V2 A Novel of World War II - Robert Harris Page 0,101

believe that?’

‘I don’t care what you believe. I don’t know what’s on it.’

‘Why do you have it in your room?’

‘I was asked to look after it.’

‘By whom?’

‘Professor von Braun – you can ask him if you like.’

‘Oh, we will, don’t worry. And there is a lot more we intend to ask you.’

They marched him down to the street, where a car was waiting, and drove him through the darkening streets to the big modern house not far from the town centre that the Gestapo used as their headquarters – a curious, high-roofed, sinister place, much more brick than windows, shaped like a monk’s cowl.

In the interrogation room on the ground floor, his file was already on the table. It was ten centimetres thick. They must have sent for it some time ago, Graf thought, either from the regional office in Stettin or, more likely, from the national headquarters in Prinz-Albrecht-Strasse in Berlin. No wonder Biwack had known so much about him from the start.

It was Biwack who took the chair opposite him.

‘You are a saboteur.’

‘No.’

‘You sabotaged a missile three days ago, resulting in the deaths of twelve men, and you sabotaged another this afternoon.’

‘No.’ If it had been anyone other than the National Socialist Leadership Officer, he might have been tempted to tell the truth just to get it over with. But he would not give Biwack the satisfaction. ‘The missile was faulty. Ten per cent of them are, you know. Or do you think I’m responsible for every launch that goes wrong?’

‘A soldier in the technical troop says that you asked him to open control compartment number two rather than number three.’

‘He is mistaken.’

‘Shortly before the launch, you climbed up and disabled the radio receiver.’

‘No. As I said at the time, I wanted to check the transformer. You’ve seen me do it before.’

‘Why lie, Graf? If nothing else, your behaviour after the rocket misfired establishes your guilt.’

‘If you’re asking why didn’t I run away with the rest of you – why should I? The chances of it landing at the precise point from which it took off are a million to one against.’

Biwack was starting to look irritated. He glanced at the two Gestapo men who were leaning against the wall, watching with their arms folded. ‘Listen to his lies!’

One of them said, ‘Do you want us to take over?’

‘Yes, by all means. I can’t bear to look at the swine. I’m going to find out what’s on those microfilms.’

He stood and left the room. The two Gestapo men settled down opposite Graf. The second one opened his file. He sounded weary before he even started. ‘You were first arrested on the twenty-second of March this year …’

Graf lay on a thin mattress in a windowless cell in the basement. The naked low-wattage light bulb cast a jaundiced glow. The cell was cold. His belt and shoelaces had been taken from him, but not his coat, which he had pulled over himself as a blanket. The place had a fearsome reputation. The old brownish specks of blood on the mattress seemed to confirm it. He preferred not to look at them, and stared at the concrete ceiling.

What would he miss? The truth was, not much. His parents, of course: he had not seen them for a year. Some of the fellows at Peenemünde. He would miss sunny days on the Baltic, the play of light on the water and the scent of the pine trees in the evening after a hot day. But Karin was dead, and he would not miss the rocket. He was done with it. And with it went the central purpose of his life.

After about an hour, he heard the scrape of footsteps in the passage. The door was unlocked. Two heavily muscled bullet-headed men, like nightclub bouncers, came in and pulled him to his feet. Now the unpleasant part starts, he thought. They bundled him into the corridor and told him to move fast. But it was hard without laces in his shoes. He shuffled along as best he could. One of the men gave him a shove in the back that sent him sprawling, then kicked his backside. He managed to scramble up the stairs, and fell again. They hauled him upright and marched him along the passage to a door, knocked and opened it.

The same two Gestapo officers but a different room. Biwack was seated at a desk winding a roll of 35 mm film onto a bulky microfilm reader. The words