The Eagle Has Flown. Jack Higgins
his way at the end of the corridor. He hesitated, uncertain, then realized that the archway at the end led on to the balcony above the great hall. He was about to turn and go the other way when he heard voices. Intrigued, he moved forward on to the balcony and peered down cautiously. Himmler was standing at the head of the great table flanked by Rossman and Berger. The Reichsführer was speaking.
‘There are those, Berger, who are more concerned with people than ideas. They became sentimental too easily. I do not think you are one of them.’
‘No, Reichsführer,’ Berger said.
‘Unfortunately, General Schellenberg is. That’s why I’m sending you with him to Lisbon. The man, Devlin, comes whether he likes it or not. I look to you to see to it.’
‘Is the Reichsführer doubting General Schellenberg’s loyalty?’ Rossman asked.
‘He has been of great service to the Reich,’ Himmler said. ‘Probably the most gifted officer to serve under my command, but I’ve always doubted his loyalty to the Party. But there is no problem here, Rossman. He is too useful for me to discard at the present time. We must put all our energies into the preparation for Belle Ile while Schellenberg busies himself with the Steiner affair.’ He turned to Berger. ‘You’d better be off.’
‘Reichsführer.’
Berger clicked his heels and turned away. When he was halfway across the hall, Himmler called, ‘Show me what you can do, Sturmbannführer.’
Berger had the flap of his holster open, turned with incredible speed, arm extended. There was a fresco of knights on the far wall done in medieval style in plaster. He fired three times very fast and three heads disintegrated. The shots echoed through the hall as he replaced his weapon.
‘Excellent,’ Himmler said.
Schellenberg was already on his way. He was good himself, maybe as good as Berger, but that wasn’t the point. In the hall he retrieved his greatcoat and cap, was sitting in the rear of the Mercedes when Berger joined him five minutes later.
‘Sorry if I’ve kept you waiting, General,’ he said as he got in.
‘No problem,’ Schellenberg said and nodded to the driver who drove away. ‘Smoke if you like.’
‘No vices, I’m afraid,’ Berger said.
‘Really? Now that is interesting.’ Schellenberg turned up the collar of his greatcoat and leaned back in the corner pulling the peak of his cap over his eyes. ‘A long way to Berlin. I don’t know about you, but I’m going to get some sleep.’
He did just that. Berger watched him for a while, and then he also pulled up the collar of his greatcoat and turned into the corner.
Schellenberg’s office at Prinz Albrechtstrasse had a military camp bed in one corner for he often spent the night there. He was in the small bathroom adjacent to it shaving when his secretary, Ilse Huber, entered. She was forty-one at that time, already a war widow, a sensual, attractive woman in white blouse and black skirt. She had once been Heydrich’s secretary and Schellenberg, to whom she was devoted, had inherited her.
‘He’s here,’ she said.
‘Rivera?’ Schellenberg wiped soap from his face. ‘And Canaris?’
‘The Herr Admiral will be riding in the Tiergarten at ten o’clock as usual. Will you join him?’
Schellenberg frequently did, but when he went to the window and saw the powdering of snow in the streets he laughed. ‘Not this morning, thank you, but I must see him.’
Dedicated as she was to Schellenberg’s welfare, she had an instinct about things. She went and poured coffee from the pot on the tray she had put on his desk. ‘Trouble, General?’
‘In a way, my love.’ He drank some of the coffee and smiled, that ruthless, dangerous smile of his that made the heart turn over in her. ‘But don’t worry. Nothing I can’t handle. I’ll fill you in on the details before I leave. I’m going to need your help with this one. Where’s Berger, by the way?’
‘Downstairs in the canteen, last I saw of him.’
‘All right. I’ll see Rivera now.’
She paused at the door and turned. ‘He frightens me that one. Berger, I mean.’
Schellenberg went and put an arm around her. ‘I told you not to worry. After all, when has the great Schellenberg ever failed to manage?’
His self-mockery, as always, made her laugh. He gave her a squeeze and she was out of the door smiling. Schellenberg buttoned his tunic and sat down. A moment later the door opened and Rivera came in.
He wore a dark brown suit, an overcoat over one arm, a small man, sallow skin, black hair carefully parted. Just now he looked decidedly anxious.
‘You know who I am?’ Schellenberg asked him.
‘Of course, General. An honour to meet you.’
Schellenberg held up a piece of paper which was actually some stationery from the hotel he’d stayed at in Vienna the previous week. ‘This message you received from your cousin, Vargas, at the London Embassy concerning the whereabouts of a certain Colonel Steiner. Have you discussed it with anyone?’
Rivera seemed genuinely shocked. ‘Not a living soul, General. Before God I swear this.’ He spread his hands dramatically. ‘On my mother’s life.’
‘Oh, I don’t think we need to bring her into it. She’s quite comfortable in that little villa you bought her in San Carlos.’ Rivera looked startled and Schellenberg said, ‘You see, there is nothing about you I don’t know. There is no place you could go where I couldn’t reach you. Do you understand me?’
‘Perfectly, General.’ Rivera was sweating.
‘You belong to the SD now and Reichsführer Himmler, but it is me you answer to and no one else, so to start with: this message from your cousin in London. Why did you also send it to Admiral Canaris?’
‘My cousin’s orders, General. In these matters there is always the question of payment and in this case …’ He shrugged.
‘He thought you might get paid twice?’ Schellenberg nodded. It made sense and yet he had learned never to take anything for granted in this game. ‘Tell me about your cousin.’
‘What can I say that the General doesn’t know? José’s parents died in the influenza epidemic just after the First World War. My parents raised him. We were like brothers. Went to the University of Madrid together. Fought in the same regiment in the Civil War. He’s one year older than me, thirty-three.’
‘He isn’t married, you are,’ Schellenberg said. ‘Does he have a girlfriend in London?’
Rivera spread his hands. ‘As it happens, José’s tastes do not run to women, General.’
‘I see.’ Schellenberg brooded about it for a moment. He had nothing against homosexuals, but such people were susceptible to blackmail and that was a weakness for anyone engaged in intelligence work. A point against Vargas, then.
‘You know London?’
Rivera nodded. ‘I served at the Embassy there with José in thirty-nine for one year. I left my wife in Madrid.’
‘I know London also,’ Schellenberg said. ‘Tell me about his life. Does he live at the Embassy?’
‘Officially he does, General, but for the purposes of his private life he has a small apartment, a flat as the English call it. He took a seven-year lease on the place while I was there so he must still have it.’
‘Where would that be?’
‘Stanley Mews, quite close to Westminster Abbey.’
‘And convenient for the Houses of Parliament. A good address. I’m impressed.’
‘José