Requiem, October 1980
They say that when you stare death in the face, you see your life flash in front of your eyes.
They lie.
As I regarded the end of my forty-four years on Earth, it didn't flash at all. It revealed itself to me in all its detail, and my overriding emotion was regret. Regret for actions in the past; regret for what I was doing now; regret that I'd never made my peace with my father, or told my wife what I was doing.
Leaving Germany had seemed like a good idea at the time, but almost immediately I reached England, I realised that I should have stayed to face the music. I had been a coward, not accepting my lot; choosing instead to depart with a relative stranger to begin a life in a new country. I had tried to be an honourable man, even though it was a very hard thing to be in my chosen field of work. I had certainly never thought of myself as a traitor, a defector, a murderer. And yet suddenly I was all of the above, and I was all but alone in a different land, completely and utterly dependent on the kindness of strangers.
Don't get me wrong. I cannot fault that kindness. Even if, at the time I did not understand why Ian Cushing and Laurence Rathbone had offered me the hand of friendship and tried to help me. But as the years passed, I came to wonder if I truly wanted their help. In Russia I had committed a terrible crime. I had murdered many innocent people. In my mind, I deserved to be punished for that, and yet these strangers...these friends...had used their clever legal arguments to make sure that the punishment I received was a fraction of what I deserved.
Instead of rotting in a cell for my sins, or being shot outright, I was given a new life, albeit not without its teething troubles; a good job; the chance to have a relationship with the woman I had cared for since I was a child; and the opportunity to be a father to my best friend's child, in memory of a man who had always been the better half of me when we were young.
Many people would have killed for that life. In my case, I'd done it literally.
During that time, Ian Cushing, a man I barely knew in the beginning, became my anchor in England: my passport into the country, my sponsor into the Group, the one who had arranged for Susanne and Michel to join me and gave me the opportunity to fall in love with my wife. When I fell, which I did far too frequently, he was there to pick me up. When I needed someone to talk to, he was there to listen. And even after he began spending more of his time living a different life, he entrusted me with looking after his affairs, and was there if I needed him. It took several years to figure out why: that everything he'd done for me, he'd done because I was his son, and he loved me, warts and all.
For a while I was happy, content with my lot, but as more time passed, the more I didn't feel I deserved it. I was still a traitor, still a defector, still a murderer: all charges which the country of my birth had laid at me, and had punished me for in my absence. And I hated myself for being all three. That part of me which wanted to go home and face the music grew stronger and stronger, and there was no-one I could talk to about it, least of all my father. I suppose, at heart, I just couldn't cope with my good fortune.
The argument I had with him the evening before he flew to Berlin was the last straw. Fear was what prompted my response when he told me that he was returning to my homeland. I knew that, when he was younger, he had nearly died there, and that he, like myself, was persona non gratia. I was angry at him for risking throwing his life away by going back, even thirty years later, and under a new identity. The moment he stepped out of line, his enemies in Berlin would pounce on him, and his chances of survival were slim to nil. And yet, in a way, I envied him for being able to return to the land that I loved, for all its flaws. And so I cursed him for a fool and ran away.
As the weeks passed, I realised my mistake. Realised how much I had come to depend on him. Realised how much I missed him being there for me. A short apology delivered through a third party was all I received from him after he left, and I took it from his silence, as weeks turned to months and then years, that he hadn't forgiven me for what I had said.
I began to withdraw into my work, doing my best to provide for Susanne and Michel as they were all I had left. Occasionally I joined the Group, but they were so much part of his life, that it was hard for me to be there without him, especially given that my Catholic beliefs were reasserting themselves the more lost I felt. For the first time in my association with them, I began to have doubt about what they were doing. And more and more, the feeling grew in me that all I really wanted to do was go home and face my accusers.
Susanne worried of course - worried that I was becoming so distant, that I was returning to my old ways of finding comfort in a bottle, or something worse - but I found I couldn't even really explain to her how I felt. She, like me, had left everything to come to England, but she had done it legally and above board, whereas I had slipped out like a rat. I believed then, and still do now, that it was the right thing for both her and Michel, as it meant that the daughter of my spirit could grow up without fear in a way she never could have done in the pit of vipers I call home. But the difference in our circumstances began to gnaw at me, and I began to believe that perhaps they would be better off making their own way, without me to drag them down.
Many people would take a high-speed crash on the M2 as a warning to sort themselves out, before they killed themselves, but as I walked away from the wreck of my beloved Audi with little more than cuts and bruises, it fed into my feelings that the only way I would ever be punished for the sins I had committed, was to go home. But I couldn't quite bring myself to step onto a plane to Berlin, as that would be admitting that I was willing to commit suicide by cop, and I knew that Susanne would never forgive me if I were to do that.
After the crash, it was fear of what Susanne would think of me which was the main thing that held me back, and I tried to give what I could of myself to my family and my work to compensate for what I felt I had lost elsewhere. I gave up most of what I used to do for enjoyment - with the exception of breaking in a new BMW, and taking it to occasional track days, and swimming to keep fit - to concentrate on being husband, father, and conscientious government employee. I kept hoping that Ian would contact me, but he never did. Pretty much all I knew of what he was up to, was Mikael Cuijper's by-line in the Telegraph, on reports from the GGR, and at least I could take a little comfort in the fact that despite my fears, he was obviously still alive and well, and keeping his nose clean, as he had promised.
