Tomb of the Lost

PART ONE





CHAPTER ONE





BERLIN,GERMANY, MAY 1942



It was raining as the black Mercedes nosed its way through the Friday morning traffic. Its normally proud triangular pennants on its wings sagging miserably from the soaking they were receiving. The car’s only passenger sitting quietly in the back, lost in his thoughts. The inside of the car’s windows were steamed up and he wiped an expensive leather glove backwards and forwards to clear the glass enabling him to peer out and up at the grey sky above.

The driver, nervous about carrying so important a passenger and keen to impress looked into his rear view mirror and spoke.

“ I think it will rain all day sir,” he said trying to make polite conversation.

“Uh-Huh,” the back seat passenger replied.

“I’ve never carried so important a passenger sir….”

There was a squeal of brakes as the driver realised that the traffic in front had stopped. He had to brake very hard. The man in the rear seat felt himself being thrown forward and he instinctively pushed with his legs and put out his left hand on the seat in front, his right hand reached down for the black leather briefcase that lay on the seat next to him. He pulled it to his chest and held it there.

The driver looked nervously into the rear view mirror again.

“Sorry sir.”

“It might be better if we dispense with the conversation and you concentrate on your driving.”

Though firm the words were said with kindness.

The driver swallowed hard, his heart thumping.

“ Yes sir. Thank you sir.”

The Mercedes moved off. The driver trying not to allow himself to be distracted again. He was new at his job, eager to please, and was sure that this morning was a disaster and would probably result in his demotion. He could only imagine the horrors that awaited him at the front line. He had collected the car from the motor pool earlier that morning, read his itinerary, saw who his passenger would be, saw the destination and nearly fainted. This was his chance to prove himself to be officer material.

He was still thinking about officer rank when he brought the car to a halt at the foot of the steps of his final destination. The driver jumped out and quickly ran around to the nearside of the Mercedes, clicked his heels and saluted.

The moment the car had stopped an unarmed man in an SS uniform had descended the steps and opened the door and stood stiffly to attention.

The cars occupant now stepped out into the heavy rain.

General Hans von Brockhorst, fifty years old, newly appointed second in command of North Africa under General Hans Jurgen von Arnim, conqueror of central Europe and France, pulled up the collar about his neck of his leather greatcoat against the rain. He shivered involuntarily at the cold feel of the leather against his skin. He put his hat on his head and tilted it to his favourite angle and placing the briefcase in his left hand returned the salute with his right.

There were two machine gun nests down here on the pavement and once he got to the top of the steps there were two more, all surrounded by sandbags. At the entrance SS men patrolled with vicious looking Alsatians. Another SS man opened the door for him and he stepped inside the building.

Down at the car the driver sighed with relief. The SS man who had met the car puffed up his cheeks and blew out his breath.

“Here that was a general wasn’t it?”

The driver nodded.

“Second in command to Von Arnim.”

“What’s he doing here?” the SS man continued looking up at the tall grey building “ the Wehrmacht normally stay away from Gestapo headquarters.”

“It must be something to do with that black case he was carrying,” the driver replied.

“Glad I’m not him!” the SS man said nodding towards the main door, “SS Heini’s in a right shitty mood today so I’ve heard.”

The driver winced at such talk. Heinrich Himmler was the most feared man in Berlin, more feared than the Fuhrer. The driver shuddered now at the thought of Himmler and his secret police the bestial Gestapo.

“I’m just glad it’s not me either! I hope I never have to go through those doors!”

“Some never come back out again mate!” the SS man concluded.

The driver clutched nervously at the scarf around his throat. He felt like it was choking him. He looked up at the building, the rain falling straight down. He imagined Himmler up there somewhere on the top floor. He looked up above the roof and half expected to see huge black vultures circling. But there was just the clouds and the rain.

“If you don’t mind,” the driver said “I’m going to sit in the car out of the rain. Can I leave it here?”

“No,” the SS man said opening the door and getting into the front passenger seat “I’ll show you where you can park.”



A door was opened and von Brockhorst was shown in to a reception room on the seventh floor.

“Someone will attend to you in a moment sir,” the usher spoke.

Von Brockhorst thanked him and taking off his gloves looked around the room. The carpet was deep pile and he realised he was dripping water on to it. He began to unbutton his coat. A side door opened and a steward entered.

