“Who?” Admiral Payne pleaded. “Who?”
Lord Everton was silent still staring at the set of red books. Lady Hightower slowly lifted herself out of her chair and silently stepped over to her husband. Rubbing her hand over his grey matted hair, she whispered into his ear. “Who, dearest? Who betrayed the Admiral’s son?”
“That devil, the brew master himself… the dark Dutchman!”
Jacob Sporrenberg watched as the slave laborers carried the two counter rotating cylinders into the concrete reinforced entrance of the cave. Roads all around the Wenceslaus mine were muddy from the days of rain and seemed to be on everything, except the bell shaped device already inside the massive inner fortress.
Next came the cases of red mercury – code named Xerum 525 – stored in tall, thin thermos flasks a meter high and encased in lead.
“Now we can begin.” A captain handed Sporrenberg a final list of two hundred and forty-eight scientists and others who were assigned to this project. Werner von Braun’s name was on the top of the list; Karl Ernst Krafft was the fifty-third from the bottom.
“So von Braun does not even want to visit?” Sporrenberg blurted out angrily. All the individuals on the list were those Sporrenberg had requested. Those marked in red were those who declined his invitation.
“He stated they are almost completed with his V-2 and didn’t want to start a project that was only in the theoretical stage of development.”
“Theoretical?” Sporrenberg had a right to be insulted. Von Braun had already received the evidence of the project’s physical and electro-magnetic test results and application. “What we will have here will make his rockets look like the horse and buggy.” Sporrenberg sneered.
Chapter 19 – The Room
“Anything unusual?”
“No. He’s from a good home in Danzig. Good grades in school. Excellent in electronics, has a good job with NDR… works hard and has good evaluations from his superiors.
“Is he a member of the Party?”
“No.”
“Hitler Youth?”
“No records available from that period in Danzig.”
“Have you noticed his tailor?” Kriederman threw a folder on Lt. Schiller’s desk. Over the front printed with thick black lettering was the name Stephan Johanstall. “Why would one visit this old tailor outside of an occasional mending or special cleaning?” Kriederman acted bored while waiting for an answer.
“Maybe they’re friends…” Schiller returned the attitude as if it were obvious.
There had always been a rivalry between Lt. Schiller and Lt. Kriederman since the beginning of their career in the Gestapo. Both fanatical Nazis, they came from completely different backgrounds, one the son of a wealthy beer brewer in Flensburg in the north, the other from a family of poor dairy farmers near Freiburg in the south. Both hated each other on first sight on their first day at the Gestapo Academy. Their hatred never subsided since then.
“Friends? What could an old has-been from the old theater days have in common with a young, bright, up and coming young man with great possibilities in electronics?” Kriederman already had the connection between Otto and Stephan obtained in an intelligence report from Colonel Venter, but did not share it with Schiller… yet. Kriederman wanted to give the impression he figured the connection out all by himself – to ‘up one’ on his hated colleague – by being proven correct later on in the conversation. He would toy with Schiller to reveal the weaknesses found in Schiller’s input, then lower the boom to show his superiority.
“What should friends have in common, Herr Kriederman?” Schiller said mockingly.
“Herr Schiller,” Kriederman resented being addressed as a civilian, “one thing that makes the German people superior is our thoroughness. In this job, thoroughness is even more of an essential professional trait, don’t you agree?”
“Is this a cooperative effort that we were assigned to, or a lecture?”
Kriederman ignored Schiller’s question. “Friends of friends, Herr Schiller. Friends of friends. Known is that Herr Johanstall was, and perhaps still is, a Jew-lover. He practically married one! Of did you not know that?”
“This was known to me, and as you can see from the report in your hand, he has been obedient since his last visit here with us. Some people just need a little talking to and…”
“…and some people just pretend to listen.”
“And that is why we watch them. Is this why you came into my office today, Herr Kriederman? I thought you were here to discuss something important.”
The stress on the word ‘important’ sent Kriederman into a rage, however his professionalism promptly controlled his feelings. Schiller made it appear to question whether Kriederman himself was important – which was exactly Schiller’s intent.
Either man could probably not explain why they hated each other. Part of it can be found in the vast cultural difference between Germans from the north and south – much like the northern and southern culture differences that existed in the United States before the civil war. This customary dislike is one of the reasons why Germany was one of the last ethnic groups in Europe to unite as a nation. While England, France and Russia became countries just after the fall of the Roman Empire, Germany had to wait until 1871 for the Iron Chancellor Otto von Bismarck to create a war with France to unite the German people.
Then there were also the differences between rich vs. poor, city boy vs. country boy and strong opposing religious beliefs between Kriederman and Schiller.
“Indeed I have something important to the case. Here is what I have put together over the past several weeks.” Kriederman lied, handing the reports just given to him a few hours earlier.
Schiller skimmed through the papers, with various photographs, observations, and informant’s reports drawing links between Otto, Bettina, Stephan, and the Lampe family. All were under a cloud of suspicion with their connections to one another, but nothing in the reports were proof. The Lampe’s file had a yellow band around it, indicated proven sympathy for Jews in the past. This was not enough to actually have one arrested, but was enough for the Gestapo to strictly monitor their activities, and of course to arrest if convenient or fit a narrative.
This was, however the first time Schiller saw the file on Bettina Meyer. “How can a girl with Jewish blood work for a Minister of the Third Reich? Does Goebbels know this?”
“He has to, these copies are from his own files, right out of his office.”
Hatred of Jews was the only force stronger than their disdain of each other.
Unknown to either, their contempt for each other began long before they started their careers as Gestapo officers. Their first encounter began while standing in line for ice cream as pre-teens on the Boden Sea during the summer holidays. Flaring up even then, hate flowed without any knowledge of each other’s background, religion, or wealth. Hate so deep, simply standing next to each other incited cutting remarks, evolving into insults, pushing, then the first blow, then a full blown fight. Neither of them at age 12 could have imagined 14 years later Hitler would unite their hate so these two rivals – and many others – could actively co-operate.