But when I saw his report on the Kirishi Massacre, I knew he'd finally stepped over the line that would get him killed, and I all but fell apart. Before that, there was hope. Now there was none.
A fortnight later, I received a hand written letter from Zurich. I was surprised, as I only had business connections there, and I wouldn't have expected a personal note from any of them. When I opened it, read it and saw who it was from, I couldn't have been more surprised, and at the same time, I knew I'd finally been given the reason I needed to go home.
"Wolfgang,
If I know you at all, and I believe I do, you have been pondering your father's fate, since his last, ill-advised and ill-informed story was published in the Daily Telegraph. I am hereby writing to inform you that as of the date of this letter he still lives, and is in the custody of the Geheime Staatspolizei. His execution on charges of espionage, multiple counts of murder and attempted murder, including that of myself, and a number of lesser crimes, is scheduled for 1 November. A date which I'm sure will resonate with you for a variety of reasons.
However, I am writing to you to offer you an alternative. If you present yourself to me in Berlin, before that date, then I am willing to get the charges against him dropped, on condition that you willingly accept the judgement laid down upon you twelve years ago. If you accept these terms, you have my word that he will be released, and you will be treated with honour and respect. Moreover, all debts which you owe to the land of your birth, will be adjudged paid.
Consider my offer. It is the best either of you are likely to receive.
Kasimir Ritter."
Twelve years ago, my father had come to Russia to save me, at least in his eyes, and fulfil an obligation he felt he had towards me. Now I had the chance to repay him in kind. It wasn't a difficult decision to make. The hardest part was how much to say to Susanne. If I told her the truth, I knew she would try to stop me, but the way things had turned out, she was probably better off without me. However, if my debt to Germany was paid, then she would be free to return home to her family and friends if she wanted to, with no stain on her character from her association with me.
I debated whether to inform Ritter of my decision, but short of sending a letter back to the Zurich address, and then waiting for it to get to him the long way - which would take time Ian probably didn't have - I couldn't think of a way I could legitimately contact the Head of the Ahnenerbe from England, without my actions being flagged up to the authorities. Better to just go, and hope that word of my arrival reached him before things got too unpleasant for me. After all, I had no illusions of what my reception was going to be like when I reached Tempelhof.
To put things in motion, I called my police and forensics contacts in Zurich, to arrange a few last business meetings as a cover for travelling to the continent. As I did, I was well aware of the irony that last time I had done something similarly calculating, I was going to end someone else's life. Now I was going to end mine. I informed Simon Rathbone of my Zurich travel movements - as I was obliged to do under the terms of my residency in England - and then organised a last weekend away with Susanne and Michel. Perhaps it would help them to remember me more fondly once I was gone.
I set off for Zurich on the afternoon of Wednesday 15th October and took all my meetings over the next couple of days as scheduled. I wrote up copious notes for those who would take over dealing with those individuals after me, and couriered them back to my London office on Friday afternoon. Then I sent a telegram to Ritter at Ahnenerbe headquarters to inform him of my decision, before boarding the 19.45 plane to Berlin. By 21.00 I was stepping onto the tarmac at the other end, wondering if my message had been received in time. As it turned out, either I was out of luck, or Ritter had chosen to ignore it. Perhaps it was because I was travelling on a British Passport - my own German papers having long since been revoked - or perhaps it was just that my name flagged up, but I didn't get out of immigration before the Gestapo came and took me away. I was handcuffed and thrown in the back of a windowless van.
Ian had talked to me in the past of his stay in Prinz Albrecht Strasse, but I had never been subjected to its hospitality before. My previous incarceration had been elsewhere. This time I was given the full Gestapo experience. I could have fought, but that wasn't why I'd come, and I accepted what was done to me in a way I hadn't felt capable of doing twelve years before. After all, I was well aware of how I was likely to be treated before I ever got on the plane. My main regret was that my "interrogation" was led by my old commanding officer, Klemens Löwe, a man for whom I had had at least a measure of respect when I served with him. Normally an Oberführer wouldn't be directly involved with the punishment of a prisoner, but then, I wasn't just any prisoner. The fact that I had betrayed his high hopes for me was one of the recurring themes during those three days.
Ritter came for me on Monday afternoon, and while he didn't say much, he seemed genuinely concerned that so much damage had been done to me in such a short space of time. He moved me to more pleasant surroundings, even making sure that my luggage was delivered to me, albeit the door of my suite was locked from the outside. As I looked out of the east-facing window, I could see trees, rooftops, and in the distance, a large body of water which I recognised as the Wannsee. Given that around the lake was the residential location of choice for the most powerful individuals in the GGR, the obvious conclusion was that I was a guest in his home.
Once I was settled, he sent his personal physician to attend to my injuries. Given that he didn't seem entirely in the best of health himself, I appreciated the gesture for how it was meant: my wellbeing was...temporarily at least...as important to him as his own. I didn't see Ritter again until Friday night, and spent most of the intervening time sleeping, healing and working my way through the bookshelf in my room, albeit the reading matter was somewhat slanted in the direction one would expect of the Head of the Ahnenerbe.
He arrived shortly before my evening meal was due to be served, accompanied by a pair of servants and a very fine steak dinner.