“Good morning general. My name is Max, I am one of Herr Himmler’s personal assistants. May I take your coat for you?”

Von Brockhorst thanked the man and removed his hat also. The steward took the hat and gloves with the coat and returned almost instantly.

“May I get you tea or coffee?”

“Tea would be nice.”

“Of course sir. Please make yourself comfortable. The Herr Reichsfuhrer won’t keep you waiting any longer than necessary.”

Von Brockhorst was about to sit when he caught sight of himself in a large mirror. He moved over to it and examined his reflection. He smoothed down his short dark hair and brushed down an already immaculate uniform removing one hair from his sleeve and letting it fall to the floor. He checked that his iron cross 1st class was straight around his throat and made sure that his red shoulder tabs with the oak leaves and swords were even. He looked down at his feet and taking out a handkerchief he reached down and wiped some small splashes of dirt from his boots. He looked at his rows of medal ribbons on his left breast. He was one of the most decorated soldiers in German history.

There was a click as the door opened and Max returned carrying a tray containing a teapot, cup, sugar, milk, cream, spoon, saucer and a selection of biscuits and fairy cakes.

Von Brockhorst took a seat, admiring the quality of the leather armchair he had chosen. All of the sofas were of the same furnishing.

Max poured a cup of tea and Von Brockhorst rose once again, selected a biscuit and taking the teacup on its saucer he strode over to a window and looked out over the Spree river. The rain was hitting the panes hard and snaking down the glass. A row of barges moved lazily down the brown murky river.

Max left the room again. Von Brockhorst continued watching out of the window for another ten minutes when the door clicked open once more. Von Brockhorst slowly turned from the window, it was a different steward.

“Herr general?” the man enquired.

“Yes.”

“The Herr Reichsfuhrer will see you now.”

Von Brockhorst placed his cup and saucer on the table and the new steward opened the double wooden doors, ushered the General in, and closed them behind him. In this new room Von Brockhorst could hear a distant rat-tat-tat.

“Typists in the next room,” the steward said helpfully.

They crossed to another door. This one leather padded and the steward knocked against it.

“Come,” a voice called from beyond.

The steward opened the door and stepped inside the room and immediately to one side. Von Brockhorst stepped in smartly. The steward clicked his heels together, kept his head low and left closing the door quietly behind him.

Von Brockhorst looked around this room. Expensive furniture, carpeting, marble busts, expensive paintings, a large desk behind which sat a bald headed man writing. Von Brockhorst focused on him.

The man signed the paper he was writing on with a flourish, put his pen down, pushed his chair back, put both his palms flat on the desk and pushed himself upright. He suddenly sprang around the desk and approached Von Brockhorst with his right hand extended. Though he didn’t smile there was friendliness in his voice.

“It’s good to see you again General Von Brockhorst.”

“Herr Reichsfuhrer.”

“Please take a seat. How are you enjoying Berlin?”

Von Brockhorst sat down opposite Himmler.

“I must admit Herr Reichsfuhrer I’m looking forward to returning to action. I’m sure Berlin is very nice but I crave commanding my troops.”

“Ah yes,” Himmler said rustling through some papers on his desk,

“Here we are. You are appointed commander in North Africa in command of the Afrika Korps answering directly to Von Arnim.”

Von Brockhorst was surprised at Himmler’s knowledge though he didn’t show it. This was the head of the German police and soon to be minister of the interior, head of the SS, the secret police and supervisor of the final solution, the elimination of the Jews. The second most powerful man in Germany. Von Brockhorst was Wehrmacht, army, and nothing to do with the Gestapo and certainly not answerable to them or this man, unless of course a crime had been committed which there hadn’t.

Himmler put the paper down. Von Brockhorst followed it with his eyes. It had been personally signed by Adolf Hitler. Himmler was now looking across his desk at the General, light flickering off his pince-nez.

“I am surprised Herr Reichsfuhrer that our beloved Fuhrer would trouble you on so trivial a matter as to the posting of one of his Generals.”

Himmler took his glasses off , put them on his desk and rubbed his eyes.

“The Fuhrer knows that I am merely interested in his interests. My job is not a very pleasant one but it is necessary…. No…. vital to the fatherland. All non believers must be removed. I need just one name from every family in Germany just one. This morning I signed an execution order for an SS General. A General Vorgsburg,” Himmler continued reading the name from his out tray. He looked up. “Do you know him?”

