Legacy of Hate Read online

  Legacy of Hate

  Christopher Nicole

  © Christopher Nicole 2018

  Christopher Nicole has asserted his rights under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

  First published in 2018 by Endeavour Media Ltd.

  Table of Contents

  PART ONE

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  PART TWO

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  PART THREE

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Now hatred is by far the longest pleasure;

  Men love in haste, but they detest at leisure.

  - Lord Byron

  PART ONE

  The Traitor

  Vengeance is mine; I will repay.

  Epistle of Peter to the Romans

  Chapter One

  The Act of Vengeance

  ‘Franz, my dear fellow!' Colonel Rudolph Kessler shook hands with his fellow officer, then stepped back. 'Heil Hitler!’

  Colonel Franz Hoeppner responded. 'Heil Hitler! Welcome to Bordeaux.'

  Behind them the train continued to hiss noisily and doors banged as the other passengers were allowed off. But the two officers remained isolated, surrounded by their guards. ‘1 am sure it will be a pleasant change from the Ukraine,' Kessler agreed.

  Actually, Hoeppner thought, for someone just returned from the Russian front, his replacement — a short, somewhat stout man with heavy features — looked exactly as he remembered him from their last meeting, which had been before the Eastern campaign had even commenced.

  'It is very quiet here, now,' he said. 'The car is outside." The soldiers cleared a way through the throng, everyone casting surreptitious stares at the two resplendently clad German officers. In contrast to his companion. Hoeppner was tall, strongly built, and moved athletically. With his crisp yellow hair and bold features he was a very typical representative of the 'master' race.

  'Frankly, I did not expect to find you still here.' Kessler remarked.

  'I felt it my duty to remain to hand over to you.'

  'But after such a humiliation … '

  'I was lured into a trap,' Hoeppner said quietly. 'And taken prisoner.’

  'And then released by the guerrillas, unharmed.' Kessler commented disparagingly. The two men emerged into the bright autumnal sunlight of the station yard. Here there were even more people, openly staring at the two officers, but kept at a respectful distance by the guards, who prodded at them with their rifle butts.

  ‘I had served my purpose,' Hoeppner agreed equably.

  Kessler got into the back of the open tourer and sat down. He paid no attention to the watching crowd. ‘Which was to enable Liane de Gruchy to escape from custody. Did you actually meet her?'

  Hoeppner sat beside him. ‘1 was driven more than a hundred kilometres with her pressing a pistol into my ribs.'

  ‘And is she as fearsome as they say?’

  Hoeppner tapped the driver on the shoulder. A soldier took his place in the other front seat, this one armed with a tommy gun, which he rested across his knees. 'She is certainly as beautiful as they say. As for being fearsome … Well, she had me at her mercy, but she did not kill me.'

  ‘She preferred the propaganda value of releasing you to walk back to Bordeaux.'

  ‘Possibly. 1 prefer to think that she only kills when she has to.'

  Kessler snorted. 'And now she is dead."

  Hoeppner sighed. ‘They are all dead. Weber and his thugs wiped them out.'

  ‘You sound almost regretful about that. Why are we not moving?'

  ‘What is the trouble, Willi?' Hoeppner asked.

  ‘There is a farm cart broken down immediately outside the yard, Herr Colonel.'

  ‘Well, sort it out. there’s a good fellow. We cannot sit here all day.’

  Willi obligingly got out of the car, as did the guard. Kessler gave another of his snorts. ‘You are too soft on these people. That is going to change, for a start.’

  ‘They acknowledge our rule,' Hoeppner said. ‘Life is simplified, on both sides, where there is no excessive demonstration of that rule.'

  'That is a point of view with which I do not happen to agree. What is this?’

  Despite the protective ring of soldiers, the crowd had pressed closer, and now a young woman ducked under the outstretched arms and prodding gun butts and ran towards the car. Men shouted and grabbed at her, but she evaded them with a swivel of her hips and reached the vehicle. Kessler continued to regard her with a mixture of distaste and contempt; Hoeppner stared at the flying dark-brown hair, the so-familiar face, with a mixture of both consternation and horror. ‘Amalie?’ he gasped.