"I trust you are feeling better, Wolfgang," he said to me, his tone amicable, as the table was laid with fine linen, silver and crystal.
"Tolerable," I answered, although in truth I was well aware that the bruises on my face were still visible, if faded, and I had to be careful how I moved. If I forgot, it hurt like Hell. The Gestapo had been thorough.
He gestured for me to sit, then followed suit while one of the servants poured a particularly good bottle of '71 Chateau Margaux. Unsure what else to do, I did as he asked, and the other servant laid out the meal. And I have to admit, it did smell delicious, especially as I hadn't felt particularly up to eating since Zurich.
"No doubt you have questions," he said, as he began to eat, and I did the same, "I am here to answer them."
"Where's my father?"
He nodded, as if he had obviously expected that to be the first thing I asked.
"He, like you, has been recuperating since I arranged for him to be transferred out of Gestapo custody. But at a separate location; not in my home. You will see him tomorrow morning. I have arranged for you to be able to say a few last words to each other."
"Does he know I'm here?"
"Not as yet. I feel it should be a surprise for him."
"Is that really necessary?"
"Do you not wish to see him?"
"That isn't what I meant."
"I am aware of what you meant," he answered, his tone decidedly colder than it had been a few moments before, and I was reminded that however pleasant the surroundings, I was still completely at his mercy.
"Of course, Oberstgruppenführer Ritter."
I saw him give a slight smile at that, as if amused by a private joke.
"Better," he answered, then continued, "it would seem that, unlike him, you know when to shut up."
He fell silent, addressing his dinner for a short while, before he continued.
"During the meeting, you will behave yourself, and you will follow my lead. What happens after that will depend on whether I am convinced that you have come here in good faith, and that you intend to go through with your side of the bargain. If that is the case, he will be released and sent back to England on the next plane."
I nodded to acknowledge that I understood.
"You, in turn, will be transferred to the Wewelsburg, where you will be my guest until your sentence is carried out. To facilitate that, as long as you are sincere in your reasons for being here, I am willing to restore you to all ranks and privileges due to a Hauptsturmführer in the Ahnenerbe."
I looked at him quizzically, but again he anticipated my question.
"It is my command...I'm not in a position to restore you to either the Gestapo or Einsatzgruppe-4...what's left of them."
"What's left of them?"
"They suffered significant losses at Kirishi, courtesy of Ian Cushing. Leave it at that."
"Yes sir."
"Good. To continue, I will make sure that your record reflects the fact that you have returned voluntarily, and that you did so in the full understanding that you expected to pay for your crimes."
"I was never given a full list of the charges against me," I commented, "I only received the judgement."
"Then that will be rectified. But in short, you are facing counts of premeditated murder of a superior officer, murder of a superior officer, treason, dishonouring your Kameraden and desertion. I shall make sure that the latter two are stricken from your record, so you will once again be in good standing within the regiment. The others...there, my hands are tied."
"I understand."
"Good. You always were more reasonable to deal with than your father. I put it down to your mother's gentle personality."
"And what happens if I don't persuade you that I'm here in good faith ?"
"Then I will immediately have the pair of you taken out to Plötzensee Prison, where you will be shot."
There was no implied threat - it was a straight statement of fact.
"I will do my best to make sure that you are convinced, Herr Oberstgruppenführer."
"I have no doubt that you will," he replied, then fell silent again while we polished off our truly delicious meals. As we did, I realised how much I'd missed a good steak in my time in England.
Once we were finished, and the servants had cleared everything away and departed, he leaned back in his chair, hands in front of him and fingers interlocked, and regarded me.
"Why did you come home, Wolfgang?"
"It was time," I answered.
"Did he not treat you well?"
"Very well."
"Then was your life not comfortable there?"
"For the most part, it was very comfortable. But that doesn't mean it was right. Germany is my home. England was where I was living."
"Does Cushing know that you feel like that?"
"It's not something I've felt able to discuss with either him or Susanne."
"But you care for them?"
"Yes."
"I will make sure that your wife and child are given the pension due to the family of an officer who dies in battle, and if they should choose to return to Germany, they will be welcomed."
"Thank you."
"And as for your father, I will make sure that he knows exactly what his stubbornness has cost."
I debated saying something, but realised that it would not be welcome, and could potentially break the fragile truce between myself and the man opposite me. And as I watched his face, I knew that he had been studying my reaction to his words, waiting for my protest. He nodded in approval as I held my peace.
"This has been a very useful chat, I feel," he said, downing his glass and getting to his feet, "I will provide something suitable for you to wear tomorrow, and will send someone to fetch you for your meeting. And in the meantime, I will bid you goodnight and pleasant dreams."
And with that he put his glass down on the table beside where he was sitting, then stood and headed for the door.
I watched him go, still processing what he had told me, but deep inside, I couldn't help but feel as if I was where I should be. And strangely, the doubts which had brought me back to Germany had gone, replaced by the sure and certain knowledge that I'd finally done the right thing.
That night, I slept better than I had in months.