“Yes Herr Reichsfuhrer.”

“He has been found guilty of treason and will face the firing squad. Shocking a man in his position.”

Von Brockhorst felt dread. He looked at the evil man sat in front of him in his high backed chair and half expected to see a black eagle perched either side of his head.

“Like I said,“ Himmler continued “I need just one name. Why I’d wager that if I dug deep enough I could even uncover some dirt on you General,” he said with a smirk.

Von Brockhorst remained quiet and stared at the man unafraid now. Himmler suddenly snapped the file on Vorgsburg shut.

‘That’s his life’ Von Brockhorst was thinking ’snapped shut just like that’

“Like I said it’s an essential job. One which the Fuhrer has entrusted to me. Now tell me my friend what can I do for you?”

The General undid his briefcase, took out a letter and slid it across the desk.

“I need a man from you. A special man for the task ahead.”



Von Brockhorst sighed with relief when he sank back into the comfortable rear seat of the Mercedes once again.

“Wehrmacht headquarters,” he said to the driver not even noticing that it was the same one as before.

Von Brockhorst and Himmler had talked for over two hours and the General had felt that there was more to the man than the cold policeman he had first thought. There was warmth in the man to be found if you scratched the surface deep enough. Himmler had been very interested in the meeting the previous week at the Fuhrers country retreat the ’Berghof’ in Bavaria.

Von Brockhorst cast his mind back. He had been the last of the Generals to arrive and was greeted well. They were there to receive orders from the Fuhrer. Only Himmler and Goering were not present. Goering having already been debriefed and approved of the plan.

Von Brockhorst greeted them each in turn. Gerd von Runstedt, Alfred Jodl, Albert Kesselring. The tall elegant young General helping himself to punch he hadn’t met but knew.

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.”

“And where is the sarcophagus now?”

“Lost somewhere in the desert almost 2000 years ago by Caesar’s legionaries. We’ll never find it.”

“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.

“Nosey old hag….” he said again, most of his anger fuelled by the alcohol, aimed at the old lady who lived below.

“Mrs Drescher is a dear old lady. Did you know her son died in the first world war?”

“Pity she hadn’t gone too!”

“Otto that’s a horrible thing to say.”

“Well it’s true,” he pointed his index finger of the hand holding the glass, “you’ll see. Adolf Hitler has said that there is no room for people like her in our society. If only she was Jewish,” Otto said the drink taking him now. Elsa was afraid but didn’t show it. Now he was unpredictable.

“You’ve got her wrong. She’s just a sweet old lady who would never wish anyone any harm….”

He rounded on her.

“Why are you defending her? Has the old witch put a spell on you or something? Or maybe she’s the devil!”

“Otto, please, I don’t want to fight,” she kissed him on the cheek “It’s good that you’re home. I’ll get dressed and we can go out.”

He simmered slightly.

“You looked like you were just going out when I arrived or you were going downstairs for a tea party perhaps.”

“Never mind her. Take me shopping Otto.”

“Haven’t you got enough clothes?” he asked her poking about in the wardrobes.

“A girl can never have enough.”

She disappeared into the bathroom again. He noticed the new stockings that Koenig had bought her half in and half out of a drawer. He picked one up and sniffed it.

“These are new,” he called out to her “and expensive.”

She came out of the bathroom to see him holding her stockings.

“What are you doing with those?”

“They’re new.”

“Yes.“

She took them from him and stuffed them into the drawer.

“How can you afford those?”

She slammed the drawer shut with irritation.

“My father gives me an allowance every month.”

“Your father?”

“Yes because you’re never here to support me. You’re always away with your friends and never home.”

He felt himself getting angry again and he crossed the room to her like lightning.

“That’s because I’m working hard for us.”

She came back at him now wanting the fight.

“Working hard?” she scoffed “that’s a joke. All you do is….”

“Shut up Elsa before you say something you may regret.”

It worked. There was a history of violence in their relationship. She always being on the receiving end. The last time he had hit her he had given her a black eye. She had packed her bags and moved to her parents. After four days he had begged her to come back promising to change.

“Or what?” she said “you’ll hit me again.”

“I’ve said a hundred times that I’m sorry.”

She smiled and blew him a kiss.

“I know you have.”

He was about to lay on the bed when he noticed his photographs.

