Dornberger waved a hand as if dismissing that possibility. ‘May I enquire how the change is intended to be made?’ Dornberger’s famed control seemed to be deserting him. Bethwig had never before heard such anger in his voice.
‘Of course. Peenemunde would be transformed into a private company with limited liability. The entire capital would remain for now with the state, while the firm would be managed by a large concern acting as trustee – General Electric, Siemens, Rhinemetall, or Krupp, whichever is found most suitable. After amortisation of capital invested, the plant would be transferred to possession of the firm.’
‘Are you aware,’ Dornberger asked, ‘that the value of Peenemunde and its equipment is several hundred million marks? The interest payments and amortisation quotas could hardly be of interest to industry.’
Degenkolb smiled at that, and Professor Hettlage intervened, anxious that his contribution not be overlooked. ‘We already have acceptable tenders in that regard. We would make a cut in capital and declare assets of between one and two million, letting the rest go.’
Bethwig burst into laughter. ‘Amazing,’ he finally managed. ‘You will take an investment worth several hundred million marks and turn it, by a “cut in capital”, into a bargain. Of course, once the shares are resold by the state to a few select individuals – including, I have no doubt, you, Herr Degenkolb, and Minister Speer – the assets would then be re-evaluated and inventoried at their real worth. How very clever.’ Bethwig sat forward abruptly and snarled. ‘In the meantime the hell with the war effort, heh? We must not let that interfere with the lining of your pockets, must we?’
Degenkolb’s mouth worked in astonishment at being accused of outright thievery.
‘Do not look so surprised, Minister. I am, after all, a banker’s son.’
With an angry hiss Hettlage motioned to Dornberger to control his subordinate, but the general only stared at him. ‘I assume,’ he said finally, ‘that this suggestion has been cleared with General Fromm. If not, then we have nothing further to discuss.’
Dornberger got to his feet and stamped out, followed by von Braun and Bethwig. Franz turned at the door. ‘Minister Degenkolb, you are an excellent administrator, if somewhat of a bastard. I suggest you stick to that and leave the thieving to others.’ He smiled wickedly and closed the door.
As they walked across the park to the administration building von Braun waved an arm about. ‘Look at this. Laboratories, wind tunnels, construction and production facilities, housing, shops, amusement centres, and test stands, all employing and housing over four thousand people. How in the name of God can that man think this could all be turned into a moneymaking concern? Why, our budget is one hundred and fifty million marks per year. What do we sell? How can they possibly expect to make money?’
Bethwig explained patiently that the investors would make their money simply by buying the facility for a fraction of its worth, then at some later date selling it for its true worth either back to the government or to a holding company that they would invent; that company would, of course, be funded by the government.
Von Braun listened patiently; when Bethwig finished, he gave him a dubious glance but did not argue. Dornberger left to begin a series of phone calls, the first to Colonel General Fromm, chief of armaments and his direct superior.
Von Braun’s secretary, Hannelore Bannasch, met them at the elevator and gave her boss an envelope bearing Himmler’s personal seal. Von Braun glanced at Bethwig, then opened and read the message. He tossed it to his friend with a pleased expression.
‘That seems to be that. Perhaps Speer’s little game has frightened him away for now.’
The letter said only that because of changing circumstances the Reichsführer’s offer of direct employment had been withdrawn. The Reichsführer sent his best regards and wished them every success for the sake of the Reich. Bethwig felt a chill spread slowly through him, then mumbled an excuse and rushed to his own office. The envelope waiting for him contained two notes: one, impeccably typed, was an exact copy of von Braun’s. The second, in Himmler’s own spidery handwriting, reported that Inge had taken a turn for the worse and the doctors had not thought it wise to release her just yet – perhaps in a few months when the situation clarified itself.
He was being punished for his failure to persuade von Braun to join the SS. The fact that he had had little chance of ever doing so would make no impression at all on the Reichsführer.
A member of his staff telephoned to request an appointment to review the new procedures for the fast-approaching launch of the second A-10 rocket. Bethwig put the man off for the moment, pleading other commitments. No sooner had he hung up than the phone rang again. This time it was Dornberger, telling him to prepare for a visit to Hitler’s eastern headquarters to report on their progress to date. A few moments later von Braun burst in, grinning broadly, convinced that Speer had won, had beaten Himmler at his own game, and that they would now have a chance to change the Führer’s mind about the worth of rockets.
The meeting had been as stormy as the day outside, and Brigadier Oliver Simon-Benet fumed as he and Captain Jan Memling hurried along the road to their car. Jan opened the door and stepped back, but the brigadier, who held the umbrella, motioned him in impatiently. As the staff car, an American Buick – Memling still did not understand how Simon-Benet had acquired it – edged into traffic the brigadier swore and shoved the folded umbrella into its holder as if bayoneting his worst enemy.
‘Damn, I suppose they’re right. One more overflight at low level and the Germans are certain to know we’re on to them. But we do need those data! Isn’t there anything more CIU can do?’ he demanded plaintively.
Memling shook his head, ‘I’ve been over it a dozen times with them. Perhaps if the weather had been better…’ He shook his head, recalling the grainy, underexposed pictures that were all the photorecon aircraft, at the very limits of their fuel supply, had been able to obtain. ‘Unless your people on the ground can obtain the information, I am afraid we will have to go on what we now have.’
The brigadier muttered to himself, then said, ‘Nothing there, I am afraid. The AK people say their only contacts inside Peenemunde are with low-level labourers.’ He fell silent, staring out at the rain-sodden streets. May has been nothing more than a month of rain, he thought, all across Europe. But they had to have that data. Without specific and precise co-ordinates for the important test sites and facilities, Bomber Command could never hope to destroy the Peenemunde research centre. It was just too huge. He glanced at Memling sitting beside him, likewise staring out at the rain. He had been considering this solution for some time now but had not wanted to broach it until every conceivable avenue had been explored.
‘Jan,’ he began abruptly. ‘We need to send someone in. Someone who has the training to understand what he’s seeing. Will you go?’
For just an instant Memling thought he might vomit. He breathed slowly through his nose at the same time tightening his diaphragm to control the gag reflex. Ah, Christ, he thought, to go back again? He couldn’t do it, but even as the thought was formulated he knew he had no other choice. Janet was right, he had done more than his share. But that was an excuse no one would ever accept, particularly the brigadier.
Simon-Benet grunted in satisfaction at his nod of acceptance.