Tomb of the Lost Read online

  Reinhard Heydrich.

  Then Von Brockhorst had spotted a friend.

  Admiral Wilhelm Canaris, head of the Abwehr, naval intelligence.

  The two men exchanged pleasantries. Then during their conversation a gap in the crowd appeared and they found themselves across the room from Eva.

  Eva Braun.

  Hitler’s special lady.

  She smiled sweetly at Von Brockhorst and he crossed to her. She held out her hand for him to kiss the back of. She smelled faintly of perfume and when he guessed its name she giggled prettily. Now as all conversation in the room subsided she was the centre of attention. All of the men in the room envious of Hitler for possessing such a beauty. She stayed in the room with them for a while and against their protests she left. Her perfume lingered.

  The door burst open and Hitler stormed in.

  The Generals instantly threw themselves into trying to put salutes together but Hitler barked an order at them to remain as they were. Only Heydrich saluted and Hitler barely acknowledged him.

  “Arrogant fool,” Von Brockhorst was thinking.

  Assistants entered the room and began laying plans and documents on the table. One began serving punch but Hitler refused anything alcoholic. He had only ever gotten drunk once before in his life and vowed to never do it again.

  “Good morning gentlemen,” Hitler said clasping his hands in front of him. The generals put down their drinks and nibbles and circled the table so they were all facing him. There was excitement between most of them and Hitler let them continue for a few moments.

  “Gentlemen,” he said finally “let us begin.”

  Von Brockhorst sat back in the leather seats of the car as he remembered the meeting, the black leather briefcase on the seat beside him. Its important documents enclosed within.

  Hitler had begun the meeting pleasantly. He had been wearing a brown shirt, silk tie and a grey jacket with a red armband with a black swastika on it., black trousers and riding boots. Hitler was optimistic and in a jovial mood. Von Brockhorst felt that some of his jokes bordered on the buffoonish. He had never seen the Fuhrer in this sort of mood. When the meeting closed the Generals had begun to leave for lunch and Hitler had ordered Von Brockhorst to stay. Heydrich had intended to stay as well but Hitler had dismissed him. Hitler then revealed to Von Brockhorst a plan he was hatching.

  The black Mercedes turned into the front of Wehrmacht headquarters and paused long enough for the barrier to be raised. Hard looking sentries stood on either side of the car holding onto Alsatians. The car drove around to the steps and five minutes later Von Brockhorst arrived at his temporary office. His adjutant was already there piling up the mornings post into piles. Official letters on one side, personal the other. He took one look at Von Brockhorst’s face and said.

  “I’ll get you some black coffee sir.”

  “And get Colonel Koenig up here at the double!” Von Brockhorst shouted at the adjutants disappearing back.

  Koenig arrived quickly, saw the General’s distress, dismissed the adjutant, who couldn’t wait to get away, and poured the coffee himself.

  Von Brockhorst sat himself down and shuffled through the mail on his desk. He didn’t open any of it and pushed the letters out of his way. Koenig just sat patiently and waited.

  “It began well,” Von Brockhorst started “The Fuhrer was….” he paused “Different. I’ve never seen him like this. He was exciteable. First the progress of the war was discussed. The main topic being the battle of Stalingrad. Following the defeat, the disaster of Moscow, owing to the extremities of the Russian winter the Fuhrer was pleased to hear that our forces by October will be advancing towards the oilfields at Maikop….”

  Koenig listened attentively without interruption. Just giving the occasional nod or smile where he deemed appropriate. Von Brockhorst went into detail a lot more than he needed to. Koenig had never been to war, in battle, seen death on a massive scale. He had spent all of his career in Berlin. He loved his job. It was easy, secure. He was a well liked officer of 35, handsome, and though unmarried he had a string of mistresses, all officers wives. Their husbands all at the front line. His friends all found it amusing but Koenig saw it as a service. Plus all of these women had their own houses or apartments making it easier for him and them. One day he was sure he would be found out but he had friends in high places. Von Brockhorst knew nothing about Koenig’s social life and he certainly wouldn’t care or be interested anyway. He the General was a professional soldier fighting a war. Koenig was sure that his secret was safe. He didn’t realise that most people who worked at Wehrmacht HQ in his department knew of the rumours about his sexual activity.

