‘We have come into possession of a document which I think is significant.’ He handed Chamberlain the memorandum.
The Prime Minister gave him a puzzled look. He put on his spectacles and flicked through the pages. ‘What is it?’
‘It appears to be the minute of a meeting Hitler held with his senior military commanders last November, in which he explicitly commits himself to war.’
‘And how has it come to us?’
‘A friend of mine – a German diplomat – gave it to me this evening in strict confidence.’
‘Really? Why does he wish us to have it?’
‘I think perhaps he should explain that himself. He’s waiting outside.’
‘He’s here?’ The Prime Minister glanced up sharply. ‘Does Sir Horace know about this, or Strang?’
‘No, sir. Nobody knows.’
‘I’m astonished to hear it. This is not how these matters are supposed to be handled.’ He was frowning. ‘You are aware of the chain of command? You are exceeding your authority, young man.’
‘I understand that, sir. But it seemed to me important. He is risking his life and he asked to see you alone.’
‘I shouldn’t have anything to do with it. This really is most improper.’ He took off his spectacles and gazed into the middle distance. He tapped his foot a couple of times in irritation. ‘Very well,’ he said. ‘Bring him in. But five minutes – no longer.’
Legat went to the door, opened it, and beckoned to Hartmann who was waiting at the end of the corridor. He said to the detective, ‘It’s all right, I know him,’ then stood aside to let Hartmann enter. ‘Five minutes,’ he whispered. He closed the door. ‘Prime Minister, this is Paul von Hartmann of the German Foreign Ministry.’
Chamberlain shook his hand briefly, as if prolonged contact might be contaminating. ‘Good evening.’ He gestured towards a seat. ‘Make it quick.’
Hartmann remained standing. ‘I won’t sit, Prime Minister, as I don’t wish to take up any more of your time than is necessary. I thank you for seeing me.’
‘I am not sure it is very wise, for either of us. But you’d better get on with it.’
‘That document in your hands is conclusive proof that when Hitler claims to have “no further territorial demands in Europe” he is lying. On the contrary: he plans a war of conquest to gain living space for the German people. This war will be launched at a minimum within the next five years. The incorporation of Austria and Czechoslovakia is merely the first step. Those who expressed reservations – the commanders of the Army and the Foreign Minister – have all been replaced. I bring this information to you in good faith, and at grave risk to myself, because I wish to urge you – even at this eleventh hour – not to sign the agreement tonight. It will make Hitler’s position in Germany unassailable. Whereas, if Britain and France were to stand firm, I am certain the Army would move against him in order to prevent a disastrous war.’
Chamberlain crossed his arms and regarded him for a few moments. ‘Young man, I applaud your courage and your sincerity, but I’m afraid you need to learn a few lessons in political reality. It is simply impossible to expect the peoples of Britain and France to take up arms to deny the right of self-determination to ethnic Germans who are trapped in a foreign country they wish to leave. Against that single reality, all else fails. As for what Hitler dreams of doing in the next five years – well, we shall have to wait and see. He’s been making these threats ever since Mein Kampf. My objective is clear: to avert war in the short term, and then to try to build a lasting peace for the future – one month at a time, one day at a time, if needs be. The worst act I could possibly commit for the future of mankind would be to walk away from this conference tonight.
‘Now,’ he went on, folding up the memorandum, ‘I advise you to take this document, which is the property of your government, and return it to wherever it came from.’
He tried to pass it over but Hartmann refused to take it. He put his hands behind his back and shook his head. ‘No, Prime Minister. Keep it. Have your experts study it. That is the political reality.’
Chamberlain drew back. ‘Now you are being impertinent.’
‘I have no wish to be offensive, but I came to speak frankly, and I have done so. I believe that what is being done here will one day come to be seen as infamous. Well, that is my five minutes, I suppose.’ And to Legat’s astonishment, he smiled – but a terrible smile, full of agony and despair. ‘Thank you for your time, Prime Minister.’ He bowed. ‘I didn’t have much hope for anything better. Hugh.’
