A Small Death in lisbon (7 page)

'I don't follow you, sir,' said Felsen, touchy.

'Trampled to death by a pig. What was that?'

Felsen didn't respond.

'Do you think I don't know about your father?' said Lehrer.

'Yes, well, there you have two examples of Swabian humour.'

'It gave me a problem, Hanke thought you were psychologically unsuitable.'

'I should have tried harder with him.'

Lehrer leaned across the table, his face flushed with wine, his breath sour and cigar-streaked.

'This job is a big opportunity for you ... a big opportunity ... You will thank me for it. I know you will thank me.'

'Then why don't you tell me about it, sir?'

'Not yet. Tomorrow. You'll come to Lichterfelde. I'll have you sworn in first.'

'Into the SS?'

'Of course,' said Lehrer, until he saw Felsen's frozen face. 'Don't worry, you're going west, not east.'

They drove slowly north through the fresh snow back to Berlin. That familiar smell had been the Lichterfelde barracks. On the few occasions a car passed in the other direction Felsen could see the shadows of the officers in the car in front, passing the girl between them. Lehrer didn't speak. It stopped snowing. They cruised into Berlin and the first car peeled off to the Tiergarten and Moabit. Lehrer ordered the driver to do a small circuit of the city. Felsen stared out into the dark, the black parks, the flak towers, the lightless houses, the silent Anhalter station.

'It's the nature of war,' said Lehrer, 'that things happen. More things happen than could possibly happen in peacetime. In that respect it's the most exciting time of a man's life. One moment you're running a factory, making more money than you could ever dream of as a farmer in Swabia. You dance with girls in the Golden
Horseshoe, watch the shows in the Frasquita, walk the Kufu with all the other monied bastards. And the next moment...'

'I'm in Prinz Albrechtstrasse.'

'A new and radical regime must protect itself. Strength through fear.'

'And the next moment ... go on.'

'Think international. Germany is not just Germany any more. Germany is the whole of Europe. A world power. Political and economic. Don't be small-minded.'

'It's my peasant mentality. It's how I get things done for the money.'

'That's good, but see the big picture too. The Reichsführer Himmler wants the SS to be an economic power in its own right within the new Germanic Reich. Think about that.'

The car finally turned into Nürnbergerstrasse and pulled up outside Felsen's apartment. He got out and went up the two flights of stairs and found his front door repaired. He let himself in and lit one of his own cigarettes. He looked from behind the blackout and found the car gone. He put on a coat and hat and went out into the night.

It was a short walk to Kurfurstenstrasse. He walked in the street where it was easier. There was nobody out. The temperature had dropped sharply.

Felsen went down the small lane at the side of Eva's apartment building and in dirough the gate. The mounds of earth and rubble taken out of the cellar were covered in thick snow. The door was locked. He hammered on it and stepped back and up on to one of the mounds to see if there were any cracks of light around the windows. He roared her name. After a few moments someone opened a window and told him to shut his drunken talk.

He went back home, soaked in a bath and got into bed. It was 2.30 a.m. He'd call her in the morning, he thought, as he drifted into his first hour's sleep. He came awake four times, each time with a rush and a crack in his head as if he'd been hit with a brick. There was the smell of shit in his nostrils, and the last frames of his dream stayed with him; the white of the widening parade ground lengthening out for ever. He had to put the light on after that.

26th February 1941, SS Barracks, Unter den Eichen, Berlin-Lichterfelde

Felsen sat in the polished corridor outside Lehrer's office, watching two soldiers in vests and fatigues cleaning the corners with brushes too small for the job. Twice in the last fifteen minutes a sergeant had dropped by to kick their arses and salute Felsen, who was sitting uncomfortably in the uniform of an SS-Hauptsturmführer.

An adjutant came out of Lehrer's office and waved him in. Felsen saluted the Gruppenführer. Lehrer nodded him into in a high-backed chair on the other side of a desk with black leather inlay. Felsen took out his cigarettes, screwed one in his mouth and Lehrer reminded him that permission was required to smoke in front of a superior officer.

'You'll get used to it,' said Lehrer. 'You'll even grow to like it.'

'I'm not sure how.'

