Grimly, before his memory faded, he went back to his laptop and typed up a full account of the meeting. The Emergency Catholic Council would have to know what had happened here, before the Pope’s representative could arrive. They had to decide what to do, before Pius could force the issue.
Undisclosed Location
Berlin, Germany
12th September 1940
“Come with us,” the SS guard snapped. Professor Horton kissed Jasmine once, then rose and followed the two guards. Despite his aging body and limited stamina, they insisted on treating him as if he was armed and dangerous; a Mauser was pointed at his chest at all times. Feeling nervous, he followed the guards through the corridors of the massive underground complex, wondering if he’d be allowed out this time. He hadn’t seen the light of day for a long time; he’d lost track of time underground. The primitive lights, always glowing a steady bright glow, burned away, hurting his head. The painkillers the Germans had supplied really didn’t help much; he’d run out of the ones salvaged from the crashed plane.
“In here,” the guard said, and waved him into an office. Horton looked inside and found himself looking into the eyes of Reichsführer-SS Heinrich Himmler. He flinched back; he could have sworn he saw the glinting of a snake’s eyes behind the little pair of spectacles.
“A very good evening to you, Professor Horton,” Himmler said cheerfully. “I need your information again, I fear.”
The warm tone only chilled Horton more. Himmler had worked away on his memories until he’d built up a reasonably clear picture of his own future. Whatever his strange beliefs in supernatural entities – which had allowed him to come to grips with the situation far quicker than Horton would have preferred – he was also a careful and intelligent person.
“General Franco has finally, under heavy pressure, agreed to join us,” Himmler said calmly, as always. “What are his chances of taking Gibraltar, with or without our help?”
Horton considered. The presence of him alone altered history, placing him inside the event sequence and rendering his knowledge of less use in an active setting than putting words to paper. The presence of all of Britain, as incredible as that sounded, altered events beyond recognition; Himmler had allowed him to read the classified Luffwaffe and Wehrmacht reports that proved that history had been altered beyond recognition.
“I imagine that he could shut the fortress down,” Horton said finally. “The Rock’s main vulnerability was always in its food and water supply; if the sea lanes can be closed down by shelling and the water cisterns can be broken open, then the Governor would have the choice of surrendering or dying of thirst.” He shrugged. “I’m no tactical expert, but I think that a frontal attack would be very dangerous.”
“So the Wehrmacht insists,” Himmler said. “They are obedient to the Fuhrer, of course, and he has ordered the Rock to be taken, but they have warned that losses will be severe. Fortunately, the priority is to shut the place down, rather than take it intact.” Himmler smiled softly; the expression was chilling. “How will Franco’s position be affected by this?”
Horton shivered. He knew a great deal about the events leading up to World War Two, but British historians hadn’t concentrated much on post-civil war Spain. He knew enough, he hoped, to satisfy Himmler, but what if he was wrong?
“If I recall correctly,” he said finally, “Franco possessed no power base equivalent to Hitler, Stalin or Mussolini’s. In fact…”
“The fat spaghetti-eater’s power base deserted him rather quickly,” Himmler observed. “Do carry on.”
“Franco holds his position by virtue of playing the forces of Army, Church and… upper classes against one another,” Horton said, hoping to God that he remembered correctly. “If the balance is tilted in one direction, it could unbalance Spain and start a second civil war.”
“How interesting,” Himmler said. “Carry on.”
Horton winced. “If Spain takes possession of Gibraltar,” he said, “they will probably be quite pleased about it, and it will give Franco a boost, particularly if there are no other demands on them. If the attack is a bloody failure, he won’t be boosted, and if he appears to be under your control, he will be treated the same way as Napoleon’s puppet king.”
“We have no intention of dispatching major Wehrmacht units to Spain,” Himmler assured him. “The priority is to close the sea lanes, nothing else.” He smiled at Horton. “Now, what about the Turks?”
“I don’t think that they will cooperate,” Horton said. Himmler lifted an eyebrow. “You’re working with the Russians,” Horton said, “and they fear and hate the Russians. They would probably be delighted to be able to lay claim to parts of Iraq, but they would be very reluctant to get involved – hell, they were very reluctant – to get involved with Britain. Given the chaos in Syria, they would be worried about problems coming from that region.”
Himmler nodded slowly, unpleasantly. French-controlled Syria had not been attacked by the British, but its government had collapsed anyway under a revolution by some army officials who believed that the only way to avoid Syria being given to its own people was to throw out the German-dominated Vichy French government. In the many-sided fighting the state had collapsed into anarchy.
“As always, you give good advice,” Himmler said. “Tell me, why would a news reporter wish to interview the Fuhrer?”
Horton blinked. “A news reporter wishes to interview the Fuhrer?”
“Yes,” Himmler said. “She has requested permission to visit Berlin to conduct such an interview, with a view to remaining in Berlin as a correspondent, along with the handful of American reporters who remain in the city.”
“I wonder if William Shirer is still here,” Horton said, without thinking.
“The American reporter?” Himmler purred. “How did he enter the history books?”
“He wrote a book on Germany after the war,” Horton said, choosing his words carefully. “I never read it; it wasn’t considered very… ah, accurate, and was considered too pro-Nazi.”
Himmler smiled. Horton realised that his careful lie had pleased Himmler. “Perhaps we’ll find a role for him,” he said. “However, what about the reporter?”
“I expect that the stupid girl thinks that you will extend the same respect to reporters that all the little tyrants will in the future,” Horton said. “The reports from the reporters can influence policy.”
“Oh?” Himmler asked. “Elaborate.”
Horton winced. “In the Gulf War, there was an accident that hit a market place and killed a lot of citizens,” he said. “The bombing program was suspended and it was restricted in the future for the end of the war. Since then, all targets were chosen to avoid civilian casualties.”
Himmler smiled. “I had wondered why the dams hadn’t been struck,” he said. “They certainly could smash them down, but the cost to civilian life would be awesome.” He leered; it was an alarming expression. “We could move the concentration camps to under the dams or near high-value targets, and dare them to fire.
“So, what about the reporter?”
Horton realised that Himmler would not be distracted. “She will come into Berlin and demand an interview,” he said. “Whatever she records will be broadcast back to Britain and shown to everyone with a TV set.”