He nodded at Legat, turned smartly, like a soldier on a parade ground, and walked out of the room, closing the door carefully.
Chamberlain glared after him for a few moments, then turned on Legat. ‘Get rid of this at once.’ He thrust the memorandum into his hands. His voice was cold, hard, precise: on the edge of a fury that was all the more alarming for being so tightly controlled. ‘I simply cannot allow myself to be distracted by what may or may not have been said at a private meeting a year ago. The situation is entirely altered since last November.’
‘Yes, Prime Minister.’
‘We will not speak of this again.’
‘No, sir.’
Legat moved to collect the red box from the desk but Chamberlain stopped him. ‘Leave it. Go.’ And when he reached the door, the Prime Minister added, ‘I have to say I am extremely disappointed in you.’
The chilly words were pronounced like a professional death sentence. Legat went out quietly into the corridor, a high-flyer in the British civil service no longer.
10
Hartmann was certain from the moment he left the hotel that he was being followed. He had an animal’s sixth sense – a kind of prickling along his spine – of being stalked by a predator. But there were too many people around for him to be able to recognise his pursuer. The small park opposite the Regina Palast was spilling over with the Oktoberfest crowd. The night was warm enough for the women still to be wearing dresses with bare arms. A lot of the men were drunk. In Karolinenplatz, an impromptu folk choir had formed beneath the obelisk and a red-faced man with a chamois plume in his hat was waving his hands wildly in an attempt to conduct them.
He walked quickly. The fools, he thought. They imagined they were celebrating peace. They had no idea what their beloved Führer had planned for them. When a couple of young women on Brienner Strasse suddenly blocked his path and invited him to join them he pushed his way past them without a word. They jeered at his back. He put his head down. Fools. And the greatest fool of all was Chamberlain. He stopped beneath a bare tree to light a cigarette and discreetly checked the road behind him. He allowed himself a certain bitter satisfaction – when all was said and done, he had at least got in to deliver his warning to the British Prime Minister. That was something! He could still see the affronted expression on that narrow provincial face when he had refused to take back the memorandum. Poor Hugh, standing next to him, had looked stricken. Perhaps he had ruined his career? Too bad. It could not be helped. But still he felt a pang of guilt.
He glanced over his shoulder again. A figure was approaching. Despite the heat he was wearing a belted brown raincoat. As he passed, Hartmann had a glimpse of a badly pockmarked cheek. Gestapo, he thought. They had their own smell. And they were like rats: if there was one, there would be more. He waited until the man had reached the edge of Königsplatz and had passed out of sight beyond one of the Temples of Honour, then he threw away his cigarette and set off in the direction of the Führerbau.
The crowd here was much larger – several thousand at least – but more sober, as befitted their proximity to the spiritual heart of the Reich. Hartmann climbed the red-carpeted steps and went into the foyer. As it had been in the morning, it was packed with Nazi worthies. The din of braying voices echoed off the marble. He searched the porcine faces of the old comrades, and the smoother educated countenances of those who had joined the Party since 1933, until he thought he saw the pockmarks of
his pursuer. But when he moved towards him, the Gestapo man vanished into the cloakroom. The sheer clumsiness of it infuriated him as much as anything else. He went to the foot of the staircase and waited. Sure enough, after a couple of minutes, the black-uniformed figure of Sauer came through the door. Hartmann moved to block his path.
‘Good evening, Herr Sturmbannführer.’
Sauer nodded warily. ‘Hartmann.’
‘I have missed you for most of the day.’
‘Indeed?’
‘You know, I have the strangest feeling? Perhaps you can set my mind at rest? I have a sense that you’ve been following me.’
For a moment Sauer looked taken aback. Then outrage flashed across his face. ‘You have some nerve, Hartmann!’
‘Well? Have you?’
‘Yes, since you raise the matter – I have been investigating your activities.’
‘That is not a very comradely thing to do.’