  He was thinking at this moment about a Major’s wife who he would be seeing tonight. During his lunch break he would go out and buy her some black seamed silk stockings, his favourite. They would cost a fortune but he didn’t care.

  ’Elsa is worth it’ he told himself. He felt his loins stirring as he thought about

  their love making, her enthusiasm in bed. Unknowingly he was smiling at the wall in a daydream. Von Brockhorst stopped talking. Koenig was suddenly aware that the General was frowning at him. Koenig hadn’t been listening, his attention elsewhere. Now suddenly he realised he needed to say something clever.

  “Yes General that’s very good news.”

  Von Brockhorst stared at him open mouthed.

  “Good news. This hare brained idea!”

  Koenig nodded still visualising Elsa in her stockings kneeling on the edge of her bed. Suddenly he tore himself back.

  “Good news sir that the Fuhrer is so optimistic.”

  He could imagine Hitler banging his fist on the table.

  “To the last man! The last bullet!” he was ranting, spittle foaming in the corners of his mouth, his tie crooked, sweat patch on the back of his shirt.

  “Colonel Koenig have you been listening to a single word I’ve said.”

  Koenig swallowed.

  “I didn’t catch the last bit sir.”

  “You didn’t hear me say that the Fuhrer held me back at the close of the meeting. Took me aside and said with as straight a face as is possible.

  “My dear chap I know you have a lot on your plate at the moment what with having to go like the cavalry to assist Field Marshall Rommel in the struggle for North africa but I need one more thing from you….”

  Then he looked me straight in the eye and said.

  “….When this war is over and our third reich has its thousand years of peace and my time leading our nation has come to an end I want to be buried in the sarcophagus of Alexander the great!”

  Von Brockhorst stopped talking for effect.

  Now it was Koenig’s turn to stare open mouthed.

  “What did you say sir?”

  “I wanted to laugh. I thought the Fuhrer had finally gone mad. I want to be buried in the sarcophagus of Alexander the great and I want you Von Brockhorst to find it for me! That’s exactly how he said it. Just like that. I want you to find it for me.”

  “There must be something you can do. Can you not appeal?”

  “To whom? “ Von Brockhorst enquired. He unfolded a letter from Gestapo headquarters and held it up so Koenig could see.

  “This is personally signed by Himmler.”

  Koenig couldn’t believe his ears.

  “The Herr Reichsfuhrer is involved?”

  “He is picking the archaeological team personally from his SS.”

  Koenig was shaking his head.

  “There must be something you can do. Someone you can talk to.”

  Von Brockhorst sat wearily into his chair.

  “Not if I want to keep my head where it is. I have a war to fight. My Panzer divisions are ready to roll. The allies have stopped Rommel dead in his tracks at El Alamein. Rommel is now holding his own in Tunisia,” the General said pointing on a map of North Africa. “American soldiers have landed here in French North Africa, the British eighth army under Bernard Montgomery are
here, Rommel is here, and I have to somehow win the battle, avoid disaster and then go off on some wild goose chase looking for some old relic that probably doesn’t exist any more.”

  Von Brockhorst clenched his fists and thumped them on his desk.

  “The Fuhrer is a fool!”

  Koenig winced and looked nervously about the room. Even here in Wehrmacht headquarters the walls had ears. Talk like this was extremely dangerous.

  “Perhaps not a fool sir. Maybe just a bit eccentric.”

  “He’s a fool if he thinks he can win the war in Africa.”

  “There must be something you can do sir.”

  “I have no choice and neither do you.”

  Koenig was in the process of putting his empty coffee cup on the table. He stopped mid air.