“Why are my pictures facing the other way?”

Back in the bathroom Elsa cussed herself for not having put them right after Koenig had left. She sat on the toilet and tried to sound calm.

“Because if Mrs Drescher sees them it upsets her. Apparently you looked a lot like her son.

“Do I?” he said turning a large photo of himself around. He picked it up and held it flat and gazed at himself. He liked what he saw.

Proud, strong, arrogant. The deaths head insignia glittering on his lapels.

“I suppose there is no harm in her liking the old woman,” he said to the face that stared back at him. He put the photograph back and threw himself onto his back on the bed fully clothed.

“I’m being sent away Elsa.”

The words went through her and she felt excitement at the prospect.

‘While the cat’s away,’ came into her mind ’maybe I can persuade Hans to stay now.’

She quickly thought about the situation. She found she really liked the idea of her husband away from her, hopefully away from Berlin. She would be safe then, safe from him, his drinking, his temper.

“Where?“

She tried to sound interested but when the answer came it made the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

“North Africa Elsa.”

She suddenly felt a terrible foreboding. She stood in the doorway of the bathroom.

“North Africa! I didn’t think the SS were involved in the fighting.”

“We can be sent anywhere. I am going to oversee an archaeological expedition. Herr Himmler has appointed me. It seems that the Fuhrer has a dream,” Otto said knowing that he should not be discussing it with anyone, not even his wife but he couldn’t help it, caught up in it.

“This could be my big chance to impress Elsa. I will be serving under Rommel. This could be my one chance to make Colonel Elsa. Just imagine it. The first of my family.”

“I’m pleased for you Otto,” she shouted trying to sound enthusiastic for him.

He put his hand under his head and stared at the ceiling. After a while he turned on his side to face the window. His eyes focused on the bedside table. Slowly he lifted his head off the pillow. He had a puzzled look on his face.

By the bed on the table were two glasses. One clearly had lipstick on it, the other didn’t. He swung his legs off the bed and stood up. The glass he had been using was on her dressing table. He picked the other two up. They smelled of cognac. There was a tiny amount of it in the bottom of each glass. He inspected the one with the lipstick first. It was definitely hers, her shade.

When she came out of the bathroom she was confronted by him standing in the middle of the room with a glass in each hand. His expression one of questioning. Instantly she tried to cover up, to speak first, to try to gain an advantage.

“I wanted a fresh glass.”

He shook his head at her.

“No only one has lipstick on it.”

Then it dawned on him. The photographs facing the wrong way. Two glasses used, lipstick on one. The new stockings in the drawer.

“You’ve had someone here. Another man.”

“No I…. I haven’t.”

“Don’t lie to me,“ he shouted.

He rushed over to the dressing table elbowing her out of the way. He yanked the drawer open and held the stockings under her nose.

“He bought you these didn’t he?”

“No. No I told you my father….”

“Lies. Lies.”

“I’m not lying.”

“Who was it? Who?” he yelled.

“No one I….”

Suddenly he was rushing for the door.

“If you won’t tell me maybe the old bag will.”

“Otto stop! I’ll tell you everything,” she said desperate for the old lady’s safety now.

Then a thought struck him. He came back into the room.

“It was him wasn’t it.”

She was lost now. Not sure as to who he was referring.

“Him. The Colonel I passed in the lobby. The Colonel in the Wehrmacht. It has to be. Who else could afford such gifts?”

Now she knew she was fighting not just for her but for her lovely Hans as well. She had little doubt that her husband would track him down and kill him.

Otto Wurtz began pacing up and down the room with his hands on his head.

“I’m so stupid. I thought it was safe to leave you here all by yourself . I thought the little rich bitch was happy and all the time I’m away you are screwing every Tom, Dick and Harry.”

While he was talking she grabbed a large pair of scissors and held them in both hands behind her back. She vowed that he’d never beat her again. He would never humiliate her like that again.

Then he did something unexpected. He went to the telephone.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m ringing your precious father to tell him what a whore his daughter is.”

“Please Otto don’t. Leave my father out of this.”

He slammed the receiver back.

“Who is he? What’s his name?”

“You think I’d tell you!”

He picked up the receiver again.

“He’s a Colonel. Higher rank than you,” she sneered “He eats Majors for breakfast.”

“You think his rank frightens me. We the SS fear no one.”