‘I have every justification. As a result, I now know all about you and your English friend.’
‘I presume you mean Herr Legat?’
‘Legat – yes. Legat!’
Hartmann said calmly, ‘We were at Oxford together.’
‘I know that. From 1930 until 1932. I have spoken to the personnel department of the Foreign Ministry. I have also contacted our embassy in London, who were able to establish that Legat and you were actually in the same college.’
‘If you’d asked me I could have saved you the trouble. It amounts to nothing.’
‘If that was all there was, I might agree. But I have also discovered that Herr Legat was not on the original list of British delegates that was telegraphed to Berlin last night. His name was only added this morning. A colleague of his, a Herr Syers, was supposed to be coming.’
Hartmann tried not to show his alarm. ‘I fail to see the significance.’
‘Your behaviour at the station in Kufstein – telephoning Berlin to discover who would be coming from London: it struck me at the time as suspicious. Why would you be so concerned? Why were you even on board the Führer’s train in the first place? I now believe it was because you had requested that Legat should come to Munich, and you wanted to make sure that he was on Chamberlain’s plane.’
‘You overestimate my influence, Herr Sturmbannführer.’
‘I am not suggesting you arranged it personally – some member of your group would have made the request on your behalf. Oh yes, don’t look surprised – we are aware of what is going on. We are not the fools you take us for.’
‘I should hope not.’
‘And now you have been observed leaving the Führerbau by a back entrance in order to walk to the hotel of the British delegation, where I saw you in the lobby with my own eyes, in conversation with Herr Legat, before disappearing together upstairs. The whole thing stinks of treachery.’
‘Two old friends happen to meet after a long interval. They take advantage of a lull in official business to renew their acquaintance. Where is the evidence of treachery? You are embarrassing yourself, Herr Sturmbannführer.’
‘The English are inherently hostile to the Reich. Unauthorised contacts between officials are highly suspicious.’
‘I have been doing nothing more than the Führer has been doing with Herr Chamberlain all afternoon – finding areas of common ground.’
For a moment it occurred to Hartmann that Sauer was about to hit him. ‘We’ll see whether you’re so sure of yourself after I have brought the matter to the attention of the Foreign Minister.’
‘Hartmann!’
The shout carried clearly over the hubbub in the foyer. Both men looked around to see where it was coming from.
‘Hartmann!’
He glanced up. Schmidt was leaning over the balustrade, gesturing for him to join him.
‘Excuse me, Sturmbannführer. I’ll wait to hear from you and the Minister.’
‘You will – you can be sure of it.’
Hartmann began to climb the stairs. His legs felt weak. He ran his hand up the cold marble banister, glad of its support. He had been careless. The former automobile salesman from Essen was proving a dogged adversary, and no fool. There must be so many pieces of circumstantial evidence he had left behind him – unguarded conversations, meetings that might have been observed. And his relationship with Frau Winter – how many people in Wilhelmstrasse had guessed at that? He wondered how robustly he would withstand interrogation. One never knew.
Schmidt was waiting for him on the first floor. He looked crumpled. The effort of interpreting between four different languages, and of simply maintaining order long enough for his translations to be heard, had obviously drained him. He said, testily, ‘I have been looking for you. Where have you been?’
‘The British raised a query about one of the translations. I went to their hotel to sort it out with them directly.’
Another lie that could easily come back to trap him. But for now it seemed to satisfy Schmidt. He nodded. ‘Good. The agreements are still being typed. When the delegations return for the signing, you will have to be on hand to translate.’
‘Of course.’
‘Also, first thing tomorrow morning, you will be needed back here to prepare the English-language press summary for the Führer. The telegrams will be collated in the office. You will need to get some sleep if you can. There is a room for you at the Vier Jahreszeiten.’
Hartmann could not hide his alarm. ‘Now that we’re no longer on the train I thought the summary would be handled by the press department?’
‘Normally, yes. So you should be honoured. The Führer himself has requested that you should do it. You seem to have made an impression. He called you “the young man with the watch”.’
