Chosen of the Valkyries (Twilight Of The Gods Book 2) (11 page)

He wasn't inclined to condemn Horst merely for being an SS officer.  It would be hypocritical.  Volker had been a paratrooper himself before his retirement; he’d certainly seen nothing wrong with encouraging his son to follow in his footsteps.  A tour or two as a stormtrooper would leave Konrad perfectly positioned to become a paratrooper or a commando himself, if he hadn't been critically wounded on his very first tour.  How could he condemn Horst for serving the SS?

But he could - and perhaps he would - condemn the younger man for being a spy.

“So they made contact with you,” he said, when Horst had finished.  “Do they not doubt your loyalties?”

“I tried to convince them I was fooled,” Horst said, bluntly.  “They have little reason to doubt me.”

Volker scowled.  He hadn't had much to do with the observers, back when he’d been a paratrooper, but he had the distant feeling that Horst’s superiors would be watching him with a very jaundiced eye.  They
had
to wonder just how much Horst had known - or suspected - before the uprising took place.  At the very least, they would be questioning his competence and wondering just how far he could be trusted.  And, at worst, they would be stringing him along while preparing their own surprise.  If they had other sources within the
Reichstag
, why would they need Horst at all?

He rubbed his forehead.  If they had no sources, they might try to bluff Horst into thinking they had ... but if they
did
have sources, they could try to manipulate Horst into doing something stupid ... he felt his head start to pound, reminding him that he had been surviving on caffeine since six o’clock in the morning.  He just couldn't think clearly now.

“You made sure Gudrun wasn't kept in prison,” Volker said, flatly.  “They are certainly going to be doubting your competence.”

“Better that than my loyalties,” Horst said.

Volker wasn't so sure.  If the SS believed that Gudrun and Horst were lovers - and their body language betrayed them - they would wonder just who had seduced who.  Would they think Horst had seduced Gudrun to remain close to the provisional government ... or would they believe that
Gudrun
had seduced
Horst
to distract him from his duty.  Volker was no innocent.  He
knew
just how often sex was used to bribe or corrupt government officials, from bureaucrats handing out ration cards to policemen who caught unescorted women on the streets after dark.  The SS would know it too.

“They wouldn't have contacted you if they hadn't felt they needed you,” he mused.  He cleared his throat.  “I expect to know about it the moment they make contact, again.”

“Understood,
Herr Chancellor
,” Horst said.

“And we clearly need to reshuffle everything when we move to the underground bunker,” Volker continued, after a moment.  “Their spies can be reassigned elsewhere.”

“As long as it looks natural,” Horst said.  He didn't sound enthusiastic.  If there were any major changes before the war actually began, his superiors might start thinking he’d tipped off the provisional government.  “I’ll keep you informed.”

“And I’ll decide what you can give to them,” Volker added.  “I don’t want any surprises.”

He rubbed his forehead, again.  “Wait outside,” he said, addressing Horst.  “I want a word with Gudrun in private.”

“
Jawohl
,
Herr Chancellor
,” Horst said.

Volker watched him go, then looked at Gudrun.  He couldn't help thinking that she looked alarmingly like a schoolgirl who had been unjustly sent to the headmaster, torn between the urge to protest and the certain knowledge that protests would be worse than useless.  He shook his head, tiredly.  Gudrun really
was
too young for any of this.  She was still idealistic, in a world where the idealistic were always betrayed and abandoned.  It wasn’t fair ...

... But it was the way of the world.

“You should have told me about him,” he said, flatly.  It was hard, very hard, not to snap at her.  “I understand why you didn’t, but you should have done.”

Gudrun nodded, not meeting his eyes.  “I ...”

Volker cut her off.  “I expect you to make sure that the
only
things his superiors hear are things we have already decided they
should
hear,” he added.  He’d have to discuss the matter with Luther Stresemann and hope to hell that the Head of the Economic Intelligence Service was trustworthy.  The
Abwehr
had more experience, but the
Abwehr
had worked too closely with the SS.  “We don’t need more leaks.”

