Chapter Seventeen.

No one really took any notice of the anonymous grey BMW with its Soviet Military licence plates as Charlotte drove the short distance to Föhrenweg. Leaving the car in the safe hands of the transport chief; she went up to Washburn's office at the eastern end of the first floor. He sat behind his desk sifting files, and smiled as she entered. She gave him her detailed report and then, dropped the bombshell about the safe house and the intercepted despatch. He nodded.

'No more than I really expected. I'm convinced that Gehlen's Bureau has suckered Uncle Sam. I'm certain Gehlen's strategy is based on a simple premise: the colder the Cold War gets, the more political space there will be for his spooky ex-Nazi outfit and the heirs of Hitler's Third Reich. I've tried telling Washington, but they're so starry-eyed over the crap he's feeding them they just won't listen. Meantime, those goddamned Krauts are feeding us misinformation from the Soviets, and turning over some of my best operatives.

Just as well there was no sensitive information in the despatch. It was merely an instruction for you to come in and collect your Legend. The extraction has been finalised, and Siegel has been accepted as an "Asset." Washington is working flat-out on a positive vetting to get him dual nationality. His explanation for wanting to get out has been verified. He's on the level, Charlotte.'

He opened a drawer in his desk and brought out a thick manila envelope, which he slid across to her.

'Your identity documents, and... This.'

He brought out another buff envelope which he passed to her.

'I have no idea how they managed to know where to deliver it; but, I can only assume it's down to those creeps upstairs. Take a look.'

Charlotte gave him a curious look, and opened the envelope. It contained a set of Military Transit Documents issued by the Soviet Central Kommandatura, Luisenstrasse. There was also a note written in Cyrillic script, which merely said:

"Bog s toboy i s tvoyey damoy, milyy Maksimushka, u tebya ostalis' vernyye druz'ya."... "God be with you and your lady, dear Maximushka, you still have your true friends."

Charlotte glanced at Washburn. He smiled.

'That diminutive on his Christian name has a nice woman's touch, don't you think?'

Charlotte nodded.

'Are they genuine?'

He nodded again.

'Yes, they are. With those documents you can leave Berlin and travel in any direction you so wish. Where is he, by the way?'

She smiled.

'I left him back in the little park behind the safe house in Reichshofer Strasse... just in case.'

Washburn grinned.

'Always the security-conscious one! But, I think the opposition has us sewn up, thanks to those assholes on the top floor. Just as well we're about to pack up our tent and move elsewhere. The transport chief will have your automobile checked over and ready for you when we finish here. I want you, and Siegel away by the end of the week. First stop is Tempelhof for a flight out to Frankfurt. Take care, Charlotte; I'll be in touch when you get there.'

She hesitated.

Washburn frowned.

'Something troubling you, Charlotte? The Legends are watertight, and the extraction details are secure, I can promise you that.'

She shook her head.

'It's not that. It's just that there is a loose end I need to try to tie up before I leave Berlin.'

She then explained to him the reason why she had come back into Berlin during those last days of the Battle. She had been trying to locate a certain artefact... part of the terrible, malignant relic that she had recovered from the Siberian Wastes; and of the dreadful warning she had discovered and translated, both in an ancient volume discovered in Siberia; and inscribed on the artefact, itself. She described the ominous coincidence of its being released inadvertently in a machine-shop in Essen; at almost the same moment in time that the preliminary incident that had sparked these six years of global military conflict had taken place.

Washburn sat silently with a disquisitive expression on his face. Then, he spoke. His tone of voice was dispassionate.

'OK; so what is this artefact, Charlotte?'

She took a deep breath.

'It is a large Garnet gemstone that was once set into the hilt of a broken sword that was grasped by a severed, skeletal hand, and was encased in a block of metal. It was retrieved from the site of the huge explosion at Tunguska, in Central Siberia. I was chosen... because of my gift for deciphering ancient languages... for the expedition arranged by Himmler with the Russians, to establish if the explosion had any significance of Military value. The metal block was inscribed with the words...'

"Behold. Herein, is trammelled The Evil of all time.

Seek not its deliverance, for there is none.

