Joseph scanned over his huge oak desk; which over the years evolved into a shrine paying tribute to his past. Papers from his studies of literature and philosophy at the universities of Bonn, Würzburg, and Freiburg were neatly stacked in the upper left hand corner. On the right, his leather bound doctorial thesis written while attending Heidelberg University on a minor 19th century romantic dramatist, Wilhelm von Schütz, his favorite writer.
While taking off his metal brace and special shoe, his eyes moved from the old college papers to the clock. Exactly two o’clock in the morning.
A blonde, voluptuous secretary opened his huge office door looking as fresh as when she arrived at work at nine o’clock yesterday morning. She spoke just as the clock began to chime.
“More vodka, Herr Minister?” Bettina asks noticing his empty glass.
“Ja, danke.” His eyes focus on his secretary’s cleavage as she leans over to pour one of the many bottles sent by colleagues now looting Poland. Every inch of her behind swaying as she walks away from his desk is focused on as the bottle returns to its proper shelf.
Goebbels’ official work had ended well over an hour ago, but it was his custom to review the day’s work – and Bettina – before actually leaving.
When the Führer returns to Berlin tomorrow, he too would be pleased. As with many of Magda’s previous ideas, this one touched and manipulated the mystical need affecting many of those within the upper echelons of the Nazi party.
Goebbels learned as far back as 1927 that Hitler was easily excited over any metaphysical form of control, be it over an individual or the masses – and especially if those affected were unaware they were being manipulated.
Based in this form of black magic, Magda’s idea would assist the German High Command’s plan against one of the Führer’s most hated enemies: the French. Ironically, her scheme to use a famous Frenchman to work against his own people could be applied for both propaganda and a military advantage. The Frenchman she found was France’s famed seer & prophet: Nostradamus.
“Adolf will love it!” Joseph remembered his wife laughing.
“I’m sure he will.” Goebbels replied, but secretly wondered: When Magda used the word ‘love’ and ‘Adolf’ in the same sentence, was this expressing a repressed love for Hitler?
Immediately attracted to Hitler when she joined the Nazi party in September of 1930, Magda soon learned Hitler adamantly intended to remain single. Adolf Hitler only revealed to three people of his vow never to become involved with a divorcee, especially one with a child. Magda had both.
While highly cultured at society functions, gossip circulated all over Berlin over her infidelity. Several verified a story while touring America with her first husband, Günther Quandt, Magda had an affair with the nephew of President Hoover. These rumors strengthened when Van Ness Hoover Leavitt came to Germany to visit and propose marriage after Magda divorced. The relationship with the celebrity American ended when they were involved in an automobile crash together in which Magda was seriously injured. It was never clear how this tragedy caused them to drift apart.
Hitler, despite all the hints of scandal, was deeply impressed with Magda and wanted her to be the wife of a highly visible Nazi official. Her high social connections were of great value and the upper class air of mannerisms gave the Nazi party validity in these circles. Magda was to be, as the Führer put it, the “First Lady of the Third Reich”.
Goebbels looked at the clock. 2:17 am. Should he go home to his wife tonight?
The interior of the Hotel Esplanade was covered in symbols and colors of the Netherlands for the annual Hollandisher Ball. Business, cultural, diplomatic, and most other types of relationships between Germany and Holland were fairly profitable in 1932, so the food, festivities, and guest list were expanded to reflect the good fortune between two neighbors both of whom were struggling in the mist of a world depression.
“…and where is your wonderful cousin?” Ludwig von Wohl asked, looking around the spacious ballroom. “You did pack her up and bring her, didn’t you?”
“Of course, of course,” Prince Heinrich answered in a short controlled laugh. Von Wohl knew how to play up to Heinrich’s ego by making it appear the Prince was in charge of the ball and his failed marriage.
Besides having a jovial sense of humor in a desert of stiffness and pomp, Von Wohl’s talent for making the Prince feel important formed much of the basis for their relationship.
“Ahhhh, look who has come to brighten up our little party!” Prince Heinrich raises his glass to an approaching well taken care of middle-aged woman, whom Von Wohl feels immediately attracted to. Her figure, make-up and healthy skin have her appear many years younger.
“Ludwig, let me have the pleasure to introduce the Countess Keun von Hoogerwerd.”
“Delighted, Countess.” The kiss on the hand lasts an unusually long time for such a formal function, stirring some notice from some other guests in proximity.
“Likewise.” Cooed the Countess, flattered to participate in such a public display. Despite her beauty, the coldness of royalty and stifling dignitary protocols of such events did not have her encountering such displays often. Complementary words and actions were not common at home either, so the Countess was always happy to be the recipient of attention – be it sincere or faked.
“Are you Dutch, Herr von Wohl?”
Ludwig never knew how to answer such questions over his origin. Born in Berlin on the 24th of January in 1903, he was the bastard son of a Jewish Hungarian emigrant who serviced a shopkeeper in Prague in exchange for fake marriage papers, allowing her to moved to Germany.
The ‘von’ in his name actually started as a school yard joke while in his first year of high school. His classmates gave the somewhat overweight youngster the title since he tried to act like nobility. Ironically, the always-rotating teachers and staff of School Number 27 became so used to hearing him being called ‘von Wohl’ that out of habit, one of the school secretaries actually put the ‘von’ on his official graduation papers. With this one document, he made sure all future documents showed the same, securing his place in Germany and European nobility.
“I was born in Berlin, Countess.”
Bettina got in the taxi, dropping her black embroidered Ministry briefcase on the back seat carelessly. To any other driver, treating such a highly respected piece of property of the Third Reich with such a casual attitude would have been frowned upon or even looked at with suspicion.
Michael, however, was not any taxi driver nor was it by chance his was the cab she entered whenever Her Goebbels did not take his shapely young secretary home himself. Arriving in Berlin during the 1936 Olympics with perfectly forged papers, one of his many assignments around the Reichstag was to come in contact as much as possible with secretaries and clerks who worked in this important building.
“Home, Frau Meyer?”
“Nein, Maxi, der Schülerstrasse, bitte.” There was no need to give the street number, for Maxi, Bettina’s pet name for Michael when she learned he named his taxi after his German Shepherd – knew exactly where to go. Schülerstrasse 27 was also an important address for his contacts in London, although Bettina was completely unaware of this fact.