Last Flight to Stalingrad by Graham Hurley (novels to read .txt) 📕

He’s been through one war and he’s helping to win the next. Hitler’s the same. It takes a lot to frighten men like that.’

‘And Goebbels?’

‘Goebbels is clever. In the company he keeps, that can be a handicap. He’s also insatiable, just like the rest of them. He wants more and more. Of everything. By and large that seems to work. He reads this war like no one else but the one thing he can never guarantee is a good night’s sleep.’

‘Maybe Lida gave him that.’

‘Maybe she did. If he could put her in a bottle, a spoonful a day after meals, I’m sure he would. In the meantime, she’s a couple of countries away and all he’s left with are his memories.’

‘Hence your phone call?’

‘Yes. He wants me to see her, track her down, meet her, talk to her.’

‘Get her back?’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Then what?’

Hedvika was waiting for an answer, tapping her perfect fingernails on the zinc-topped table. In these situations, as he remembered far too late, she could be remarkably shrewd. In bed, in the middle of a particularly vigorous session, she’d once told him she could read him like a book. You think you can hide from me, she’d said. Wrong.

‘Well?’

‘I just need a conversation. An address? Maybe a phone number? That would be kind.’

‘And if she says no?’

‘She won’t.’

‘How can you be sure?’

‘She just won’t. When did I ever lie to you?’

‘All the time, but we both know that. Your little friend leaves nothing to chance. I’ve watched him, remember. I’ve been there. He was often on set in Berlin. He wanted to control every detail. The way you delivered a particular line? What the make-up people had done to your eyebrows? How he’d rescued the fourth version of a shit script and turned it into a proper movie? He’s like that bloody cat. He can’t help himself. He has to mark his territory. As poor Lida found out.’

Nehmann resisted applauding. This was exactly the Goebbels he knew – thin-skinned, hopelessly ambitious, but a slave to his own neuroses.

‘He thinks no one likes him,’ Nehmann said. ‘He’s found success beyond his wildest dreams. He’s been clever with money. He owns far more houses than he needs. He drives the fastest cars. He’s got a couple of boats on the lake. Hitler loves his wife, adores his children. He can snap his fingers and get on a plane and thousands of people will be waiting in some hall in God knows which shitty little town to listen to his every word. But it’s still the same face in the mirror every morning. And he knows nothing will ever change that.’

Hedvika reached for her glass. They were both drinking Campari and soda, an aperitif before the waiter appeared with their order.

‘He’ll have written her a letter.’ Hedvika was running her fingertip around the rim of the glass. ‘And the man probably trusts no one else in the world to deliver it.’ She looked up. ‘Don’t bother denying it. Just nod.’

*

They were back in the Alla Vite Dorata, back in bed. Hedvika was still straddling him, moving very slowly as he wilted inside her. Afternoon sunshine flooded in through the window and of the cat there was no sign. Heaven, Nehmann decided, tasted of osso buco, lightly flavoured with parsley and thin splinters of garlic.

‘I think I’m in love.’ He closed his eyes. ‘Did I mention that?’

‘Name?’

‘Maria.’

‘Italian?’

‘Austrian. She says.’

‘You don’t believe her?’

‘I don’t know. And that makes her even more promising. She plays the piano like an angel. You can’t fake that.’

‘And she’s good at this, too?’ Hedvika was smiling.

‘Very. You can’t fake that, either.’

‘Lucky you, then.’

Nehmann nodded. Hedvika’s bluntness had limited appeal but at least she was honest.

‘It’s in my jacket.’ He nodded down at the pile of discarded clothing on the bare boards.

‘Goebbels’ little missive?’

‘Yes.’

‘You agree we should open it?’

‘I’m not sure.’

‘Another envelope for afterwards? White? Standard size? That shouldn’t be a problem.’

‘You’re right.’

‘So, what’s stopping you? We open the envelope. Then we read whatever’s inside.’

‘Exactly. And afterwards?’

‘And afterwards you get on the train and take it to Rome. That’s where you’ll find Baarova. She has an apartment near the Piazza Navona. She’s living alone. She’s had some movie offers from Italian studios. You apologise for the intrusion. You introduce yourself. You present the great man’s compliments. And then you give her the letter.’

‘And leave?’

‘Of course. Unless you can’t resist another Czech actress. She has the most wonderful mouth, incidentally. My guess is that Goebbels can’t leave that memory alone. Have you ever met Frau Goebbels? The sainted Magda?’

‘Many times.’

‘And?’

‘Great presence.’

‘And her mouth?’

‘Stern. Pursed. The tightest lips.’

‘Exactly. Had she been born in Prague, maybe his marriage would have worked out, ja?’

She slipped free and then leaned forward. Nehmann could smell the Valpolicella on her breath.

‘You want me to get the letter?’ She kissed him. ‘Or will you?’

7

MARIUPOL, UKRAINE, 9 AUGUST 1942

News that Army Group ‘A’ had taken the oil wells at Maikop reached Wolfram von Richthofen’s headquarters the same day. When the Generaloberst called for maps, Messner obliged within minutes. Richthofen was on the phone to Jeschonnek, the Luftwaffe’s Chief of Staff. He was at the Führer headquarters at Vinnitsa with Goering and Hitler. When Hitler was especially pleased, he had a habit of performing a little impromptu jig. This afternoon, according to the Luftwaffe’sChief of Staff, the jig was in danger of becoming a full-blown waltz.

Only yesterday, General Paulus – still ambling far too slowly towards Stalingrad – had managed to encircle major Soviet formations at Kalach. Army Group ‘B’ had seized 50,000 prisoners and more than a thousand tanks, and Richthofen had only just returned in his tiny Storch. From two thousand metres, he said, he’d had a perfect view of Fliegerkorps VIII’s Stukas and other close-support aircraft cleaning out the pocket. This news, too, had made the Führer dance.

Now, Messner had spread the campaign map on the big conference table that dominated Richthofen’s office. Maikop and the oil wells lay in the foothills of the northern