The Doomsday Decree Read online

  ‘What’s the time?’ asked Paul, running his tongue over his lips. His mouth felt like sandpaper.

  ‘Eight-thirty,’ replied Ilse. ‘I’m late for work.’

  ‘Have we anything to drink here?’

  ‘There’s still some Schnapps in the cupboard.’

  Paul rose and went to the cupboard. He poured himself a glass and took it down in one swallow.

  ‘Where did you get those filthy rags?’ Ilse demanded, gesturing at his clothes.

  Paul poured another glass.

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Anything to do with the fact that the Gestapo came here last night and started to ask questions about you?’

  Paul’s head came up sharply. ‘The Gestapo?’

  Ilse nodded. ‘They kept asking me questions about your background and your politics. What could I say?’

  Paul breathed a deep sigh. ‘Did they say they’d come back?’

  ‘No. They told me to tell you they would like you to call by headquarters today for a talk.’

  Paul bit his lip. There was no way he was going to walk into the lion’s den. He must change clothes and contact Ulrich. Ulrich would know what he should do.

  ‘Ilse, can you delay going to work for a little while?’

  The girl shrugged reluctantly. ‘I suppose so. But why?’

  ‘Make me some breakfast, lots of coffee, and I’ll explain.’

  ‘All right, but it’d better be good. Rumour has it that you’ve been seen out with some woman. A nurse at the hospital, someone said.’

  ‘No. It’s nothing like that,’ Paul said, moving into the bathroom and beginning to take off the dirty, foul-smelling garments.

  ‘Well, what is it, then?’ Ilse called over her shoulder as she set the coffee pot on the gas ring.

  Paul hesitated. He was thinking of Magda. Then he shook himself. Best not to bring her into it at all.

  ‘I need your help, Ilse. I am … I am in trouble.’

  ‘Trouble?’ Her voice was sharp.

  ‘Yes. Some political trouble.’

  ‘What have you done?’ demanded Ilse, coming to the bathroom door, her eyes wide with near-terror.

  ‘Perhaps it is best if you don’t know the details. What I want you to do is contact a man named Ulrich for me. It is important that he meet me at the cafe on the quay, the usual place — tell him to be there at midday.’

  Ilse frowned. ‘Ulrich? The usual cafe on the quay at midday? And just where do I find this Ulrich?’

  ‘He works in the city hall in the city engineer’s office. All you have to do is, when you arrive for work, go into the city engineer’s office and ask for him. Tell him that it is extremely urgent.’

  Ilse seemed reluctant. ‘I want to know what is going on,’ she said, moving back toward the kitchen area.

  Paul finished washing. He came out of the bathroom, a bath towel tied around his waist.

  ‘Look, Ilse,’ he said quietly, ‘it is better if I don’t involve you further. All I can say is that I have stumbled onto something pretty gruesome. Some scheme that the Party has which might destroy us all. That is why the Gestapo are looking for me, to make sure that I don’t reveal what I know.’

  Ilse’s face was a mask as she poured his coffee.

  ‘I see,’ she said quietly.

  ‘You will contact Ulrich for me? Just that one thing?’

  She glanced at her watch and hesitated. Then she nodded. ‘I have to go now,’ she said, then turned quickly and left the apartment without a further word.

  Paul hesitated. Obviously she was scared of the Gestapo involvement. She had never thought deeply about politics, merely accepting the status quo without question. Well, it was better that she did not get involved any more than she was at the moment. He wondered how she had heard about Magda. He didn’t want Magda involved in this business any more either. Ulrich would know what he should do. Or if not Ulrich, then the General.

  He dressed in clean clothes, poured a fresh cup of coffee and ate the sandwich Ilse had prepared. At least he was not due at the hospital until six o’clock that evening, so he would not be missed there for the time being.

  He stared around the apartment, realizing that he would have to leave it. When he didn’t turn up at the Gestapo headquarters later today, they would certainly come looking for him. Yet it was no good packing anything. He could not draw attention to himself by hauling a suitcase through the streets of Münster. He could, however, take his medical bag. It was far too valuable to leave and he could at least pack a few personal items in it as well as a toothbrush and change of underwear.