* * * * * *
The following morning, one of the servants came by shortly after breakfast and deposited a garment carrier on my bed. Inside was a brand new, neatly pressed service uniform, complete with the rank and insignia of an Ahnenerbe captain, including the Iron Cross I had been awarded while I was still with the Kripo, for the actions which had led to the apprehension of the murderer of a high Party official. It didn't feel right, exactly, as I put the uniform on, but neither did it feel as wrong as I had expected it to, which was a little disturbing. However, I also knew that it would freak Ian out if I were to wear it to the meeting Ritter had arranged. In the end, I opted to wear the shirt, without a tie, plus the trousers and boots, and decided to wait until whatever happened at the Wewelsburg before I decided how much further down that path I wanted to go.
My escort arrived promptly at 09.30. I recognised him as the Gestapo captain who had supervised my treatment the weekend before, on those occasions when Löwe had been absent. However, this time, instead of looking at me as if I was the shit on the sole of his boot, he was relatively respectful. I offered my hands, expecting to be cuffed, but instead he just indicated for me to fall into step beside him, which I duly did. As we headed outside there was a car waiting for us. We climbed into the back and in short order, we were whisked into Berlin proper.
I was decidedly nervous as I was taken inside Prinz Albrecht Strasse 8, and could feel every eye on me as we walked through its corridors. I hadn't realised until that moment just how recognisable I was. However, I was led up, not down, and we eventually came to a light, airy conference room, with a large central table that would probably seat eight. As yet, there was no sign of either Ritter or Ian. We were alone except for a pair of lower ranked soldiers who stood guarding the door. I took a step away from my escort, and then found a comfortable position in which to stand, and waited.
The door opened again about five minutes later, and as I looked up, Ian walked in. He was limping slightly, his hands were cuffed behind him, and he was escorted by two guards. Whatever recuperation time he had been given, his status was obviously different to mine. As he came in, his eyes met mine and the colour drained out of his face, and what little hope had been there when he entered, disappeared like dew in sunlight as he recognised me.
"Hello, Ian," I said, as I looked at him, "long time no speak."
"What are you doing here?" he croaked, shock evident in his voice.
"What I have to do," I answered, trying to look and act reassuring, "Only one person was going to get you out of this when it inevitably went to Hell in a hand basket, and here I am. My only surprise is that it took you this long."
"I knew what I was doing when I came here," he protested, "and given our last conversation, you couldn't have been clearer that I was on my own."
"That was three years ago," I replied, debating whether there was any way I could explain the path which had led me to that moment, but in the end I settled for a more neutral comment. "A lot can change in three years."
At that point, the door opened and Ritter came in. He caught my eye briefly and nodded - I'm not sure Ian caught it - and then outlined his intentions regarding the pair of us. I listened, trying my best from my actions and responses to persuade him that I had come to Berlin in good faith, knowing damned well what the consequences were if I couldn't convince him. In contrast, and probably inevitably, knowing him as I did, Ian didn't take it well. His protests became louder as the conversation progressed, and at the point Ritter outlined his plans in terms of Ian's belief in sacrifice, he looked positively stricken. I wasn't exactly happy, myself, even though I had known exactly what I was doing when I came to Berlin. Apparently, that part of my destiny wasn't going to pass me by this time on the wheel, however much both my father and I had wished otherwise.
And that was when I realised that had never blamed me for what had happened between us that last night. As the conversation continued, he repeatedly offered to replace me, so that he could pay for his mistakes, rather than me, and refused to listen when I said that it wasn't his decision to make. And in the end, I couldn't bear to see his pain any longer. My resolve was going, but if I let it, we were both dead, rather than just me.
"Shut the fuck up, Ian," I snapped, finally, hoping that it would shock him into silence, "it's my decision and I'm going to see it through. But don't make this any harder for me than it already is."
Then I nodded to the Gestapo captain, and indicated that I was ready to leave. Ian was still fighting the inevitable as the door shut behind me.
The captain led me back downstairs, and the car returned me to the house on the Wannsee, although this time, the doors weren't locked behind me. Ritter returned about an hour later and suggested I pack for the trip. It didn't take very long as I only had the one case. I was debating whether to put on the uniform jacket when Ritter came to find me, and suggested that, for now, I should return it to its carrier until we reached the castle. A short while later, we were downstairs waiting for his car to be brought round. It was an impressive beast when it arrived - one of the big, diplomatic Mercedes, with Sigrune flags on the wings and the registration number SS-13 - and I'll admit I eyed it covetously.
"Do you want to drive?" he asked, leaning on the roof and looking over at me as I was about to sit beside him in the back.
"Very much."
"Then please..."
He indicated for the driver to move over into the passenger seat and let me get behind the wheel, before his bodyguard took the rear seat beside him.
"Take A2 to Oerlinghausen, then left onto A33. Go as fast as you like, as long as we get there in one piece. From Paderborn, let Scharführer Ghering navigate."
I acknowledged the order, then started the engine. I smoothly put the car into gear and then set off on what ought to have been a four hour journey. I did it in three. After all, who was going to stop me for speeding, driving an SS staff car with a low double-digit registration?
We pulled up to the main gate of the castle at around four, and once we were inside the compound I parked up where I was told to by the gate guards, and then fell into step beside Ritter as we headed up into the castle proper. The place felt familiar, and not entirely pleasant, and I was aware of strong, dark wards as we walked in through the gate arch. That was when I knew for certain that this was where I'd been held after my arrest, post Bucharest. We were met by a keen looking Unterscharführer named Jaeger, and I was left in his charge. He escorted me upstairs to one of the rooms in the west wing, where my luggage joined me a short while later. As I began to unpack, in the wardrobe I found an SS dress uniform, complete, with the exception of the officer's dagger which would normally be worn with it.