Meddle not with this Abomination,

For it is The Destroyer of Worlds."

Washburn raised an eyebrow.

'So, what became of the stone?'

She sighed.

'As far as I was able to establish; it was presented to Göring as a trinket. When I went to his villa in Leipziger Platz, his old butler told me that Göring had departed to his estate at Karinhalle, and had taken the stone... which he had decided to name "The Red Horseman," with him. I would like your permission to check out Karinhalle on the off-chance that I might get a lead as to the stone's whereabouts.'

Washburn studied her.

'It's a pretty thin chance that it will still be there, Charlotte; the reports say that the entire place was demolished on Göring's orders before he skipped Berlin... and why bother? It's not as though it's of any interest to the agency.'

She shrugged.

'You'll probably think I'm crazy; but it's just something I know I have to do, I have no sensible reason for doing it... it's just an intuition.'

Washburn leaned back in his chair. He rested his chin on his hands and was silent for a little while. Then, he spoke, in a quiet, measured tone.

'I don't think it's crazy, Charlotte. I have seen the SS reports on what they code-named "Aktion Donnerwaffe," and how they tied it in with all manner of old legends. What you probably don't know, is that the Russians made some attempt to decipher the three volumes they still hold at the Minsk University. I also had a transcript of their findings across my desk a while ago.

It didn't escape my notice that they became, and still are, very interested in a certain young German archaeologist named Karyn von Seringen; especially when they discovered that your original name was very similar to the translation they made of the name of a young girl warrior mentioned in the ancient volumes. They translated her name as "Kathalyn Seregon."

He smiled, softly.

'So, perhaps it's not just an intuition?'

He held her in his steady, blue-grey gaze for a few moments. Then, his demeanour changed; and he was Head of Station again.

'You have until the end of the week. Take Siegel with you. The Russian Military Transit Documents will get you safely up to the Schorfheide forest and back again without any trouble from the Soviets. Good hunting, Charlotte; be back here by Saturday for your flight out of Tempelhof.'

Charlotte nodded; picked up the buff envelope, and left his office; wondering just what else Washburn knew about her past existence; and whether there could possibly be anything remotely true in the Russians' conjecture concerning the curious similarity of the two names.

The grey BMW was waiting for her in the compound car park. The BOB transport chief had fitted Berlin civilian licence plates over the Soviet Military ones with self-cutting screws. He grinned, and handed her a screwdriver.

'Just unscrew them before you reach the crossing point Ma'am. These Berlin plates won't give any of our MPs cause to pull you over in our sector. I've checked the motor over, and gassed her up, so you'll be OK.'

Charlotte thanked him, climbed into the driver's seat, and started the motor. The six-cylinder purred sweetly. The transport chief nodded his satisfaction. Engaging first gear, she drove out of the compound, turned right, and accelerated away down Föhrenweg.

Max was sitting patiently on a bench in the little park, gazing at the lake when she arrived. As he approached the car, she slid across into the passenger seat.

'We're going for a drive, Max... Out to the Schorfheide.'

He climbed in and gave her a puzzled look.

'There's nothing there. Why do you want to go all the way out there?'

She smiled.

'This will be my last chance. We're flying out to Frankfurt at the weekend, and I want to check out Göring's old estate at Karinhalle.'

Max stared at her.

'What for? There's nothing there except rubble. Göring had the whole place demolished before he fled to Obersaltzburg.'

She glanced at him.

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'I know; but there is something I have to confirm before we leave Berlin. Now, let's get moving. You know the way out of the city through your sector, and we can decide which route to take when we're clear of the suburbs.'

The drive out through Dahlem, Friedenau, and Schöneberg was without incident. In a narrow side-street just off Yorckstrasse, on the edge of Schöneberg; Max stopped the car and removed the civilian licence plates, He re-fitted the little red pennant to the front fender while Charlotte replaced the paper sticker inscribed with Cyrillic text to the windscreen. Everything looked correct. Drawing a deep breath, Max turned out into Friedrichstrasse and approached the crossing point. The two bored VoPos saw the BMW approaching; stepped out into the road and indicated for them to stop. As Max brought the car to a standstill. The older of the two strolled up to the car and snapped his fingers officiously.

