the document in its envelope and handed it to the Führer who replaced it and the other items in the briefcase. ‘This is standard issue to the U-boat captains at the moment. Completely self-sealing, water and fire-proof.’ He pushed it across to Bormann. ‘Yours now.’ The Führer gazed in space for a moment in reverie. ‘What a swine Himmler is to try and make a separate peace with the Allies, and now I hear that Mussolini and his girlfriend were murdered by partisans in northern Italy, strung up by their ankles.’
‘A mad world.’ Bormann waited for a moment then said, ‘One point, my Führer, how do I leave? We are now surrounded here.’
Hitler came back to life. ‘Quite simple. You will fly out using the East-West Avenue. As you know, Field Marshal Ritter von Greim and Hannah Reitsch got away in an Arado just after midnight yesterday. I spoke personally to the Commander of the Luftwaffe Base at Rechlin.’ He glanced at a paper on his desk. ‘A young man, a Captain Neumann, volunteered to fly in a Fieseler Storch during the night, he arrived safely and is now waiting your orders.’
‘But where, my Führer?’ Bormann asked.
‘In that huge garage at Goebbels’ house near the Brandenburg Gate. From there he will fly you to Rechlin and refuel for the onward flight to Bergen in Norway.’
‘Bergen?’ Bormann asked.
‘From where you will proceed by submarine to South America, Venezuela to be precise. You’ll be expected. One stop on the way. You’ll be expected there too, but all the details are in here.’ He handed him an envelope. ‘You’ll also find my personal signed authorization in there giving you full powers in my name and several false passports.’
‘So, I leave tonight?’ Bormann asked.
‘No, you leave within the next hour,’ Hitler said calmly. ‘Because of the driving rain and low cloud there is no air cover at the moment. Captain Neumann thinks he could achieve total surprise and I agree. I have every confidence you will succeed.’
There could be no arguing with that and Bormann nodded. ‘Of course, my Führer.’
‘Then there only remains one more thing,’ Hitler said. ‘You’ll find someone in the bedroom. Bring him in.’
The man Bormann found in there wore the uniform of a lieutenant general in the SS. There was something familiar about him and Bormann felt acutely uncomfortable for some reason.
‘My Führer,’ the man said and gave Hitler a Nazi salute.
‘Note the resemblance, Bormann?’ Hitler asked.
It was then that Bormann realized why he’d felt so strange. It was true, the general did have a look of him. Not perfect, but it was undeniably there.
‘General Strasser will stay here in your place,’ Hitler said. ‘When the general break-out occurs he will leave with the others. He can stay out of the way until then. In the confusion and darkness of leaving it’s hardly likely anyone will notice. They’ll be too concerned with saving their own skins.’ He turned to Strasser. ‘You will do this for your Führer?’
‘With all my heart,’ Strasser said.
‘Good, then you will now exchange uniforms. You may use my bedroom.’ He came round the desk and took both of Bormann’s hands in his. ‘I prefer to say goodbye now, old friend. We will not meet again.’
Cynical as he was by nature Bormann felt incredibly moved. ‘I will succeed, my Führer, my word on it.’
‘I know you will.’
Hitler shuffled out, the door closed behind him and Bormann turned to Strasser, ‘Right, let’s get started.’
Precisely half an hour later Bormann left the Bunker by the exit into Hermann Goering Strasse. He wore a heavy leather military overcoat over his SS uniform and carried a military holdall which held the briefcase and a change of civilian clothes. In one pocket he carried a silenced Mauser pistol and a Schmeisser machine pistol was slung across his chest. He moved along the edge of the Tiergarten, aware of people everywhere, mainly refugees, crossed by the Brandenburg Gate and arrived at Goebbels’ house quite quickly. Like most properties in the area it had suffered damage, but the vast garage building seemed intact. The sliding doors were closed, but there was a small Judas gate which Bormann opened cautiously.
It was dark in there and a voice called, ‘Stay where you are, hands high.’
Lights were switched on and Bormann found a young man in the uniform of a captain in the Luftwaffe and a flying jacket standing by the wall, a pistol in his hand. The small Fieseler Storch spotter plane stood in the centre of the empty garage.
‘Captain Neumann?’
‘General Strasser?’ The young man looked relieved and holstered his pistol. ‘Thank God, I’ve been expecting Ivans ever since I got here.’
‘You have orders?’
‘Of course. Rechlin to refuel and then Bergen. A distinct pleasure actually.’
‘Do you think we stand a chance of getting away?’
‘There’s nothing up there to shoot us down at the moment. Filthy weather. Only ground fire to worry about.’ He grinned. ‘Is your luck good, General?’
‘Always.’
‘Excellent. I’ll start up, you get in and we’ll taxi across the road to the Brandenburg Gate. From there I’ll take off towards the Victory Column. They won’t be expecting that because the wind is in the wrong direction.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’ Bormann asked.
‘Absolutely.’ Neumann climbed up into the cabin and started the engine.
There was broken glass and rubble in the street and the Storch bumped its way along, passing many astonished refugees, moved across the Brandenburg Gate and turned towards the Victory Column in the distance. The rain was driving down.
Neumann said, ‘Here we go,’ and boosted power.
The Storch roared down the centre of the road, here and there people fleeing before it, and suddenly they were airborne and turning to starboard to avoid the Victory Column. Bormann was not even aware of any ground fire.
‘You must live right, Herr Reichsleiter,’ the young pilot said.
Bormann turned to him sharply. ‘What did you call me?’
‘I’m sorry if I’ve said the wrong thing,’ Neumann said, ‘but I met you at an award ceremony once in Berlin.’
