Vengeance 10

Himmler stood up abruptly. ‘Well, we shall get to the bottom of this. My aide has arranged quarters for you in the city. You are not under arrest, but you must not leave Berlin. I will give every consideration to the case against Wernher von Braun, but I can tell you that it does not look good. In spite of what you think, the evidence is strongly against him.’ He held up a hand to prevent Bethwig’s protest, and the door opened behind them.

‘Right this way, sir,’ the aide announced. Himmler had already resumed his seat behind the desk. Glancing up to see Bethwig hesitating, he waved a hand in dismissal.

‘That is all. I will call on you if necessary.’

Bethwig stalked from the room, and the aide had to hurry after him, waving a small card with the address of a hotel written on it. Bethwig snatched it from the man and pushed through the door into the corridor as the aide tried vainly to describe the restrictions imposed on him. Bethwig had no intention of paying them the slightest attention.

* * *

Himmler kept him waiting for two days. During that time Bethwig remained at the Hotel Bauer, staring for long hours through the window at passing traffic. The weather had turned quite hot and the room was stifling, even with the windows thrown wide. On the afternoon of the second day, when he could stand it no longer, Bethwig went out for a walk. In the Liepziger Platz he watched a passing military convoy for nearly an hour — long lines of Mercedes lorries and tank carriers with their cargoes of Panzer IV tanks destined for the Russian front and the summer offensive everyone seemed to know was coming. The troops filling the transport lorries waved and shouted to the pretty girls who threw them small packets of candy, ersatz coffee, and cigarettes. Franz found that he was smiling. This is what the war is all about, he thought; Germany regaining its rightful place as it should have done long ago.

He turned away as the last of the tank transporters disappeared towards the Tiergarten, and found a small sidewalk cafe only half- filled. He took a table, ordered the house wine — which turned out to be French, surprisingly good, and cheap at the same time — and a plate of wursts.

The convoy had done much to restore his spirits. The war would end within a few years — no one thought it would be over within the year — and the future would be Germany’s to shape. The A-10 would give them their first step to the moon. Guided rockets with uranium bombs would be followed by lunar bases manned by scientists and technicians. God only knew what benefits would be derived and how they might change the world. It was good to be alive, to be a pioneer. For a moment he was embarrassed by his private enthusiasm.

A thin-faced man in an old trench coat stopped by the next table, flipped open a wallet, shoved it under the nose of a soldier wearing an eastern front campaign ribbon, and ordered him and his girl to leave. The soldier started to protest, but the gaunt man asked the girl for her name. They went quickly then, and the man sat down and snapped his fingers for the waiter. He turned and smiled at Bethwig. Captain Jacob Walsch.

Bethwig hesitated. Uncertain, then angry, he got up and approached the table. Walsch, smiling lazily at him, stood. The other patrons had witnessed the scene with the soldier and now stopped their conversations to watch.

‘Captain Walsch, I believe?’

The Gestapo officer inclined his head. ‘Major, Herr Bethwig. I received a promotion a year ago.’

‘My congratulations, Major. Cream rises to the top, they say. But then, so does sewage. I was speaking about you just the other day, to Reichsführer Himmler.’

Walsch nodded, on guard now. ‘I am most flattered that you remembered me.’

‘Yes,’ Bethwig went on, his voice rising a bit so that the other patrons could hear. ‘I believe I told Herr Himmler that you were an ass.’ Bethwig chuckled into the sudden silence. ‘An incompetent ass, I think I said.’

Tension was palpable in the tiny restaurant, and the head waiter started as if to intervene, but another waiter wisely held him back.

‘I am sorry that you retain such a poor opinion of me…’

‘You brought the charges against Herr Doktor von Braun, did you not?’ Bethwig continued. ‘Only an incompetent ass would present such a monstrous series of lies in the form of an indictment. You, Major Walsch, are a disgrace to the position you hold and to the Reich.’ Bethwig had carried his half-empty glass with him, and as he finished speaking he threw the contents into Walsch’s face. The Gestapo officer jumped back, tripped against his chair, and fell over backwards. Bethwig calmly extracted a five-mark note from his wallet and tossed it on the table.

‘That will pay for cleaning your coat, Major. Good day.’

He turned and walked out of the restaurant to the spontaneous applause of the other patrons as waiters rushed to help Walsch. One began dabbing his coat with salt and water, but Walsch pushed him away and went to a telephone.