The flat was empty when he unlocked the door and entered. Janet had left a note stating that a billet had become available at the officers’ club but inviting him to stay on if he wished. When he looked into the bedroom he found his clothing was gone. Another note told him that it had been sent out for cleaning, and gave the address where he could call for it the following afternoon. The notes provided a sense of contact that surprised him. They, like the author, had a certain vivacity that had become almost foreign to Memling. A third note, slipped into the frame of the bathroom mirror, told him that she did not expect to return until after eight o’clock again, but that she would then cook him the meal that he had missed the previous evening. The proposition startled him; its generosity reminded him so powerfully of Margot that he could only stare at the slip of paper in shock. He snatched up his kit then and hurried out of the flat.
Memling finished his course of instruction on Thursday afternoon, satisfied that short of actual practice in a factory, he had taught them all he could. He watched them go and, for some unaccountable reason, shivered. The SP asked Memling to wait, and a few minutes later Simon-Benet came to thank him for his help. Memling had not seen the colonel since the first day, and now he appeared preoccupied.
‘Really appreciated your help, Memling. Anything I can do for you, just let me know.’ He started for the door, then hesitated. ‘None of my business really, but I was in Englesby’s office this forenoon. His girl, Janet, asked about you. Pleasant enough little thing. Your orders allow you to stay over until tomorrow evening if you like.’
He gave Memling a wave and, as if embarrassed, went out quickly. The SP motioned for him to follow, and at the front door he was handed a packet containing travel orders and train ticket.
A car and driver were waiting. The weather had moderated, and with the omnipresent stench of coal smoke banished by the war rationing board, the air was springlike. Memling got into the car, and the driver waited until he remembered to tell him to go to the officers’ club in Curzon Street.
Janet had asked about him. Then she obviously had not yet received his thank-you note. The mail, like all other civilian services, had been slowed by the requirements of war. He decided to take advantage of Simon-Benet’s generous offer of an extra day’s leave. He could call at the flat, and perhaps they could even have dinner. He was struck by a powerful longing for her company that was clearly sexual. What the hell, he chided himself, the first damned skirt that shows an interest… Yet he knew that there was more than a casual attraction between them. Not even in wartime London did women invite men to share a flat so readily.
For eight months in Belgium and then the intervening year in the Special Services, he had lived a monk’s existence. And with good reason, he thought with sudden insight. It was impossible for him to endure the anguish of losing someone again. Those few months with Margot had contained more happiness than he ever imagined existed and somehow left no room for another woman. That’s a lie, he told himself savagely. But only partially so.
The car rounded the corner and drew up before the blacked-out bulk of the building housing the officers’ club, a former dormitory for one of the many medical schools in the area.
‘Will you need me further, sir?’
Memling turned his wrist to catch a bit of stray light from the dashboard. His train left Euston in forty minutes. For a moment the urge to stay was overwhelming.
‘Yes.’
The driver waited patiently, and Memling forced the words: ‘You can drive me to Euston Station.’
The coward has won again, he thought.
Peenemunde – Prague – Berlin
April-June 1942
Wernher von Braun tore the end from the envelope and extracted the letter. He read it quickly, then flourished it at Franz Bethwig and Walter Dornberger.
‘You would not believe me,’ he crowed, ‘but here it is, in black and white and from Heydrich himself.’
Bethwig grabbed the paper. It was true: official recognition from someone powerful enough in both party and government to make it work. He shook his head in admiration. ‘I have to admit, Wernher, I would never have believed it possible.’
‘And he says that he has the Führer’s backing as well.’ Von Braun slapped the desk. ‘Damn, but this is good news!’ Dornberger tapped his pencil on the desk, if you gentlemen are quite through; I have a great deal of work to finish today.’
Von Braun laughed and clapped his boss on the shoulder. ‘For God’s sake, Walter, I should think you would be as happy as we are. We can proceed with the A-Ten project now and with the full backing of the government. You are in an even more powerful position than before.’
Dornberger looked unconvinced. ‘Perhaps,’ he finally replied. ‘But it is easy enough to get such a paper. And these days everyone uses Hitler’s name as if it were a talisman. If the Führer spends as much time reviewing and approving these pet projects as everyone claims, I do not see how he finds time to eat or sleep, let alone to direct the war effort. I have warned you too many times before not to mix in politics, especially at Heydrich’s level. The favourite today can just as easily disappear tomorrow. We have all seen it happen. Remember Roehm? They shot him. And he put Hitler in power.’
‘But this is Reinhard Heydrich we are talking about.’ Von Braun grinned. ‘Who in Germany is strong enough to pull him down? The head of the SD has got to be—’
‘All-powerful?’ Dornberger supplied, in today’s Germany there is no such person, perhaps not even the Führer himself.’ He paused to study each of them in turn. ‘The SS never relinquish anything. The A-Ten will come under complete SS control, you two included.’
Bethwig shook his head. ‘No, Walter, that’s where you’re wrong. We have Heydrich’s own assurance that is not so. There will be no interference from the SS. It’s our show, start to finish.’ He smiled at Dornberger. ‘Wernher and I swore that we would work with anyone to get this project under way, and you yourself agreed that it might well be Germany’s only salvation now that the Americans have entered the war.’
Dornberger gave him a troubled look and picked up several folders from his desk. ‘I only hope it does not turn out that you’ve sold your souls without realising their true value.’
At the end of March von Braun flew from the Luftwaffe airfield on Peenemunde to report to Heydrich in Prague. Bethwig watched the little blue Bf.108 disappear into the low cloud, then drove back to his office, conscious that his initial excitement was dissipating the more he delved into the numerous problems surrounding the new project. But then, it was always like this: intense excitement giving way to the hard work and sheer hell of wrestling with recalcitrant technical problems. He was also worried about von Braun. Bethwig had to admit that for a young man to become the director of a major military project was a heady experience, but more and more the man was acting like a child with a new toy. Particularly when it came to the Messerschmitt aircraft that Heydrich had put at his disposal. Von Braun was an enthusiastic pilot and a good one, but his first itinerary was definitely too ambitious. He would be gone at least two weeks. Following the Prague meeting he would visit contractors’ plants from Munich to Stuttgart before returning to Peenemunde. Then there was the side trip to Liege to check on the injector systems being built at the Manufacture d’Armes. As no one high in management had visited the factory since the contract had been established eighteen months before, it was time someone did so, Wernher had told him. Showing the flag, he had called it.