Goebbels. The midget with a club foot. Cadaverous, pushy and cynical, with a nervous laugh, he had written, after first hearing Hitler speak at the Zirkus Krone in Munich in 1926, “I am reborn.” As the master propagandist he seemed the perfect man to spread the Gospel of the Third Reich.
Walther Funk, the mousy little man with dodgy eyes and very little to say. The party’s money genius. It didn’t seem possible that this quiet, involuted, self-deprecating man had whipped Thyssen, the steel magnate, Schnitzler, leader of the chemical cartel, and von Schroeder, head of the banking trust, into line and kept them and the other industrialists there. His promise that Hitler would get rid of both the Communists and the labor unions had lured the industrial power of Germany into the Nazi party. A schemer, Ingersoll decided, probably best at executing the ideas of others.
Speer the architect, young, handsome, with the bright-eyed look of the idealist, the youthful genius seemed a bit awed at being in such powerful company. Speer, who had little to say except when he was talking about buildings, was the dreamer who would create a phoenix from the ashes of Germany’s defeat.
Eva Braun, the vivacious little girl from the village who appeared to be Hitler’s current girlfriend. Frivolous, pretty in a common way, but empty-headed, she was apparently an innocuous diversion for the leader.
Vierhaus. Deformed, persuasive, an enigma who apparently had no title but held an autonomous position within the Gestapo and reported to no one but the Führer. Could he be the Iago to Hitler’s Othello?
And Hess. Dark, handsome, quick-witted and sarcastic, Hess was the mystery man. He had transcribed much of Mein Kampf from the Führer’s notes while Hitler was still in prison and was probably closer to Hitler than anyone except Hermann Goring. His role in the hierarchy was vague to Ingersoll, although as Deputy Führer he was next in line of succession, the crown prince of the Nazi party.
Was he, like Vierhaus, a back-room planner, an unheralded advisor working in the shadows? Or was he simply a confidant whose opinion Hitler respected and whom Hitler trusted to carry on the dream if something happened to him?
Hess had another bond with the Führer, an uncommon interest in witchcraft and the occult. After dinner, assisted by Hess, Hitler told the future using an old-fashioned divining process. In the eerie light of candles, Hitler held a spoon of lead over one candle, dripping the molten lead into a bowl of cold water, then Hess read the misshapen blobs, predicting an amazing and successful year for the Führer, much to the Führer’s delight.
Ingersoll reluctantly had excused himself on the pretense of making sure the film was properly prepared for the screening. But he had other things to do. He had conceived a crazy stunt, daring and dangerous, but one his showman instincts could not resist.
Dressed all in black, he slipped a pair of ice spikes over his shoes, put on a pair of thick work gloves and took a long length of coiled rope from the case. Wrapping his black cloak around his shoulders, he stepped out on the icy balcony.
He had studied the front wall of the chalet earlier in the day. The screening room was on the same level as his room but two balconies away. Normally it would have been a simple stunt to climb up to the roof and down to the screening room but the building was encrusted with ice. Even though the wind had died away, snow flurries drifted down, making it difficult to see up to the roof and making the stunt doubly dangerous. And then, of course, there were the guards constantly patrolling the grounds. But Ingersoll was determined to go through with it.
He swung the loop of coiled rope around, letting it out as he did in a widening circle, and tried to hook it over the cornice on the roof. It missed and fell over the side of the balcony, sending a cascade of broken ice to the ground. Ingersoll flattened himself against the wall as one of the guards peered up. But the guard could see nothing, his vision impaired by hundreds of twinkling snowflakes, and he walked around the corner. On the third try, the rope slipped over the cornice and caught.
Pulling it taut, Ingersoll worked 1is way up the face of the chalet, his spikes biting into the patches of ice imbedded in the wall. Once he was on the steeply eaved rooftop, he loosened the rope. Balanced on the edge of the roof with no safety line, he could feel the ice shifting underfoot. Snow sprinkled into his eyes and mouth.
He bent his knees slightly for added balance and swung the rope around again, this time attempting to hook the cornice over the screening room balcony. It was difficult to judge in the dark and the falling snow. Each time the rope missed, shards of ice clattered down fifty feet to the garden beneath him.
His heart was throbbing with excitement as he continued to try to loop his line over the cornice. Finally it caught. He started to pull it taut but as he did, the icy patch underfoot crumbled and he felt himself slipping over the edge. He reached out with one hand, grabbed the roof, felt his hand slide off and pitched over the side into the darkness.
He plunged downward, grasping the lifeline, wondering for an instant whether it would catch and break his fall. Then he felt the snap of the rope, the shock through his wrists and elbows and felt himself arcing through the air. He smacked against the side of the chalet and his gloved hands began slipping down the length of rope. He let go with one hand, grabbed the rope a foot lower and frantically twisted it around his wrist. It stopped his slide. He was dangling six feet above the balcony.
“Where is der Schauspieler?” he heard Goring ask from inside the room. “He is late for his own show.”
“You know these artists,” he heard the woman answer.
He slid down the rest of the rope to the screening room balcony and sighed with relief, a specter in black hunched against the wall.
Inside the dimly lit screening room, Hitler had settled in his usual chair with Goring on one side and Eva on the other. The rest of the guests found seats around him. Vierhaus was worried. Hitler had no patience when it came to tardiness. Where was Ingersoll?
Suddenly the French doors leading to the balcony burst open and a hideous specter in black whirled dramatically through the doors.
Everyone in the room gasped.
Eva screamed.
Himmler reached for his Luger.
Hitler bolted back against his seat, his eyes as wide as a full moon.
“Mein Führer, Damen, gentlemen,’ Ingersoll said, “may I present Der Nacht Hund.”
He swept the mask off his head and leaned over in a deep bow.
Ingersoll sat on the bed in his room.
What a day this had been, a personal victory for him. The screening had been a triumph. And his little stunt had, once the outrage disappeared, thrilled the Führer with its daring.
The actor stepped out on the balcony and lit a cigarette. He was exhausted and needed time to think, to plan his future.
One floor below the masters of the Reich were talking business, something both Hitler and Vierhaus had said was usually forbidden.
Somebody opened the doors to the terrace below and he could hear the voices, pick up an occasional word or phrase, although he was not trying to eavesdrop. He was intoxicated by the thought that twenty feet below him, the destiny of Germany was being planned.
“I say do it,” he heard Goring’s boisterous voice say. “And quickly.”
…….. very risky,” somebody said, perhaps Funk. “Of course it’s risky,” Himmler said. “So what
The voice faded away. There was more muffled conversation and he picked up occasional snatches of sentences.