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Hitler reached the passenger side of the plane piloted by General Hans Baur, whose devout loyalty to the Führer had helped his rapid advancement from Hitler’s personal pilot to brigadier general.

“You’ve served with honor, Major,” Hitler told Heinz. “You have your Führer’s undying gratitude.”

Heinz clicked his heels together and saluted. “Heil Hitler!”

With that, Hitler pulled open the passenger door and climbed in.

“Hans,” he sighed. “At last.”

“Sorry, Hans couldn’t make it. My name’s Erich.” Von der Haas pointed his pistol at Hitler’s head. “You and I have a quick matter to discuss.”

122

Reich chancellery, Tiergarten runway

Berlin

HEINZ LINGE BREATHED A sigh of relief as he stood at attention, awaiting the departure of the tiny plane. The din of the raucous engine and the propellers gave him comfort—comfort that he’d successfully carried out his final mission.

Then he felt the gun against his neck.

He closed his eyes as terror filled his chest. This was it. The Soviets would show him no mercy.

Thomas Bauer, his gun on Heinz’s neck, spoke close to his ear. “Don’t make a move!” he shouted. “I’m going to disarm you! If you resist, you won’t have a throat anymore!”

He pulled Heinz’s sidearm from the holster and added it to his collection.

“Hands on your head, drop to your knees, and lie face down on the ground! When you’re on the ground, put your hands behind your back. Understand?”

“What are your intentions?” Heinz shouted.

“My intentions? My intentions are to blow your goddamn head off if you don’t follow my orders!”

“Let the plane go!” Heinz shouted. “You can kill me or do whatever you want, but let the plane go!”

“Why?” Bauer shouted. “Who’s on it?”

Heinz went quiet. And then, as if on cue, so did the plane. The engine cut, dribbling to silence. The propellers slowed to a halt. Heinz deflated.

Other than the occasional rat-a-tat-tat of Russian artillery fire, the road was quiet now.

“Listen, Heinz,” Bauer said, “you do what I say right now or I kill both you and your asshole boss.”

Heinz complied, dropping to his knees, lying face down, tucking his hands behind his back. Bauer bound his hands with rope and pulled the knot taut.

“Where’s Hans?” Heinz called out.

“The pilot? He’s taking a nap right now.”

Bauer walked over to the passenger side of the airplane and opened the cabin door. “Out,” he called to Adolf Hitler, wiggling his fingers forward while training a gun on him.

The Führer stepped down off the plane with some difficulty. He didn’t look well—pale with sickly eyes, stooped over, a tremor in his left hand that looked like palsy. “What is the meaning of this?” he demanded.

Von der Haas came around from the other side of the plane, his gun out, aiming it at Hitler.

“You win the bet, Erich,” said Bauer.

Hitler looked at Bauer, then at von der Haas.