“May I suggest, Herr Reichsprotektor, that I put the film in a still projector? There is a risk that the film might be damaged if I ‘hold’ too long in the motion picture projector.”
“Then do that,” Himmler said. “And tell the supply officer I want a motion picture projector in here that I can have stopped when I want it stopped without ruining the film.”
“Jawohl, Herr Reichsprotektor. It will take me just a second, Sir.”
Himmler picked up the pad of paper and scrawled on it. “I am making a note to myself, Karl, about the Horst Wessel Monument. I don’t think it’s quite what it should be. Maybe Speer will have some ideas.”
“I thought it was very impressive, Herr Reichsprotektor.”
“Not impressive enough,” Himmler said flatly.
There was a blur of images on the screen, and then the screen was full of a close-up of Hauptmann Grüner.
The Stabsscharführer appeared with a small box connected to a cable. “With your permission, Herr Reichsprotektor,” he said, handing it to Himmler. “The top button moves the film rapidly backward; the button below, backward, one frame at a time. The next button moves the film forward, one frame at a time, and the lower button forward rapidly.”
“Thank you, Stabsscharführer,” Himmler said, and began to experiment with the switch. He spent ten minutes looking at the close-ups, and then raised his voice: “How do I turn the projector off?”
The screen went blank and the lights came on.
“All right, Karl, tell me what you saw in the faces.”
“Of the three, von Tresmarck, in my judgment, Herr Reichsprotektor, looked most nervous. Gradny-Sawz slightly less nervous, and von Wachtstein least nervous of all.”
“Nervousness, or guilt?”
“There was, I thought, some guilt on the face of von Wachtstein.”
“And to what do you attribute the guilt?”
“In my judgment, Herr Reichsprotektor, I felt that he holds himself responsible for the death of Oberst Grüner.”
“You think he’s our traitor, then?” Himmler asked evenly.
“No, Sir. What I meant to say is that he and Hauptmann Grüner are close friends, and he was—for lack of a better word—feeling guilty that his friend’s father had died in his company; that he had not been able to prevent it from happening, that he had somehow failed his friend.”
“Not because he was responsible for telling the Americans where the landing was to be made?”
“After speaking with Kapitän de Banderano—”
“Who? Oh, the captain of the Spanish ship?”
“Yes, Sir. Kapitän de Banderano said that he was present on the ship when von Wachtstein learned from Goltz where the landing would be made, and that at the time, Goltz made reference to its being time for von Wachtstein to learn. He said that it would have been absolutely impossible for von Wachtstein to communicate with anyone on shore after he had the information. And he painted quite a picture of von Wachtstein’s courage under fire on the beach itself.”
“I have to tell you, Karl, that I was surprised a moment ago when you said you thought von Wachtstein held himself responsible. I watched his face very carefully. That was not the face of a man who had anything shameful to hide. I could tell by the eyes, the lip movement…even the way he held his shoulders.”
“Everything I have been able to learn about him makes the idea of treason sound unreasonable. General Galland thinks so highly of him that he will go to the Führer if necessary to have him assigned to the ME-262 project. And he is a close friend of Oberstleutnant von Stauffenberg.”
“Who?”
“Oberstleutnant Graf Claus von Stauffenberg, Herr Reichsprotektor. Who was severely wounded in Africa, nearly blinded, and who refused painkilling drugs in the belief they would slow his recovery.”
“I heard about von Stauffenberg,” Himmler said. “Anything else on von Wachtstein?”
“Well, we have a lady, using the word loosely, in Galland’s circle. She got him drunk—”
“A man who has secrets would think long and hard before abusing alcohol, wouldn’t you say, Karl?”
“With that in mind, Herr Reichsprotektor, the lady—her name is Trudi—made sure he got drunk.”