To Catch a King (4 page)

“When he was serving with the British Military Mission in France in what was meant to be a dead-end job, he managed to make several tours of the Maginot Line.” Heydrich opened the file. “There is a copy here of a letter sent to the War Office by Major General Vyse. He gives details of a report by the Duke after an inspection of the French First Army and summarizes it as follows:

a. There is little attempt at concealment.

b. The revetment of the antitank ditches is weak. Other antitank obstacles do not seem to be adequate.

c. Wiring against infantry, coincides on location with antitank obstacles so that the same bombardment would destroy both.

d. Antitank crews seem insufficiently trained.

e. Work does not seem to be carried out intensively and very few troops were seen.

“You see?” Heydrich said. “Every evidence of a first-class military mind. Anyway, take it away. Go through the whole file. Get to know the man and then at least you'll know what you're talking about.”

“You wish me to take on this task?”

“I'm not certain. I'll let you know this evening. In the meantime, do me the usual departmental report. Everything Ribbentrop said. I want it all down on paper.”

When Schellenberg reached his own office he called in Frau Huber, Heydrich's confidential secretary. She was thirty-eight, a sensual, rather fleshy-looking woman with no make-up, her hair pulled back from her face in a tight bun. She was a war widow already; her husband, a Sturmscharführer in the Leibstandarts SS Division, had been killed during the French campaign. In her simple white blouse and skirt, she was surprisingly attractive.

Schellenberg quickly dictated an account of his meeting with Ribbentrop. “As soon as possible, please.”

She went out and he opened the Windsor file and started to work his way through it. It didn't take long, just under half an hour. As he finished, Frau Huber returned with the completed report. He checked it over and signed it.

“The usual copies?” she asked.

“Yes, one for the Reichsführer, one for me, and one for the file.”

She went out. He sat there frowning for a moment, then picked up the phone and asked for Admiral Canaris at Abwehr Headquarters on the Tirpitz Ufer.

The Admiral, it seemed, was not available. Schellenberg smiled. That probably meant that, as it was Thursday afternoon, Canaris would be riding in the Tiergarten. He picked up the telephone, ordered a car, and left quickly.

When Frau Huber went into the copying room, there was only a middle-aged woman on duty who was unfamiliar to her.

“Who are you?” she demanded.

“Irene Neumann. I usually work in Central Office.”

“I see. Run this through the machine now. Three copies. One for the boss, one for General Schellenberg, and one for me. I'll wait.”

The other woman set the machine up quickly.
For your eyes only
—
most secret.
She took in that much and then the phrase
Duke of Windsor
seemed to jump right out at her.

Frau Huber lit a cigarette and paced about the room restlessly. “Hurry up, for God's sake.”

As the machine started, the phone rang in her office and she hurried to answer it. It was a routine matter taking only three or four minutes to handle. As she finished writing a memo, there was a nervous cough and she turned and found Irene Neumann standing there.

“Three copies, you said, Frau Huber?”

“All right. Put them on the desk.”

The other woman did as she was told and went out. Back in the copying room she closed the door carefully, then opened a drawer and took out the extra copy of the Windsor report that she had made. She folded it carefully, raised her skirt, and slipped it inside the top of her stocking.

A moment later, the door opened and a young woman in SS Auxiliary uniform entered. “Have you been busy?”

“Not particularly.”

“Good. You can go now.”

She started to unbutton her uniform jacket and Irene Neumann took down her coat from behind the door and left.

Admiral Wilhelm Canaris was fifty-two. A U-boat commander of distinction during the First World War, he was now head of the Abwehr, the Intelligence Department of the German Armed Forces High Command. Although a loyal German, like many of the officer class, he loathed most aspects of the Nazi regime, an attitude that was to lead to his downfall and execution toward the end of the war.

Schellenberg was on close personal terms with him and they frequently rode together in the Tiergarten. As he waited beside his car, he could see the Admiral now, cantering along the ride between the trees followed by his two favorite dachshunds, who were obviously experiencing some difficulty in keeping up with him. He saw Schellenberg when still some little distance away, waved, and turned toward him.