'Papieren.'

Charlotte brought out her Soviet Military pass and held it out to him. His attitude changed instantly. He stepped back; motioned to his colleague to get out of the path of the car, and waved them on, saluting smartly as Max drove into the Soviet sector.

At the end of Friedrichstrasse, Max turned into Unter den Linden and drove east. Beyond Museum Island, the Kurfürstenbrücke had been strengthened with steel beams and was capable of taking light traffic. Max drove carefully across the temporary structure and continued up to Alexanderplatz. The area had been cleared of most of the rubble; many of the damaged buildings had been demolished, and it was now little more than a wide, wind-swept space. Max continued along Konigstrasse to Griefswalder Strasse, which led into Berliner Allee and the suburb of Weissensee. The damage was considerably less out here; the Soviets had advanced on Berlin further to the south, and the bombers had been turning back for home by the time they had reached this area.

Beyond Weissensee, the route led out through Malchow and Lindenberg onto the unfinished Berliner Ring Reichsautobahn at Schwanebeck. As Max turned onto the long ribbon of concrete, Charlotte glanced at him, and folded her map away.

'We have a choice. We can follow the Bäderstrasse... the old Prenzlauer Chaussee Reichsstrassen through Wandlitz, Klosterfelde, and Zerpenscheuse; and then, from Schorfheide to Döllner Heide; or, we can go straight up the Berlin-Stettin Reichsautobahn and turn off at Joachimsthal. It all depends if you fancy the fast route or the pretty one.'

Max grinned.

'Who needs pretty scenery? If I want pretty, I just have to look to my right... at you. We'll take the fast route.'

Turning onto the access road north, he accelerated to eighty Km/h. The Reichsautobahn ran relatively flat and straight through farmland for the first five kilometres, and to the right was a pleasant view of the old town of Bernau. Three-and-a half-kilometres farther on, was the exit to the old town. Two kilometres further, and the forests began to close in on either side of the carriageway. The Reichsautobahn was deserted except for the odd truck hauling one, or sometimes two trailers. Max increased the speed of the car; staying in the outer lane at one-hundred-and-ten Km/h through the beautiful, undulating countryside dotted with lakes in the rich forests of northern Brandenburg.

Passing the exit to Wandlitz, the route curved to the north-east surrounded by beech forest that glowed golden in the autumn sun. The next landmark was the small bridge over the upper end of the Obersee; a little to the west of Lanke. Just beyond, was the exit to the village. The Reichsautobahn straightened again for a lengthy run through the forest that was now becoming densely wooded with pine trees. Max glanced at Charlotte.

'So, what exactly are you looking for? You must remember that in 1945, with the Red Army closing in form the east, Göring finished packing up at Karinhalle, loading at least twenty-four trucks with files and equipment, plus the treasures that had not been included in the two trainloads he had already sent south to his Landhaus in Berchtesgaden. Meanwhile, Karinhalle had been completely mined with demolition charges by a Pioneer contingent of the Wachbataillon of the Hermann Göring Regiment which was then surrounding and guarding the estate. Göring had ordered that nothing was to be left standing. The remaining members of staff at Karinhalle were told that they could take anything that they wanted before the complex was blown up. However, they had to sign for each item. The demolition took place the day after Göring had departed, and the entire complex was demolished. Now; if the list of what was taken by whom, still exists; we may be able to track down this artefact that you are seeking.'

She was silent for a few moments.

'What are the chances of the list still being somewhere in the area?'

He shrugged.

'I don't know; but I do know that there was only one person who had access to Göring's personal safe where his most valuable jewellery and treasured property was kept; and that was the Hausmeister of Karinhalle... Richard Schulz. If we can trace him, we might get lucky.'

The Reichsautobahn was curving gently to the left. The forest seemed to be thinning slightly as they crossed the wide, Eberswälde valley. Out to the right, was an airfield, occupied by fighter aircraft emblazoned with the Soviet Red Star. This was Flugplatz Finow; originally a Luftwaffe Base, and now taken over by a Soviet Fighter Regiment. Beyond Eberswälde, the Reichsautobahn rose slightly to cross the Finowkanal, and one and a half kilometres further on to the north; the Hohenzollernkanal.