“No, sir,” Gudrun said, quietly.

“Good,” Volker said. 

He studied her for a long moment.  Her arrest - and near-death - hadn't left any scars on her face, although her eyes were harder than he remembered.  Gudrun had lost some of her innocence, back when she’d learned just what had happened to Konrad.  She wasn't the girl he’d met, not any longer.  He couldn't help wondering, deep inside, just what would have happened to her if Konrad had survived.  The
Reich
could not have kept itself going indefinitely.

“Get some sleep,” he ordered, quietly.  “And we'll discuss the matter further in the morning.”

“I understand,” Gudrun said.  “And thank you.”

Volker lifted his eyebrows.  “For what?”

“For trusting him,” Gudrun said.  “It means a lot to me.”

“Does it?”  Volker said.  He didn't trust Horst
that
far, even though the young man had come clean as soon as he’d returned to the
Reichstag. 
“You can’t trust anyone completely, Gudrun; you can't even trust yourself.  All you can do is hope, when the betrayal comes, that it won’t be fatal.”

“That’s a grim attitude,” Gudrun said, bluntly.

“It’s life,” Volker said.  “
Everyone
has a price.”

Chapter Ten

Berlin, Germany

7 September 1985

“Is it safe out here?”

Andrew Barton shrugged.  Nazi Germany had
never
been a safe place, even if one
did
have diplomatic immunity.  There were quite a few horror stories about embassy staffers who’d been arrested and subjected to humiliating and degrading procedures before they’d been reluctantly released with an insincere apology.  Indeed, one of the reasons that most of the staffers had rooms at the embassy itself, rather than hiring accommodation outside the building, was the prospect of being picked up by the SS and harassed for the next few hours ...

And, of course, the certainty that your rooms would be bugged
, he added, silently. 
A room in Berlin that isn't bugged is probably used for immoral purposes
.

“I wouldn't say so, Penny,” he said.  “But risk is our business.”

Penelope Jameson gave him a nasty look.  She was a CIA agent, true, but she specialised in economics rather than dirty underhand spy work.  Andrew wouldn't have brought her along at all, if he hadn't felt it would be better to pretend to be a young couple out for a stroll rather than a single young man.  Berlin’s sexual values remained firmly conservative, but the uprising and the prospect of being invaded by the SS had convinced hundreds of couples that it was better to bite the bullet and get married before all hell broke loose.  Apparently, even the police had started ignoring couples making out in the parks.

Andrew sighed.  “There’s no more risk than usual, perhaps less,” he said.  “But we can't account for every eventuality.”

It was hard to sound reassuring.  The provisional government couldn't be trusted completely - they were Germans, after all - yet they had good reason not to want to piss off Uncle Sam.  They might return a pair of wandering Americans to the embassy, but they probably wouldn’t have them humiliated, tortured or killed.  Or so he hoped.  It was quite possible that an SS officer would do just that, in the hopes of souring relationships between the provisional government and the United States.

He kept that thought to himself as they strolled up the road.  The people who lived in
this
part of Berlin were amongst the richest and most powerful civilians in the
Reich
, a mixture of wealthy industrialists and government ministers who’d been careful to keep one hand in the till while they did their jobs.  Even now, with the police having more important things to do, it was rare to see any of the
hoi polloi
enter the district, knowing that anyone caught there without a valid reason would be lucky if they saw freedom again.  Nazi Germany’s elite wanted nothing to do with the peons, Andrew thought.  The real question was just how much the peons wanted to do with - or to - them.

“Nice house,” Penelope said, as they stopped outside a pair of wrought-iron gates.  “How much do you think it cost?”

“It would be priceless,” Andrew grunted.  He nodded at the guard, who opened the gates and pointed towards the mansion.  “Money alone would not be enough to buy this house.  The buyer would need a shitload of political influence.”

