Conrad realized Stevens wasn’t bluffing. He would have to give him something. ‘All right. I saw Hertenberg when I was in Berlin last year.’
‘Is he an agent of ours?’ Stevens asked. ‘A double agent?’
‘No, he’s not,’ said Conrad. ‘I can’t tell you the details of our discussions. It was related to Schämmel.’
‘Look here, de Lancey. If we are going to work together, we are going to have to trust each other.’
Stevens had a point, but then so did Theo. ‘Do you know the other British Passport Control Officers in Europe?’ Conrad asked.
‘Yes,’ said Stevens. ‘I visited a number of them last year before I took up this post.’
‘So you know Captain Foley who used to be in Berlin?’
‘I do.’
‘Ask him,’ said Conrad. ‘He can confirm my relationship with Lieutenant von Hertenberg.’
Stevens stared at Conrad. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘That will do for now. But I will get in touch with Foley as soon as we are back in The Hague.’
‘Thank you,’ said Conrad.
They drove on in silence for a minute or so.
‘Do you know Charles Bedaux?’ Stevens asked.
Conrad shook his head. ‘No, I’ve never heard of him. Who is he?’
‘He’s an American businessman based in France with operations in Amsterdam. A distinctly shady customer. Hertenberg has met him at least twice since the war began — we don’t know why.’
‘I have no idea why either,’ Conrad said. ‘But if Hertenberg has been meeting him, it is probably as part of his work for the Abwehr. He is a loyal German.’
‘Yet you are talking to him?’
Conrad nodded.
‘Well, if you happen to bump into your German friend again, could you ask him about Mr Bedaux? And tell me what he says? There’s a good fellow.’
‘I can ask him,’ said Conrad. Although that would mean explaining that Stevens had spotted Conrad with Theo, which would not please Theo at all. Things were getting complicated.
Payne Best made such good time that they stopped for a quick lunch at a roadside café-restaurant near ‘s-Hertogenbosch. The atmosphere warmed over food, and the four men were in better spirits as they took to the road again. Stevens sat in the front with Payne Best, and they discussed what to do if the Germans invaded Holland imminently, an eventuality that Payne Best suggested was prudent to anticipate. Stevens jotted down a list of names of people to be evacuated to England. Conrad was a little surprised at their willingness to discuss the people working for them in Holland in front of himself and Klop. But he was also interested to note that Payne Best’s fears tallied so closely with Theo’s warning of an imminent offensive.
Conrad had to get that information to Van quickly. If he couldn’t get back to England himself very soon, perhaps he could ask Payne Best for an unofficial way of communicating with London without using the embassy or the Passport Control Office. Payne Best gave the impression of operating with some degree of independence from Major Stevens and the Passport Control Office. Conrad was reluctant to trust him… but he might not have any choice.
The clouds were thickening and it looked as if it would soon start to rain. They passed a road sign: nine kilometres to Venlo.
Berlin
Charles Bedaux stood outside the Adlon Hotel and breathed in the crisp clear Berliner Luft. Across the Pariser Platz, the weathered bronze chariot atop the Brandenburg Gate gleamed green in the low November sun. Bedaux liked Berlin. It was the most modern city in Europe, with its powerful motor cars, its sleek buildings, its swish department stores, its broad, clean streets and above all its air of bustle, energy and efficiency.
Bedaux was the world expert on efficiency. He had made millions of dollars from the Bedaux System, which revolutionized the productivity of factory workers. He had hundreds of clients all over the world: Ford, General Motors, Standard Oil, ITT and DuPont in the United States; Anglo-Iranian Oil and Imperial Chemical Industries in Britain; Fiat in Italy and Philips and Unilever in Holland. In France his company had been appointed as consultants to the Ministry of Armaments, where he had doubled productivity, ironically by recommending more rest for the munitions workers. Germany, which in many ways was the ideal market for his ideas given the ability of its populace to take orders and its respect for efficiency, had been a difficult nut to crack. Robert Ley, the Nazi head of the Labour Front, viewed Bedaux as competition and had succeeded in keeping his system out of the country.
Bedaux was a consummate businessman. To him upheaval signalled opportunity and there was no greater upheaval than a world war. As an American citizen — he had been born in France, but moved to the United States in 1906 at the age of twenty — he was not wedded to the victory of one side or the other. But he was impressed with Germany’s economic power, and determined to ensure that if Germany did come out on top, Bedaux International would be well positioned to benefit. So he needed to find a way to bypass Ley and win the Germans round.
Bedaux was always fizzing with ideas, and he had a good one. A great one. Which was why he had had a number of discreet conversations in Holland over the previous few weeks, and why he had travelled to Berlin.
An enormous supercharged black Mercedes with two little swastika flags fluttering on its front fenders pulled up outside the hotel, disgorging uniformed lackeys on to the pavement. The elegant, trim figure of Joachim von Ribbentrop stepped out of the vehicle, wearing a uniform now war had started. Bedaux thought Ribbentrop was a pompous ass, but he was also Bedaux’s best friend in the Nazi hierarchy. Ribbentrop had been a champagne salesman before becoming a Nazi politician and, like all salesmen, he just wanted to be loved. Bedaux was good at giving him the love.
‘Great to see you, Joachim,’ said Bedaux, pumping the Foreign Minister’s hand. Ribbentrop was proud of his English, which was much better than Bedaux’s German.
‘I’m glad you could make it,’ said Ribbentrop. ‘How did you get here?’
‘Via Brussels and Cologne,’ said Bedaux.
‘Hop in,’ said Ribbentrop. It was no distance to the Chancellery, but Bedaux hadn’t been about to turn down a lift from Ribbentrop, and he guessed that Ribbentrop wanted the credit for producing his star American contact.
‘I heard about the bomb last night,’ Bedaux said. ‘I was expecting Herr Hitler to cancel our meeting.’
‘Not at all,’ said Ribbentrop. ‘He is very eager to speak to you. In fact, it is thanks to this meeting that he had to leave the beer hall early. So you could say he has something to be grateful for.’
‘I think he will find what I have to say interesting.’
‘I am sure he will,’ said Ribbentrop.
They drove the short distance down Wilhelmstrasse in two minutes: other vehicles were quick to make way for them. Bedaux had never been inside the new Reich Chancellery building before, which dominated the smaller, older Chancellery next door, abandoned a year earlier. The Mercedes nosed its way into a courtyard and the car doors were swiftly opened. Bedaux and the Foreign Minister climbed some steps and then passed through massive bronze doors to a series of reception rooms and a very long corridor. It was quite a hike to Hitler’s office, and their footsteps echoed on the marble floor as they strode past columns, statues, mosaics, tapestries and rigid black-uniformed and white-gloved SS guards. By the time he had reached Hitler’s outer office, Bedaux was in awe. Which he realized was exactly the effect the building was supposed to have on a visitor.
They were ushered straight into a massive room, at the far end of which was an oversized desk under a portrait of Prince Otto von Bismarck, the Prussian who had unified Germany.