Prague Fatale (19 page)

‘Perhaps it was a simple case of food poisoning,’ I said. ‘Have you considered that possibility?’

‘I’ve considered it. And I’ve rejected it. You see mine was the only food that was contaminated. Fortunately I wasn’t hungry and didn’t eat. Instead I fed the food off my plate to Major Ploetz’s dog, which subsequently died. Obviously the Leader could not have been the target because he is vegetarian. Naturally, all inquiries that could be made without alarming the Leader were made; and all of the foreign workers at the Wolf’s Lair were replaced, as a
precaution. But so far, nothing has been discovered that sheds any light on who was responsible for the incident. And there I feel we have to leave the matter. At least as far as Rastenburg is concerned. As I say, I have no wish to alarm or embarrass the Leader. But here in Prague I am able to take other precautions. You, Gunther, are to be one of these precautions, if you agree.’

‘So you want me to do what? Be your food taster?’ I shrugged. ‘You should have mentioned this before lunch. I’d have sat beside you.’

Heydrich shook his head.

‘Keep a lookout for someone who might be trying to kill you? Is that it?’

‘Yes. In effect I want you to be my personal bodyguard,’ said Heydrich.

‘You mean you have four adjutants and no bodyguard?’

‘Klein, my driver, is quite capable of pulling out a gun and shooting at some witless Czecho. As am I. But I want someone around me who understands murder and murderers, and who can handle himself, to boot. A proper detective who is trained to be suspicious.’

‘The Gestapo isn’t known to be naïve in my experience.’

‘I want someone who is usefully suspicious as opposed to officious.’

‘Yes, I see the difference.’

‘And since I can’t offer the position to Hercule Poirot naturally I thought of you.’

‘Hercule Poirot?’

Heydrich shook his head. ‘A fictional detective created by an English lady novelist. It doesn’t matter. You’re obviously not a reader. He’s very popular. And so is she.’

I shook my head. ‘You know that most bodyguards are
supposed to care about what happens to their employers, don’t you?’

Heydrich grinned. This didn’t happen very often, and when it did his youngish, beaky face looked more like a nasty schoolboy’s.

‘Meaning you’re not qualified, is that it?’

‘Something like that.’

‘I can get any number of “yes” men from the SD,’ said Heydrich. ‘The trouble is, will they be honest with me? Will they tell me unpalatable truths? What I need to know? And can I trust them?’

‘It’s true, sir. Without a gun in my hand you’re not an easy man to contradict.’

‘You, I’ve known for five years. I know you’re not Himmler’s man. I know you’re not even a Nazi. I know you probably hate my guts. But while you almost certainly dislike me I don’t believe you would actually murder me. In other words, I can trust you, Gunther; trust you not to kill me; and trust you to tell me those unpleasant truths that others would shrink from. That seems to me to be essential for what I need from a bodyguard.

‘Of course, in many ways you’re a fool. Only a fool would continue to remain in the police without joining the Party. Only a fool would remain sentimental about the Weimar Republic. Only a fool could fail to see that the new Germany cannot be resisted. But I have to admit, you’re a clever and resourceful fool. I can use that. Most important of all, you’re a damned good policeman. If you become my detective you’ll have a room here at the Lower Castle; your own car; and an office at Hradschin castle, in the city. From time to time you’ll even get to see that charming little whore you brought with you from Berlin. What’s her name? Arianne, isn’t it?’

That surprised me, although I suppose it ought not have done; there wasn’t much that happened in Prague that Heydrich didn’t know about.

‘Frankly I’m not at all sure what she sees in you. The sort of woman who goes to the Jockey Bar is usually looking for someone with a bit more vitamin B than you have, Gunther. Of course, that particular disadvantage will be quickly remedied if you agree to take this position. Suddenly your status will be improved. You’ll forgive me for saying so, but this is an important job.’

