It might be better to target the fire engines next, she thought, as she watched more police cars racing past. And make it harder for them to put out any other fires.
She glanced behind her – the inferno was still blazing, a towering pillar of flame rising into the air – and then smiled. It wasn’t much – four men, a single armoured car and a shitload of supplies – but it would hurt the rebels. Now the city was under siege, they would have no hope of replacing the destroyed supplies before the Waffen-SS attacked. And they would have to cover the other warehouses by drawing men from the front lines.
“A good day’s work,” she said, as they reached the hideout. “Get undressed, then get into bed and catch some sleep.”
She smirked as she walked into the bedroom and started to undress. As far as anyone knew, they were a family that had remained in Berlin since the uprising – and they had the papers to prove it. Katherine had expected to have to infiltrate London or Washington – she could pass for either British or American, at a pinch – but slipping into Berlin and operating within the city had been almost disconcertingly easy. Her instructors had told her never to break cover, never to do anything that might reveal her true nature… and yet, Berlin was hardly a challenge.
Don’t get complacent, she reminded herself, sternly. If they search this place, our cover will be thoroughly blown.
Closing her eyes, she went to sleep.
“Six men dead,” Herman said, tartly. “One armoured car destroyed. Half the supplies in the warehouse burned to a crisp and the rest probably of dubious value.”
He scowled at the mess in front of him. The warehouse was a blackened shell, the walls caved in and the steel girders looking as if they were on the verge of collapsing into a pile of debris. A hundred firemen had worked desperately to salvage what they could, but there just hadn’t been the time to get everything out of the building. He had no idea what sort of chemicals the strike team had used, yet – whatever it was – it had burned hot enough to set fire to almost everything in the building.
“A very basic strike team,” Horst commented. “Why weren’t there more guards in place?”
Herman felt his anger deepen. “Where would you have us leave undefended,” he snapped, “so we can cover a single building?”
Horst showed no visible reaction to his words. The former SS agent had been oddly distracted, when he’d met with Herman to discuss the ongoing investigation; Herman would have bet good money that it had something to do with Gudrun. And yet, he didn’t have the time to worry about it. Losing so much food would cause panic all over the city, once it sank in that rations – already small – would have to be reduced still further. Starvation – or the threat of starvation – might be enough to set off a riot that would tear Berlin apart.
“There just isn’t the manpower to cover everywhere,” Herman added, tartly. “It isn’t as if we can pull troops off the wall.”
“We might have to,” Horst said. “Taking out the food supplies… it’s always been part of the SS commando doctrine.”
Herman sneered. “Know a few commandos, do you?”
“I did,” Horst said. He sounded oddly nostalgic for a long moment. “They were the sort of men who would think nothing of crawling for hours, just to get to a target, then poisoning the wells.”
He swore. “We need to keep a careful watch on the water supplies and power stations too,” he added. “They’ll come under attack soon.”
Herman cursed. He’d gone without food for a couple of days, during his military service, but humans couldn’t live long without water. Three days, his instructors had said, if the person going without was in reasonably good health. The old and the young would need water far more frequently… the thought of being without water was definitely enough to spark off more riots. If the SS managed to cut or reduce the water supplies, Berlin was doomed.
He took one last look at the ruined warehouse, then glanced up in alarm as he heard an aircraft flying over the city. These days, with the Luftwaffe badly weakened, it was a dead certainty that it wouldn’t be friendly. The SS bombing raids were pinpricks, compared to the sheer immensity of the largest city in the world, but they did some damage and wore down morale. He couldn’t blame the civilians for slowly losing their cool under the constant sniping, shelling and bombing.
“We need to go back to the Reichstag,” he said. “And see if we can speed up the detective work.”
“I would be surprised if we cracked their cover so quickly,” Horst admitted, as they headed for the car. “They’ll have been trained for far more unfriendly places.”
“We have to try,” Herman said. He’d need to put forward recommendations, too. Random searches would annoy the population, but they might just uncover something of value. At the very least, it would warn the SS cell that they might have to be prepared to move at any moment. “Who knows? Maybe their cover will be too perfect.”
Horst snorted, sitting back in his chair. “Their papers will be perfect because they’ll have come from the official producer,” he said. “There won’t be any obvious forgeries to find.”
Herman smiled. “You mean, like yours?”
“I passed the entry exams for the university,” Horst said, flatly. “There was no fakery.”
Herman was reluctant to admit it, but he was impressed. Gudrun had almost worked herself into a coma, preparing for the exams. He’d even seriously considered withdrawing permission for her to attend the university when he’d realised it was affecting her health, unlike the exams he and the boys had taken when they’d left school. And yet, he knew she had done well. He wished, suddenly, that he’d told her just how proud he was… back before she’d turned into a politician. It might not have been traditional for a girl to go to university – it made it harder for her to find a husband – but he’d been proud of her. Those exams had been nightmarishly hard.
And that means that Horst is smarter than he looks, he reminded himself. He couldn’t have passed for a student if he wasn’t.
Horst leaned forward and closed the partition, ensuring that the driver couldn’t eavesdrop on them. “Herr Wieland,” he said, formally. “I have a question.”
Herman kept his amusement off his face. He had a feeling he knew precisely where this was going. But he merely nodded, inviting Horst to continue. There was nothing to be gained by making life too easy for the younger man.
“I would like to marry your daughter,” Horst said, after a moment. He sounded nervous, too nervous. Herman found himself torn between amusement and concern. “I… I believe I could make her happy.”
Herman considered it, carefully. He knew that Horst and Gudrun had some kind of relationship, if only because he wasn’t blind. They inclined towards each other, particularly when they thought they weren’t being watched. They’d been careful, he had to admit, but nowhere near careful enough to conceal the truth from him. And, even a mere year ago, it would have been cause for a number of pointed questions.
And yet, the thought bothered him. Gudrun was hardly his youngest child, but she was his only daughter. Putting her into the hands of an unworthy man would torment him for the rest of his life, if the marriage went sour. Divorce was almost unheard of in the Reich, if there were children. He’d been called out to far too many domestic battlegrounds where the husband had beaten the wife, or the wife – desperate and unable to escape – had mortally wounded the husband. He was damned if he would allow Gudrun to remain in such a household…