“They wouldn’t have contacted you if they hadn’t felt they needed you,” he mused. He cleared his throat. “I expect to know about it the moment they make contact, again.”
“Understood, Herr Chancellor,” Horst said.
“And we clearly need to reshuffle everything when we move to the underground bunker,” Volker continued, after a moment. “Their spies can be reassigned elsewhere.”
“As long as it looks natural,” Horst said. He didn’t sound enthusiastic. If there were any major changes before the war actually began, his superiors might start thinking he’d tipped off the provisional government. “I’ll keep you informed.”
“And I’ll decide what you can give to them,” Volker added. “I don’t want any surprises.”
He rubbed his forehead, again. “Wait outside,” he said, addressing Horst. “I want a word with Gudrun in private.”
“Jawohl, Herr Chancellor,” Horst said.
Volker watched him go, then looked at Gudrun. He couldn’t help thinking that she looked alarmingly like a schoolgirl who had been unjustly sent to the headmaster, torn between the urge to protest and the certain knowledge that protests would be worse than useless. He shook his head, tiredly. Gudrun really was too young for any of this. She was still idealistic, in a world where the idealistic were always betrayed and abandoned. It wasn’t fair…
…But it was the way of the world.
“You should have told me about him,” he said, flatly. It was hard, very hard, not to snap at her. “I understand why you didn’t, but you should have done.”
Gudrun nodded, not meeting his eyes. “I…”
Volker cut her off. “I expect you to make sure that the only things his superiors hear are things we have already decided they should hear,” he added. He’d have to discuss the matter with Luther Stresemann and hope to hell that the Head of the Economic Intelligence Service was trustworthy. The Abwehr had more experience, but the Abwehr had worked too closely with the SS. “We don’t need more leaks.”
“No, sir,” Gudrun said, quietly.
“Good,” Volker said.
He studied her for a long moment. Her arrest – and near-death – hadn’t left any scars on her face, although her eyes were harder than he remembered. Gudrun had lost some of her innocence, back when she’d learned just what had happened to Konrad. She wasn’t the girl he’d met, not any longer. He couldn’t help wondering, deep inside, just what would have happened to her if Konrad had survived. The Reich could not have kept itself going indefinitely.
“Get some sleep,” he ordered, quietly. “And we’ll discuss the matter further in the morning.”
“I understand,” Gudrun said. “And thank you.”
Volker lifted his eyebrows. “For what?”
“For trusting him,” Gudrun said. “It means a lot to me.”
“Does it?” Volker said. He didn’t trust Horst that far, even though the young man had come clean as soon as he’d returned to the Reichstag. “You can’t trust anyone completely, Gudrun; you can’t even trust yourself. All you can do is hope, when the betrayal comes, that it won’t be fatal.”
“That’s a grim attitude,” Gudrun said, bluntly.
“It’s life,” Volker said. “Everyone has a price.”
Chapter Ten
Berlin, Germany
7 September 1985
“Is it safe out here?”
Andrew Barton shrugged. Nazi Germany had never been a safe place, even if one did have diplomatic immunity. There were quite a few horror stories about embassy staffers who’d been arrested and subjected to humiliating and degrading procedures before they’d been reluctantly released with an insincere apology. Indeed, one of the reasons that most of the staffers had rooms at the embassy itself, rather than hiring accommodation outside the building, was the prospect of being picked up by the SS and harassed for the next few hours…
And, of course, the certainty that your rooms would be bugged, he added, silently. A room in Berlin that isn’t bugged is probably used for immoral purposes.
“I wouldn’t say so, Penny,” he said. “But risk is our business.”
Penelope Jameson gave him a nasty look. She was a CIA agent, true, but she specialised in economics rather than dirty underhand spy work. Andrew wouldn’t have brought her along at all, if he hadn’t felt it would be better to pretend to be a young couple out for a stroll rather than a single young man. Berlin’s sexual values remained firmly conservative, but the uprising and the prospect of being invaded by the SS had convinced hundreds of couples that it was better to bite the bullet and get married before all hell broke loose. Apparently, even the police had started ignoring couples making out in the parks.
Andrew sighed. “There’s no more risk than usual, perhaps less,” he said. “But we can’t account for every eventuality.”
It was hard to sound reassuring. The provisional government couldn’t be trusted completely – they were Germans, after all – yet they had good reason not to want to piss off Uncle Sam. They might return a pair of wandering Americans to the embassy, but they probably wouldn’t have them humiliated, tortured or killed. Or so he hoped. It was quite possible that an SS officer would do just that, in the hopes of souring relationships between the provisional government and the United States.
He kept that thought to himself as they strolled up the road. The people who lived in this part of Berlin were amongst the richest and most powerful civilians in the Reich, a mixture of wealthy industrialists and government ministers who’d been careful to keep one hand in the till while they did their jobs. Even now, with the police having more important things to do, it was rare to see any of the hoi polloi enter the district, knowing that anyone caught there without a valid reason would be lucky if they saw freedom again. Nazi Germany’s elite wanted nothing to do with the peons, Andrew thought. The real question was just how much the peons wanted to do with – or to – them.
“Nice house,” Penelope said, as they stopped outside a pair of wrought-iron gates. “How much do you think it cost?”
“It would be priceless,” Andrew grunted. He nodded at the guard, who opened the gates and pointed towards the mansion. “Money alone would not be enough to buy this house. The buyer would need a shitload of political influence.”
He felt a stab of sympathy for the provisional government as they strolled up the driveway, trying to ignore the handful of peacocks pecking at the ground. Arthur Morgenstern was staggeringly wealthy, by the standards of the average citizen, but he wouldn’t have amassed quite so much wealth if he hadn’t had connections at all levels. And yet, even he had been at the mercy of the SS. Andrew knew that America wasn’t perfect, that his country had its flaws, but he would sooner have been a poor man in the United States than a rich man in Nazi Germany. The price for such staggering wealth was far too high.
And sorting out the mess – and building a proper economy – will take years, if they can do it at all, he thought. There are too many people who know how to work the current economy to their advantage.