  He knew Ulrich and the Widerstand operated an escape route for its members and others who had fallen foul of the Gestapo. He would probably have to go into hiding for a while. Once he told Ulrich what Project Wotan was all about it would be up to them to deal with it. He had done his part. He would also have to tell Ulrich about Magda just in case her link with him had been identified. The problem was that her car was now in Dortmund, hidden in the garage at the back of the General’s apartment block. He wondered exactly how safe it was there. Then he began to think how worried the old General would be since he and Franz Schmidt had failed to return. Perhaps he had already been on the telephone to Ulrich?

  He packed his medical bag and put it on the bed.

  Something made him move to the window and glance down into the street. It was pure coincidence that he looked out at that moment and caught sight of a black Opel saloon drawing up on the opposite side of the street, followed by a lorry with military markings which came to a halt a little further away.

  Paul froze.

  There were four people in the Opel. Three men and a woman. From the back seat of the car, a pale face fringed with blonde hair peered nervously upwards. It was Ilse! Beside her sat the rotund figure of Victor Schoerner. The pudgy Party chief leant forward and tapped the driver on the shoulder. He climbed out and waved to the lorry. Half a dozen black-uniformed SS men filed silently out and began to make their way across to the apartment block.

  Ilse!

  Paul stared from the window, his face frozen in horror.

  Ilse had betrayed him to the Gestapo!

  It seemed that some part of his unconscious took charge of his movements. Almost in spite of himself he found himself turning from the window, grabbing his medical bag, taking the overcoat and hat that were hanging behind the door. He opened the door and paused on the landing. Heavy footsteps were ascending. He stepped back quickly, closed the door and locked it, removed the key and put it in his pocket.

  The choice was limited now. The two windows at the front of the apartment gave onto the main street. At the back there was a small window in the bathroom which opened onto a narrow ledge which ran around that level of the building. It was dangerous but there was no other exit. If he could get out onto the ledge, he might be able to work his way along to another window or clamber up over the guttering to the roof.

  He hurried into the bathroom, being careful not to lock the door. If he were able to get away, the Gestapo might be persuaded to think that he had quit the apartment some time before. He took off his overcoat belt and threaded it through the handle of his medical bag, tying it at his waist. Then he opened the window, clambered onto the lavatory seat and proceeded to carefully climb out onto the ledge.

  It was not as difficult as he had expected. The soil and vent pipes and the water and waste pipes, connected to the bathroom, ran down the outside of the building. Using these for handholds, he was able to move onto the ledge without much difficulty and raise himself to a standing position, gently edging the window shut with his foot.

  He could hear the banging on the apartment door now.

  He eased forward, gripping the pipes to maintain his balance. The edge of the roof was five feet above the ledge. It was a sloping roof, but it sloped into a parapet which surrounded the roof to a height of eighteen inches. He hauled himself up, gasping in pain at the unusual strain on his muscle
s. Then he was over. He stretched out full-length just below the rim of the parapet.

  Almost at once he heard a harsh voice calling just below him and then the bathroom window was thrown open.

  Someone, speaking almost next to his ear, said: ‘No, Herr Untersturmführer. No one is out here and there is no way down.’

  Another voice said something which Paul could not make out and then the bathroom window was slammed shut.

  He exhaled softly and lay still, wondering what he should do now. Should he try to cross the roof and descend as soon as possible or should he wait until he was sure the Gestapo had gone? He would have to chance whether Schoerner would order a search of the roof and adjacent buildings. The best thing to do was to wait in his uncomfortable hiding place until he felt it safe to move. He was settling himself down to a long wait when the thought suddenly struck him … if Ilse had betrayed him to the Gestapo then she had obviously betrayed Ulrich as well!

  Chapter Sixteen

  Brigadeführer Heiden grew several degrees paler as he listened to the harsh tones of Victor Schoerner, the Münster Party chief, on the telephone.

