Fox On The Rhine by Douglas Niles, Michael Dobson Read Free Book Online Page B

only occupant of the room.
    “What does it mean--‘The bridge has been burned’?” demanded the chief of propaganda. “Why do they fill the airwaves with such drivel?”
    The other man remained silent--it was not a question he could have answered in any event.
    “Leave me!” spat Goebbels. “Go find out why those troops are there!”
    The other man, taller and younger, stiffened at the tone in the minister of propaganda’s voice. “Come, Herr Speer,” Goebbels added, his tone modulating to the persuasive purr he reserved for such moments. “I must make some private telephone calls. And we have to communicate with the officer outside the building--find out whose orders he follows!”
    “Very well,” replied Minister of Armaments Albert Speer, turning and leaving abruptly.
    Goebbels spent another fifteen minutes rebuking the telephone operator for his failure to reach the Wolf’s Lair when the door to the office opened and a Wehrmacht major entered the room. He halted at rigid attention, fixing the minister with an impassive stare. “I am Major Remer--you wished to see me, Herr Reichsminister?”
    “Why have you encircled my residence?”
    “I act under the orders of my commander, Major General von Haase. I am to seal off these blocks of the government quarter--no one is allowed to enter or leave.”
    “But why? You are an officer--you’ve taken an oath to your Reich!”
    “An oath to my führer, Herr Reichsminister. And now he is slain. I can only obey my commander. This quadrant is rife with conspirators!”
    The news hit Goebbels like a thunderclap, and he had to clasp the desk for support. “You lie!” he gasped. “The führer is alive--I spoke to him at Wolfschanze this morning!”
    The young major was obviously uncomfortable with the subject. His own face showed the strain of grief mingled with disbelief. “He was killed this afternoon--a bomb planted in his headquarters!”
    “In that case, you must know that I cannot possibly be implicated!” pleaded Goebbels, whining. “You must release me--allow me to draw in the reins of government!”
    At that instant a burst of small arms fire stuttered through the air, coming from the yard beyond the huge house. The minister of propaganda blanched, his eyes going to the Walther in the holster at the major’s side. “No...” He whispered the word, his eyes darting from the officer to his desk and back again. He would not be captured, tortured, killed by the enemies of the Reich. Better he controlled his own fate, no matter how cruel.
    Abruptly Goebbels lunged at the desk, pulling open a drawer with astonishing quickness. Major Remer watched miserably, obviously reluctant to draw his weapon against this man who had been such an icon of the state. “Don’t!” he groaned, eyes wide.
    Frantically the minister reached inside the desk, scrambling for something with groping fingers. His eyes glowed and his lips were twisted into a crazed sneer--a taut grin of triumph, it must have seemed to the hapless Remer.
    “Stop it!” cried the officer, finally drawing his sidearm and leveling the cold steel barrel. He watched Goebbel’s hand emerge from the desk drawer, and relaxed slightly when he saw no gun there. “Come with me, Herr Reichsminister...
    Major Remer’s words were cut short by the cackle of glee emanating from the quivering Nazi. Goebbels raised a hand and Remer saw that it wasn’t empty--the minister held a tiny white object between his fingers. Again the major raised his gun, ineffectually waving it as the man popped the capsule into his mouth.
    “No--wait!” cried the soldier, dropping his gun and lunging forward. But Goebbels bit down hard, cracking the capsule. Immediately potassium cyanide filled his mouth, passing almost as quickly into his system through the salivary glands.
    Three seconds later he was dead.
     
    SS Command, East Prussia, 2200 hours GMT
     
    Another headquarters lay concealed in the East Prussian woods, though it was