  The woman was beside the car. Kessler at last realized that they were being attacked, and unbuttoned his holster. But within seconds he was dead. The woman had drawn an automatic pistol from inside her coat and shot him twice in the head, with both composure and accuracy. Blood flew across the car and across Hoeppner. He was endeavouring to draw his own weapon, but he knew he had no chance. He stared at the woman — she was hardly more than a girl — and she stared back, her gun levelled. ‘Amalie,’ he muttered again.

  For a moment she continued to stare at him, her knuckle white against the trigger, then she turned away, into the arms of the soldiers who had surrounded the car. They grasped at her arms and her threadbare coat and dress while she uttered no sound, but now they were themselves surrounded, by the crowd, which surged forward, ignoring the flailing rifles, seized the Germans’ weapons, grasped the car itself to overturn it and send Hoeppner and Kessler sprawling in the dust. Someone fired a shot, and then another, and then there was a volley. The crowd fled in every direction, leaving half a dozen bodies behind them. Hoeppner sat up and instinctively reached for his cap. which had come off. 'Cease firing!" he shouted.

  A sergeant appeared beside him. ‘Those people … '

  ‘Are largely innocent.’

  ‘They have made off with the assassin.'

  ‘Well, we will have to find her. Get this car turned right side up.’

  ‘Yes. Herr Colonel. And the Colonel?"

  Hoeppner looked at the body at his feet. ‘As you say. Sergeant, the woman was an assassin.’ And also a ghost, he thought.

  Oskar Weber replaced the telephone slowly. Then he produced a handkerchief and wiped sweat from his brow. Then he pressed his intercom; it was better to do what had to be done before he lost his nerve altogether.

  ‘Herr Colonel?’ the woman asked.

  ‘I wish an appointment with General Heydrich, immediately. Make it, and order my car.'

  ‘Ah … Yes, Herr Colonel.’

  The woman had hesitated; the bitch must have detected the agitation in his voice. That had to be controlled. A senior officer in the SD — the Sicherheitsdienst, the secret police within the Gestapo, and thus the most powerful force in Germany, hated and feared even by the Schutzstajfel — did not allow himself to be agitated, even when his career might be hanging by a thread. Weber opened his deep drawer, took out the bottle of French brandy, regarded it, and then put it away again. Were Heydrich to smell alcohol on his breath … Besides, his immediate panic was receding and he was having an idea on how the business could be handled.

  He got up, took a turn around the office, and paused to look out of his window at the busy Berlin streets. No one had had much sleep because of the RAF raid. Another RAF raid, despite Goering's assurances that it could never happen. The raid had not caused a lot of damage, but the mere fact that it had happened was bad for moral
e — quite apart from the sleepless night. He sat down again.

  'The car is waiting, Herr Colonel,' the woman said.

  Weber got back to his feet, slowly. Of medium height, he was heavily built, with receding black hair and a strong jaw. He wore civilian clothes, and paused for a moment to straighten his tie and then dry his hands before leaving the office.

  ‘Oskar!’ Reinhard Heydrich said. ‘I am delighted to see you. Come in and sit down and have a drink.' Weber hesitated in the centre of the double doors that led to the large, beautifully furnished office, dominated by the great, deep windows to either sjde of the huge desk. Between them there hung a full-size portrait of the Fiihrer. Entering this office was always an experience, but more often than not it was a terrifying one.

  Weber had never seen his boss, with his carefully brushed blond hair and his coldly handsome features, in what could be described as a jolly mood … With an open bottle of champagne on his desk, from which he was now filling two glasses.

  ‘Come along,’ he said. ‘A toast! The future.’

  Cautiously Weber approached the desk. He did not think the future, overall, looked all that bright. The weather in Russia was so bad that there did not now appear any possibility of Moscow falling before Christmas, as had been confidently predicted following the amazing victories of the summer. That in itself was not catastrophic, but the suffering of the troops, ill-equipped for the winter that was now closing upon them, was distressing. But he took the glass and raised it. ‘The future! Which future were you thinking of, Herr General?’