  ‘Yes, Herr Schoerner. I have encountered Doctor Paul Horder. What’s that? His name was linked to Project Wotan by … who?’

  ‘His Widerstand contact, a man named Ulrich,’ repeated Schoerner. ‘We are continuing our interrogation, but so far he has only let slip that Horder was trying to discover details about Wotan.’

  ‘What about the girl? Horder’s mistress?’

  ‘She knows nothing. A good Party member. She didn’t know about Horder’s activities until this morning. Then she acted as any loyal Party member should and informed us.’

  ‘She knew nothing of Wotan?’

  ‘All she knew was that Horder was acting against the Party’s interest. He told her as much. I knew that you had ordered the Gestapo here to investigate Horder. Then Ulrich, during questioning, said Horder was interested in Wotan. That’s when I rang you.’

  Heiden pursed his lips. ‘Horder must be found. Ulrich must be made to talk.’

  Schoerner gave a wheezy chuckle on the other end of the line.

  ‘Don’t worry. We are working on him. So far, it appears that Ulrich was Horder’s main link with this treasonable conspiracy they call the Widerstand. Horder was obviously trying to contact Ulrich because he knew the Gestapo were after him.’

  ‘Then Ulrich must be made to talk, and talk quickly,’ Heiden repeated.

  ‘Ulrich will talk,’ Schoerner assured him before ringing off.

  Heiden sat back and ground his teeth. Damn it! He had been too slow; so stupid! He had been right in his first estimation that coincidences do not happen. He should have had Horder picked up as soon as he found out his connection with Gottfried Klaus and the Frederick the Great Hospital. Obviously Klaus had talked to Horder. Perhaps Horder had even examined Stenzel. In retrospect it had been ridiculous to think it was just a coincidence that Horder should be driving around in the woods near the project site and just happen to ‘bump’ into von Knilling. It must have been arranged.

  It had to be Horder and his Widerstand cronies who had infiltrated the site last night. They had gone directly to von Knilling. It was obvious. But Horder was obviously a resourceful man. Heiden was forced to admire the way the man had escaped from the site and then put security on a false trail by exchanging uniforms with a deserter.

  Abruptly Heiden yelled for his adjutant. ‘Find out just how ill von Knilling really is. I want him questioned. I want him questioned very thoroughly about his connection with Doctor Paul Horder.’

  *

  It was nearly two hours before Paul decided to risk leaving his hiding place on the roof of the apartment block. He was nearly frozen, his limbs numbed with cold. He had lain with bitter thoughts, trying to recover from the shock of Ilse’s betrayal. After the early surge of shock, bewilderment and then hatred, Paul had found himself justifying her actions. During the months he had lived with Ilse, he had to admit to himself, he had never come to really know her. Yet, by comparison, after being with Magda Kelter just a few hours he had felt that he knew her as if he had grown up with her. That was strange.

  Of course Ilse would opt for the status quo. He should have known that. After all, she was a Party boss’s secretary, and she was nothing if not a survivor; self-centred and totally apolitical. If the Allies moved into the city tomorrow and established a government of occupation there, Ilse would manage to keep her job. And if she found that Schoerner was trying to organize a resistance to the occupation government, Ilse would betray him as dispassionately as she had betrayed Paul. All that mattered to her was the rules of those in power at a particular time. He supposed that there were a lot of people like her — people who did not think for themselves, who simply accepted the established order and never questioned it. Maybe that was how the Party had survived so long.

  Carefully, Paul made his way across the rooftops, keeping low, until he came to a fire escape at the end of the block. He made his way down to the street without incident. There was no one about. He unhooked his medical bag from his belt, re-arranged his coat and drew the collar up against the cold February winds.

  He had already decided his next move. He had to contact Magda. Already, too, he had gone over his conversation with Ilse. Had he somehow betrayed Magda? Ilse knew that he had been seen with a nurse. Would she be able to find someone who could identify Magda? Paul glanced at his watch. It was nearly one o’clock. Paul knew that Magda would be at the hospital until six, but it was no good going there. The Gestapo would certainly have a man there waiting for him. He would have to hide somewhere until six and just hope that Magda was not picked up in the meantime.