He felt a stab of sympathy for the provisional government as they strolled up the driveway, trying to ignore the handful of peacocks pecking at the ground.  Arthur Morgenstern was staggeringly wealthy, by the standards of the average citizen, but he wouldn't have amassed quite so much wealth if he hadn't had connections at all levels.  And yet, even
he
had been at the mercy of the SS.  Andrew knew that America wasn't perfect, that his country had its flaws, but he would sooner have been a poor man in the United States than a rich man in Nazi Germany.  The price for such staggering wealth was far too high. 

And sorting out the mess - and building a proper economy - will take years, if they can do it at all
, he thought. 
There are too many people who know how to work the current economy to their advantage
.

The butler - a German, rather than a
Gastarbeiter
- opened the door when they approached and motioned them into the hallway.  “
Herr
Morgenstern will see you in the drawing room,” he said, as he took their coats.  “With your permission, I will escort you there.”

Andrew nodded and allowed the butler to lead the way down a long corridor.  A pair of girls in maid uniforms appeared at the end, gazing at the two Americans with wide eyes.
They
were very definitely Slavs, Andrew noted; their skins and eyes darker than the average German.  He couldn't help noticing that they flinched back when he met their eyes - and that their skirts were far too short for common decency.  Technically, raping
Gastarbeiter
women was illegal, but it was unlikely that anyone would bother to prosecute Arthur Morgenstern, if it came out into the open.  He’d had far too many friends in high places even before the uprising.

And he’s probably had them spayed too
, he thought, darkly. 
The bastards just wanted to make sure that no German genes blended with the Untermenschen
.

He felt sick as the butler showed them into the drawing room, a splendid chamber that wouldn't have been out of place in Buckingham Palace.  The United States had dismissed the idea of eugenics long ago, but the
Reich
pursued it with an unblinking zeal that had always creeped him out.  God alone knew how many women - including many Germans - had been sterilised for having impure bloodlines.  A woman who came to work in the
Reich
, even on a short-term contract, would be lucky if she could have children after she left.  And the amount of effort the
Reich
had wasted on its search for a homosexual gene ...

At least it wastes their resources
, he thought. 
Who knows what else they could have done with the money
?

“Mr. Barton,” Arthur Morgenstern said, as he stepped into the room.  “I apologise for the delay.”

“It was barely worth noticing,” Andrew assured him.  He shook Morgenstern’s hand firmly, unable to avoid noticing that Morgenstern had a very weak handshake.  “This is Penny.  I think she would appreciate a stroll around the gardens.”

“My wife is currently occupied, but my daughter would be happy to assist,” Morgenstern said.  He rang the bell for the butler, then sat down and motioned for Andrew to take one of the comfortable seats.  “She is quite looking forward to going to America.”

“I’m sure she is,” Andrew said, as Hilde Morgenstern entered the room.  “Penny will be happy to answer any questions she has.”

He shot Penelope a sharp look - he’d warned her that she would be sent out of the room - and then studied Hilde thoughtfully.  She didn't
look
happy to be going to America.  Andrew had no difficulty in recognising the sullen petulant look of a spoiled teenage girl.  It was a pity, really.  Hilde would have been quite pretty if she’d taken a little more exercise.  But then, very little of her life was truly
hers
.  Caught between a milksop of a father and a dominant mother, Hilde had hardly any chance to develop a personality of her own.

She went to the university
, Andrew reminded himself, as Hilde practically marched Penelope out of the room. 
She’s not an idiot
.

“I suppose that leads to the first point,” Morgenstern said, once the maids had served coffee and left the room.  “When can she leave?”

“We hope to be flying back all non-essential personnel on Sunday,” Andrew said.  “The Brits will be dispatching a large aircraft for both sets of embassy staff.  I was going to suggest that Hilde accompanied them, with her luggage sent on afterwards.  Once she was in London, she would be flown to Washington and then fostered with a suitable family.”