Throughout our conversation Heydrich’s long thin pianist’s hands were deep in the pockets of his uniform’s riding breeches and this seemed to make his horseman’s bandy legs even more U-shaped than normal. Now he pulled them out and from the pocket of his fart-catcher – an SD service tunic that was covered with so many gold and silver badges it looked more like a priest’s reliquary – he produced a small silver cigarette case and offered me one. ‘Smoke?’

‘Thank you, sir.’

Finding a match, I lit us both.

‘So what do you say?’

‘Just how honest do you want me to be, General? Imprudently honest? Unflinchingly honest? Or just brutally honest? And what’s in it for me apart from some more vitamins in my otherwise lousy diet? One of those opinion reflectors on your breast pocket if I manage to keep you alive? Or a oneway ticket on the partisan express if I don’t?’

‘Whenever we’re alone you can say what the hell you want. At least on matters concerning my personal security. In fact I’m counting on it. On everything else – politics, government, racial policy – your stupid Republican opinions are of no interest to me and you’ll have to keep your trap shut. As for
what’s in it for you, I should have thought that was obvious. You’ll have free board and lodging, of course. And look around. We Germans live well here in Bohemia. Better than in Berlin. Good food, good wine, plenty of cigarettes and women – should your tastes run to more than one woman at a time. I know mine do. It’s all to be had here in Prague. And if I am unlucky enough to be murdered by our own side, all I ask is that you present the evidence to Arthur Nebe or Walter Schellenberg. Between them they’ll find some way of putting it in front of Martin Bormann.’

‘All right, General. But here’s my price. That you have to listen, now, to some of those stupid Republican views that you mentioned. The ones regarding politics and government and racial policy you said are of no interest to you. I’ll say my piece and you listen. And when I’ve done, I’ll do what you ask. I’ll be your detective.’

Heydrich’s eyes narrowed. I preferred his profile. When you saw his profile it meant he wasn’t looking at you. When he looked at you it was only too easy to feel like the helpless prey of some deadly animal. It was a face without expression behind which some ruthless calculation was in progress. He flicked away his half-smoked cigarette and glanced at the Rolex on his wrist.

‘All right. You’ve got five minutes. But it won’t do any good, you know. When the panzers have finished doing their work in Russia what you say now will seem quite irrelevant. Even to you, Gunther. Even to you. We’ll make a Nazi of you yet.’

After lunch Heydrich and Generals Frank, Henlein, Hildebrandt and von Eberstein, a couple of colonels, and three of the adjutants convened a meeting in the castle library, leaving
me and some others to amuse ourselves. Which is probably overstating what I was likely to do.

I was feeling tired, which was a combination of good wine and the adrenalin that was still in my blood after telling Heydrich what I really thought about his aim of Germanizing the Czech population, as well as several words on what was happening in the Ukraine. True to his word Heydrich listened for exactly five minutes, after which he walked silently back to the house leaving me feeling like a novitiate toreador who has just taunted his first bull. Perhaps I was still a little suicidal. It’s the only possible explanation for what I’d done.

For a while I contemplated returning to my room and having a sleep; I also contemplated returning to the Imperial Hotel and spending what remained of my life with Arianne, but I was unable to find Klein or anyone who could organize me a car and, mindful of the warm sunshine, I went for a walk in the castle grounds instead.

Naturally, I was unnerved by how much Heydrich already seemed to know about Arianne. But, more importantly, I was already regretting my candour with him, which I attributed to the amount of alcohol I had consumed during lunch. And I asked myself how long it would be before a couple of SS guards came and fetched me for execution at some pit that was even now being dug in the adjacent forest. That was surely one advantage of living in the countryside: there was always plenty of space to bury a body.

Half-convinced that this was to be my fate, I found myself heading out of the front gates, smiling a nervous smile at the stone-faced sentry, and then setting off up the fairy-tale road in the general direction of the Upper Castle. This wasn’t exactly an escape but I needed to be away from my so-called colleagues.

