Sleeper Agent by Ib Melchior Page B

Standartenführer Steinmetz, Wolfgang, gegeben . . .
    The Reichsleiter has given SS Colonel Steinmetz, Wolfgang, the following order:
    1. Col. Steinmetz is hereby relieved of all further Gestapo and/or SS duties. The Colonel will from above date be responsible to the below signed only.
    Heil Hitler!
    Bormann
    Tom reread the document. He felt a hell of a lot better. At least they didn’t come away completely empty handed. Something big was up!
    He glanced at the young sergeant. Not a total loss after all, he thought. He does have powers of observation. And he can use them. Good man—once he gets a little experience under his ammo belt. He felt quite benevolent toward the young noncom. It was easier to overlook his earlier fuck-up now that things were looking up.
    He examined the document in his hand once more. “Why the hell didn’t he burn the damned thing?” he thought aloud.
    “He probably couldn’t,” Rosenfeld ventured.
    “Couldn’t?” Tom looked at him.
    “When I saw him on the street, sir,” Rosenfeld explained, “he was looking for a match to light one of his butts.” He grinned. “He was fresh out!”
    Tom nodded. He knew it. The guy is okay. Knows how to observe. How to put two and two together.
    “For the want of a match . . . Eh, what, Richard?”
    Rosenfeld looked puzzled. What the hell was that supposed to mean?
    Tom read the document once more. At the bottom of it was a referral indicator: “ Betr: KOKON.” He stared at the letters: K-O-K-O-N.
    What the hell did that mean? Had to be initials. Like NSDAP. Or CIC, for that matter. The letters meant nothing to him. He’d never run across them before—in that context. He had no idea what they could stand for.
    Of course, they did form a word. A German word: Kokon. The word for “cocoon.” It meant nothing.
    C-O-C-O-O-N . . .
    It was well past midnight, but Obersturmführer Rudolf Kessler could not sleep.
    Even deep in the bowels of the earth the crashing thunder of the Russian artillery barrages sporadically pounding the city above could not be escaped. But that was not what kept Rudi awake.
    It was KOKON.
    He had glimpsed the word written on his Personalbogen, when Reichsleiter Bormann had been studying it. He had read it upside down, as he had been trained to do. It had been automatic. He had wondered what it meant. Now he knew!
    His mind was seething with the fantastic implications of the plans, the bold ingenuity of the momentous project he’d been made privy to.
    His briefing was progressing slowly in the hectic atmosphere of the Führerbunker. Bormann was constantly in demand, and the Reichsleiter insisted on briefing Rudi personally. No detail could be wrong. No possibility overlooked.
    There was a constant coming and going of some of the most important personalities in the Third Reich. Armament Minister Albert Speer had arrived—and left early that morning, looking grim and drawn. Top Wehrmacht and SS officers had departed to conduct relief operations from outside the beleaguered city.
    Rudi did not much care for life in the bunker. There was an inescapable air of tension and strain. But not the stimulating tension born of excitement and challenge. It made him feel uneasy. The only person who had time to be pleasant and cheerful was Fräulein Eva Braun. He liked her.
    He had also actually seen the Führer himself. Adolf Hitler. But he didn’t like to think about it. He had been deeply shocked. The Führer had looked old. Gray and weakened. His eyes burning with a deep inner agony. He seemed a broken man. Rudi had been profoundly moved. His Führer. Slowly giving his very life for his people. Against overwhelming odds.
    Even some of his closest comrades apparently had betrayed him.
    Rudi had overheard a conversation between Bormann’s aide, Standartenführer Zander, and the secretary, Fräulein Krueger, that Reichsmarschall Göring was a traitor to his Führer and his country.
    Bormann himself had spent much feverish time in trying