“One that meets our requirements,” Morgenstern said, hastily.

Andrew nodded, careful to keep his distaste off his face.  He could understand Morgenstern demanding a wealthy foster family for his daughter, but he’d
also
stipulated that the family had to be white, ideally of Germanic origin.  Andrew had a private suspicion that Hilde was in for a shock, if she
did
go to a wealthy Germanic family.  Several of them were Jewish, while almost all of them hated the Third
Reich
.  She’d be better off with a family that had roots leading all the way back to the War of Independence.

“It shall be arranged to suit her,” Andrew assured him.  “Has she picked a university?”

“I’m afraid not,” Morgenstern said.  “She ... has been reluctant to go.”

Hah
, Andrew thought.  He’d read that on the girl’s face. 
And what have you told her?

He put it into words.  “How much have you actually told her?”

“That it would be better for her if she was on the other side of the world,” Morgenstern said, shortly.  “Her mother agrees with me.  But she is rather less keen to leave her friends and go.”

Andrew sighed.  “Have her delivered to the embassy on Saturday night and we will make sure she gets on the plane,” he said.  If worst came to worst, Hilde could be handcuffed to a chair and transported to the aircraft.  It wasn't something he cared to do - it would definitely raise eyebrows in London and Washington - but it was possible.  “Now, how does the provisional government intend to respond to the growing threat from the east?”

Morgenstern frowned.  “We’re going to fight, of course,” he said.  “Troops are already being deployed to block the threat.”

Andrew had his doubts.  The
Wehrmacht
was no longer the smooth fighting machine it had been, back in the days it had crushed Poland, France and Russia.  If some of his sources were to be believed, too many experienced officers had retired to make it
easy
for the provisional government to pull the military back together.  But Morgenstern had access to the very highest levels of power.

Which doesn't mean anything
, he reminded himself. 
The Mexican Government didn't realise how bad things were becoming until it was far too late
.

He leaned forward.  “And what are your chances?”

“Uneven,” Morgenstern said.  “Some of the military officers profess high confidence, others are rather more concerned.  In any case, our industrial base is in trouble.”

Andrew nodded in agreement.  At least two of the German industrial belts lay within easy reach of the SS forces, massing on the far side of the border.  They were already being stripped of everything that could be moved, according to satellite observation, but far too much of the machinery wasn’t easy to transport elsewhere.  The SS would have problems replacing the trained manpower - the
Reich
had been running short of trained manpower for years - yet it could be done.  If, of course, they had the time.

He kept his opinions to himself as Morgenstern chatted, silently wondering if the provisional government
knew
the United States had a hold on its Minister of Industries.  Volker Schulze was a complete unknown, as far as OSS was concerned; CIA and MI6 didn't know much more, if anything, about the new Chancellor.  Perhaps Schulze was happy to keep a backdoor channel open between America and the provisional government ... or, perhaps, he would react badly when he found out that Morgenstern was effectively committing treason.  No, there was no
effectively
about it.  Morgenstern
was
committing treason.

“The United States is ready to offer a loan to the provisional government,” he said, once Morgenstern had finished.  “Naturally, we are unwilling to take sides in your internal dispute, but we are prepared to loan you money on
very
favourable terms.”

Morgenstern frowned.  “The Chancellor is unwilling to approach you to ask for assistance,” he said, after a moment.  “He does not want Germany to wind up like Argentina.”

Andrew frowned.  Argentina had run into colossal problems paying her debts to America, to Britain and even to the
Reich
.  Her government had launched the Falklands War in a desperate attempt to keep their people from noticing their empty bellies, only to lose the war and - very quickly - their heads.  Argentina had yet to recover fully from her economic collapse, a problem made worse by American refusal to forgive their debts.  He couldn't really blame the provisional government for refusing to fall into the same trap.