"I suggest you put that on," came a familiar voice from the doorway, and I turned to see Ritter leaning against the door jamb, "we have business to attend to. Meet me in the Great Hall in fifteen minutes."
"Yes, Herr Oberstgruppenführer."
I did as he asked, and made my way downstairs to arrive promptly, with Jaeger, who seemed to have been assigned to me as my batman and general guide, showing me the way. As I entered the Great Hall, I saw a half a dozen high-ranked SS officers seated around the long wooden table, not all of them wearing Ahnenerbe insignia. My eyes were drawn to one in particular, distinguished by his oak leaf and laurel wreath collar tabs. Jaeger saluted smartly, and I had no choice but to follow suit.
"So this is the infamous Wolfgang Ulrich," the man said to Ritter, getting to his feet, the other officers all doing exactly as he did.
"Yes, Herr Reichsführer."
He pushed out his chair, and walked towards me, Ritter one pace behind him to the left. I'd never met him before - he had become RFSS after I'd left Germany, when his predecessor was executed for plotting against the Führer - but I recognised him immediately. The resemblance between him and his late father was obvious. The same height. The same silver-blond hair. The same cold blue eyes. His face was less distinctive though, less long and thin, more reminiscent of his mother.
"Oberstgruppenführer Ritter tells me that you have returned to Germany to pay for your crimes."
"Yes, Herr Reichsführer," I answered, smartly.
"He wishes me to allow your reinstatement in the regiment, despite the conduct which led to your original dismissal. It is an unusual request, which would normally be met by an unqualified refusal, but he assures me that he has his reasons."
"Yes, sir," I answered, trying very hard not to bolt and run as he watched me through hooded eyes. I'd always been nervous of Ritter. Klaus Heydrich scared the Hell out of me.
"Answer me one question, if you will, Herr Ulrich."
"Sir?"
"Do you regret what you did?"
Could I honestly say yes? There was so much I did regret, but not the murders of Torben Kramer and Dietrich von Ansbach. And my feelings of guilt about what I had done at Eglizi weren't exactly covered by the question he was asking me - because my actions there were not something I was supposed to regret.
"I accept responsibility for my actions," I replied, after a short pause.
He regarded me in silence for a few moments, obviously processing the various levels at which my statement might be interpreted. Behind him I saw Ritter nervously holding his breath. He, for one, had not liked my response. I stood stock still, eyes fixed front and back straight, waiting for Heydrich's judgement and hoping that if it went poorly, Ian was already safely back in England, and out of the reach of these two spectacularly dangerous men.
Then he smiled.
"I like him, Kasimir," he said, half turning towards my host, "you have my permission to administer the Oath."
Then he stepped back and let Ritter approach me. The latter drew the Honour Dagger from his belt and handed it to me, hilt first. I took it in my right hand.
"Repeat after me. I, Wolfgang Dietrich Armand Ulrich..."
"I, Wolfgang Dietrich Armand Ulrich...
"...do swear to Claus Schenk, as Führer of the Greater German Reich..."
I repeated the words as he spoke them.
"...and Klaus Heydrich, as its Protector... Loyalty, and Bravery... I vow to Thee and to the superiors whom Thou shalt appoint... Obedience unto Death... So help me God."
"So help me God," I finished.
As I did, he took my wrist, turned my hand over and took back the blade, then cut my palm with it. He repeated the action with his own and clasped my hand in his, so our blood mingled, and as it did, I could feel a charge of power spark between us.
"Your Oath is accepted, Hauptsturmführer Ulrich," he said making sure to keep eye contact with me as he did, and from behind him I heard a number of other voices intoning, "So mote it be".
Then Heydrich stepped forward once more.
"Kasimir tells me that your presence here will allow you to perform a great service for the Greater German Reich. He requested that this should be recognised with a small token of the esteem of the Kameraden."
And from his pocket he brought an Ehrenring. My disciplinary record when I had served had been sufficiently variable that I had never earned one, unlike many of my contemporaries. However, that did not stop him from taking my hand from Ritter and slipping the ring on my right ring finger. Then he snapped his fingers and one of his subordinates handed him a dagger and scabbard, which he in turn offered to me hilt first, indicating that I should clip it to my belt. I did as I was bid, noting that it was more than just a regular officer's weapon - it was a full Ehrendolch, again something, I'd never been awarded before.
"Serve with honour for what time you have left, Hauptsturmführer Ulrich," he said with a slight nod, and then turned on his heel and headed for the door. Ritter followed him, as did the other officers around the table. Soon, only Jaeger and myself were left.
"I should take you to the infirmary to have that treated, sir," he said, indicating my hand. The bleeding had almost stopped, but it was painful if I wasn't careful with it.
"Thank you, Jaeger," I answered, and followed him, "I don't suppose you know what happens now?"
"You have the freedom of the castle. You may go where you wish...do what you wish...Oberstgruppenführer Ritter suggested that you might wish to avail yourself of the library in the West Tower. He will be tied up with the Reichsführer for the rest of the day, but he said he would try to stop by this evening, after dinner."
"Once I've had this seen to, the first thing I'd like to do is visit the mess hall."
