Preview of The Berlin Girl
PROLOGUE
Plans
Berlin, 23rd July 1938
Leaving the clang of cell doors behind him and the ebbing sounds of agony within, Major Hugo Schenk holstered his pistol and climbed the stairs from the gloom of the basement with renewed energy.
As the light of the upper floors lifted his mood further, he spied the tiny crimson droplet out of the corner of his eye, unable to ignore it soiling the cuff of his otherwise spotless and pressed uniform. Despite its minuscule size, it moved like a virtual beacon in his line of vision. He scratched at it, irri- tation rising when it remained embedded in the fine, grey weave. These days, he rarely got his hands dirty, but today’s quarry for vital information had proved intensely frustrating
– the target foolishly stubborn – and he’d acted in haste. Hence the spatter. He was relieved, though, to have left the majority of the red slick several floors down, a congealing pool across the filthy tiles of the cells. Doubtless, it was being mopped as he attended to his business above ground, its donor limp within the bowels of the building, unburdened of bodily fluid and what information he and his colleagues had managed to extract before his patience ran out. Even so, the tiny fleck sprayed upon him during the event was unfortunate, particularly as he had an appointment with Himmler later in the afternoon. Despite the day’s intense heat, the Gestapo chief would expect him in full uniform, collar and shirt tightly fastened.
Back at his desk, he looked with satisfaction at the neat stack of files to his side, meticulously categorised and all ready for Himmler’s approval. They were in size order; the fat folder labelled ‘Jew’ on the bottom, topped with ‘Romani’,‘Sinti’ and ‘Jehovah’s Witness’. Uppermost sat a slimmer folder marked ‘Undesirables.’ With a self-satisfied nod, he scanned the full- scale plans for expansion spread across his desk – yes, much more capacity. More creativity. They were on target. Himmler would be pleased.
He scratched again at the blood spot as the phone trilled beside him.
‘Yes?’
‘Major Schenk, sorry to disturb you. But we’ve just had word on your attaché. I’m afraid to report he was killed this morning in a motoring accident. Both he and the woman in the car.’
The first emotion to rise was annoyance, sparked initially by that blood spot, but also by the inconvenience. Dammit, it was unfortunate to lose a good attaché, someone proficient at smoothing his sometimes rough edges, a worthy diplomat. He’d been efficient and obedient. A good Nazi. Schenk was aware, though, of the need to conjure up some semblance of sympathy. It wouldn’t do to appear callous.
‘Ah, that’s unfortunate. He had children, I believe. Do we know if they will be cared for by others in the family?’
The voice on the other end coughed with embarrassment. ‘Erm, the woman in the car wasn’t his wife, sir.’
‘Oh, I see. Well, send his wife condolences and flowers. And make sure we pay for the funeral.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Have we got a replacement lined up?’
‘Yes, Major, I have someone in mind.Young, but very keen. I’ll sort the necessary paperwork; make sure you are able to meet him for approval.’
‘Good work. Heil Hitler.’
He replaced the receiver, and the red speck flashed across his vision, a spark to his temper within. Fucking Jews. Why did they have to bleed so copiously?