The bridge over the Hohenzollernkanal had been partially re-built after the retreating German demolition of 1945. A single carriageway now crossed over the canal, and was presently occupied by a large Hanomag six-wheeled truck towing two trailers, which approached them at a cautious pace.

As Max pulled in to allow it to pass, Charlotte studied the landscape. The Schorfheide, a vast wilderness that stretched from the old Polish frontier in the east almost to the shores of the Baltic in the north, stretched out before her. The western fringes of Göring's former estate couldn't be too far now. The big Hanomag cleared the bridge and Max drove on through an open stretch of farmland and small woods which continued to flank the dead-straight concrete ribbon for some twelve kilometres, until they came to the Kleiner Buckowsee on their left, and the Grosser Buckowsee on their right. Both lakes were partially obscured by stands of trees, and a little farther on were the entry and exit roads to Werbellinsee.

Charlotte studied the map she had found in the glove box. It looked as though they were now only about ten kilometres from the exit down to Joachimsthal. This appeared to be the place where they would leave the Reichsautobahn, to begin heading west towards the location of Karinhalle. She folded the map and turned to Max.

'Perhaps we could stop and have a coffee somewhere?'

He nodded, and began to slow the BMW as the Joachimsthal exit off the Reichsautobahn came into view.

Four kilometres along the road from the Reichsautobahn, they came into the little village of Grimnitz. Out to the right-hand side, they saw the two-kilometres-wide, five-kilometres-long Grimnitzsee. Less than a kilometre farther along the road, and they came into Joachimsthal. They found a small café in the main street. Entering, they saw that they were the only customers. The proprietor, a sturdy, cheery woman in her late fifties bustled over to their table. She smiled; an open, welcoming smile.

'Guten Morgen. Was kann ich für Dich tun"?..."Good morning. What can I do for you?'

Charlotte returned her smile.

"Zwei Kaffee bitte"…'Two Coffees, please.'

When she returned with the coffee; Charlotte asked,

'Where is Karinhalle?'

The woman replied,

'Drive on along this road to Friedrichswalde. Turn left at the station... then, take the right fork in the road... it's about five-and-a-half kilometres... but there's nothing much left standing.'

Charlotte nodded, and thanked her. Opening the map, she found the turning, and traced the road to the left of the church that ran west for almost one and three-quarter kilometres then disappeared into the tree line. According to the scale of the map, the junction was just over a kilometre from the southern edge of the village.

Finishing their coffee; Charlotte and Max thanked the cafe proprietress and returned to the car. Folding the map so that the last section of the route was uppermost, Max started the motor and drove on out of Joachimsthal towards Friedrichswalde on the old Landstrasse through another thick area of forest. Ahead the oily asphalt ribbon glittered dead straight for almost four kilometres through the brooding, encroaching pine trees. Max increased speed until the BMW was howling along at one-hundred-and-twenty Km/h. The road curved gently to the right. Max eased off as the car drifted slightly into the curve. Six-hundred-metres ahead, the forest ended and they were out of the green tunnel into bright sunlight and farming land once again.

Half-a-kilometre ahead, the road surface changed as it entered Friedrichswalde. Max slowed as he entered the village. It appeared that the houses were all built along the single straight main street. There was a turning to the left coming up... but no church. He continued along the main street. It all seemed very quiet. They hadn't met another vehicle since they had left Joachimsthal; but it was a farming community; the locals were probably out on the land, occupied with whatever farmers did all day. About half-a-kilometre ahead, they suddenly saw the church; a sturdy, red-brick affair with a tower surmounted by a tapering square spire. A narrow cobbled road led off to the left, immediately before the church grounds. Max turned the BMW onto the cobbles and continued on down to where the road crossed the railway track. The actual station was a little way to the north of the point where the road crossed the tracks. This would have been the place that Göring would have used when he travelled to Karinhalle by his private train.