The greatest burden...' he said, fixing him with the glare of his full authority, 'the
true
burden, which is responsibility, is the cast-iron yoke across
my
shoulders.
Your
actions are an added weight. You, on the other hand, have the lightness of being of a man unencumbered in the field.'

'Following orders.'

'You'll find yourself with more of a free hand than most.'

'Now that I'm a fully paid up member of the SS...'

'It's only a mark a month off your salary and it all goes into the
Spargemeinschaft-SS
so you can draw interest-free loans and...'

'A mark a month isn't my problem. What am I being paid to do? Am I allowed to know yet?'

'I wasn't trying to bore you Hauptsturmführer Felsen, I was merely trying to give you a practical instance of what I've been talking about ... what I mentioned in the car last night.'

'The SS as an economic power in the new Germanic Reich, spreading from the North Cape of Scandinavia to the Pyrenees and the tip of the Brest Peninsula to Lublin.'

'Don't leave out Great Britain, the Iberian Peninsula, the Ukraine, the Black Sea states and on and on and on,' said Lehrer. 'The big picture, remember.'

'I'll settle for a thumbnail sketch for the moment. It's the peasant brain, sir.'

'You probably know the SS runs various businesses.'

'I've only supplied couplings to the railways which are heavily used by the SS, but I don't know much about their other business interests.'

'We have brickworks, quarries, potteries, cement factories, building material plants, soft drinks factories, meat processing plants, bakeries and, of course, military armaments and munitions factories. There are a lot of other enterprises, but that gives you the idea.'

'I don't see where my expertise fits in, sir.'

'Let's talk about munitions. What's the difference between this war and the last one?'

'It's an aerial war, an aerial bombardment war.'

'All Berliners think about is air raids,' Lehrer sighed. 'I'm talking about the war. The offensive.'

'There are no static fronts. It's a mobile war.
Blitzkrieg.
"

'Exactly. It's a mobile war. It requires machinery, machine tools, artillery. It's also a tank war. Tanks have armour. To stop a tank you have to penetrate the hardened steel of its armour and that requires what is known as solid-core ammunition.'

'The shell heads are hardened with an alloy—tungsten, I believe ... so are the machine tools, the gun barrels and tank armour.'

'Otherwise known as wolfram or wolframite,' said Lehrer. 'Do you know where that comes from?'

'China ... most of it, and Russia. Sweden has some, not much, even though they invented the word tungsten, and...' Felsen slowed as the cogs clicked, '...the Iberian Peninsula.'

'You know your stuff.'

'I learnt a lot from Wencdt.'

'Wencdt?'

'My General Manager, he's a metallurgist,' said Felsen. 'You mentioned the Ukraine and the Black Sea states earlier.'

'Ah...' said Lehrer leaning back, steepling his fingers, savouring his own lips, 'the bigger picture.'

'I was under the impression that we had signed a non-aggression pact with Stalin in 1939. I'm not expecting you to confirm that that pact will be broken, but it hasn't escaped the Berliners' attention that factories are churning out massive amounts of material and it's all heading in one direction.'

'Let's hope Stalin's not as perspicacious as the Berliners.'

'All he'd have to do is hang around the
Bierstuben
and
Kneipen
of Kreuzberg and Neukölln and offer to buy a few beers and he'd get all the military intelligence he needs.'

'A worrying thought,' said Lehrer, totally unconcerned. 'Keep talking, Herr Hauptsturmführer, you're doing very well.'

'The wolfram we're getting from China ... does it come via Russia?'

'Correct.'

'And when we break the non-aggression pact we'll be cutting ourselves off from the biggest wolfram suppliers in the world.'

'Now you understand why I wanted you in uniform before I told you about the job.'

'Susana Lopes,' said Felsen, nodding at Lehrer. 'You want me to use my lover's Portuguese to buy wolfram.'

'Portugal has the largest reserves in Europe and you didn't get the job just because you speak Portuguese.'

'What was wrong with Koch?'

Lehrer fanned the name away like a nasty fart.

'Not subtle enough,' he said. This job requires finesse, an understanding of people, a sort of games-playing skill, you know, a genius for bluff, a talent for dissimulation, that kind of thing. Skills of yours we have already seen in action. And anyway, he wasn't what Susana would call
simpatico
was he?'