She could see that he meant it. Could it be that her Hans was doomed?

Suddenly he slammed the receiver down again and in a rage he picked the telephone up and threw it at her, missing her by inches.

“You’re a filthy f*cking slut! I’ll f*cking kill him!”

Something snapped inside her and suddenly she was rushing at him scissors held high. It took him by surprise but even so he was able to avoid her downward slash. He twisted and chopped her with the flat of his hand across the back of her neck. It increased her momentum and she tripped over a rug, her body out of control now, and crashed heavily into her dresser, the force of the collision knocking it over and breaking the mirror.

There followed utter silence.

Elsa Wurz lay face down amid the furniture and items that were scattered. Otto stood staring unsure as to whether she was acting or not.

“Elsa,” he called gently.

No reply.

“Elsa.”

Again nothing.

Slowly he approached her afraid of what he might discover. The scissors were still clutched in her hand and he took them out of her grasp and threw them out of reach across the floor.

“Elsa.”

He gently stroked her hair. She looked as though she was sleeping. He wanted to wake her softly. Slowly he turned her over. Her eyes were open. A purple bruise was already forming on her forehead. When he touched it, it felt spongy, almost as if there was no bone beneath it.

She was dead.

He picked her inert form up and cradled her for a moment. His beautiful wife. Perhaps she would be all right. He put her down gently, her head bumping the floor slightly.

Otto Wurtz went into the bathroom and leaned on the basin. He looked at himself in the mirror for a moment then put the plug in and ran the cold water tap until the basin was half full. He cupped both hands and splashed the cold water over his face. With his eyes closed the unexpected shock of the coldness made him gasp. He looked at himself in the mirror again, his fringe dripping. Then a thought struck him. This would finish his career. There would be no North Africa now. No promotion. All because she couldn’t keep her knickers on. And what about him? Whoever he is. He’s gotten away with it.

’Should I wait for him to return to her? If they are having an affair he won’t be away for long. But I don’t have the time. I’m leaving in a few days. I’ve got to get away from this apartment if I’m to survive this but what to do about her?

He stepped back a few paces and peered around the bathroom door. She was still laying there motionless. He returned to the basin splashed more water on his face, dried it with a towel, looked at himself in the mirror yet again and smiled.

“I’ll make it look like she was murdered.”

He went to the door and locked it and put the chain across . Next he went to the windows and peered out briefly before drawing the curtains. This made the room dark so he put a bedside light on. He emptied every drawer he could find, tipping the contents on the floor to make it look like an attempted burglary. He took one of the new stockings and lifting her head pulled it tight around her throat. So tight it should cause bruising.

Next he wiped the glass he had used with a cloth to eliminate his fingerprints. Then he picked up the telephone. The wire had been yanked out and he repaired it with a screwdriver. He set it down and picked up the receiver. After a moment there was a click and then a dial tone. He rang the police, gave the address, refused to give his name and told them that there had been a disturbance above his mothers flat.

“What is your mother’s name please?”

“Frau Drescher.”

He promptly hung up. They may try to trace the call but he doubted it very much. He quickly went round the apartment and took what he wanted. He found some cash amongst her underwear and left closing the door quietly after wiping the handles. He tiptoed silently past the next floor and once clear he hurried to the lobby. Once outside he took a deep breath. It was late afternoon now, the sky grey still from the rain that had just stopped. He got to the corner of the street when he heard the first of the police cars approaching. Three of them. They sped past him, painted black with the bells ringing. No one paid him any attention. He watched as the men in leather coats jumped out of the cars and rushed inside the apartment block. He would get his friends to give him an alibi for this afternoon. He hadn’t actually told them he was going home to see his wife.

’I’ll tell them I was with another woman,’ he said to himself.

After a minute he saw the curtains of his wife’s apartment open and faces peered out of the windows. Seven storeys straight down to the street. No escape there for the assailant. He had to have gone down the stairs. The Drescher woman would be taken in for questioning.

’Hopefully they’ll be a bit rough with her.’

He hadn’t thought about where he was going to go next. He decided to call on an old friend.

’Will I recognise that bastard of a Colonel again?’ he asked himself.

Otto Wurtz continued watching the windows of the apartment for a few minutes more from the street corner. He could see shadows moving within the room. Then he turned away and headed off as the air raid sirens began sounding across the city.