Franz parked in front of the block of sterile reinforced-concrete apartments that served to house unmarried scientific personnel, and dragged himself inside abandoning all thought of sailing. He was too tired even to acknowledge the porter’s greeting. The heat seemed to have gathered inside, turning the building into an oven. Air conditioning had been included in the original plans but, like so many other promises, had never materialised. The units had actually been shipped to Peenemunde before being diverted somewhere else. He had seen the cartons stacked on the quay.
A persistent knocking woke him. Bethwig sat up, groggy with the heat and sleep, and swung his feet to the floor, ducking his head at the same time. His blood pressure, always low, had seemed abnormally so of late.
‘Who is it?’ he demanded, still half-asleep.
‘Franz, it’s Wernher. Are you awake?’
Bethwig swore. ‘I am now, yes! What do you want?’
‘I am going out to supper. I would like you to come along and meet someone.’
Bethwig lay back, spread-eagling himself to let the perspiration dry. ‘I don’t think so, Wernher. Not tonight.’
‘Franz, damn it, open the door. I can’t keep yelling like this.’ Bethwig stumbled to the closet and drew on a light robe. ‘Just a moment, just a moment,’ he muttered, and went into the bathroom to rinse his face with the tepid brownish water. Von Braun pounded on the door again and Franz flung it open. ‘Damn it, I told you…’
Von Braun pushed him back into the room, spun him around, and shoved him towards the closet. ‘I know what you told me. Get dressed. We are driving to Swinemünde for supper.’
Bethwig changed direction for the bed. ‘Like hell. You go – ‘ Von Braun cut him off. ‘You don’t have a choice. It’s in the nature of a command performance.’
Bethwig tried to twist away, but von Braun held him securely. ‘Whose command?’
‘Reichsprotektor Reinhard Heydrich.’
The great windows along the ground floor of the Walfisch Hotel had been thrown open to the sea. A faint movement stirred across the water, bringing hope of a cooling breeze. Bethwig glanced about the room wondering at the political power that could open an hotel and restaurant closed for the season at one man’s whim.
Tall, trim in his tailored uniform with silver SS flashes on the collar and SD rank prominently displayed, Reinhard Heydrich smiled and motioned for his aide to hand around cigars and pour the brandy.
Bethwig had drunk too much wine, and even though the heat was diminishing, he was finding it difficult to keep from nodding off.
‘How did your test go today?’ Heydrich enquired as they finished the obligatory toast to the Führer.
Bethwig came awake instantly. ‘I don’t believe…’
‘Come, come,’ Heydrich chuckled. ‘Surely you do not think you can hide anything from the head of the Security Service, do you?’
Bethwig toyed with his brandy, while von Braun looked from one to the other, his expression thoughtful. Franz was recalling Heydrich’s first visit less than a month before. Heydrich had explained his presence by telling them he had been asked by the OKW, the high command, to examine security at the test site. But his visit had not been cleared first with Dornberger’s Berlin office. As familiar as he was with the rivalry between the military and the party’s own armed service, Bethwig could not quite believe the OKW would ever permit, let alone request, an intrusion by the SD. He had meant to speak to his father about the affair, but in the press of work on the new prototype A-10 engine, he had forgotten.
‘The test conducted today concerned an army project, a highly classified army project.’
Heydrich dismissed the reprimand with a laugh. ‘Of course. But as I told you, the SD is required by law to be aware of everything that occurs inside the Reich. Why, supposing you had been up to no good, perhaps even sabotage? It would certainly look very bad for me if you succeeded, would it not?’
Neither of the two scientists missed the implied threat, and both stared uncomfortably at Heydrich for a moment. He is obviously, Bethwig thought, letting us see the iron fist beneath the velvet glove. But to what purpose?
‘Your test was successful, then, in spite of the explosion?’ Bethwig nodded reluctantly. ‘Partially.’
‘Partially?’ Heydrich prompted; and although the smile continued, the eyes seemed to have gone pale with anger at Bethwig’s obtuseness.
‘The test proved a new fuel pump and nozzle system’ – Bethwig told him the cover story with obvious reluctance – ‘that meters fuel more accurately and increases chamber pressure so that more thrust can be obtained. A faulty weld appeared to have opened, and the engine was destroyed.’
‘And how do you accomplish this increase in pressure?’
‘We have replaced the intricate nozzle system with a simple iron plate into which a series of holes have been drilled at specific intervals. It is a more accurate system and will be fitted to all new rockets during manufacture.’
‘I see,’ Heydrich murmured with a sardonic glance.
Wernher had been sipping his brandy, and now he set the glass down. ‘Franz, do you recall our talk on the beach a few weeks before the war began? Do you remember telling me that if we are to reach the moon, we need backing from the highest party authority? Two weeks ago I had a frank discussion with Herr Speer. He still sees the value of our special project, but, as he readily admitted, he has been unable to convince the Führer. He suggested that I speak to Reichsprotektor Heydrich…’
‘Please, gentlemen, we are all friends here. You must call me Reinhard.’
Von Braun glanced at him, his expression dubious. ‘Thank you… Reinhard.’ Turning back to Franz, he tapped a finger on the table. ‘He has agreed to help us.’
‘Help us do what?’
‘For God’s sake, Franz, stop it. Reinhard has…’
‘Franz, I may call you Franz?’ Heydrich’s voice was friendly enough, but his expression was deadly and his eyes hooded, and for the first time in his life Bethwig knew what fear was. What in the name of God had Wernher got them into? This man was as deadly as a cobra and twice as unstable.
‘You are right to remain silent… to a point. But I am in a position to give you all the assistance you require. You have only to accept it.’
‘I have described our plan fully to Reinhard,’ von Braun told Bethwig, expression intent. ‘He is of the opinion that it can be made to work politically.’
Heydrich chuckled at that, and his menacing expression disappeared. ‘Yes, I suppose you could put it that way.’
Bethwig studied them both. ‘Let me get this all straight, Wernher. You have described to Reinhard our lunar rocket plans, and you, Reinhard, have accepted them?’
‘Of course. Do you take me for an ass? I am well able to understand the military and political advantages of such a weapon. And unlike so many others that infest positions of importance in Germany today, I am not frightened by new technology. This could very well be the ultimate weapon. If all you say is true, a rocket base on the moon would control the destiny of the earth. Germany could establish the new world order under the leadership of the Führer, and we would cease wasting our national treasure on weapons development.’ Heydrich leaned towards them, eyes glowing. ‘Think of it, gentlemen. A world without war, a world led by the German people, the master race, the chosen ones. Why, there is nothing that we could not accomplish then!’
For an instant Bethwig was almost carried away by Heydrich’s oratory. Perhaps Wernher was right. Perhaps Heydrich had the vision as well as the political power to help them. But only for an instant: he had heard too many tales from his father about the power of the SD and its constant misuse.