In the lobby of the Regina Palast, the Prime Minister’s party was queuing to file out through the revolving door. Chamberlain was already on the pavement: Legat could hear the crowd in the park cheering him. Strang said, ‘I haven’t seen you for a while. I was starting to think you’d decided to sit this one out.’
‘No, sir. My apologies.’
‘Not that I’d have blamed you. I wouldn’t have minded missing it myself.’
They went out into the tumult of the night – the revving engines of the big Mercedes, car doors slamming along the length of the convoy, shouts, white flashbulbs, red brake lights and yellow headlights. Somewhere in the darkness a whistle blew.
For more than an hour, Legat had been expecting the blow to fall. He had sat in the corner office, dictating to a clerk in the Foreign Office the latest amendments to the agreement, his ears cocked for voices in the corridor, waiting for the summons, the dressing down, the dismissal. Nothing. Now Wilson was settling the Prime Minister into the back of the first car. When he had finished he swung round. He noticed Legat. This must be it, thought Legat, and he braced himself, but Wilson merely grinned. ‘Hello, Hugh. Coming to witness history being made?’
‘Yes, Sir Horace. If that’s all right.’
‘Of course it’s all right.’
Legat watched him move quickly round to the other side of the car. His friendliness was bewildering.
Strang said, ‘Come on, Hugh. Look lively! Why don’t you ride with me?’
They climbed into the third Mercedes. Henderson and Kirkpatrick were in the car in front; Ashton-Gwatkin and Dunglass at the rear. When they pulled away and cornered sharply with a soft squeal of tyres Legat noticed that Strang didn’t sway with the motion of the car but remained stiff and immobile. He was hating every moment. The convoy accelerated along Max-Joseph-Strasse and across Karolinenplatz, the wind hard in their faces. Legat wondered if he would see Hartmann at the Führerbau. He didn’t resent him for embarrassing him in front of the Prime Minister. It had been a futile gesture, of course, but then they were trapped in an era when futile gestures were all that were available. Paul had got it right that night when he had stood on the parapet of Magdalen Bridge: ‘Ours is a mad generation …’ Their destinies had been mapped from the mome
nt they met.
The convoy came into Königsplatz. It looked even more pagan in the darkness, its giant symbols and eternal flames and floodlit white buildings glittering around a vast expanse of black granite like the temple complex of some lost civilisation. By the time their car drew to a halt the Prime Minister was already out of his Mercedes and halfway up the steps to the Führerbau. He was in such a hurry that for once he didn’t stop to acknowledge the large crowd even though they were chanting his name. They carried on cheering after he had disappeared inside. Strang said, ‘What an astonishing reception he gets, wherever he goes in Germany. It was exactly the same in Godesberg. I’m beginning to think that if he could stand for election, he’d give Hitler a run for his money.’ An SS man stepped up and opened the door. Strang shuddered slightly. ‘Well, let’s get it over with.’
The foyer was packed and brilliantly lit. Adjutants in white jackets circulated with trays of drinks. Strang went off to find Malkin. Left to himself, Legat wandered round, holding a glass of mineral water, keeping an eye out for Hartmann. He saw Dunglass making his way towards him.
‘Hello, Alec.’
‘Hugh. Some of our press chaps outside are complaining. Apparently no one from a British paper is to be allowed in to take a picture of the actual signing. I was wondering if you could possibly ask if something might be done about it?’
‘I can try.’
‘Could you? Best to keep them happy.’
He disappeared into the crowd. Legat handed his glass to a waiter and began to climb the stairs. He paused halfway up and gazed around the balustraded gallery, unsure who he should approach. One of the uniformed figures, an officer of the SS, detached himself from the rest and descended to meet him. ‘Good evening. You look lost.’ He spoke in German. There was a strange dead-fish quality about his pale blue eyes. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Good evening. Thank you, yes. I wanted to talk to someone about the press arrangements for the signing of the agreement.’