Vengeance 10

In his room, he lit the fire, poured a stiff whisky, then spread Himmler’s note on his desk and stared at the words. Now he knew why Himmler had summoned them both to Berlin. The last two paragraphs made it perfectly clear:

‘Knowing of your concern, my investigators established beyond doubt that the young lady is being well cared for in a Prague hospice. It is certainly possible that if her treatment continues as successfully as heretofore, she may be released in the near future. Unfortunately, her parents have disappeared, and it is thought they may have been killed in the bombing of their small village by aircraft of the American Eighth Air Force. If so, there will of course be the matter of guardianship to be settled, as the doctors are doubtful that she will ever again be well enough to live on her own. Perhaps something can be arranged in this regard.

‘Knowing of your concern, I take this occasion to set your mind at rest. You may be assured that I will do all I can to assist you, as I am most concerned that nothing be allowed to distract you from our great plans. ‘

The implication was plain enough. Himmler had anticipated von Braun’s angry refusal. So, if he delivered von Braun, Inge would be his reward. Bethwig slammed his fist on to the note and flung himself about the room. How in the name of God did Himmler find time to concern himself with something as petty as this? Was the A-10 all that important to him? It must be. Look at the lengths to which he had gone: locating and then keeping the girl locked away and somehow disposing of her parents so the question of guardianship could be raised. German law was quite strict in that regard, and while Himmler might profess to be above the civil law, he was not averse to its use when it suited his purposes.

After a while he took his raincoat and went out to the officers’ club to look for von Braun. He had no other choice; and as Himmler had suggested, there were certain benefits to be derived from enlistment in the SS.

* * *

Spring had come early to London. The walk to Red Lion Square had turned pleasant in the past week, and only that morning Memling had thought seriously of requesting a few days’ leave to take Janet to Devon for a belated honeymoon. But all such plans had evaporated instantly in the last five minutes. He looked up from the photograph to the RAF squadron leader who sat across from him smoking an especially foul-smelling pipe.

‘Interesting, heh?’

Memling reached for his telephone and rang through to Simon-Benet. The phone clicked several times as the monitoring devices were activated, and then the brigadier was on the line.

‘Hello, sir. The Central Interpretation Unit people have come up with something quite interesting. Can we come across?’

A few minutes later he was introducing the squadron leader to Simon-Benet and handing him the magnifying glass at the same time. ‘Look just here, sir.’

The grainy black-and-white photograph showed an oval structure, oriented north-west to south-east, that looked vaguely like a sports stadium. The open centre was surrounded by high banks of what appeared to be packed earth. A large two- or three-storey structure was located at the eastern edge, and several smaller buildings were scattered about the area. A network of roads, appearing as white tracks in the photograph, circled the oval structure. Inside, near the south-east perimeter, was a snubnosed greyish object resembling a torpedo with large fins; it was lying on a transport vehicle of some kind. Several dots resolved into people under the glass, and one appeared to be walking towards a rectangular building.

‘‘I’m damned,’ the brigadier said after a while. He looked up at Memling who nodded in agreement. The brigadier glanced at the photograph’s scale, then took a metal ruler from his desk and measured the length of the torpedo shape. ‘Agrees with your estimates, at least as far as length is concerned.’ He tapped the photo with a finger.

‘Any more like this, Squadron Leader?’