He reined in and dismounted. “Business, Walter, or conversation?”

“Interchangeable, I usually find.” Schellenberg called to his driver, “Come and hold the Herr Admiral's horse.”

They walked among the trees, the dachshunds waddling at their heels.

“How goes the war then, Walter? From your point of view, of course.”

“Well, Herr Admiral, I think we could agree on that.”

“And Sea Lion?”

“Only the Führer has the facts there.”

“And expects the British to sue for peace any day. Do you think they will?”

“Not really.”

“Neither do I. Not with the Channel to cross. And they always do so damned well with their backs to the wall. You heard the gist of Churchill's speech? Fight on the beaches, in the streets. Blood, sweat, tears.”

“There's still the Luftwaffe to come.”

“I know,” Canaris said scornfully. “Fat Hermann boasting again. Reduce London to ashes, bomb them into submission. Wasn't that what he was supposed to do to the British Army at Dunkirk? Instead, the Luftwaffe got all hell knocked out of it by a handful of Spitfires.”

His face was stiff with anger, and Schellenberg watched him closely. He genuinely liked Canaris; admired him as a man. On the other hand, the Admiral was undoubtedly indiscreet. He was already suspected by Heydrich and Himmler, as Schellenberg well knew, of having leaked the date of the attack in the West to the Allies, which if it was true, had certainly done them little good.

“Well, what is it, Walter? What do you wish to discuss? I know that devious mind of yours by now. Spit it out.”

“I was wondering,” Schellenberg said, “whether you had an opinion on the Duke of Windsor.”

Canaris roared with laughter. “Has Ribbentrop dropped that one in your lap? My God, he really does have it in for you, doesn't he?”

“You know all about it then?”

“Of course I do. He approached me yesterday. He knows we have an organization in Lisbon. He seemed to think we could handle the whole affair.”

“And why don't you?”

“Our man there is a German industrialist who operates under the cover of a flourishing import-export business. In Abwehr files he is called A-1416.”

“Yes, I met him when I was last in Lisbon.”

“The British Secret Service know him, I believe, as Hamlet.”

“A double agent? Then why don't you have him eliminated?”

“Because he serves my purposes. Feeds them the kind of information I want them to have on occasion. It's a we-know-that-you-know-that-we-know-that-you-know situation. Needless to say I couldn't possibly give him the Windsor affair. He'd put the British straight onto it.”

“And is that your only reason?”

“No—I think the whole thing a nonsense. A number of incidents concerning the Duke have been hopelessly misconstrued. To give you an example: a speech he made some years ago at a British Legion Rally suggesting that the time had come for British veterans of the First World War to hold out the hand of comradeship to German veterans, is taken by some of the more fatuous among our leaders to be an indication of his approval of National Socialism. Wishful thinking. I also believe the Führer mistaken in seeing in the Duke's tour of our country in nineteen thirty-seven any evidence of similar approval. May I remind you that a distinguished list of world leaders has visited the Reich. Does that make them all incipient Nazis?”

“So—your opinion of the Duke is that he wouldn't have the slightest interest in our overtures?”

“He has a considerable amount of German blood in him, he speaks our language fluently, and I believe he likes us. But it is my opinion, for what it's worth, that this liking does not extend to the Nazi Party. There, have I shocked you?”

“Not at all, Herr Admiral. I asked for your opinion and you have been good enough to give it to me. I shall respect the confidence.”

They started back toward the car. Canaris said, “My final word. Examine the Duke's record in the First World War. Gallant in the extreme. In spite of his father's orders that he was to be kept out of action when on the Western Front, he loved nothing better than being with the Tommies, which was why they knew him and came to love him. A basic reason for his extraordinary popularity. He always made straight for the trenches. Did you know that his aides once made an official complaint? They said it was all right for him, but the trouble was they had to follow him into the shellfire too.”

“Now that I like,” Schellenberg said. “That tells me more about the man than anything.”

“Walter, in this matter, the Führer is hopelessly wasting his time. Here is a man who renounced a throne rather than betray the woman he loved. Do you really imagine that such a man could betray his country?”

