October 13th – 1935 Berlin.
Kurt groaned and slowly opened his eyes. He hurt all over and he longed to just lie down and pass into sleep. But he couldn’t, not least because he was tied to a chair in a cold basement. He didn’t know where he was, as he had been knocked unconscious by his captors the night before and only woken up, when a bucket of icy water had been thrown at him. It felt like it had happened years ago, that he and his contingent of SS-guards, ten in all, had come to the Abwehr, where they were told that their target wasn’t there at all. They had been given an address in one of the industrial districts, a warehouse it had turned out, where, or so he had been told, Oster was currently conducting an investigation.
Mauer you old fool. He mentally scolded himself. It was a trap and you walked straight into it like a kid fresh out of school.
They had arrived at the warehouse and proceeded inside with caution, although in hindsight, he had been overconfident on account of the troops he had with him. Much good they did. He snarled at himself. Out of nowhere guns had fired, cutting down his SS-guards before they even got the chance to fight back. Next thing he knew, several plain-clothed men had appeared from all around him and knowing the futility of fighting back, he had surrendered. He felt bile rising in his throat at that thought. Giving in like an old woman Mauer. The pride of the Gestapo indeed. That had been the last he remembered of yesterday, or at least he thought so. He wasn’t exactly sure what time it was an even what day it was, although he suspected he hadn’t been here a full day yet. But the constant questions and various violent responses to his continuous silence had served to disorient him, which he knew from his own experiences as an interrogator, were the very purpose of them.
“How much does the Gestapo know, Herr Mauer?” The question had been repeated several times now, but so far Kurt had refused to answer. He may not be a dashing young agent, immune to pain and suffering, but Kurt fancied that instead he was something of an old, scarred dog, stubborn enough to take it.
They had found out his name and the fact that he was a Gestapo agent, not an SS-major, from the credentials in his pocket. Luckily he had forgotten his valet at the office, so they hadn’t gotten any other information about him yet.
He didn’t answer the question, but raised his head instead, which felt like it took all his remaining strength and tried to look arrogantly into the eyes of his captors, two younger Abwehr agents and an older one, who was obviously in charge. It wasn’t Oster, but Kurt was too tired to wonder too much about that, even though he hadn’t seen the man at all, since his capture.
The next thing he knew, a bucket of cold water was thrown into his face again, the rude shock of it, making him jerk upright in the chair. He was naked, so the cold water running down his body chilled him to the bone in an instant and the coldness of the room he was in, some kind of basement he presumed, did little to lessen the effect of the water. Something, he was quite sure, his captors were well aware off.
“We can stop this, anytime you want Herr Mauer.” It was the oldest of the three agents, the only one who had spoken so far.
“Just tell us how much the Gestapo knows.”
From somewhere, Kurt managed to gather together the courage to smile, which made him cough, his strength being spent hours ago and his body unable to really give him anything more to work with, not least because of the cold.
“The Ge…” He managed to say, before bending forward as his body convulsed with coughing. He wasn’t young anymore, in fact while technically he was only fifty-two, he felt much older than that. Working for the Gestapo tended to do that to a man, at least to most men.
When finally, the coughing receded, Kurt fell backwards into the chair again, wheezing.
“The Gestapo…” He whispered through his ragged breath, “The Gestapo knows everything.” He felt the world go black, as he somehow managed a ragged laugh, which took the last of his strength from him. He welcomed the darkness.
“Verdamt!” The agent in charge of the interrogation barked. “Get some more water, we need to wake him again.” One of the men nodded and quickly left the room, his footsteps soon lost on the hallway outside.
The other of the younger agents looked at his superior. “Maybe we should wait?” He asked. “He might not survive it, in his condition.” The older agent eyed him angrily. “And what do you think will happen, if we don’t get the information now?” He half asked, half barked at the younger man. “The Oberstleutnant was quite clear in his orders and I don’t intend to disobey him. But perhaps you don’t consider orders to be important Heinz? Is that it?” The younger man backed away, hid hands held apologetically in front of him.