  “Eh?”

  “You have twenty four hours to gather your things.”

  With fingers shaking he put the cup down.

  “I beg your pardon General.”

  “You’ll be leaving with me. You will personally oversee the archaeological excavations for me. Report to me what the SS unit is doing, its whereabouts, every move they make and who, and this is most important, who they report to.”

  Koenig felt sick, his stomach like lead.

  “General I’ve never served at the front line,” he began, his voice shaky at first, “I have always held a post here in Wehrmacht headquarters….”

  Von Brockhorst cut him off.

  “You are a serving officer are you not?”

  “Sir I haven’t fired a gun since basic training.”

  “You carry a sidearm.”

  “Of course General but only when I’m outside the office.”

  Von Brockhorst held up his hand to silence the colonel.

  “I want you ready to leave in twenty four hours Colonel.”

  That was it. Nothing more to be said. Koenig felt that the words sounded like a death sentence. He stood and saluted smartly. The salute was returned. Koenig turned and stormed from the room.

  “Oh come on Hans,” Elsa said bouncing up and down on the bed. Koenig sat at the end of the bed. His jacket was slung carelessly over a chair, his braces were hanging loosely by his hips. He reached down and removed his expensive riding boots. Elsa moved over to him and undid some buttons on his shirt. She slipped a hand inside and raked her fingernails across his hairy chest. This never failed to arouse him but today she got no reaction. Exasperated she dropped her head until it rested on his shoulder. They were both staring out of the window as the rain snaked down the glass.

  Her apartment was on the sixth floor. She lived there with her husband a Major in the SS. Koenig had never met him. There were photographs of him around the apartment but Elsa always turned them so he couldn’t be seen. More for herself than her Wehrmacht lover. The pangs of guilt had long since faded. Her husband was stationed just outside Berlin and on the few occasions he did have leave he preferred to spend it with his friends at the casino.

  Elsa blew gently on Koenig’s neck. He continued to look out the window as he put his boots tidily together. She sighed and moved away from him. She went over to a mirrored dressing table where the package he had brought her lay.

  “Is this for me?”

  He nodded.

  She carefully undid the package and squealed with delight when she saw what was inside. She turned with it clutched to her chest.

  “Thank you, thank you,” she said.

  He smiled briefly.

  She was wearing just a blouse and a pair of knickers and she took a silk stocking and bunched it in her hands, put her foot into the gathered material and began rolling it up her leg. She smoothed it over her thigh and repeated the act with the other one.

  “They’re lovely,“ she said.

  She stood in front of him, unbuttoned her blouse and let it fall to the floor. The air was cold in the apartment and her nipples were hard, her breasts round and firm. She came back over to him and ran her hands through his hair as her bare chest touched his. They kissed hard as she pressed against him and slowly their bodies sank to the bed, their legs quickly entwining. He ran his hands over the material of her stockings and their feel aroused him. She noticed and put her hand down to his loins.

  “Ooh Hans,“ she said feeling him harden in her hand. He slid her knickers off over her bottom and squeezed the flesh. Soon they were giggling and sighing.

  After, when they were both spent he lay on his back. She lay on her side resting her head and one arm on his chest.

  “That was wonderful Hans,” she said blowing a strand of her hair from her face.

  He continued to stare at the ceiling.

  “I’m going away Elsa.”

  She looked up at his face then slowly lifted her head to look into his eyes.

  “Going away?”

  “North Africa with the fifth Panzer army,” he smirked to himself “I’ve never been called for action before, ever.”

  In truth Hans Koenig was a coward who had always pulled strings through his friends. This time he knew he couldn’t get out of it.

  He had accepted his fate.

  “I don’t want you to go away my love. It’s dangerous for you.”

  “Nonsense,” he said with a courage he did not feel, “I’ll be fine. I will probably be back in a few weeks. Six maybe, as soon as Field Marshall Rommel has won the war in the desert. I’ll be back in Berlin before you know it.”

