“What did he say to you? Who did he say would rule? To whom does it go?”
Ptolemy stood up tall and straight. They all stared at him.
“He said one word. Kratisto! To the strongest!”
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!”