The cobbled road continued, dead-straight for one-and-a-half kilometres, then disappeared into the dark pine forests. Max took it slowly; the BMW's suspension creaked and complained as it tried to smooth out the vibration from the wheels running over the cobbles. The road wound through the forest for some two and a half kilometres; passing the remains of the gate to the inner "Sperrgebiet"... the original "Restricted area;" until, at last, around the final right-hand bend, the main entrance of Karinhalle came into view.

Two intact Guardhouses flanked the cobbled road; and a little farther on... the two Torwärterhäuser... the stone gate-house sentry posts, still watched over the entrance to what had once been Hermann Göring's Karinhalle Estate. The two gate-houses still bore Göring's Reichsmarschall's crest insignia carved into their impassive stone faces above their empty, arched portals; and beyond them, now stretched the remains of the formal, tree-lined, one-kilometre-long drive.

Max drove onto the drive and began the slow progression towards the site of Göring's country residence. The cobbled drive was uneven and the scars from Russian tank tracks were still plainly visible. Two-hundred-metres from the gate-houses were the remains of a large circular area with vague roadways leading off the left and right of the main drive. Beyond this point, the drive continued between rows of large chestnut trees. At some point in time, there had been a central island in the drive, but now, only the left-hand section of the roadway remained. Four-hundred-metres further to the west, and the drive opened out into a large rectangle. There were several Soviet trucks parked here, and, as the BMW approached; a Russian soldier, complete with machine-gun held across his chest, stepped out and signalled them to stop. Glancing around; Charlotte saw that there were at least thirty soldiers moving amongst the rubble. The only recognisable part of Karinhalle were the stunted remains of the once-towering Hauptportal... the main entrance; which still bore Göring's Coat of Arms above its battered pediment.

Charlotte produced her Soviet Military identity card. She watched the young soldier's face tighten as he read the ominous words: Soviet Central Kommandatura, Luisenstrasse. Berlin... SMERSH! In perfect Moscow Standard Russian, she asked him who was in command. He pointed to a young Captain who was overseeing the loading of several large, dressed stone blocks onto one of the trucks. She nodded, and stepped out of the car, followed by Max. Carefully picking their way over the shattered masonry, they approached the officer, who turned with an officious look on his face; and opened his mouth, about to snap some challenge at them. She flashed her identity card, and he closed his mouth somewhat quicker than he had opened it. Max produced his identity document, and the young Captain's officious attitude evaporated. A Ministry of State Security Investigator out of Luisenstrasse, and a Lieutenant-Colonel from Karlshorst? What the hell did they want?

Charlotte spoke first. They were investigating the ongoing progress of the searching and salvage on the site. During the last four years, the usable stone was being removed for utilisation in other buildings in the area, and the Military were still systematically scouring the estate and surrounding villages in search of hidden treasures from Göring's Art collection. The art treasures too bulky to evacuate had allegedly been carried out onto the heath and buried by troops of the Hermann Göring Panzer Corps, with their positions marked on a so-far, unrecovered map. Had anything of importance been uncovered during this latest operation? Moscow was becoming impatient for a result.

The Captain shook his head. Nothing had been recovered other than undamaged dressed stone such as that which they were at present loading. Max joined in. There was a rumour that the remaining staff at Karinhalle were told that they could take anything that they wanted before the complex was demolished. However, they had to sign for each item. Had anything been heard of this supposed list during the operations here? The young Captain shook his head again. Then he paused, and turned to Charlotte.

'Comrade Investigator; about eighteen months ago, an ammunition box was found in the lower bunker. It contained only papers and ledgers. It was removed to the office of the District Deputy at Joachimsthal with a view to sorting them and passing any important ones on to Berlin. They are probably still there; the first few they checked were only household accounts and the like.'

Charlotte glanced at Max. His face was impassive. The young Captain continued.

'Please be careful if you decide to inspect the ruins. During this, and previous operations; we have discovered several unexploded Teller mines left over from the demolitions lying about in the rubble.'

Max shrugged and glanced at Charlotte,

'There seems to be little purpose in wandering around these ruins, Comrade Investigator. Thank you for your information, Captain; and good fortune in your searching.'

As they returned to the car, Max glanced at Charlotte.

'Now, let's see if we can find this District Deputy in Joachimsthal.'