"Of course, sir," he said, and we walked across the courtyard to the infirmary.
* * * * * *
Ritter knocked on my door at about ten that evening. I opened it and let him in, and indicated for him to sit.
"I don't have anything to offer you to drink, sir."
"Then join me with this," he replied, snapping his fingers. An orderly brought in a platter which held a decanter of port and two glasses. The orderly poured, and then departed and shut the door behind him, leaving Ritter and I alone.
"What were you thinking?" he said, anger underlying his tone, "hedging your answer to Reichsführer Heydrich? You realise that he could have both of us shot on a whim."
"I meant no disrespect," I answered, calmly, "and I told the truth. If I didn't accept responsibility for what I've done, I wouldn't be here. I would be safe at home in England."
"And your father would be dead," he said, more calmly.
"I am well aware of that, as well."
"You're lucky he was in a good mood."
"His presence here caught me by surprise."
"As it did me," he admitted, quietly, then drank from his glass of port, "he rarely comes to the castle, preferring to leave the running of...operations...here to me."
"How much does he know about why I'm here?"
"Most of it. He may not be one of my group but he is not unaware of how I serve the GGR. And in such things, he is usually willing to accept my lead. I informed him of certain matters regarding yourself and the journalist known as Mikael Cuijper, so I think he was just curious to see you for himself."
"Like a specimen in the zoo?"
"He would not have presented a zoo animal with the SS-Ehrenring. That was his way of acknowledging that he approved of my intentions regarding you. The award of the SS-Ehrendolch was at my request, as it is fully appropriate to why you are here."
"You've lost me."
"All in good time," he answered, taking another sip of port. I did the same, waiting for him to continue, curious at where he was going with the conversation. And at the same time well aware that if Ian knew that I was sharing a drink with his enemy, he would go ballistic.
"You've come a long way since Bucharest," he said, finally, "back then, I thought that your blood was weak, despite your forebears. That you would never live up to your potential. I was wrong."
"You consider my defecting to another country living up to my potential?" I asked, genuinely caught off guard by the comment.
"I was referring to your potential as an Adept. For all his flaws, Cushing has trained you well, albeit not in the tradition I would have chosen for you. You are as strong as your bloodline would suggest...in fact, I'm not sure either of you really realise how strong that is."
"How can you know?"
"I know more than you realise," he answered, "I should have given you certain opportunities when I had the chance, both for you and for Germany. I was foolish not to. But I was too blinded by my feelings towards him to consider that you were the better part of both your parents. And I curse myself for a fool for not realising sooner that I was wrong, and taking out my hatred of him on you, who least deserved it."
As he spoke, I realised that this was probably as close as he was going to get to apologising to me for what had happened - in Bucharest, in Berlin and later in Russia. I debated whether I should say anything, but it seemed sensible to just acknowledge his words with a nod.
"I wasn't lying earlier. In the meeting with you father. I was furious with Dietrich von Ansbach for killing Greta...but by then she was gone, and nothing was going to bring her back."
"You knew her?"
"She was my daughter," he answered, quietly.
I stared at him in shock. He was my grandfather?
"I loved her from afar...even if I couldn't acknowledge our relationship for political reasons," he said, with a sad smile, "she was a truly beautiful young woman, in both apperance and nature, and she died before her time. I bear some of the blame for that. I put dynasties and bloodlines before her wellbeing, and saw her married her off to someone I shouldn't have. But so does your father. If they had never slept together, then her husband would not have had cause to murder her."
"Couldn't you have stopped him?"
"I didn't know what he was planning. But know this, while you have been charged with von Ansbach's murder, as well as Torben Kramer's, in my eyes, you did the world a favour. He was a truly reprehensible human being."
"If she and Ian had never met, I would never have existed."
"Your existence, Wolfgang, is the only redeeming feature of the whole sorry business. There is far more of her in you, than there is in Alfred."
"And yet, you want me dead?"
"I don't want you dead, you young fool, and if I could think of any way to prevent it, I would. But your actions - the manner of your defection, the murder of not one but two superior officers, the treason charges - mean that I have no choice. All I can do, is make it as gentle as possible."
I looked at him for a few moments, trying to read him, and realised that he was telling the truth.
"How can you be my grandfather?" I asked, finally, "You don't look..."
"Old enough?" he asked, and I nodded, "I tried to touch on this with Cushing, shortly after he arrived in Berlin, but he did not want to listen. His mistrust of me was too great to understand that he might, just might, be able to learn from me. Our bloodline is noble and ancient, and our family is functionally immortal. But we are born to die by violence. It is our curse."
"That's a strange turn of phrase."
"But accurate. Age doesn't mean anything to us. We rarely get sick, we age very slowly, and it is all but unheard of for one of us to die of old age. It is why, one day, Ian and I will either have to make our peace or kill each other with extreme prejudice."
"He is part of this family you mention as well?"
"His father and my father are full brothers."
"Which makes him my...cousin, as well as my father?"
"Specifically, your first cousin twice removed...but that is far enough away not to be a problem. Such a union which produced you would be legal in most Christian religions...and positively encouraged in certain parts of the United States."
He fell silent, and took a drink, then sat back once more.
"You say that Germany is your home...despite everything that has happened to you."
"Yes."
