Shadows of War by Michael Ridpath Read Free Book Online Page B

weeks she had been working for the Führer himself.
    Fräulein Peters was doing a good job; she was an efficient and competent secretary, quick thinking and able to see one step ahead. The only trouble was her nerves. On those occasions when the Führer spoke to her directly, she could sense herself blushing. She could almost feel her tongue swelling in her mouth and she was sure that at some point soon she would garble her words and make a fool of herself. Fortunately, the Führer seemed to enjoy her blushes. She had blond hair, blue eyes and a very clear complexion. She was, she knew, a true German, and she was proud of it.
    They were on their way to Munich, where Hitler was giving a speech to mark the sixteenth anniversary of the 1923 Beer Hall Putsch, in which he had led his National Socialist comrades in a failed attempt to take over the city.
    The ground was pressing up towards the underbelly of the aircraft. The machine juddered and Fräulein Peters was alarmed to see outside her window part of the wing detach itself and droop downwards. There was a grinding beneath her feet. She braced herself as the runway rushed upwards beneath the wings, and then they were down with barely a bump.
    The machine turned towards the airport terminal building and jolted to a stop. The pilot came through to the cabin.
    Hitler, who was sitting only two rows from Fräulein Peters, greeted him. ‘I need to be in Berlin tomorrow morning, Baur. Can you guarantee we can leave early? What’s the weather forecast?’
    ‘At the moment they are saying visibility will be good, my Führer, but it is November and fog is always a possibility. If that was to happen, there’s a chance we could be delayed for a few hours until it clears. If you have to be sure of getting to Berlin tomorrow morning I recommend you take the train tonight.’
    Hitler nodded. ‘Fräulein Peters,’ he said. ‘Please arrange a train back to Berlin after the speech. It is imperative I am back there tomorrow morning. I have a meeting at ten o’clock.’
    ‘Certainly, my Führer,’ said Fräulein Peters. She had no idea how she would arrange it, but she was confident she would work it out. If the Führer wanted something done, it was done.
    She wondered what the meeting was. She knew it wasn’t in his diary, but the whole concept of a diary when it came to the Führer’s schedule was a joke. Flexibility was the watchword.
    Düsseldorf
    Schellenberg paced up and down the small lounge of the pension . He had had virtually no sleep the night before. This was turning into one of the most difficult operations in his short but eventful career at the Gestapo. He was still only twenty-nine, but Heydrich had just entrusted him with the new foreign-intelligence branch of the organization, known as the Amt VI. He knew he was up to the job, but he also knew that if he screwed this operation up, it would be a high-profile failure.
    Those were best avoided in Germany these days.
    He heard a commotion and a familiar voice in the lobby of the pension . Familiar, but unwelcome.
    ‘Naujocks!’ Schellenberg exclaimed. ‘What the devil are you doing here?’
    Alfred Naujocks was a colleague and rival to Schellenberg in Heydrich’s intelligence-gathering apparatus. Where Schellenberg was subtle, Naujocks was brutal. Where Schellenberg could charm, Naujocks could intimidate. Which wasn’t to say that Naujocks wasn’t cunning. He was. Cunning and dangerous.
    ‘The boss sent me to protect you,’ Naujocks said. ‘I’ve brought a dozen SS troopers with me.’
    ‘I don’t need a nursemaid!’ protested Schellenberg. ‘I’ve told Heydrich the British believe me. The last thing I want is a bunch of thugs watching my every move.’
    ‘Heydrich thinks the Dutch might snatch you tomorrow,’ said Naujocks. ‘You are far too important for us to lose. At least that’s what he says. We’ll be watching the meeting from the border. If the Dutch try anything, we’ll come and snatch you