Thinking about escape I got to wondering about Ferdinand Bloch-Bauer, the Jewish sugar merchant whose estate this had once been. Had the statues been placed at the gates by him, or the aristocrat who had owned the house before? And where was he now? England? America? Switzerland? Or was he one of those unfortunate Czech Jews who’d fled to France thinking it was safe there only to find it overrun with Nazis in 1940? Time would tell who had been luckier – Ferdinand or his late wife, Adele.

Further along the quiet road I came in sight of the Orthodox chapel, and as I rounded the bend I saw the matching pink gateway of the Upper Castle and, walking toward me, another SS officer – a General whom I recognized from lunch but whose name eluded me. I wasn’t wearing a cap or belts and neither was he, which meant I was able to forgo a salute. All the same I came to attention as he got nearer. I’d irritated enough SS generals for one day.

Even in uniform this General was a poor example of the master race. A bespectacled Himmler type with thinning hair, a wide mouth and a double chin, he was one of those pale, bloodless Nazis that reminded me of a very cold fish on a very white plate. Nevertheless, he smiled and stopped to talk, rippling his fingers in the air as though he was playing the upper register of a church organ as he tried to remember who I was.

‘Ah yes, now you’re—’

‘Hauptsturmführer Gunther, sir.’

‘Yes. Now I have it. You’re the Police Commissar from Berlin, are you not? The Kripo detective.’

‘That’s right, sir.’

‘I’m Jury, Doctor Hugo Jury. No reason why you should remember me either, especially after a lunch like that, eh?
I’ll say one thing for our new Reichsprotector, he knows how to entertain. That’s the best lunch I’ve eaten in God knows how long.’

Jury was an Austrian, his accent – or rather his vocabulary – unmistakably Viennese.

‘Walk with me for a while if you will, Captain. I’d like to hear more about the exciting life of a real Berlin detective.’

‘If you like, sir. But there’s not much to tell. I’m forty-three years old. I got my school certificate but didn’t go to university. The war got in the way and then there didn’t seem to be much call for a degree when there was a more urgent call to make a living and earn some money. So I joined the police and got married to a woman who died almost immediately afterward. Influenza they called it, but these days I’m not so sure. A lot of different illnesses got swept into that bin by a lot of overworked doctors and by some who were maybe not so much overworked as just inexperienced or even incompetent.’

‘And you’d be absolutely right to have doubts. I should know. You see, I’m not one of these legal doctors we seem to be overrun with these days. I’m a medical man. I took my degree in 1911 and the chances are that I was one of those overworked, inexperienced and very possibly incompetent doctors you were talking about. During the influenza epidemic I remember sleeping for less than four hours a night. Hardly a recipe for good medical care, is it? Throughout the Twenties I was a specialist in tuberculosis. TB’s one of those infectious diseases that present a lot of symptoms that are common to influenza. Indeed, I’ve sometimes thought that what we thought was a flu virus was actually pneumonia brought on by a massive outbreak of TB. But that’s another story.’

‘I’d like to hear it sometime.’

‘If I may ask: How old was she? Your wife?’

‘Twenty-two.’

‘I’m sorry. That’s young. Very young. And you’ve never remarried?’

‘Not so far, sir. Most women don’t seem to find my being a Berlin detective as exciting as you.’

‘I’ve been married for almost thirty years and I can’t imagine what I’d have done without my wife, Karoline.’

‘You’ll forgive me for saying so, sir, but I can’t imagine you’re an SS general because you’re a doctor, sir.’

‘No. I’m the District Leader of Moravia. And head of the Party Liaison Office in Prague. Before the war I was deputy leader of the Nazi Party in Austria. And if all of that sounds important, well, it isn’t. Not any longer. Not since General Heydrich took over. I had hoped to persuade the Leader to break up the Protectorate in order that Moravia could become a separate state. Which is really what it’s always been. But that isn’t going to happen. Or so I’ve been told. I had also hoped to be able to discuss the matter with Heydrich, but one of his minions told me that this wouldn’t be possible. Which leaves me rather wondering why I bothered to come along on this little weekend. In the circumstances, I’m surprised that I was asked at all.’