"As you may or may not be aware, we are in the middle of the largest offensive we have undertaken in many years. Cushing's actions at Kirishi set it back. You are in a unique position to help ensure that it is successful, despite his wishes."
"How so? By your own admission I am a very short step from execution."
"Yes, but how you die...that is important. If you are willing to act as a sacrifice for the Fatherland, and spill your blood on the land, your death can have meaning, as well as honour."
"And once again, all roads point to the Sacred King."
"That is the Celtic terminology, yes. I am well aware of that aspect of your relationship with your father, as you no doubt realised in the meeting earlier. And before you ask, I suggest this in pursuit of the defeat of our mutual enemies in the East, not for the purposes of harming our neighbours to the West."
"And if I agree?"
"Honour is restored, and your wife and step-daughter will be provided for, wherever they choose to live."
"And Ian?"
"Is free to consider what his hubris has cost him."
"Does he really deserve that?"
"You have no idea what he deserves," came the answer, and I could see the coldness in his eyes, which prompted me to shut up hurriedly and cover the fact by downing my own glass of port.
"And the alternative?"
"I think you already know what that is," he answered.
"A firing squad, I assume, or a simple bullet in the brain."
"Neither really a gentle death, would you not agree?"
"May I think about your offer?" I asked, finally.
"Of course. Tell me your decision tomorrow. I will be around until about six in the evening."
"Yes, Herr Oberstgruppenführer."
"Good. Now, while you're here, I want you to take full advantage of all the facilities available to you."
I looked at him and quickly detected the meaning underneath what he'd said.
"What about Susanne? I'm not sure it would be fair to do that to her."
"Any less fair than leaving her without a word to come here and give your life for a Jew lover?" he asked, quietly, and I knew he was right. I'd been trying hard not to even consider the guilt I felt about her since I knew for certain what my fate would be.
"You are an SS officer. You have certain responsibilities to further the Aryan race, especially given your unique combination of genetics. After all, it is a human instinct to reproduce, is it not? And while Michel is of a good bloodline, she is not your biological daughter. She is Michael Gerber's."
"She isn't an only child by choice," I commented, surprising myself by admitting the main sadness I had about my relationship with Susanne: that we couldn't have children. Early in our marriage, she had miscarried twice in the first few weeks of pregnancy, and her health had suffered because of it, so in the end we had given up trying. However, to my surprise, instead of gloating, his expression was sympathetic.
"She is mortal. You are not. That can be a factor in such things. No doubt you have heard your father bewail a similar situation between himself and that interfering bitch of a wife of his. But as your existence proves, the fault was not with him. However, here I have certain resources at my disposal which mean that the circumstances will be more favourable."
I wasn't sure how to react, so in the end I opted for a neutral answer which hopefully was what he wanted to hear.
"In the time I have left, I will try to do my duty."
"Good. And in return, I give you my promise that any child of yours born as a result will be treated with respect, and allowed to grow into his or her full potential. Your legacy, if you will. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Herr Oberstgruppenführer."
"Then I need say no more about it."
On which note, he made a show of looking at his watch and then getting to his feet.
"It is late, and you have much to think about. However, consider what I've said. And as to the other matter, inform Jaeger of your preferences, and he will make sure that they are provided for. Enjoy the rest of the port."
* * * * * *
In the end, I agreed to do as he had asked, all of it, and from then on I was truly treated as an honoured guest. However, I didn't see Ritter again after he departed Sunday evening, until he returned from Berlin on Thursday night.
My last week on earth was an interesting one. The lamb being fattened up for the slaughter. But as I said, my life never flashed in front of my eyes. Perhaps because I knew what was coming, and had accepted it, rather than decided to fight it, the progression of memories was a slow one. As I considered my time in England, my key regrets were twofold. The first, was that I knew Ian would never understand my decision, or accept what I had done, and that we would never make our peace. The other was Susanne. I did as Ritter had asked me to...ordered me to...but I couldn't help the feeling that by doing so I had betrayed her, despite the fact that realistically, I had left her when I came to Germany.
As the end came closer I realised in a way I never had when we were together, that she had been my soul mate, as much as Audrey had been to Ian. And I knew I had treated her poorly. In my mind's eye I could imagine her panic, her distress, as she tried to find out what had happened to me after I failed to return home from Zurich, and I wished that somehow I could tell her. But again, she would never have understood. Her feelings towards my involvement with the Group had always been unenthusiastic, at best. Knowing my death was related to that, even in a distant way, was something she would never understand.
The night before the end, I settled down to write to them both. To apologise to her for being a bad husband by leaving her the way I had; and to apologise to him for disappointing him and throwing his generosity back in his face. I gave the letters to Jaeger, and he said that he would make sure they got sent.
October 31st dawned like any other day. As I looked out of my window, I watched the sky lightening, even if I couldn't see the sunrise, and could see a frost on fields below me. I washed, shaved and dressed as I would have done any other morning, and then headed downstairs for breakfast. However, as I was about to enter the mess hall, Jaeger diverted me towards Ritter's private quarters, on the first floor of the West Tower. He looked up from a plate of cold meat, cheese and bread as I came in, and indicated for me to sit.
"I thought we should spend the day together," he said, politely, as his orderly brought me a similarly stacked plate, "your knowledge of our tradition is functional, but lacking in certain areas. For what will happen tonight, it needs to be more complete. Learn from me, Wolfgang, and everything will go smoothly."
