Hitler's Secret by Rory Clements

Author:Rory Clements [Clements, Rory]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 20

Wilde parked the car on a rough track deep in a wood, and they remained there, waiting for darkness to fall. According to Sunny, Schmidt had arranged to come at six o’clock, two hours after sunset, and they would meet him on a small beach between two rocky outcrops, a walk of two kilometres from here.

In the meantime, all they could do was wait in this car, cold and dejected, while the rain pattered on the windows and roof. They had crawled here from Carinhall, using farm and forest roads as often as possible, too small to have checkpoints. Even so, they had been stopped often and had passed enough traffic to tauten their nerves – long columns of troops, both motorised and infantry, farm vehicles drawn by wood-gas generator tractors, horse-drawn drays, slave workers and guest workers (only the letters on their jackets told them apart), even a few cars.

The soldiers at the roadblocks had taken a keen interest in the car. Not many American vehicles in these parts, and the name of Göring on the papers only served to increase their interest but also, fortunately, their respect for the occupants.

‘I have some food,’ Sunny said as Wilde applied the handbrake. ‘Emmy very kindly had sandwiches made for us. Sausage or cheese, Klara?’

‘Is there jam?’

‘No.’

‘Then I want sausage and cheese. Both.’ Her voice was petulant.

Wilde understood her ill-humour. After the dramatic events at her house and then on the road from Carinhall, the journey had been long and dreary. Any child would be fed up. But of course her tetchiness was nothing compared to the inner turmoil the girl must be struggling to contain. In the space of two days she had lost her loved ones, had her spirits lifted at Carinhall – and then the shattering experience of gunfire and death on a public highway.

Sunny took a brown paper parcel from her bag, and unwrapped it on her lap, revealing thick-cut sandwiches of brown bread. She handed one from each side of the pile to Karla.

‘There you are. Now, Tom, would you like one?’

‘Cheese for me, please.’

‘She also gave me a little something to drink – lemonade for Klara, a small flask of whisky for you, Tom.’

Just what he needed at that moment.

‘Suddenly I feel a lot happier.’

‘And cake for when the sandwiches are gone.’

‘This is like a picnic!’ Klara said.

Wilde and Klara ate in silence for a few minutes, then he noticed that Sunny wasn’t eating.

‘You need food, too, you know.’

‘I can’t eat, Tom.’

He reached out and brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of his hand.

‘Do you want to tell me about him?’

‘I do, yes. I want to tell the world about him, because he was a hero. He was the sort of man Germany needs right now. I knew him from childhood. Our families were friends. But I spent so much time in America that we somehow lost touch and of course I married someone else. But then, after Werner’s death, Anton came to the memorial service and, well, it was like old times.

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