”

“Arms, petrol, manufactured goods that are in short supply here because of the devastation of the Civil War. Also the French colonies in North Africa, particularly Morocco and Western Algeria. You understand the situation now?”

“Perfectly,” Schellenberg told him. “General Franco is willing to enter the war on our side, but only after Operation Sea Lion has been concluded with the successful occupation of England. His need is to keep present discussions as drawn out as possible until that happy event is concluded. In the meantime, the abduction of the Duke of Windsor, in accord with the Führer's wishes, serves to show that the General's heart is in the right place, thus keeping everyone happy.”

Serrano Suner smiled broadly. “I couldn't have put it better myself. I see that we understand each other and, to be honest, I think that abduction will be necessary. I do not believe His Royal Highness would come willingly.”

“Have you any special reason for believing that?”

“Yes, I think so. When the Duke and Duchess were here in Madrid recently, they had dinner at the Ritz with Dona Sol, the sister of the Duke of Alba. On their arrival she gave them the fascist salute. It caused something of a stir because the Duke made it quite clear that he didn't like it one little bit.”

“I see.”

“On another occasion, he dined with the Infante Alfonso, his cousin by marriage, who had fought in the Civil War and made a great deal of German military might. In fact, made it clear that he thought Britain finished.”

“And what was the Duke's reaction?”

“He became quite incensed. Asked the Infante if he'd never heard of the English Channel.” Serrano Suñer shrugged. “You may not think these things of great importance, but to me they indicate an attitude of mind in the Duke that is anything but favorable to your cause.”

Von Stohrer returned. “That was Reichsminister von Ribbentrop himself on the telephone from Berlin, gentlemen. I reported your safe arrival, Schellenberg. He trusts that you will carry on to Lisbon with all speed.”

Schellenberg glanced at his watch and saw that it was almost two o'clock. “Yes, indeed. I really must get moving. The pilot was told to be ready to take off at two.”

“I'll see you out,” Von Stohrer said.

“No need. You still have much to discuss, I'm sure. I'll be in touch at the earliest possible moment, naturally.”

* * *

It hadn't gone too badly, he told himself as he went out. He certainly knew more than when he went in. The Great Game, some English intelligence chief during the nineteenth century had once called it, and what a game. Walking the razor's edge of danger. How many years of his life had he lived like that?

And to come so close to throwing it all away for the sake of a girl he hardly knew. Who most certainly despised everything he stood for. That black humor that was so often his saving grace brought a cynical smile to his lips.

“Ah, Walter,” he said softly. “Three Hail Marys and two Our Fathers for the sin of pride. The erratic impulse to constantly try and do the decent thing that keeps breaking through will really be the death of you one of these days.”

When he went out to the courtyard there was no sign of Kleiber and Sindermann or the Embassy car. The porter emerged from the lodge.

“Can I be of service, General?”

“Sturmbannführer Kleiber. Have you seen any sign of him?”

“He hasn't returned yet. His driver did phone in some time ago to say they were at the Club Flamenco. Apparently the Sturmbannführer is waiting for someone.

Schellenberg cursed softly. “Get me a car,” he said. “And make it quick.”

When Connie and the boys entered the Club Flamenco, the place was deserted. No sign of anyone, not even the caretaker, but Billy Joe's guitar and double bass were arranged neatly on the small stage beside Harry Gray's drums.

“Hey, somebody unpacked for us,” Billy Joe said. “I call that real friendly.”

The curtain behind the stage parted and Kleiber stepped through. “That was me. I admire order; in all things.”

Sindermann moved around from behind the door, blocking the way to the outside. Connie glanced over his shoulder at him, then back to Kleiber.

“What is this?”

“I'll tell you,” Kleiber said. “I have a feeling you've been playing games with me, you black ape. I think you know where Hannah Winter is. I think she may even be here.”

“We're not in Naziland now,” Connie said. “Why don't you go fuck yourself?”

Sindermann moved in very fast and punched him in the spine, putting Connie on his knees.

“Expensive this, eh?” Kleiber indicated the double bass.

He stamped hard, snapping it in two, then put his foot through the large drum. Billy Joe and Harry cried out in anger and started forward, and he drew a Luger from his coat pocket to menace them.

“Come on. Try it. I'd like nothing better than a chance to rid the world of such vermin.”

They stayed where they were, crouched, watching, and he called to Sindermann, “Make him talk, Gunter.”

Connie was still on his knees, and Sindermann moved in and kicked him at the base of the spine.

Connie fell flat on his face, and Sindermann picked him up and threw him casually against the bar.

He was enjoying himself now, and he flexed his huge arms slowly, then moved close and hoisted Connie across the bar.

“Speak up, ape,” he said softly, rubbing himself against Connie, leaning hard. “You like that, don't you,” he whispered in his ear, the excitement rising in him.

“He plays the piano for a living, Gunter. How would he manage without a few fingers?”

Connie was half-unconscious. Sindermann grinned and, holding the Negro's right hand flat on the bar, leaned across and took a full bottle of brandy from the shelf, gripping it by the neck.

He had raised it like a hammer poised to strike when a quiet voice said, “Enough, Sindermann. Now let him go.”

Sindermann turned his head slowly. His face was bathed with sweat, and there was a vacant look in his eyes.