We spent the day closeted in the library on the floor below, while he acted as my teacher and I did my best to be an attentive pupil. A little before sunset, he declared that I was as ready as I was going to be. He snapped his fingers and two of his subordinates came in. The lower ranked of them was a Standartenführer; the higher an Oberführer.
"These men will be your honour guard," he said, "go with them. You will be fed, and then you will dream. Accept what messages your past lives will give you, and everything will be well later."
Knowing that it was too late to do anything else, I nodded and fell into step between them. I was taken to a well-appointed room I hadn't seen before, next to the Gruppenführersaal, where I was left to change into my dress uniform, which had been hung out for me. Then I was given a meal of meat and flatbread, washed down with wine which tasted bitter to me. As I was finishing, Ritter came in and indicated for me to sit in the large, comfortable armchair beside the fire. He pulled up a dining chair, sat beside me, took my right hand where the scar from his dagger had nearly healed, and then began tracing sigils on it. They reminded me of the kind of post-hypnotic triggers which the Group sometimes used. I felt myself becoming relaxed and leaned back in the chair, and with a quick tap on my forehead from Ritter, I was deep into a trance and dreaming of the past.
I don't know how long it was until I realised that someone else was in my head with me, but as soon as I did, I tried to push them away. What I was seeing was personal, and no-one had the right to be there with me. However, once I had separated the consciousness from mine and studied it, I realised who it was.
"Hello, Mihai," I said, as I recognised my father, and realised that in a way, I had been expecting him to try to reach me, "I wondered if you'd come."
"Wolf."
"Yes, I suppose that is who I am right now. Earlier I would have sworn I was riding in a forest. And before that, I think I was in a very big church. And then I was stabbing someone before drowning them in a wine barrel. It's all rather confusing. But I'm sure it will all make sense soon."
And I realised that I had been wrong. He, of all people, had the right to see what I was seeing. Because he had been there as well. It was enough to start the flow of images again, and it was some time before I managed to get them in check. In the end it was my fear that Ritter would realise what was happening that helped me control them.
"You shouldn't be here, you know," I said, finally, "he'll be angry."
"I don't care."
"But you should care...he's helping me."
"Wolf, he's screwed with your head somehow. Try to fight him."
I had been right. He just couldn't understand what I was doing.
"No. I know what I'm doing. If I wanted to fight, I wouldn't be here. But it would be so much better if you understood that."
"I don't...I can't."
"Then I feel truly sorry for you," I answered, my heart aching for his understanding. Then I felt the link falter, and knew it was time to let him go.
"I have to go now. He'll be coming soon, and we have an appointment. Goodbye, Mihai."
"I love you, Wolf," he answered, and over all the distance between us, I knew he was already mourning me.
"And I you, Ian," I replied, suddenly wondering how I could ever have thought that he hated me, "you've been a good friend to me, and I couldn't have asked for a better father."
Then the link faded all but away, until he was little more than a ghost of a presence.
"Are you ready?" came a more distinct voice, and I opened my eyes to see Ritter looking down on me. He was wearing a dark claret robe, with the hood down his back.
"Yes."
"Then we should go."
He offered me his hand and helped me up, then led the way while my escorts, similarly robed, walked beside me. Soon we were in a part of the castle I hadn't been to before. The room seemed older, unfinished almost, and the floor was dirt beneath me. My jacket was removed, my sleeves rolled up, and I was seated in a chair - almost a throne - the wood darkened with age. Then they began the rite. Ritter had explained that it would be in two parts: first, to initiate me as a member of their group; and second...
I sat and listened, speaking when I was required to, acting as I had to and knowing what I needed to do. And in the background, I realised that I could feel my father's presence once more. I just hoped that he wouldn't interfere.
The first part went smoothly, and as the initiation was completed, I could feel that part of me had become one with them. It was a very different experience to when I had become one of the Lyminge Group. Then they began the second rite, and once again, I did my part, until finally, the time had come. I opened my eyes and saw Ritter take three steps towards me, then draw the dagger at my belt, and he rested my arms along the arms of the chair. At that point, wholly accepting of my fate, I nodded to him to indicate that I was ready. With two swift cuts, he opened the veins on my arms, and then gently lowered my wrists to the ground, then laid the blade at my feet. Soon, I began to fade away, but Ritter lifted my head so that I could maintain eye contact with him, and I saw sadness in his eyes. Then he bent down and spoke quietly in my ear.
"Forgive me for this, but if this is going to work, I have to make it look convincing."
I had no idea what I meant, but I knew I was at his mercy. So I trusted him as he stepped back. And I trusted him as he reached into the pocket of his robe and drew out a .22 pistol. I tried to remember if he had covered this during the day, but guns had never been mentioned. In the meantime, in the back of my mind, I felt my father's presence. Tense. Waiting. Supporting me at the end. And I knew whatever Ritter was going to do, I wouldn't be alone.
"Rest in peace, child of my child," Ritter said, so that his companions could hear, then his finger tightened on the trigger and he fired.
It may have been a small calibre bullet, but the pain shocked my senses clear, and I could feel the blood welling from my chest. I reached for breath in desperation, but I couldn't get any air, and my last thought was why, after playing straight with me up until now, had he betrayed me at the end, and denied me the gentle death he had promised?
And then everything stopped...