Simon Tolkien Inspector Trave Trilogy: Orders From Berlin, The Inheritance, The King of Diamonds. Simon Tolkien

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Looking down the steps, Heydrich remembered the Führer standing where he was now, waiting to greet the straight-backed British Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain in the week before the Munich Conference in 1938. Chamberlain had watery eyes and a wispy moustache, and he’d wanted peace in our time. Heydrich remembered afterwards the way Hitler had scornfully described how the Englishman’s hands had trembled when he used the word war. And Chamberlain hadn’t been alone. Lord Halifax, England’s foreign minister then and now, had also wanted to find a peaceful solution to ‘Germany’s legitimate demands’, as he’d called them. Hitler was right – it was Churchill who had changed the rules of the game. The fat man was in love with the sound of his own voice, filling the radio waves with his hatred of Germany and his talk of blood, toil, sweat, and tears. The false briefing paper exaggerating Germany’s preparedness for the invasion of England on which Heydrich had lavished so much time and care had made no difference. D had reported that Churchill wouldn’t back down – the old fool had meant exactly what he’d said in his rabble-rousing speech to the British Parliament back in June: ‘We shall fight on the beaches, we shall fight on the landing grounds, we shall never surrender.’ Fine words, but meaningless when the British Army had left all its heavy weapons on the beach at Dunkirk and their Home Guard was armed with spades and pitchforks. Without Churchill things might be different: sense might prevail. And D’s radio message had contained an idea for how Churchill might be removed from the equation – only a possibility, but certainly one worth exploring. A new door seemed to be opening just as an old one was closing.

      Heydrich hadn’t mentioned D’s idea in the report that he’d sent to Hitler by courier the day before. It required a face-to-face conversation; it was too sensitive to be put in writing, and besides, Heydrich wanted to ensure it remained a secret between him and the Führer. He hesitated as he slowly buttoned his greatcoat and adjusted the peak of his SS cap over his brow. On the face of it, now was a perfect opportunity to see the Führer alone. He’d watched all the generals leave. But Hitler might not be receptive to new ideas in his present angry mood – an unscheduled intrusion might only infuriate him more. Yet Heydrich had a solution to offer to the very problem that was causing the Führer’s ill humour.

      He ran the tip of his tongue round the edges of his lips as he weighed the odds, and then, making up his mind, he turned on his heel and re-entered the house. The great hall was empty, so he went on into the pine-panelled dining room and practically collided with the Führer’s valet, Heinz Linge.

      ‘Please tell the Führer that I wish to see him,’ said Heydrich. He was nervous and made it sound like an order rather than a request.

      ‘But the Führer is resting, Herr General,’ said Linge, who was under instructions to take orders from no one except his master. ‘The conference has ended. Everyone has left.’

      ‘Tell the Führer that that is why I am here,’ said Heydrich, standing his ground. ‘Because of what was discussed at the conference. I have something important to tell him. I need to see him urgently.’

      ‘Something that can’t wait. But something that couldn’t be said before in front of your colleagues. You intrigue me, Reinhard.’ Hitler had appeared silently behind his valet in the doorway, standing with his hands behind his back, but Heydrich was reassured to see that the Führer was smiling and appeared to have entirely shaken off his earlier irritation. He’d changed into a simple white military jacket, the same colour as Goering’s but otherwise entirely unlike the Reichsmarschall’s ridiculously flamboyant uniform.

      ‘Come, let us go out,’ he said. ‘We can walk together and enjoy the view down over the valley, and you can tell me what it is that is so urgent.’

      They set off, walking side by side along the wooded path that led from the Berghof to Hitler’s teahouse on the Mooslahnerkopf hill, with the Führer’s Alsatian dog bounding along in front of them. Heydrich knew that this was one of Hitler’s favourite walks – he went to the teahouse almost every day when he was at the Berghof, and Heydrich had accompanied him there on several occasions, but never alone like now. It felt awkward to be walking casually with the supreme leader, and Heydrich watched his pace and walked with a slight stoop to ensure that Hitler wasn’t aware of his height advantage.

      There was a cold grip in the air, but no clouds in the pale blue sky. To their right, the trees were laden with golden leaves turning to red before they fell, and to their left the spires and roofs of the small resort town of Berchtesgaden were clearly visible spread out across the valley floor three thousand feet below. All around, the mountains of the Bavarian Alps towered above their heads. Heydrich instinctively understood why Hitler loved this place and had chosen to make it his home. They were in the very heart of the Reich. There was an elemental energy in the air, in the vista, that reminded Heydrich of Caspar Friedrich’s painting, The Wanderer Above the Sea of Mists. Heydrich liked beauty – he could create it himself at home in the evenings when he stood at the window of his study with his violin, playing the Haydn sonatas that he’d learnt from his father when he was a boy. He understood it just as he understood the web of complex emotions that motivated the actions of his fellow human beings; but his understanding was clinical, an entirely cerebral analysis. Heydrich had no capacity for empathy whatsoever and, like his leader, he stood apart, utterly unmoved by the suffering of others. All that mattered to him was the use and pursuit of power.

      They walked in silence, with Heydrich waiting for Hitler to open the conversation. The wind had died down and their footsteps on the hard ground were the only sound, apart from the tap of Hitler’s walking stick. The dog had gone on ahead. Soon they reached the point where the path bent out from under the trees, providing a panoramic viewing point. Hitler sat on the wooden bench looking out over the railings, and Heydrich followed suit.

      ‘I never get tired of this place,’ Hitler said meditatively. ‘I have tried to paint it several times from different angles, but it is too vast, too much a theatre in the round for me to capture on a canvas. Its essence escapes me.’

      ‘They say that Charlemagne sleeps under that mountain,’ said Heydrich, pointing across the valley to the majestic Untersberg, which reared up to a distant snow-capped peak thousands of feet above them, barring the way into Austria.

      ‘And they say that Jesus is the son of God,’ said Hitler tartly. ‘Why do you talk to me of Charlemagne? He’s been dead a thousand years.’

      The riposte was typical of the Führer – always challenging those he was with, refusing to relax. But Heydrich was ready with his answer.

      ‘Because he did what you did,’ he said. ‘Charlemagne united the Volk; he made a Reich just like you have done. He had the will and the vision and the power to accomplish his mission. Men like you come rarely. They can change history, but there are always spoilers like Churchill who stand in their way, trying to destroy their work.’

      ‘And without Churchill the British would make peace. Is that what you are trying to say?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Well, you are probably right,’ said Hitler, nodding. ‘This war makes no sense for them and none for us. It’s like I have always said – I am England’s friend. There is room for them in the world and room for us too. We are all Aryans. But Churchill will not listen. He is the Bolsheviks’ greatest ally. I am sure Stalin has a picture of fat Winston in his bedroom in Moscow and that he kisses it with his filthy icons at night.’ Hitler’s sudden harsh laughter cut the air before he abruptly resumed the quiet, serious voice with which he had been speaking before. ‘What is it you are trying to tell me, Reinhard?’ he asked. ‘Don’t talk in riddles.’

      Heydrich took a deep breath of the cold mountain air. He felt his heart beating hard under his uniform and a sense of vertigo СКАЧАТЬ