Kleiber said, “General, these men have information of the greatest importance.”

“These men, as you term them, are American citizens in a neutral country, and you, Kleiber, are promoting an incident which in the international press could do the Reich nothing but harm.”

“General Schellenberg, I must protest.”

“Get your feet together when you speak to me, Sturmbannführer, and put that gun away.”

Kleiber did as he was told; slowly, but he did it. “You want to play games, we'll play games,” Schellenberg said. “You swore an oath on joining the SS, am I right? A holy oath. Repeat it now.”

Kleiber stared rigidly ahead as he spoke. “I swear to you Adolf Hitler as Führer and Chancellor of the German Reich, loyalty and courage. I vow to you and the superiors appointed by you, obedience unto death, so help me God.”

“You would agree that I am your superior officer, appointed by the Führer?”

“Yes, Brigadeführer.”

“So, remember in future, you do as you're told.” His voice was very cold now. “If I ask you a question, you will answer,
Jawohl Brigadeführer.
If I give you an order, it's heels together and
Zu Befehl, Brigadeführer.
Do you understand?

“Jawohl, Brigadeführer.”

“Good.” Schellenberg turned to Sindermann. “Put him down and stand to attention.”

But Sindermann had gone beyond the point of reason now. “No!” he said.

“I could shoot you,” Schellenberg told him. “But we haven't got much time, so I'll content myself with teaching you a lesson instead. When I look at you, you fill me with disgust. What are you, after all? About 250 pounds of bone and muscle. Brute force, and what good is that with a mind the size of a pea?”

Sindermann dropped Connie and charged, arms raised to destroy. Schellenberg pivoted to one side and delivered a left to Sindermann's kidneys as he lurched past. Sindermann fell to one knee, and Schellenberg picked up a chair and smashed it across his back. Then he stood and waited.

As Sindermann got up and swung a wild punch, Schellenberg sank a left under his ribs, followed by a right hook that landed on the cheek, splitting flesh.

“I'm afraid I haven't been honest with you, Sturmscharführer. When I was first asked to join the SS, I pointed out that I wasn't a particularly physical specimen. But that didn't matter, my superiors said. It was my intelligence they were after, something you would know nothing about. Learning how to fight is easy, you can teach anyone.”

He punched Sindermann in the face again and kicked him under the right kneecap. “Especially how to fight dirty.”

Sindermann went down and stayed on his knees, sobbing. Schellenberg said, “Next time, I kill you. Understand?”

Sindermann's voice was low, but his reply was quite clear. “Jawohl, Brigadeführer.”

“Good.” Schellenberg turned to Kleiber. “Get the driver to give you a hand with him to the car and let's get moving. The pilot will be wondering what's happened.”

Kleiber did as he was told. Billy Joe had Connie in a chair at one of the tables and Harry brought brandy from the bar.

“He may need a doctor,” Schellenberg said. “He could have cracked a couple of ribs.”

Billy Joe shook his head. “Man, I can't figure you out, but thanks anyway.”

Kleiber and the driver had assisted Sindermann out between them, and Schellenberg started toward the door. He paused and turned to face them.

“Just for the record, a matter of personal interest entirely. She did make it? She is on her way to Lisbon? Am I right?”

Connie opened his mouth and said hoarsely, “General, why don't you …”

Schellenberg smiled. “Thank you, Mister Jones, for answering my question.”

The door closed softly behind him.

9

T
he Duke of Windsor had been closeted with the British Ambassador, Sir Walford Selby, for more than an hour, and the Duchess was in the lower garden cutting roses when he found her. She knew that telegrams had been flying back and forth between her husband and Winston Churchill for some days now. He had even sent Major Gray Phillips of the Black Watch, who had been acting as their household comptroller, to London to speak personally for him to the Prime Minister, in the hope that a more important post might be found.

“How did it go, David?”

“Not so good. Winston's latest message seems quite final. So, the Bahamas it is.”

“I see. Well, if we must go, we must go, I suppose.”

There was a call and their host, Dr. Ricardo de Espirito Santo é Silva, leaned over the balustrade.

“Your Royal Highness has a visitor. The Marques de Estella. I've put him in the library.”

“You go, David,” she said. “I still need a few more flowers. I'll see you on the terrace for tea.”

She sat beside the pool for almost an hour, and there was still no sign of the Duke and Primo de Rivera. Finally, she heard voices in the courtyard at the other end of the terrace. When she went and looked over she was just in time to see De Rivera getting into his car. The Duke waved goodbye and came up the steps.

“What happened?” she demanded.

“Oh, he has some evening function at the Spanish Embassy tonight. Had to get off. Sent his apologies.” They walked along the terrace, his arm around her shoulder. “You know, Wallis, this whole business is beginning to assume rather farcical elements.”

As they sat down a manservant brought fresh tea. “What do you mean?”

“I hear from De Rivera that the wicked British Secret Service would like to get their hands on me, according to Madrid society gossip at the moment.”

“Oh, David, what nonsense.”

“Well, the logic behind it is really quite simple. It's common knowledge I'm not too happy about the Bahamas appointment, and many people seem to think it a distinct possibility that I might refuse to go. Stay here in Portugal or Spain instead. Now, that wouldn't look too good from the British government's point of view.”