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

Wolfgang took them into the house, where they sat silently in the kitchen as Frau Moser served them a stew, eyeing them suspiciously as she fussed nervously around the table. Friedrich grumbled as they were shown into the cellar, but his father told him to shut up. He’d sort something out, he said, but it would take a few days. They were only to leave the cellar when told to do so.

They weren’t allowed out until later the following afternoon, once the milk had been collected and the farm labourer had left. While Friedrich had a bath, Wolfgang took Ulrich into the cowshed.

‘You know that this was the last place on earth I wanted Friedrich to come, don’t you?’

‘Yes, sir, you told me, but the priest worried me and I felt you’d be furious if anything happened to us, and to the money, of course, and—’

‘Very well. Just listen, Ulrich – listen carefully and calm down. I don’t want you to misunderstand me. I love Friedrich very much and I want to ensure that he’s safe, and that’s why he’s on the Kestrel Line and I’m doing what I can for him. But I also have to recognise that he’s prone to – how can I put it? – to irrational behaviour at times. He can be wayward and irresponsible. That’s why I didn’t want him here – I wanted him south of the Reich as soon as possible. And there’s a more important reason too.’ He paused and looked around him: they were alone in the cowshed, the cattle shuffling and snorting around them. ‘This farm… I have to ensure it is kept secure. You know who this place is for, Ulrich?’

Ulrich shook his head, and Wolfgang beckoned him closer. As they leaned on the rails, they were just inches from the head of a cow, which looked quizzically at them, surprised to have been allowed in on the secret.

‘The purpose of the Kestrel Line and this farm – and all the money – it’s for a special person. Helping you, Friedrich and the others, that’s a secondary part of it. Originally I found this place as a refuge for me, but it evolved: now the main aim is to help one man.’

‘Can I ask who it is?’

‘If you tell a soul, you’ll be killed. Friedrich in particular must never know. No one else must know. I’m telling you because I trust you and because you need to know why you have to move on from here. Put that cigarette out, you shouldn’t smoke in here… It’s the Reichsleiter.’

Ulrich stepped back in shock and gripped the rail. The cow nuzzled his hand.

‘He’s alive?’

‘I’m not sure, Ulrich, I’m really not sure… I’ve not heard anything for months, but we do know he hasn’t been captured, and no one has announced that he’s dead, so that must give us hope. My guess is he’s still alive and hiding in or around Berlin. He may have found somewhere safe and doesn’t want to risk putting his head above the parapet: that’s what I’m hoping anyway. If we can get him out of Berlin and down here, and then move him along the Kestrel Line… You do understand the importance of this, don’t you, Ulrich? If we can rescue him and get him somewhere safe, then who knows what the future holds. People would take heart that he is alive, and he would become our new Führer!’

‘But how will you find out where he is?’

‘I’m going to have to go to Berlin, God help me.’

Wolfgang Steiner was taking a risk he wouldn’t have taken for anyone else, apart from Hitler himself.

The Reichsleiter had been his mentor, ensuring his successful career at the Parteikanzlei. But after that night back in March at the Bauhaus villa on the Kleiner Wannsee, he owed him an even bigger debt. It was then that Bormann had revealed he knew all about his plans to escape and hide in the Rott Valley, and the fact that he’d been photographing documents. At one stage Steiner was convinced the Reichsleiter was about to pronounce his death sentence; that at any moment the door would burst open and he’d be carted away to Prinz-Albrecht Strasse, or even shot there and then and dumped in the Wannsee. But instead, Bormann had been quite amenable, even friendly. He’d told him he wanted to be part of his arrangements; that he knew many people in Berlin were making arrangements to escape, but he trusted very few of them. ‘Apart from you, of course: I’m counting on you, Wolfgang,’ he’d said.

They’d spoken long into the night, about how Steiner should get out of Berlin as soon as possible and go to the farm to ensure it was secure and that no one knew about it. Bormann wanted him to set up his own escape route from there, one that would have nothing to do with the others being organised at the moment. This would be for the Reichsleiter’s exclusive use, its security not compromised by allowing others to use it.

‘You’re one of the few people I know and trust who has the skills and the attention to detail to set up something reliable. The only matter to be resolved is when I leave Berlin.’ He’d paused at that point, leaning back and shutting his eyes, wisps of cigar smoke rising above him. He seemed to be lost in his thoughts for a long while, and when he spoke again, it was in a quieter voice, the tone less upbeat. ‘When I was younger, I went hiking in the southern Alps, in the eastern Tyrol. Did you go hiking in the Alps, Steiner?’

‘No, I’m afraid not – my asthma, you know.’

‘Really? I thought all Austrians loved the Alps – this was a particular range called the Gailtal Alps. I was with my friend Klaus, but he twisted his ankle on the second or third day so I was on