“And use parliamentary decree to take over once and for all,” Hitler interceded.
“You are a step ahead of me.”
“A dangerous move, my friend,” Hitler said, his eyes narrowing.
“I have heard Hermann talk about a secret passageway from the residence to the Reichstag. Easy enough to arrange the fire. Then all you need is a scapegoat. I am sure Himmler or Goring can arrange that.”
At first Hitler was astounded but as he listened, the plot began to take shape in his own mind. Daring? Yes. Audacious? Yes. Possible? He tapped his cheek nervously with a finger.
“Just a thought, Herr Chancellor. Something to mull over. But if it is to be done, it must done quickly.”
The plot turned Hitler’s mood. He had been jocular, now he became dark and brooding. Vierhaus realized he had to change the mood back.
“It’s a dismal old building anyway,” he said lightly, pouring himself another coffee. He looked at the Führer and smiled.
Hitler stared back for a moment more, then his face softened and he leaned back and laughed.
“So, Willie, you have stirred the pot again. Does that mind of yours ever rest?”
“Occasionally.”
“When you are asleep, eh?”
“No. Sometimes my best ideas come in dreams.”
It was a clever response for it appealed to Hitler’s fascination with dreams, psychism and astrology, and Vierhaus knew it.
“Well, I will consider your Reichstag idea, Willie. Perhaps it is not as crazy as it sounded,” Hitler said. “Now let’s talk about the Twenty-seven project. Talk to me about der Schauspieler.”
Vierhaus leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling for a moment. Then he began to recite the information.
“A devout party member and an ardent supporter of the Führer. A war hero like yourself. He was still in his teens when he won the Iron Cross at Belleau Wood
“For what?”
Hitler interrupted whenever the mood served him; Vierhaus was accustomed to that. He also sensed a tinge of jealousy in the question. Hitler had also won two Iron Crosses, a rare achievement for an enlisted man. It surprised him that the actor had also earned such a distinction.
“He destroyed a tank and two squads of American Marines before he was himself wounded. He returned to the front and was captured near the end of the war at Cambrai, the day the wind shifted.”
“I hate to think about that day. A tragedy for us. Was he gassed then?”
“No, he managed to kill an Englishman and take his mask.”
“Resourceful, ja?”
“Very,” Vierhaus nodded. “He was born near Linz
“Ah, an Austrian.”
“Yes. And quite proud of it. His born, name is Hans Wolfe.
“Wolfe, eh. A good name. A significant name.”
“Yes,, mein Führer. His father was a storekeeper. He died early on, when the boy was ten. The mother taught school. She died while he was in the army. He studied engineering at Berlin University but quit in the early twenties. He became one of the wanderers, a lost soul for almost two years
“Was he in the SA?”
Vierhaus shook his head.
“No. He joined the party in Nuremberg in 1927. A year later he auditioned for a small part in a film and ended up getting the leading part. That’s when this charade of his began. He lives in Berlin as Johann Ingrsol1 and has a summer place outside of Munich where he uses his real name. And . . . he contributes heavily to the party.”
“Excellent. Personality?”
“Arrogant, demanding, self-centered, explosive. Also extremely intelligent and well read. He can actually quote long passages from Mein Kampf”
“Really!” Hitler said, obviously pleased.
“Yes. He can also be quite outspoken, even insulting at times, and I hear he has quite a cynical sense of humor. On the other hand, those who know him as Hans Wolfe in Munich think he is a businessman. To them, he is charming and generous. A totally different personality when he is away from the studios.”
“So, he is two different people then?”
Vierhaus nodded. “And apparently he has no problem switching back and forth.”
“A real actor.”
“Yes, Führer. And quite an athlete, too. Expert skier and swimmer, did some boxing in the army. An avid mountain climber and hunter.”
“Women?”
“A bachelor, but he has frequent affairs.”
“Not homosexual?”
“Nein, nein,” Vierhaus said hurriedly.
“And he knows Mein Kampf eh?”
“An obsession with him.”
“I hope he is not uncomfortable, being the odd card here this weekend. Everybody else knows each other.”
“I think that will appeal to him.”
“Oh?”
“It sets him apart from the rest of us. Reminds everyone he is the star.”
Hitler glanced at Vierhaus. “Not in this house,” he said.
Vierhaus laughed. “He is egocentric, Führer, not crazy.”
Hitler laughed and slapped his knee. “So, now the question is, will he do it?”
“I think, mein Führer, that will be largely up to you.”
Hitler nodded, then strolled back to the window. Far below he saw the Mercedes whisking up the narrow road, dust fluting out behind it.
“Ah,” he said, rubbing his hands together. His tone did not conceal his excitement. “The actor has arrived.”
“Excellent!” Vierhaus said. “The play begins.”
“Herr Ingersoll,” Vierhaus greeted the actor at the front door, “Welcome to the Eagle’s Nest.”
The hunchbacked professor stared intently at Ingersoll, who was surprisingly nonchalant. A cool Fellow, all right. He led the actor into the large foyer.
“And is this the real Ingersoll we’re meeting or another character you’ve created?” he asked with a smile.
Ingersoll shrugged off the question with a cryptic answer.
“Perhaps there is no real Ingersoll,’’ he replied, following Vierhaus into the main hallway of the chalet. Behind him, two servants followed with his luggage and five heavy reels of film.
“Ah, you brought the film!” Vierhaus cried. “Excellent. The Führer will be delighted. He has assigned you to the room opposite his, on the northwest corner. I think you will find the view breathtaking.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
“You may thank him personally. He’s looking forward to meeting you.”
“And when will that be?”
“Not too long now. The Führer likes to keep business to a minimum when he’s here. He sleeps late and reviews the morning reports. He usually comes down abut lunchtime.”
“Herr Professor, shall I take the film to the projection room?” one of the servants asked.
“Excuse me for a moment while I make sure everything is done properly,” Vierhaus said to Ingersoll and went off with the servants. Ingersoll was left alone in the hallway.
The actor was impressed by the cleanliness of the chalet. The wood floors were polished to a sheer and he saw not a speck of dust anywhere. Somewhere in the back of the house, a canary started warbling, then another joined in from somewhere else, then a cockatoo answered shrilly and another. There seemed to be birds everywhere, the house echoed with their chirping. Ingersoll strolled to the edge of the library and looked in. The books were all bound in leather. In the dining room, the table had been set for the evening meal. Ingersoll casually picked up a cup and looked at the bottom. The entire service was the finest Meissen china; each plate, saucer and up were engraved with Hitler’s initials and a swastika. The goblets and tea service were gold.