  Tears were running down her face which she wiped away herself.

  “I don’t want you to go.”

  “I must my love. If I tried to remain I would be branded a coward.”

  They both sat up on the bed. She took his hand in her hers.

  “I love you Hans.”

  “I love you too Elsa.”

  “Promise me you’ll take good care of yourself.”

  “You know I will.”

  He got up and began to get dressed.

  “I must be going.”

  “Can you not stay the night.”

  “I can’t my love. I must pack. I leave tomorrow or the day after. I don’t know.”

  She watched him get dressed. Her little Hans. He crossed the room to her and kissed her. Then he pulled away and went for the door.

  “Marry me,” she suddenly blurted out.

  His hand was on the door knob poised. He let it go.

  “You’re already married.”

  “My father is a lawyer and a member of the Nazi party. He could arrange a quick divorce for me. I have money. We could try to get to Switzerland together. You need not….”

  He grabbed her arms and pinned her against him to shut her up. She was crying now.

  “My love there is not enough time. It would never work.”

  She was nodding trying to convince herself.

  “Elsa!” he snapped.

  She looked up at him.

  “I promise on my return that we will work out a plan for us.”

  He kissed her goodbye once again at the door. She opening it only a fraction because she was semi nude. On the floor below another door creaked open slightly. An old woman’s face peering up the stairs.

  Elsa closed the door quietly behind her after Koenig had disappeared around the first corner of the stairs. He went down to the next level two steps at a time and noticed a door slightly ajar. There was someone there, he could see. The door opened a crack more and he could see wrinkled cheeks.

  “Good evening mother,” he called out to the unknown person just out of friendliness. Berliners these days were afraid of the sound of footsteps on their stairs.

  “Heil Hitler,” the voice called out.

  “Heil Hitler, “ he replied.

  The door closed but not completely.

  Down at the main entrance to the apartment block Koenig put his hat on, adjusted it to the angle he liked and going outside he almost collided with another man coming in.

  “Sorry, Sorry,” Koenig said and as he moved back he looked at the other man. He was an SS
Major.

  They both saluted and Koenig left. The other officer having not spoken a word. Once outside Koenig looked back. The other man was just staring.

  ’The arrogance of the SS’

  Elsa was retouching her make up when there was a knock at the door. She quickly threw a nylon chemise over her shoulders and ran happily to answer, laughing to herself.

  “Silly Hans. He was always leaving things behind.”

  She swung the door wide open.

  “What have you forgotten this time….?”

  She stopped dead in her tracks. It was her husband.

  “Otto,” she said genuinely surprised, hoping to cover the slip.

  “Forgotten?” he asked “who did you think it would be?”

  “Otto you’re home.”

  She ran back inside leaving him to close the door. He looked around their apartment. He hadn’t been home in weeks. She was back at her dressing table humming to herself with a pretended happiness.

  “Elsa,” he called, a dangerous tone to his voice.

  She was about to brush her hair but stopped. She looked at him through the mirror. She was afraid of him. He was known to lose his temper in an instant and lash out in an instant.

  “Elsa,“ he called again.

  She turned to face him keeping her eyes low, avoiding his face.

  “I asked you who you thought I was.”

  “I thought you were Mrs Drescher from the flat below.”

  “The old hag shouted Heil Hitler to me as I passed her door.”

  “She’s not an old hag.”

  “Always poking her nose out of the crack in the door as folk are passing, nosey old bag.”

  “She’s very sweet. I sometimes invite her up for tea and a cake. She’s very nice.”

  Otto Wurz went over to the drinks cabinet and found a decanter of brandy and a glass.

  “Do you want a drink?”

  “No.”

  He poured himself one. He had been drinking all of the previous night where he had been playing cards with friends. He emptied the brandy in one gulp and poured another. Elsa watched him nervously in the mirror as she continued to brush her hair.