Ernst was greatly relieved that the summons had not been about the Waltham Study. But the relief lasted only a moment. His concerns rose once again as he considered what he was being asked… and the answer he had to give. The “some people” Hitler was referring to was, of course, Hermann Göring.
“The monoplane, sir, ah…” The Me 109 by Messerschmitt was a superb killing machine, a fighter with a speed of three hundred miles per hour. There were other monowing fighters in the world but this was the fastest. More important, though, the Me 109 was of all-metal construction, which Ernst had long advocated because it allowed easy mass production and field repair and maintenance. Large numbers of the planes were necessary to support the devastating bombing missions that Ernst planned as precursors for any land invasion by the Third Empire’s army.
He cocked his head, as if considering the question, though he’d made his decision the instant he’d heard it. “I would be against that idea, my Leader.”
“Why?” Hitler’s eyes flared, a sign that a tantrum might follow, possibly accompanied by what was nearly as bad: an endless, ranting monologue about military history or politics. “Are we not allowed to protect ourselves? Are we ashamed to let the world know that we reject the third-class role the Allies keep trying to push us into?”
Careful, now, Ernst thought. Careful as a surgeon removing a tumor. “I’m not thinking of the backstabbers’ treaty of 1918,” Ernst answered, filling his voice with contempt for the Versailles accord. “I am thinking of how wise it might be to let others know about this aircraft. It’s constructed in a way that those familiar with aviation would spot as unique. They could deduce that it is being mass produced. Lindbergh could easily recognize this. He himself designed his Spirit of St. Louis, I believe.”
Avoiding eye contact with Ernst, Göring predictably said, “We must begin to let our enemies know our strength.”
“Perhaps,” Ernst said slowly, “a possibility would be to display one of the prototypes of the one-oh-nine at the Olympics. They were constructed more by hand than our production models and have no armament mounted. And they’re equipped with British Rolls-Royce engines. The world could then see our technological achievement yet be disarmed by the fact that we are using our former enemy’s motors. Which would suggest that any offensive use is far from our thoughts.”
Hitler said, “There is something to your point, Reinhard… Yes, we will not put on an air show. And we will display the prototype. Good. That is decided. Thank you for coming, Colonel.”
“My Leader.” Bathed in relief, Ernst rose.
He was nearly to the door when Göring said casually, “Oh, Reinhard, a matter occurs to me. I believe a file of yours was misdirected to my office.”
Ernst turned back to examine the smiling, moonish face. The eyes, however, seethed from Ernst’s victory in the fighter debate. He wanted revenge. Göring squinted. “I believe it had to do with… what was it? The Waltham Study. Yes.”
God in heaven…
Hitler was paying no attention. He unfurled an architectural drawing and studied it closely.
“Misdirected?” Ernst asked. Filched by one of Göring’s spies was the true meaning of this word. “Thank you, Mr. Minister,” he said lightly. “I’ll have someone pick it up immediately. Good day to-”
But the deflection, of course, was ineffectual. Göring continued. “You were fortunate that the file was delivered to me. Imagine what some people might’ve thought to see Jew writing with your name on it.”
Hitler looked up. “What is this?”
Sweating prodigiously, as always, Göring wiped his face and replied, “The Waltham Study that Colonel Ernst has commissioned.” Hitler shook his head and the minister persisted. “Oh, I assumed our Leader knew about it.”
“Tell me,” Hitler demanded.
Göring said, “I know nothing about it. I only received – mistakenly, as I say – several reports written by those Jew mind doctors. One by that Austrian, Freud. Someone named Weiss. Others I can’t recall.” He added with a twist of his lips, “Those psychologists.”
In the hierarchy of Hitler’s hatred, Jews came first, Communists second and intellectuals third. Psychologists were particularly disparaged since they rejected racial science – the belief that race determined behavior, a cornerstone of National Socialist thought.
“Is this true, Reinhard?”
Ernst said casually, “As part of my job I read many documents on aggression and conflict. That’s what these writings deal with.”
“You’ve never mentioned this to me.” And with his characteristic instinct for sniffing out the merest hint of conspiracy Hitler asked quickly, “Defense Minister von Blomberg? Is he familiar with this study of yours?”
“No. There’s nothing to report at this time. As the name suggests it’s merely a study being conducted through Waltham Military College. To gather information. That’s all. Nothing may come of it.” Ashamed to be playing this game, he added, putting some of Goebbels’s sycophantic shine in his eyes, “But it is possible that the results will show us ways in which to create a much stronger, more efficient army to achieve the glorious goals you’ve established for our fatherland.”
Ernst could not tell if this bootlicking had any effect. Hitler rose and paced. He walked to an elaborate model of the Olympic stadium grounds and stared at it for a long moment. Ernst could feel his heartbeat thudding all the way to his teeth.
The Leader turned and shouted, “I wish to see my architect. Immediately.”
“Yes, sir,” his aide said and hurried to the ante-office.
A moment later a man entered the room, though it was not Albert Speer, but black-uniformed Heinrich Himmler, whose weak chin, diminutive physique and round black-rimmed glasses nearly made you forget that he was the absolute ruler of the SS, Gestapo and every other police force in the country.
Himmler gave his typical stiff salute and turned his adoring, blue-gray eyes toward Hitler, who responded with his own standard greeting, a limp over-the-shoulder flap.
The SS leader glanced around the room and concluded that he could share whatever news had brought him here.
Hitler gestured absently toward the coffee and chocolate service. Himmler shook his head. Usually in utter control – aside from the fawning looks sent the Leader’s way – the police chief today had an edginess about him, Ernst observed. “I have a security matter to report. An SS commander in Hamburg received a letter this morning, dated today. It was addressed to him by title, but not name. It claimed that some Russian was going to cause some ‘damage’ in Berlin in the next few days. At ‘high levels,’ it said.”
“Written by whom?”
“He described himself as a loyal National Socialist. But gave no name. It was found in the street. We don’t know any more about its origin.” Revealing perfectly white, even teeth, the man gave a wince, like a child disappointing his parent. He removed his glasses, wiped the lenses and replaced them. “Whoever sent it said that he was continuing to investigate and would send the man’s identity when he learned it. But we never heard anything further. Finding the note in the street suggests the sender was intercepted and perhaps killed. We might never learn more.”
Hitler asked, “The language? German?”
“Yes, my Leader.”
“‘Damage.’ What sort of damage?”
“We don’t know.”
“Ach, the Bolsheviks would love to disrupt our Games.” Hitler’s face was a mask of fury.
Göring asked, “You think it’s legitimate?”
Himmler replied, “It may be nothing. But tens of thousands of foreigners are passing through Hamburg these days. It’s possible someone learned of a plot and didn’t want to get involved so he wrote an anonymous note. I would urge everyone here to exercise particular caution. I will contact military commanders too and the other ministers. I’ve told all our security forces to look into the matter.”