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“A cable came in. A report from Reuters. I saw it.”

“You know,” said Bauer, “we’re showing the Führer the ultimate loyalty by staying here until the end. The least they could do is let us see the Führerbunker just once. A quick tour. Just once?”

Everyone else at the table looked at each other, then broke into laughter.

“Did I say something funny?” Bauer looked at Doris. “Couldn’t you ask Bormann if we could have a quick tour? Meet the man himself?”

Doris patted Bauer’s hand. “I’ll ask,” she said. “We’ve asked before. But the answer will be no.”

Von der Haas and Bauer stood at the edge of the conference room, looking toward the stairwell that led up to the chancellery garden and down to Hitler’s bunker.

“He’s right there,” von der Haas whispered. “He’s right down there, probably no more than twenty meters away, and he might as well be on another continent.” He dropped his head and sighed. “This isn’t going to happen, is it? We’ll never get to him.”

“Looks that way,” Bauer agreed.

“Well, then.” Von der Haas looked at Bauer. “I guess we probably shouldn’t be here when the Red Army comes through the bunker doors.”

“Probably not. It would be tough to convince them we aren’t Nazis if we’re found living in the Vorbunker.”

“And wearing OKH uniforms.”

“Got any brilliant ideas about how we can get the hell out of Berlin?” asked Bauer.

Von der Haas looked at him and smiled. “One idea,” he said.

121

April 30, 1945

THE FÜHRER’S VALET, HEINZ Linge, came to Adolf Hitler’s bedroom door late in the morning. Hitler was awake. He had not, in fact, slept a wink the night before. He was still fully dressed in his charcoal suit.

“Heinz, have you secured the petrol?” he asked.

“I have, mein Führer. We have two hundred liters. They are in the chancellery garden.”

“Excellent, Heinz.”

Hitler and his bride had a midday meal, spaghetti with red sauce, with Hitler’s personal secretaries, Gerda Christian and Traudl Junge. He thanked them for their unwavering commitment. “I wish I’d had generals as loyal as you,” he said.

Then he addressed a group of roughly twenty of his most intimate advisers outside his personal suite. His new wife stood next to him, quiet and composed, dressed in a blue silk summer dress.

“The immediate postwar world will not treat me kindly,” Hitler told the group. “The enemy will savor its triumph. The German people will face difficult times. You, my friends, my loyal servants, will experience things you cannot now imagine. But later histories will realize that I only wanted the best for the Fatherland.”

Magda Goebbels, who might possibly have been even more devoted to the Führer than was her husband, burst into tears. “Please do not do this, mein Führer,” she wailed. “Joseph—tell him.”

Goebbels cleared his throat. “Mein Führer, as I told you earlier this morning, there is still possibly a way out for you. There is a Panzer tank available and up to two hundred members of the Hitler Youth. They can press westward—”

“Thank you, Doctor,” said Hitler, the way he addressed Goebbels in public. “But my decision is made. It is time. I would like Martin and Dr. Goebbels and, of course, Heinz to stay a moment. To the rest of you, I bid a heartfelt and grateful farewell.”

The group broke into an impromptu salute. “Heil Hitler!” they shouted.

A junior valet asked everyone to retire to the upper bunker, the Vorbunker, to give respectful space. They all walked silently the length of the Führerbunker, taking the staircase up, leaving Hitler in the Führerbunker with only his wife and the three men.

“Heinz, Frau Hitler and I will now retire to my sitting room to take this final step. You recall my instructions. We must be wrapped in wool blankets and burned in the chancellery garden until there is nothing left of us.”

“Yes, mein Führer.”

“I am forever grateful for your service, my lad.”