Chapter II: Part XI
Chapter II: The Gambit of the West
Part XI
April 3, 1936
The great shadow of the nearly-complete Olympiastadion engulfed Fr. Martin Kappel, as he walked the concrete avenue that encircled the vast stadium. Though after eleven in the morning, it was quite cold in Berlin, and Kappel warmed his hands furiously in the pockets of his woolen greatcoat.
The sounds of distant construction still floated out over the vast Reichssportfeld, but principal work on the Olympic Stadium itself was virtually complete. The wide pedestrian avenue was deserted -- Berlin police were stationed around the complex to keep out unnecessary personnel, only allowing Kappel to enter for a fabricated appointment with one of the architectural officials.
Upon entering the grounds, he had been awed by the sheer scale of the construction. The Reichssportfeld was dominated by a gigantic stadium built to accommodate over 110,000 spectators. Much of the structure was actually buried in the ground, resulting in a relatively flat profile that evoked the Circus Maximus more than the Colosseum.
Construction was nearly complete on the entrance to the Reichssportfeld, with the Olympiastadion beyond.
Beyond the Olympiastadion, a huge field was being prepared to host gymnastics and equestrian events along with a quarter-million spectators. Grass had only been installed in the nearest section, though. The rest remained a great expanse of dirt and equipment.
Further still, at the western end of the complex, a tall bell tower rose out of the field, shrouded in scaffolding.
This tower overlooked a second sunken amphitheater, this one designed to seat 22,000. There, Kappel saw three steam-powered lifts hoisting the many tonnes of stone that were being used to complete the theater’s façade.
On the ground around the theater, dozens of huge bronze figures stood motionless. Kappel had been unable to restrain himself from asking one of the overseers about them. He had replied that the statues depicted German national heroes, and would soon be hoisted into the alcoves along the top of the theater.
The sunken theater, known as the Waldbühne -- “Forest Theater” -- nearing completion.
More than a hundred and fifty smaller buildings dotted the grounds -- for minor sporting events, cultural exhibits and services for the millions of people who would converge on Berlin at the end of July for the start of the Games.
Wide courts were built to accommodate the thousands of spectators that would crowd the Reichssportfeld each day of the Games.
Now, Kappel found himself at the front of the complex. He had made a complete circuit around the stadium. There was no sign of Baron von Yorck.
von Yorck had telephoned Kappel the day before, asking to meet him at the Reichssportfeld. He had insisted that the meeting was of the utmost urgency, but intimated that he had good news.
Kappel had been wary, but von Yorck had not used their prearranged code phrase to indicate that something was amiss. Thus, he had agreed to the meeting, and made his way to the Reichssportfeld on foot the next morning.
As soon as he stepped outside St. Matthias church, where Fr. Heinrich had again given him shelter, Kappel noticed something strange in the faces of those he saw. Berliners seemed anxious. The streets of the capital were nearly empty, despite it being a Friday morning. Those who were visible seemed to Kappel tense and preoccupied. He overheard vague rumors of a war with the Allies.
Kappel checked his watch, worried.
Still no sign of him.
von Yorck had instructed Kappel to simply arrive at the Reichssportfeld at eleven-thirty. He would find Kappel, he said.
A patrol of policemen was walking up the avenue from behind him. He began walking quickly. Heart pounding, Kappel scanned the shadows of the Reichssportfeld’s buildings for agents of the Gestapo lying in wait for him.
Was the meeting a trap?
More police were patrolling near the stadium’s entrance. Kappel began to run, turning up the long road towards twin stone towers that marked the Reichssportfeld’s entrance.
Out of breath, he came to a stop just yards from the entrance.
Has von Yorck been here at all?
The policemen were no longer in sight. Standing at the entrance, a man in the grubby overalls of a construction laborer stood facing away from Kappel. A large bloom of white smoke momentarily hid the man’s head from sight. Kappel approached him from behind. “Pardon, but have you seen a well-dressed, mustachioed man come this way?”
“No man of that description has passed this way all day, Fr. Kappel.” The man turned. It was Baron von Yorck.
The priest sputtered with shock and relief. “I -- you -- how… What’s going on here, Karl?”
von Yorck chuckled. His face was smeared with a thin layer of grime, and his moustache shaved off. He held a thin cigar between his teeth. “I think you’ll be quite pleased with me, Father.”
“What’s happened?”
The aristocrat plucked the cigar from his lips and pulled Kappel close enough to whisper. “I have already succeeded in planting a bomb in the stadium. Ask me where.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There is an elevated viewing stand for Hitler and his close associates. This stand is supported by a wood-and-plaster platform. I have succeeded in having the platform rigged with enough explosives and shrapnel to kill everyone within forty meters.”
Kappel could scarcely believe what he was hearing. His mind flooded with questions. “I expressly forbid a bomb, did I not?”
“Then what was all that you told me about that scientist stealing PETN?”
“That was never meant to be used at the Olympics, that’s for --”
“Well, the bomb is already in place. If you choose not to use it, every man that Hitler kills after the first of August will be on your conscience.”
“You cannot see it like that. My conscience forbids it.”
“What did you tell me, Father? Remember? It is not about you, or your conscience or my conscience. It is about Germany.”
Kappel backed away. “It is difficult.”
“Have you found any sharpshooters that you’ve overlooked telling me about?”
“No.” Kappel had tried, but after the successes in Belgium, dissidents were few and far between.
“Then the bomb it is.”
The questions were coming too quickly. “How did you accomplish this?”
“Three hundred thousand Reichsmarks in well-placed bribes. I thought that you would be pleased at my expense and initiative.”
“I have to make up my mind, Karl.” Kappel’s head throbbed. “Expect me at your chalet some time in the next month. I hope to know more by then, and at that time I will give you my thoughts on the use of your bomb.”
A police patrol was making its way up the deserted avenue. von Yorck pulled Kappel close again. “Good luck. My home will be open to you, as always.” He resumed the affect of a laborer, turned, and strode back onto the grounds of the Reichssportfeld, smoking the cigar.
Along the long walk back to St. Matthias church, Kappel rolled the problem over in his mind. Could the sometimes unreliable baron be telling the truth? If not, what motive had he to lie? Why had he not used the code phrase if something was amiss?
Absorbed in his thoughts, he passed through the doorway of St. Matthias and into the nave before halting where he stood. Two black man-sized Sig-runes had been daubed crudely onto the stone pavers.
The SS had been to St. Matthias.