'Am I buying this wolfram for the SS?'

'No, no, you're buying it for Germany, but the Supply Department is headed by Dr Walter Scheiber who, apart from being a great chemist, is an old Party member and a true SS man. In this way, the Reichsführer Himmler wants to make sure that the SS gets the credit for the campaign
and
in return we'll take more of the munitions production. That is nothing to do with you. Your task is to get your hands on every kilo of uncontracted wolfram there is.'

'Uncontracted
wolfram? What's already under contract?'

'The biggest mine is British. Beralt—production 2000 tons per annum. The French own the Borralha mine—production 600 tons. The United Kingdom Commercial Corporation signed a contract with Borralha last year but we are being successful, through the Vichy government, in preventing it from working. We control a small mine called Silvicola, maximum production a few hundred tons. The rest is on the open market.'

'And how much do we need?'

'Three thousand tons for this year.'

A clock ticked behind Felsen's head. Snow shifted on the roof overhead and dropped in a flurry past the window.

'May I smoke now, sir?' asked Felsen, Lehrer nodded. 'Didn't you just say that the biggest mine produced two thousand tons a year?'

'I did. And that's not the least of your problems. The UKCC will institute pre-emptive buying offensives. You will have to manage vast quantities of "free" labour as well as your own men and any associated Portuguese agents. You will have to secure stockpiles, arrange shipments. You will have to be ... how shall I put it ... unconventional in your methods.'

'Smuggling?'

Lehrer stretched his fattening neck out of his collar.

'You will need information about your competitors' movements. You will need to stiffen your labour force's resolve, keep foreign agents in line.'

'And the Portuguese Führer—Dr Salazar—how does he...?'

'He has a tightrope to walk. He is ideologically sound but there's a long history of cooperation with the British which they are keen to invoke. He will find himself torn but we will prevail.'

'And when do I leave for Portugal?'

'You don't, not yet. Switzerland first. This afternoon.'

'This afternoon? And what about the factory? I haven't organized a damn thing. That's totally impossible, out of the question.'

'These are orders Herr Hauptsturmführer,' said Lehrer icily. 'No order is impossible. A car will pick you up at one o'clock this afternoon. You will not be late.'

Felsen stood outside his apartment building at exactly 1.00 p.m. He was in uniform but with one of his own coats over the top and
watching grimly as an overalled worker pasted a huge black and red poster on to the wall by the pharmacy opposite. It said 'Führer, we thank you'.

He'd phoned Eva all morning and got no reply. Finally, after he'd packed and finished talking things over with Wencdt, he'd run round to her apartment and banged and shouted outside her windows until the same man who'd told him to shut up the night before stuck his head out to do so again. He stopped short on seeing the uniform under the coat and became excessively polite. He told him in sticky sweet German that Eva Brücke had gone away, that he'd seen her getting into a taxi with suitcases yesterday morning, Herr Hauptsturmführer.

An old woman who'd been working her way up the frozen pavements of Nürnbergerstrasse drew level with the huddled Felsen and saw the poster and the sick look on his face. She gave the
Berliner Blick
up and down the street and pointed her cane across to the pharmacy.

'What have we got to thank
him
for?' she said, emphasizing her clouds of breath with her spare fur-cuffed gloved hand. 'The National Socialist coffee bean? How to bake cakes with no eggs? The only thing we've got to thank him for is that the
Völkischer Beobachter...
it's softer than the National Socialist toilet paper.'

She stopped as if she'd been knifed in the throat. Felsen's coat had fallen open and she'd seen the black uniform. She ran. Her feet suddenly as sure as a speed skater's on the sheet ice of the pavement.

Lehrer arrived in a chauffeur-driven Mercedes. The driver loaded the cases into the boot. They drove past the skittering old lady who still hadn't made it to the Hohenzollerndamm and Felsen mentioned her.

'She's lucky she didn't meet someone more severe,' said Lehrer, whacking his gloved hands together. 'Perhaps
you
should have been more severe. You'll need to be.'

'Not with old ladies in the street, Herr Gruppenführer.'

'Selective severity weakens the whole,' he replied, and wiped the window with the back of his fat black finger.