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“But that, hopefully, is how Eva helps us. If she’s drunk enough and feels like showing off the mysterious Führerbunker—”
“Assuming the guards will heed her direction, Erich. Can she issue commands to the guards? What if they say they need the Führer’s permission to allow unauthorized visitors inside?”
Von der Haas sat back in his chair. “I don’t have a better idea.”
Bauer got out of his chair and walked to the window, looking out over a battered city. “I’m going to ask you again.”
“And I’ll give you the same answer,” said von der Haas. “I’m doing this.”
“The war’s lost. The man’s been humiliated on the world stage. He’s the most hated man on the planet. The Russians almost certainly will kill him, if he doesn’t kill himself first. And if he survives, he’ll endure a public trial and be executed.”
“He didn’t kill your family.”
Bauer sighed. “I know that. I get it. I can imagine how I’d feel if my family—”
“Imagining it and experiencing it aren’t the same thing.” Von der Haas stood up and threw his chair across the room. “I want to watch him die. At the hand of a Jew.”
This debate was going nowhere. “Fine,” said Bauer.
“How many times have I told you to leave, Bauer? It’s not too late to leave Berlin. Go to your family—”
“Goddamnit, Erich, how long have we worked together? How many times have I put my life in your hands? Haven’t you figured out by now that you’re my family, too?”
That stopped von der Haas cold. These men did not typically share their feelings. They’d spent over a decade together plotting and executing acts of assassination or sabotage in a vain attempt to stop the Nazi war machine. They’d faced death together on countless occasions. Von der Haas had stayed by Bauer’s side for nearly six months while he recovered—barely—from being shot twice in Berchtesgaden. They’d had more disappointments than victories, yes, but they’d remained true to their cause. There was only one person in all of Germany whom they could trust, and that was each other.
Von der Haas exhaled and put his hands on his knees. “Bauer, I’ll never forgive myself if you die. If my need for vengeance prevents you from a reunion with your wife and—”
“Then let’s not die.” Bauer picked up the chair von der Haas had thrown. “If you’re doing it, I’m doing it. That’s it.” He cleaned off the kitchen table, putting the dishes in the sink. “Didn’t you ever learn to clean up after yourself?”
Von der Haas managed a chuckle, a release of the tension. “Don’t forget our bet.”
“I won’t,” said Bauer, wiping off the plates. “I remember it.”
116
April 22, 1945
THE RUSSIAN ARMY HAD now encircled Berlin. Allied bombings and artillery shelling intensified, causing not only thundering quakes within the Führerbunker but the intermittent loss of electricity, as well. The Russians had cut the telephone lines to the Führerbunker, leaving the inhabitants of the claustrophobic concrete prison without contact with the outside world.
Adolf Hitler’s suite in the southwest corner included a bedroom, sitting room, and private office, and shared a bathroom and dressing room with Eva Braun’s bedroom. Though it was lacking natural light and built of concrete walls two meters thick, he’d had the floors lined with expensive Persian carpets and the walls and tables decorated with valuable works of art. He’d even hung his beloved portrait of Frederick the Great over the desk in his office.
But now the bunkers stank of body odor. The air was dusty, thanks to bits of concrete crumbling from the ceiling every time the walls shook from a bomb. Overhanging lights flickered and swung side to side.
“Everything is lost.” These words came from Hitler, exhausted after a raging tantrum, leaning over the map table.
“Whoever wishes to leave the bunker may do so,” he said to the room of generals and field marshals. “I release each and every one of you from your oaths.”
Just past midnight, Hitler was alone in the map room, imagining nonexistent scenarios, the movement of nonexistent battalions to save Berlin and turn around the war, his eyes half closing from sleep deprivation, when Martin Bormann knocked and entered the room. He held a piece of paper.
“A radiogram,” said Bormann. “From Göring. From the Obersalzburg.”
“Hermann? What does he want? To tell me how much he’s enjoying his time at the mountainside retreat that I built? While those of us who are loyal to the cause are staying here until the bitter end?”
“I’m afraid this will be unpleasant, mein Führer.” Bormann handed Hitler the document. “It looks like a coup to me.”
Hitler read it. Göring was referencing a decree Hitler issued in June 1941, providing that, if the Führer ever lost his freedom of action, by incapacity or otherwise, Göring would be appointed to assume all his powers. In the radiogram, Göring wrote that he “felt obligated to assume, in case by 2200 o’clock no answer is forthcoming, that you have lost your freedom of action. I shall then view the conditions of your decree as fulfilled and take action for the well-being of Nation and Fatherland.”
“That—that traitorous bastard!” Hitler cast aside the document, which dithered lifelessly to the floor. “He dares to assume my powers? He dares to give me a deadline to assure him I remain capable?”