At Estoril, in the pink stucco villa above the sea, the Duchess of Windsor sat beside the swimming pool. She was reading
Wuthering Heights,
one of her favorite novels, and was so absorbed in the action that she was not immediately aware that the Duke had emerged from the house onto the terrace and was standing beside her.

She glanced up and removed her sunglasses. “Why, David, you startled me.”

“What are you reading?”

“Wuthering Heights.”

“Good God, that Bronte woman again. How many times is that?”

“It's like an old friend. Extremely comforting in times of travail.”

He sat down in the deck chair opposite, and she reached for the glass jug on the tray.

“Lemonade?”

“I could do with something a little stiffer, but why not?”

“Nonsense, David, you know you never drink before seven o'clock. What's happened?”

She reached across the table and took his hand. He forced a smile. “You always know, don't you, Wallis? I've had a telegram from Winston. He's finally found me a job. Governor of the Bahamas. Nicely tucked away three thousand miles from the action.”

“Will you take it?”

“I'll have to. I won't have them push us into a bottom drawer. It must be the two of us together. Man and wife with the same position. They don't seem to be willing to offer us that in England. So, the Bahamas it is.”

“My dear David,” she said. “There's a war on, and I'm sure the question of my position doesn't loom very large on the agenda.”

“But it does with me, Wallis, don't you see? I can never alter on that score.” He shrugged. “It hurts a little, that's all, that they can't find anything of more importance for me to do.”

He got up and walked to the terrace and stood there gazing out to sea. As she watched him, the sense of waste was so overwhelming that she had to fight to hold back the tears.

4

S
chellenberg was back in his office within half an hour. As he was taking off his coat Frau Huber entered. She was considerably agitated.

“We've been looking for you everywhere. You didn't give any indication of where you'd gone. General Heydrich is very angry.”

Schellenberg said calmly, “I thought he knew every move I made before I did. Where is he now?”

“With Reichsführer Himmler. I phoned through the moment you came in. They're waiting for you.”

She was trembling a little, for she liked Schellenberg more than she dared to admit, for some strange reason admired the fact that nothing seemed to matter to him.

“Calm yourself, Ilse.” He kissed her gently on the mouth. “I'll manage. Not just because I'm cleverer than they are, which I am, but because I don't take it seriously. I'll be back for coffee within the hour; you'll see.”

* * *

When he was ushered into the ornate office on the first floor at Prinz Albrechtstrasse, he found Himmler seated behind a large desk, a stack of files in front of him, a surprisingly nondescript figure in a gray tweed suit. The face behind the silver pince-nez was cold and impersonal and it was difficult to imagine what went on behind those expressionless eyes. In many ways a strangely timid man who could be kind to his subordinates, loved animals, and was devoted to his children and yet a monster, responsible for almost all of the terror and repression that the Reich visited on its victims.

Heydrich was standing by the window, and he turned, his face angry. “Where on earth have you been, Walter?”

Before Schellenberg could reply, one of the several telephones rang. Himmler answered it, listening for a few moments, then said, “Insert in the appropriate file,” and replaced the receiver.

He removed his pince-nez and rubbed a finger between his eyes, an habitual gesture. “So, General, your conversation in the Tiergarten with the Herr Admiral Canaris was interesting?”

“So that's where you've been?” Heydrich said. “Playing cat and mouse with that old fool again? I gave you a certain task, Walter, as you well know.”

“Which I was following through.”

Himmler said, “The Windsor affair, I presume? You may talk freely. General Heydrich and I are as one in this matter.”

“Very well,” Schellenberg said. “I made out a report of my meeting with Foreign Minister Ribbentrop as you suggested.”

“Yes, I've already received it,” Heydrich said impatiently.

“Then I worked my way through the Windsor file to form an opinion in the matter.”

“And?”

“It was not enough,” Schellenberg said. “It occurred to me that it would be a good idea to sound Admiral Canaris on the matter. I happen to know that most Thursday afternoons he goes riding, so I went to the Tiergarten and found him there.”