  He let his footsteps guide him to the workmen’s cafe area along the quays of the River Aa. A man alone was easily spotted. It was best to keep with crowds. He chose the most crowded cafe he could find and ordered lunch, taking his time over it. About two o’clock he found a cinema and went in. It was full of uniformed men, mainly Wehrmacht soldiers, slouched in their seats and sleeping. Paul, who had been up right through the night except for the brief morning doze before Ilse woke him, followed their example. He slept until five o’clock, then left the cinema in the approaching dusk, stopped for a coffee to clear the dry taste from his throat and headed for the Adolf Hitler Strasse.

  Magda lived in an apartment block in a cul-de-sac which backed onto the main railway lines. The streets around the railway tracks were mainly rubble-filled, the result of continuous Allied bombing raids. It had become impossible to keep the area fully cleared. As he turned into the Adolf Hitler Strasse he passed a group of sullen Russian prisoners-of-war who were still working in the gloom of dusk, clearing stone and rubble with their bare hands under the watchful eye of the guards. The POWs were brought into the city each morning to work on bomb damage clearance and then, each evening, taken back to their camps.

  The cul-de-sac was a little row of bleak tenements which, miraculously, still stood intact although there was evidence of bomb blast damage to be seen in the many shattered, boarded windows. The railway lines, station and marshalling yards were always a prime target for the bombers. The authorities worked twenty-four hours a day to keep them open.

  Now more than ever, this railway was essential to the Reich. Only eighteen months earlier, the Münster marshalling yards and junction had seen endless wagons loaded with imported Swedish iron ore passing southwards to feed the busy smelting furnaces of the Ruhr. Along the northern tracks had passed whistling steam trains with long lines of flatcars bearing brand new tanks, trucks, diesel engines, guns and ammunition bound for the German forces. But that was before the systematic bombing of the Ruhr Valley; before the breaching of the Moehne and Eder dams by the RAF had sent 330 million tons of water cascading though the valleys so that even towns as close as Dortmund, Hamm, Bochum and Gelsenkirchen had suffered flood damage. Roads, railways and bridges had simply disappeared. But the lines through Münster had been kept open
to feed the war sinews of the Reich.

  Paul picked his way along the cobbled street to the tenement in which Magda occupied the top floor. He halted and gazed up. He could see that the black-out curtains were not closed. There was no light from her window. She was obviously not in. He slipped into the shadows of a doorway and settled down to wait for her return. He did not have to wait long, though, before he heard her steps on the cobbled stones and saw her familiar figure approaching down the cul-de-sac.

  ‘Magda!’ he whispered as she drew near.

  The girl halted. ‘Who is it?’ she asked cautiously.

  ‘It’s me, Paul.’

  She stepped into the shadowed doorway. ‘Paul? Is something the matter?’

  ‘Yes. Can we get to your apartment without being seen?’

  ‘Come on.’ The girl turned without hesitation and led the way. There was no light in the darkened hallway of the tenement but Magda, with the ease of long practice, felt her way to the stairs, guiding Paul in the darkness.

  They climbed the narrow, rickety stairway to the top floor and Magda fumbled with her key.

  Inside Paul found himself in a small two-room attic apartment. She drew the curtains and put on the light.

  ‘Take off your coat, Paul. Make yourself comfortable.’

  Paul nodded.

  Magda moved to light a small paraffin stove before she took off her own overcoat. ‘Coffee?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘Well, I need some. While I’m making it, you tell me what’s wrong. You look like you’ve been going through hell.’

  It came out with a rush. All the details about Project Wotan, about von Knilling, about the bombs, about his escape from the site and his return to Münster. About Ilse’s betrayal.

  Magda seemed to accept the news calmly, although her hand trembled a little as she poured her coffee.

  ‘Did you love Ilse?’ she asked.

  Paul blinked. Strange that she should have gone directly to the subject of Ilse instead of the more momentous news about Project Wotan.