Tm sure you’re going to.’
‘Stalingrad, thanks to the Fuhrer’s stupidity, lost us more than three hundred thousand dead. Ninety-one thousand taken prisoner including twenty-four generals. The greatest defeat we’ve ever known. One balls-up after another, thanks to the Fuhrer.’ He laughed harshly. ‘Don’t you realize the truth of it, my friend? His continued existence actually shortens the war for us.’
He put his spurs to his horse, the dachshunds yapping at his heels, and galloped into the trees.
Back at the office, Schellenberg changed into a light grey flannel suit in the bathroom, speaking through the other door to Use Huber as he dressed, filling her in on the whole business.
‘What do you think?’ he asked as he emerged. ‘Like a fairy tale by the Brothers Grimm?’
‘More like a horror story,’ she said as she held his black leather coat for him.
‘We’ll refuel in Madrid and carry straight on. Should be in Lisbon by late afternoon.’
He pulled on the coat, adjusted a slouch hat and picked up the overnight bag she had prepared. ‘I expect news from Rivera within two days at the outside. Give him thirty-six hours then apply pressure.’
He kissed her on the cheek. ‘Take care, Use. See you soon,’ and he was gone.
The plane was a JU52 with its famous three engines and corrugated metal skin. As it lifted from the Luftwaffe fighter base outside Berlin, Schellenberg undid his seat belt and reached for his briefcase. Berger, on the other side of the aisle, smiled.
‘The Herr Admiral was well, General?’ Now that isn’t very clever, Schellenberg thought. You weren’t supposed to know I was seeing him. He smiled back. ‘He seemed his usual self.’ He opened his briefcase, started to read Devlin’s background report and examined a photo of him. After a while he stopped and looked out of the window remembering what Canaris had said about Hitler.
His continued existence actually shortens the war for us.
Strange how that thought went round and round in his brain and wouldn’t go away.
Chapter THREE
BARON Oswald von Hoyningen-Heune, the Minister to the German Legation in Lisbon, was a friend, an aristocrat of the old school who was also no Nazi. He was delighted to see Schellenberg and showed it,
‘My dear Walter. Good to see you. How’s Berlin at the moment?’
‘Colder than this,’ Schellenberg told him as they moved out through French windows and sat at a table on the pleasant terrace. The garden was a sight to see, flowers everywhere. A houseboy in white jacket brought coffee on a tray and Schellenberg sighed. ‘Yes, I can understand you hanging on here instead of coming back to Berlin. The best place to be these days, Lisbon.’
‘I know,’ the Baron told him. ‘The constant worry all my staff have is of being transferred.’ He poured the coffee. ‘A strange time to arrive, Walter, Christmas Eve.’
‘You know Uncle Heini when he gets the bit between his teeth,’ Schellenberg told him, using the nickname common in the SS behind Hinimler’s back.
‘It must be important,’ the Baron said. ‘Especially if he sends you.’
‘There’s a man we want, an Irishman _ Liam Devlin.’
Schellenberg took Devlin’s photo from his wallet and passed it across. ‘He worked for Abwehr for a while. The IRA connection. Walked out of a hospital in Holland the other week. Our information is that he’s here, working as a waiter at a club in Alfama.’
‘The old quarter?’ The Baron nodded. ‘If he’s Irish, this man, I hardly need to point out that makes him officially a neutral. A situation of some delicacy.’
‘No rough stuff needed,’ Schellenberg said. ‘I hope we can persuade him to come back peaceably. I have a job to offer him that could be rather lucrative.’
‘Fine,’ the Baron said. ‘Just remember that our Portuguese friends really do value their neutrality. Even more so now that victory seems to be slipping away from us. However, Captain Eggar, my police attache here, should be able to assist you.’ He picked up his phone and spoke to an aide. As he put it down he said, ‘I caught a glimpse of your companion.’