“I see,” Schwarzkopf said. “And you heard nothing through pillow talk?”
Horst felt his cheeks turn red. “We don’t talk about the war when we are in bed,” he said, trying not to sound embarrassed. If Schwarzkopf suspected he had actual feelings for Gudrun, he’d be in deep shit. “We spend most of it trying to forget the war.”
“Pump her, gently,” Schwarzkopf ordered. “We need to know precisely what is going on.”
“Jawohl,” Horst said. What did Schwarzkopf know? There was no way, short of catching and interrogating the traitor, to find out. “But if I ask too bluntly, Mein Herr, she may suspect something.”
“It is natural for a man to want to know what his woman is doing, is it not?” Schwarzkopf asked. He snorted, rudely. “Use your best judgement, but get us some answers.”
“Jawohl,” Horst said, again.
He sighed, inwardly. If Schwarzkopf was only guessing – or had only second or third-hand hints – he would be able to lie. But if Schwarzkopf knew more than he admitted, a lie could prove fatal. Unless, of course, he was able to convince Schwarzkopf that Gudrun had lied to him. And yet, even that would be too much for the man to swallow. He’d suspect that Horst was losing his touch, if he didn’t already suspect it. Horst had fumbled the ball once already, as far as Schwarzkopf was concerned.
“Now,” Schwarzkopf said. “What other developments have there been?”
“More and more refugees are pouring into Berlin,” Horst said. “The provisional government has been trying to shift them westwards, but there’s a shortage of food and drink, as well as towns and cities willing to take refugees. I think the council is considering drastic measures, yet they’re worried about triggering off another civil war.”
“A civil war within the civil war,” Schwarzkopf said. He smirked, openly. “That’s the price one pays for not having a strong government.”
Horst was tempted to agree. Western cities weren’t so keen on suddenly finding themselves responsible for hundreds of thousands of refugees, even if they were fellow Germans. And the provisional government didn’t have the naked power to compel them to support the refugees. It didn’t help that the military was trying desperately to shift forces eastwards, making it harder to control the growing refugee problem. He doubted it would end well.
“Quite,” he said, flatly.
He paused. “Is there any other way I can be of assistance?”
“Not as yet,” Schwarzkopf said. “We just want your intelligence from the Reichstag.”
“I obey, Mein Herr,” Horst said.
He had to fight to keep his face under control. There were over a hundred servants in the Reichstag, not counting the guards or personnel assistants. One of them – perhaps more than one – was reporting to the SS, but who? An extensive, if covert background investigation had turned up nothing suspicious. But then, he would have been disappointed in the SS if it had.
And now we have a second traitor, someone very highly placed, he thought. And it has to be one of the older councillors.
He considered it briefly. Gudrun and Schulze were obviously out – Voss too, given that the Field Marshal was in an excellent position to seize control of the city and surrender before he could be lynched. But after that… Kruger was unlikely, Horst had to admit, but all of the others had to be considered suspects. And they all had thousands of others under their control. Investigating them all was going to be a nightmare.
“There is a mirror in your bedroom,” Schwarzkopf said, suddenly. “Isn’t there?”
“Yes, Mein Herr,” Horst said. “It hangs on my wall.”
The question made him smile. He wondered if Schwarzkopf had ever sneaked into the Reichstag himself, then dismissed the thought as absurd. Dreary tradecraft might be tedious – nothing like the books depicting heroic SS operatives – but it kept its practitioners alive. He doubted that Schwarzkopf would take the risk, even if he had the nerve. Unless Schwarzkopf wasn’t the highest-ranking SS officer still in Berlin…
And we have at least one female commando out there, he reminded himself. She is very likely to be extremely dangerous.
“We want you to keep track of your girlfriend’s schedule,” Schwarzkopf said. “Write down her plan for the day, then place the papers behind the mirror. They will be collected.”
“The schedule is rarely set in stone,” Horst said. He was careful not to mention that it had been his idea. If Gudrun refused to allow herself to be surrounded by armed guards, she could at least keep her movements unpredictable. “I don’t always know where we are going.”
“Then you will do your best to find out,” Schwarzkopf said. He leaned forward, his eyes glinting with menacing light. “I don’t think I have to remind you that you are already in disgrace. This whole disaster could have been nipped in the bud if you’d done your job.”
And if you knew just how true that actually was, Horst thought, you’d have killed me by now.
“You are required to prove your loyalty to the Reich,” Schwarzkopf continued. “And if that means leading your girlfriend into a trap, that is what you will do.”
He leaned back, then shrugged. “Remain here for ten minutes,” he ordered. “And then slip back to her bed.”
Horst fought down the temptation to punch Schwarzkopf – or shoot him in the back – as the SS officer turned and strode into the darkness. Another aircraft buzzed over Berlin, the sound moving from east to west… a bomber then, Horst decided, or a recon plane. But then, who would bother sending a recon plane over in darkness? Unless someone was parachuting men into the city… it was certainly possible.
He forced himself to remain calm as he waited, keeping an eye on his watch. There was no way to be sure if someone was watching him or not, but he could feel unseen eyes keeping an eye on him. And there was no shortage of cover. A sniper could be lurking nearby, watching him through a scope; he’d be ready to shoot Horst if he left a minute early. Or it could just be a bluff, his own imagination doing the rest.
No way to be sure, he told himself. Perhaps, in hindsight, he should have joined the Waffen-SS instead. It wouldn’t have been hard to flub the tests he’d been given when he first applied to join. And the bastard knows it.
Gudrun rubbed her tired eyes as she looked at Horst. “We have another spy?”
“Probably,” Horst said. “Schwarzkopf asked about American contacts.”
Volker Schulze looked doubtful. “They might have noticed the American visiting the Reichstag,” he said. “But that doesn’t mean we’ve made a deal with them.”
“There’s no way to be sure,” Horst said. “But if there is a very high-ranking spy…”
Gudrun fought down the urge to curse, wishing that she was alone. Volker Schulze was bad enough, but her father – sitting next to her – was a silent reminder of propriety. God alone knew what he’d say if she gave Horst a hug, let alone a kiss. She almost giggled at the thought. Technically, she outranked him… and yet she was still his daughter. Who knew which of them was really in charge?