Read Online Five Past Midnight by James Thayer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: James Thayer
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Heinrich Himmler often acted otherwise, the RSD was a separate Reich agency, subordinate only to the Führer himself. Gestapo leader Heinrich Müller, known as Gestapo Müller, had offered the RSD space in the Gestapo's office on Prinz Albrecht Strasse. Eberhardt might have accepted the kindness had he been able to tolerate being in the same building as Gestapo Müller, whom the RSD chief viewed with equal amounts of revulsion and fear. So Eberhardt made do with the makeshift office. His red mahogany desk had been moved just ahead of the Unter den Linden fire, and one leg was singed. An electric cord hung from the ceiling to a desk lamp. Six file cabinets lined a wall. Two telephones were in front of him, one with an outside line and the other with a direct connection to the RSD's small office in the New Reich Chancellery basement. On the wall behind him was a portrait of the Führer.
The closest General Eberhardt had ever been to suffering an apoplectic fit was in May 1942 during a midnight conference at Wolf s Lair, the Führer's military headquarters in East Prussia, when Hitler had said over the rim of his glass of mineral water, "I owe my life not to the police but to pure chance." Eberhardt had purpled and gripped the table in anger. He had opened his mouth but a hard glance from General Jodl had throttled him. Only one person in that room was allowed to rage, and it certainly was not Eberhardt. But the general still remembered the words in acid detail. Hitler's casual slight had wounded him. Eberhardt's RSD protected the Führer. Since the beginning of the war, the RSD had thwarted no less than eighteen credible attempts on Hitler's life.
The largest Allied bombing raid on Berlin of the war — over two thousand planes — had occurred the night before. The government quarter had not been hit, but ash was building up on Eberhardt's window ledges like snow. Sirens had been sounding all day.
Eberhardt's face was too narrow for his features, and his mouth and nose and eyes crowded it. In the past few years his mouth had become pinched and his suspicious eyes had moved even closer together, a face rearranged by his vast responsibilities. Eberhardt never removed his gray uniform jacket while on duty, not even during Berlin's sweltering summer days. High collars pressed his neck. On his jacket was the Golden Honor Badge, indicating he was among the first 100,000 Party members.
Eberhardt studied a photograph of the POW who had escaped from Oflag IV C at Colditz that afternoon. The photo had been taken on the prisoner's admission to Colditz. The POW stared back at him, not with the apprehension and exhaustion always displayed in camp admission photographs but with a studied disdain. The prisoner's mouth was slightly arched, and his eyebrows were lifted as if he were amused. From the black-and-white photo Eberhardt could not tell the prisoner's eye color, but the man had fair skin and short blond hair. His jaw was aggressive, and he had pug ears. A boxer's face. Each time Eberhardt returned to the photo, the prisoner's countenance seemed to have shifted slightly, from one issuing a challenge to one broadcasting enormous competence to one about to laugh. It was a chameleon's face, changing even in the stillness of the photograph.
Colditz's commandant, Colonel Janssen, had reported the escape an hour earlier to General Hermann Reinecke, who was in charge of the Armed Forces General Office (AWA) a division within OKW that had authority over prisoners of war. If more than five POWs escaped from a camp, or if only one escaped from Colditz, a national alert was issued, and Eberhardt's RSD and many other Reich organizations were notified. Copies of all prisoners' admission photographs were on file at the RSD.
General Eberhardt had just spoken with the Colditz commandant by telephone. Colonel Janssen had not determined how it had occurred, but he had apparently buried a man alive in the castle cemetery. Janssen was perhaps
The closest General Eberhardt had ever been to suffering an apoplectic fit was in May 1942 during a midnight conference at Wolf s Lair, the Führer's military headquarters in East Prussia, when Hitler had said over the rim of his glass of mineral water, "I owe my life not to the police but to pure chance." Eberhardt had purpled and gripped the table in anger. He had opened his mouth but a hard glance from General Jodl had throttled him. Only one person in that room was allowed to rage, and it certainly was not Eberhardt. But the general still remembered the words in acid detail. Hitler's casual slight had wounded him. Eberhardt's RSD protected the Führer. Since the beginning of the war, the RSD had thwarted no less than eighteen credible attempts on Hitler's life.
The largest Allied bombing raid on Berlin of the war — over two thousand planes — had occurred the night before. The government quarter had not been hit, but ash was building up on Eberhardt's window ledges like snow. Sirens had been sounding all day.
Eberhardt's face was too narrow for his features, and his mouth and nose and eyes crowded it. In the past few years his mouth had become pinched and his suspicious eyes had moved even closer together, a face rearranged by his vast responsibilities. Eberhardt never removed his gray uniform jacket while on duty, not even during Berlin's sweltering summer days. High collars pressed his neck. On his jacket was the Golden Honor Badge, indicating he was among the first 100,000 Party members.
Eberhardt studied a photograph of the POW who had escaped from Oflag IV C at Colditz that afternoon. The photo had been taken on the prisoner's admission to Colditz. The POW stared back at him, not with the apprehension and exhaustion always displayed in camp admission photographs but with a studied disdain. The prisoner's mouth was slightly arched, and his eyebrows were lifted as if he were amused. From the black-and-white photo Eberhardt could not tell the prisoner's eye color, but the man had fair skin and short blond hair. His jaw was aggressive, and he had pug ears. A boxer's face. Each time Eberhardt returned to the photo, the prisoner's countenance seemed to have shifted slightly, from one issuing a challenge to one broadcasting enormous competence to one about to laugh. It was a chameleon's face, changing even in the stillness of the photograph.
Colditz's commandant, Colonel Janssen, had reported the escape an hour earlier to General Hermann Reinecke, who was in charge of the Armed Forces General Office (AWA) a division within OKW that had authority over prisoners of war. If more than five POWs escaped from a camp, or if only one escaped from Colditz, a national alert was issued, and Eberhardt's RSD and many other Reich organizations were notified. Copies of all prisoners' admission photographs were on file at the RSD.
General Eberhardt had just spoken with the Colditz commandant by telephone. Colonel Janssen had not determined how it had occurred, but he had apparently buried a man alive in the castle cemetery. Janssen was perhaps
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