Leviathan: Go go goooo!
Adam: Will he be killed? Wait and see!
December 24, 1938
Furstner dressed mechanically. He forced down some milk and biscuit. He'd be no good if he fainted from hunger.
He started the walk. It was a quiet winter morning, and the low clouds were glowing a deep blood red, reflecting the still-distant sunshine of dawn. The snow squeaked a bit under his boots. His breath hung in mist around his face.
He arrived at Military Headquarters. He started the series of turns that would take him to the Abwehr wing. Two men fell into lockstep with him, slowly matching their pace to his. Furstner glanced over. The man on the left was smiling at him. He nodded and winked. Furstner nodded back casually. These men could be co-conspirators- Furstner obviously didn't know everyone in the plot. They could be sent to kill him. No way to know and no way to escape without endangering everything.
At a corner, the man on his left touched Furstner's elbow. "Excuse me, sir. Would you mind accompanying us?" The man's face broke into a predatory smile, rippling across the grotesque duelling scar on his cheek. Furstner nodded again, diffident.
They took a stairway. The large scarred man was behind him the whole way. They climbed down four flights, and then took a dizzying series of turns. Furstner had no idea where they were now- he'd never been in this part of the building.
Finally, they arrived at an abandoned row of offices. Furstner was ushered into one and shown to a seat. His escorts even helped him to sit down, and were not careful to hide that they were frisking him. Of course he had no weapon. Why would someone about to pull the trigger on a coup carry a gun?
He sat for an hour. By now, they'd be wondering where he was at his office.
Finally, the door opened. Feldmarschall Goering came in, breathing hard. He must have taken a similarly laborious route here. He brought his own chair and sat across from Furstner. Between his size and the size of the office, Furstner was feeling stifled. Their knees were inches apart.
Goering smiled benevolently. "Really, Galen," he rumbled. "I'm disappointed in you."
Furstner tilted his head. "Feldmarschall, sir, I don't understand."
"Oh, this plot of yours. And Hans, and Wilhelm, and Franz, and Hans, and another few dozen names I could recite." He glanced at his watch. "You know, I don't have long myself, do I? If my schedule changes, why, that might just throw everything off." Goering folded his arms over his chest and leaned back. Furstner felt a bead of sweat run down his scalp and past his right ear.
"Given what's going to happen to me later today, Galen, I've got all the time in the world to listen."
Furstner leaned forward. "Feldmarschall, whatever it is you're accusing me of, I-"
"You know, I've changed my mind. I don't have much time at all." Goering reached out and rapped on the door. The large man was just outside. Goering gestured, and the hulking man leaned into the office and punched Furstner in the neck. Before he really had time to figure out what had happened, Furstner was already on the ground at Goering's feet. Black spots appeared in his vision and he couldn't move or think. When he finally remembered to take a breath, a dull pain landed in his head with a flash of hot lightning. His vision was red and black now, everything moving slowly. He heard voices, distant and muffled by what sounded like a waterfall in his ears. He staggered dizzily to his hands and knees and spent a long time learning how to breathe again. He was jerked backwards and planted in his chair, which was turned to face the door. There was someone there. Furstner sucked in air, and color slowly seeped back into the world. The roaring faded, although his nausea and pain were reaching new heights.
It was von Pinne. He was skeleton-thin, and there was a hollow red scar where his left eye had been. His hair was gray at the temples.
"Tell Galen where you've been."
"I'm so sorry, Galen," von Pinne whispered. The words were coughed out like crushed glass. It was obvious no one had asked von Pinne to speak in a long time.
Goering waved his hand, frowning a bit. "Should have done that before you were punched. I'm disappointed, really. I've been keeping him alive for that dramatic moment and it barely registered on your face." He shrugged casually as the large man dragged von Pinne away. "You know, your story was ludicrous on its face anyway. Von Pinne merely confirmed my suspicions."
Furstner sighed. He opened and closed his hands- his arms were numb. "What happens now?"
"Nothing today. And nothing tomorrow. And so forth." Goering beamed happily. "I've arranged a series of fortituous circumstances. More than enough to call off this fragile escapade of yours." He leaned over to tug at Furstner's collar, hiding the swelling welt from his injury. "I've been waiting a long time for something like this, Galen. Waiting for you snobs to overplay your hand. Now you've really done it."
He stood. "Tomorrow I'm going to call in some generals. I'm going to call in Canaris and Oster and all the rest of your pitiful gang. It's going to be a wonderful Christmas for them, because they're all going to live. And it's going to be a wonderful Christmas for me, because I'm going to own the Wehrmacht." He smiled happily, licking his lips. "You fools have already discredited Hess and made the SS look like idiots. And now you've played into my hands again."
Furstner frowned. "You can't control us all."
"No," Goering cheerfully admitted. "I just need to break one or two. Convince them to stay quiet. When nothing happens? Oh, all the rest of you will fall into line. And if you stray? Well. I've been watching you for months. I have every name." He stood.
"The worst part about all this, Galen? You don't have an ounce of hope." He gestured and the large man entered. "Did you know that suicides skyrocket around Christmas? Your best friend disappeared. You don't have a family. No girlfriend. Why wouldn't you wander down here?" The large man pulled out a Luger. Goering's smile widened. "Ah. You're really running out of time fast now." The large man pulled the trigger. He placed the Luger in Furstner's hand and pressed the dead fingers carefully on the grip.
Goering and his men left quietly. Von Pinne was ahead. He didn't dare to weep.
At midnight, the bells tolled over Berlin. The moon was a sliver, but it cast enough light to see by. If anyone walked to a window or a rooftop in silent, mournful contemplation, they would have seen the same thing; a thousand swastikas fluttering in a freezing wind, in total quiet.