  Heydrich laughed, again a sufficiently rare event. Then he drained his glass and sat down. ‘My future, Oskar. I am to go to Prague.’

  Weber also sat down. ‘Prague? A visit?’

  ‘Idiot! I am to be ReichsfUhrer. I am to rule a country, Oskar.'

  ‘You mean you are leaving Berlin? For how long?’

  ‘Well, of course I am leaving Berlin. As for how long, I cannot say. The Czechs are proving troublesome, and I have been given the task of bringing them to heel. Oh, I shall do that, you may be sure. But it could take a little while. Czechoslovakia is quite a large country.’

  ‘But who will take over here?’ Weber's brain was whirring as he considered that what he had to say might be better kept for this demonic man’s successor.

  ‘Heinrich will take overall command.’ Weber swallowed. If there was anyone in Germany he feared more than Heydrich, it was Himmler. ‘So, now, tell me what is so urgent?’ Heydrich invited.

  Weber licked his lips. ‘There has been trouble in Bordeaux.’

  ‘What sort of trouble?’

  ‘The new commanding officer, Kessler, has been assassinated.’

  ‘Isn’t that a matter for the Wehrmacht?’

  ‘Yes, it is. But there are disturbing elements … Heydrich refilled his glass and waited. Weber licked his lips again. ‘Kessler was sent to replace Hoeppner.’

  Heydrich nodded. ‘I know. Hoeppner was so incompetent as to allow himself to be kidnapped by the de Gruchy guerrilla gang. Then you wiped the gang out. How are you, by the way?’

  ‘I am fully recovered from my wound.’

  ‘Excellent. Well, this is clearly some kind of revenge killing. It must be dealt with most severely. Who is in command down there?’

  ‘Well … Hoeppner. He remained to hand over to Kessler.’ ‘Well, you had better tell him to do something worthwhile for a change. The assassin must be hanged, with the greatest publicity.’

  ‘The assassin got away,’ Weber said miserably.

  Heydrich put down his glass. ‘Would you like to repeat that?’

  ‘There was a riot, and in the chaos the woman escaped.’ ‘The woman. The assassin was a woman?’

  ‘This is the problem. This woman ran up to the car, shot Kessler through the head and then stared at Hoeppner, who was sitting beside Kessler. She had every opportunity to shoot him, too, before the guards could get to her, but she did not.’ Heydrich regarded him for several seconds. Then he said, ‘I do not think you can stop there, Oskar.’

  Weber drew a long breath. ‘Hoeppner is convinced that the woman was Amalie de Gruchy.’

  Another long stare. ‘Amalie de Gruchy is dead.’ Heydrich continued to speak quietly. ‘You killed her, Oskar. You told me this yourself.’

  ‘That is not quite correct, Reinhard.’

  ‘You told me the de Gruchys were destroyed when you raided their lair two months ago. Are you now telling me something different? Are you going to tell me that that she-wolf, Liane de Gruchy, is actually alive?’

  ‘No, no. Liane de Gruchy is dead.’

  ‘You saw her body?’

  ‘I saw her immediately before she died. I was about to shoot her when I was hit myself. I do not know who fired the shot, but I was rendered unconscious, as you know. However, she was despatched by Fraulein Jonsson, who was at my side.’ ‘Always Fraulein Jonsson,’ Heydrich remarked. ‘Did you not tell me that she and Liane de Gruchy had been at school together? That they were lovers?’

  ‘I believe that is so. But they had quarrelled, and de Gruchy had rejected her. Hell hath no fury, eh? Anyway, Jonsson shot her and her immediate companions.’

  ‘But you did not see the bodies.’

  ‘Well, no. I was unconscious, as I said. So Karlovy took command, and, as our time was nearly up, and he was worried for my life, and as the guerrillas were clearly defeated, he opted to pull out.’

  ‘But he saw the bodies.’

  ‘He saw Liane’s body, yes.’

  ‘Did he examine it?’

  ‘I don’t know. As I say, things were rather fraught, and both Karlovy and Jonsson were worried about me.’

