End of Spies Alex Gerlis (cat reading book .TXT) 📖

wanted to do was discuss his family with a Jew. He made a mental note to have Dr Gruber’s background checked.

‘Friedrich described your moods and believes they may have contributed to his mother’s drinking. Is it true you suffer from low mood, depression perhaps?’

It was as if Dr Gruber had put him in a state of hypnosis, because against his better judgement, Steiner found himself opening up to the psychiatrist. He told him how he’d always suffered from anxiety – depression, indeed – and at times felt overwhelmed by it. He’d never experienced the manic episodes Dr Gruber had described, and he felt his moods were just something he had to live with. Early on in his life he’d found that if he kept busy, then he could cope. He’d studied hard as a student and made a successful career as a lawyer. He decided not to mention his political activities.

‘Are you and Friedrich very close?’

‘We are, yes. We only have each other.’

‘It seems to me, Herr Steiner – and this is hardly even a hypothesis yet – that your combined behaviour is a good example of manic depression: you suffer from the depressive side of that behaviour, while your son suffers from the manic side. I may be completely wrong about this – it’s just a thought – but I would be interested to have more sessions with both of you; together you present as fascinating subjects.’

Steiner replied that he really wasn’t sure about this; he was more interested in what could be done to help his son – to control his behaviour. He most certainly didn’t want to be analysed himself.

Dr Gruber replied that he needed to realise that his son suffered from a potentially serious psychiatric condition, one that could certainly not be cured by medication. He needed more sessions of analysis and then a course of therapy; perhaps a period in a residential clinic he often used in the Vienna Woods, one where discretion and privacy could be assured.

Wolfgang Steiner became quite angry at this point, bitterly regretting having revealed matters about himself to the psychiatrist. He told him his son was not that ill and he certainly didn’t need to be locked up. It wasn’t as if he was mad.

He ended the consultation and went to the secretary’s office to pay. As he prepared to leave, Dr Gruber came of out his room. ‘I apologise if I upset you in any way,’ he said. ‘It is often the case that patients, and their families in particular, find what psychiatrists have to say very difficult, sometimes too difficult.’

Steiner nodded. He continued to put on his gloves, anxious to leave.

‘However, Herr Steiner, as unpleasant as it is for you to hear this, I would be negligent if I didn’t tell you that I consider your son to be quite unwell. Unless he is treated, I think his tendency towards psychotic behaviour could escalate and have very serious consequences.’

After an uncertain start, Wolfgang Steiner ended up having a good if unspectacular war. Apart from a few favourable mentions in the Nazi Party newspaper, the Völkischer Beobachter, he kept a low profile, which he had determined best served his own interests.

He was on the fringes of the influential Österreichisches Clique, whose members occupied so many important positions in Berlin and throughout the regime: fellow Austrians like Ernst Kaltenbrunner, Arthur Seyss-Inquart, Odilo Globocnik, Adolf Eichmann and of course Adolf Hitler himself.

He’d moved to Berlin in the spring of 1938 after the Anschluss. Part of the idea had been to give a fresh start to Friedrich, who’d predictably continued to get into trouble in Vienna and only stayed out of prison thanks to his father’s growing influence once the Nazis came to power. Soon after arriving in Berlin, he met Martin Bormann, Hitler’s personal secretary, and when in 1941 Bormann became head of the Parteikanzlei – the Party Chancellery – he asked Steiner to join him. It suited him perfectly: an important job with a lot of influence but not necessarily a high profile, and one fitting his capacity for hard work. He began to develop an influential circle of acquaintances, people he was assiduous at keeping in touch with and doing favours for. He’d hesitate to call them friends; few people in Berlin were trusting enough of others to regard anyone as such. But Bormann had shown faith in him and afforded him status and respect, and he worked hard to repay that. Bormann was often described – though not to his face – as Hitler’s shadow, and soon Wolfgang Steiner became known as Bormann’s shadow. He recognised that as the fortunes of war began to turn against the Reich, being seen as the shadow’s shadow was a good reputation to have.

The enduring unfortunate aspect of Wolfgang Steiner’s life was his son, Friedrich. No one knew of his reputation when they arrived in Berlin, and he was sufficiently in awe of his surroundings at first to behave in an acceptable way. In 1939, he joined the SS; though he had failed the initial selection, his father knew who to speak to and he was given a second chance.

He only lasted a few months. A senior officer – a fellow Austrian, naturally – had a quiet word with Wolfgang: Friedrich was selective about which orders he chose to obey. Indeed, he even occasionally tried to give orders to his superiors. The officer suggested it would be less embarrassing all round if he left the SS before he inevitably faced a court martial.

Fortunately, Wolfgang had done a number of favours for the head of the Gestapo, Heinrich Müller, and he was persuaded to recruit Friedrich. After a spell at the Gestapo headquarters in Prinz-Albrecht Strasse, the young man was sent to Norway, a move engineered by his father, who felt it was a posting where he could do least damage.

It turned out to be a disaster. After a brawl with a local policeman, Friedrich was transferred – again thanks to his