“I’m sorry.” He said, “I didn’t mean…” He was interrupted by the sound of running footsteps outside the door. Moments later, it was opened by the third agent. “The SS is here!” He yelled at them, panic clearly evident in his voice. “We have to get out of here!”
A string of curses was the imminent reply from the oldest of the three, who then pointed at Kurt.
“Pick him up, we have to take him with us.” Reluctantly, the two agents moved to Kurt and quickly untied him from the chair. One of them lifted him up and placed him across his shoulders.
“How long do we have?” The older agent asked.
“Perhaps ten minutes sir.” Came the reply from the man, who had been sent for water. “The guard who told me about them said they were only just entering the compound.” The older agent nodded.
“Very well then, we can still get out through the backstairs. We’ll hole up there and wait till they’re well inside and then get out in the car.”
The three men hurried as much as they were able with their unconscious prisoner in tow, towards the set of backstairs leading up from the basement. As the SS had only just arrived, they wouldn’t reach this stair for quite some time, especially since, or so the three men believed, the prison staff wouldn’t aid them beyond what they absolutely had to, being paid quite handsomely by the Abwehr to keep them helpful and incurious as to what happened below. Now that the prison wasn’t used by the Gestapo anymore, the Abwehr had found it useful to have a set of very discreet surroundings, in which to have ‘talks’ with people they would like to get information from.
The minutes passed by, as the three men made their way up the stairs and through the prison to the back exit, where their car was parked. As they got to the door however, a single glance outside told them they were too late, as about fifteen black SS-troops stood guard over the vehicle.
The agent, the older one, quietly closed the door and considered his options.
“Perhaps one of the staffers’ cars can be made… available.” He mused. Not being able to think of any other solutions just then, he motioned for the two other men to follow him, as he turned to walk back from where he came. Just as he passed the stairs down to the cellar, he heard voices and footsteps below, indicating that their time had almost run out.
“Hurry.” He whispered urgently and began to half-run down the hall. It was soon evident however, that as long as they had to carry Kurt, they couldn’t make enough speed to avoid capture. So much to his disappointment, the older agent motioned for his subordinates to leave the Gestapo agent behind.
After that they made much better speed and had very nearly reached the third entrance, this one leading to the staff parking, when a barked “Halt!” followed by a burst from a sub-machinegun made them stop dead in their tracks. Chagrined, they trio turned around, to find a single SS-trooper standing behind them. Obviously the man had only just stepped out from a nearby room and by the look of him, was not only surprised to have found the people he looked for, but possibly also slightly worried that he was alone, at least it looked like that and the older agent decided that it was the only chance they would ever get, as he very slowly, his movements semi-hidden behind his two subordinates, reached for his gun.
“I wouldn’t do that.” The hard voice came from just behind and the agent turned quickly, half pulling his gun out, but seeing what or rather who were behind him, he slowly let his hand fall, finally giving up.
Before he could say anything, another pair of soldiers arrived, this time from the direction where he and his men had come, scant moments before.
“We found the Sturmbahnführer, Herr Standartenführer. He is alive, but in very bad shape.” One of the soldiers called out and the agent felt dread slowly entering his mind, as he saw the cold, angry eyes of the officer in front of him, slowly turn to regard him.
“What is your name agent?” He asked and despite himself, the agent answered.
“Werner, Herr Standartenführer.” He answered, suddenly feeling very, very mortal. “Werner August. Listen, we only foll…” He was interrupted by the officer holding up a warding hand. “My name is Dietrich Beyer, Herr August.” The officer said. “Sturmbahnführer Mauer is a very close friend of mine.” At that, August felt his knees weaken slightly. “Let us go somewhere, were we can talk in private.”
With those innocent-sounding words, Beyer waved his troops into action.
Ashen-faced and trembling slightly, August and his two subordinates followed. They didn’t have any choice.