  ‘So no one saw the girl Amalie’s body at all.’ it was assumed that she died in the fighting deep inside the cave. There was very little light.’

  ‘Assumed by Karlovy. And Jonsson, of course. But now it appears that they were mistaken. Where is Jonsson now?’ ‘On a mission to England.’

  ‘So you still trust her absolutely?’

  "I do. Yes.'

  ‘Because she is your mistress?’

  ‘Well … ’ Weber flushed. ‘I have no reason not to.’

  ‘Save that she is an American. I know she pretends to be a Nazi sympathizer, but that is easy to do, is it not? She is also a self-confessed lesbian.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Reinhard. That was when she was a schoolgirl. And it was one relationship, which has gone sour. And is now over, in any event.’

  ‘I hope you are right, Oskar. I think you should know that both Heinrich and the Fiihrer have taken a great interest in the de Gruchy business, certainly in their leader. The Fiihrer described her as a monster of destruction. When 1 reported to him that she was dead, he snapped his fingers with glee and said, “Good. Good. That is very good.” Now, if I have to return to him and tell him that she is actually alive, someone’s head is going to roll. I strongly suggest that you line up a candidate for that unfortunate position, or it is going to be yourself.’

  Weber swallowed. ‘She is dead. I know she is dead.’

  ‘Very good. So we may presume that this woman Amalie is the last of the brood left.’

  ‘Except for Frau von Helsingen.’

  ‘You seem to have an inordinate desire to get your hands on that woman, Oskar. But you were not able to implicate her in the Hoeppner affair, and she is in the Fiihrer’s inner circle. She is also about to give birth to his godson. So if I were you, I would forget about her. If she has been aiding her sisters in any way, she has gone about it in a damned clever fashion. Concentrate on this Amalie; we don’t want a reincarnation of her other sister on our hands. Have Hoeppner confirmed as remaining in his post for the time being, but send Roess down to clean things up.'

  ‘Roess is presently commanding the Paris Gestapo.'

  ‘I know that, Oskar. I made the appointment. But he can spare a few days. He knows Amalie de Gruchy. He once had her in his cells until Hoeppner interfered. He is the man to put her bac
k there. He will enjoy that. Have him round up a hundred Frenchmen and then issue a statement that unless Amalie de Gruchy is handed over, or surrenders herself, in one week, he will shoot them.’

  ‘A hundred men?’

  ‘She killed a German officer. Do you not consider that a German officer is worth a hundred lives?’

  Weber looked longingly into his empty glass, but Heydrich was clearly not going to refill it — his sunny mood was a thing of the past. ‘I would like to hear of this woman’s capture before I leave for Prague,’ Heydrich said. ‘Good morning, Oskar.’

  ‘Well, hi there,’ said Joanna Jonsson.

  ‘Oh, good lord!’ Rachel Cartwright remarked. ‘Every time I see you I don’t know whether to smile, scream, or spit. Well, come in. You’re blocking the draft.’

  This was certainly true. Nearly six feet tall and built to match, Joanna Jonsson filled the doorway. Now she entered the room and seemed to fill the little office as well. As always, her long, thick yellow hair, carefully arranged to half obscure her right eye, lay below her shoulders like a mat, and both her dress and her mink coat had clearly come from Fortnums. Her court shoes merely added to her height, and her bold, handsome features went with her American drawl to enhance the larger-than-life image.

  By contrast Rachel, only a few inches shorter, was so slender as to be considered thin. Her dress was dowdy, as required by her position, although she was even more of an aristocrat in private life than the Swedish-American. Her long black hair was confined in a tight bun on the nape of her neck, and her pertly pretty features were partly concealed behind her horn-rimmed spectacles. Yet for all their natural antagonism, the two women respected each other. They had fought together, and killed together — and survived together.

  ‘This city can be bleak in winter,’ Joanna agreed. ‘And this bit is the bleakest. When does the Thames freeze?’

  ‘It doesn’t, as a rule. And the East End suits us. It’s not where people expect to find us; nobody asks questions in this part of the world.’