Dennis Wheatley - Faked Passports

Dennis Wheatley

Faked Passports

AUTHOR'S NOTE.-Gregory Sallust, who appears in this book, also appears in Black August, but that story Was set in an undated future so, chronologically, this book should be considered as preceding Black August, although the two have no relation whatsoever except in that he appears in both.

With regard to the present series, the sequence of titles is as follows: -The Scarlet impostor, Faked Passports, The Black Baroness, V for Vengeance, and Come Into my Parlour. Each volume is a complete story in itself, but the series covers Gregory's activities from September the 3rd, 1939 to December the 12th, 1941. Against an unbroken background incorporating all the principal events of the first two and a quarter years of the Second World War.

Gregory also appears in Contraband, an international smuggling story of 1937, and The Island Where Time Stands Still, an adventure in the South Seas and Communist China during the year 1954.

Chapter I

The Backwash of the Bomb

WHEN the first glimmerings of returning consciousness stirred Gregory Sallust's brain the aeroplane was thousands of feet above Northern Germany. He was slumped forward in the bucket seat behind the pilot and for a moment he did not know where he was or what had happened to him. With an effort he raised his hand towards his aching head. The hand hovered uncertainly for a second on a level with his lowered chin; then the plane bumped slightly, jerking him a little, so that the feeble movement was checked and his arm flopped inwards towards his body. His greatcoat had fallen open and his fingers came in contact with the Iron Cross that General Count von Pleisen had pinned upon his breast. It was sticky with the half congealed blood that had trickled over it from the wound in his shoulder. As his fingers closed over the decoration full consciousness flooded back to him.

It was the night of November the 8th, 39 and after many weary weeks of desperate hazard and anxiety, pitting his wits against the agents of the Gestapo in war time London, Paris, Holland and Germany, he had that evening at last succeeded in carrying out the immensely important secret mission which had been entrusted to him. As a result of his work the German Army leaders had risen in a determined attempt to throw off the Nazi yoke and create a new, free Germany with which the Democracies might conclude an honourable peace.

There flashed back into Gregory's mind the incredible scene of bloodshed and carnage at which he had been present only a few hours before, when Count von Pleisen. the Military Governor of Berlin, had led his three hundred officers into the great Banqueting Room of the Hotel Adlon to arrest the Sons of Siegfried, a dining club used as cover by the Inner Gestapo, who were holding their monthly meeting there behind closed doors.

It had been hell incarnate. Six hundred desperate men in one vast room and every one of them blazing away with an automatic or sub machine gun. Some of the Gestapo men had reached the telephones and had warned their Headquarters, the Brown Shirt barracks and other Nazi centres. The Generals had seized the Central Telephone Exchange and the Broadcasting Station. The people had risen and were lynching isolated Nazis in the streets. Artillery had been brought into action and shells were blasting the Nazi strongholds. But the thousands of S.S. and S.A. men had sallied out to give battle and when Gregory left Berlin they still held the central square mile of the city anti, from what little he could gather, certain outlying areas as well.

In Munich that night Hitler and many of his principal lieutenants had attended the Anniversary Celebrations of their early Putsch with the Nazi Old Guard in the Buergerbrau Keller. As the Army chiefs who had planned the revolt could not be in Berlin and Munich on the same night, and considered it more important to secure the Capital, von Pleisen had reluctantly consented to the placing of a bomb to destroy the Fuehrer. But just before Gregory staggered out of the Adlon news had come through that Hitler and his personal entourage had left the meeting much earlier than had been expected, so although the bomb had gone off and had wrecked the cellar, killing many of its occupants, he had escaped and was reported to be organizing counter measures from his special train.

Now the die was cast it was impossible to foretell which side would gain the upper hand. With their Artillery and tanks the Generals might succeed in overcoming the thirty thousand armed Nazis who held Berlin for Hitler and raising the Flag of Freedom there; but what of the rest of the country?

As Hitler was still alive and at large the air must be quivering with urgent orders to his Gauleiters and Party Chiefs in every corner of the Reich, instructing them to arrest all suspects, to shoot on sight and to exercise the sternest possible repressive measures against all dangerous elements. Those Nazi Party men would act with utter disregard for life or any human sentiment. They had climbed to power by such relentless methods and they would certainly stick at nothing now, knowing that their own lives depended upon the suppression of the rebellion.

The plane roared on into the blackness of the night. Gregory had no memory of having boarded it at the secret landing ground some fifteen miles outside Berlin but he knew that the figure silhouetted against the lights of the dash board was Flight Lieutenant Freddie Charlton, who had flown him to another secret landing ground north west of Cologne just a week after the outbreak of war. Fate had ordained that Charlton should also be the pilot on duty that night outside Berlin, standing by to take any British secret agent who needed his services on the long flight home. With a fresh effort Gregory jerked up his head. The sudden movement caused a stab of pain from thee wound in his shoulder and he gave a low moan.

"So you've come round?" said Charlton, turning his head.

"Yes," Gregory muttered. "I suppose I fainted from loss of blood soon after we reached the farm house."

"That's it; and we didn't even try to bring you round. The farmer and I wanted to bathe and bandage that wound of yours but the young woman who was with you wouldn't let us. You were all for taking her back to England with you but she wouldn't go, so you said that in that case you were damned if you'd go either."

"Oh God I Erika-Erika " Gregory moaned as the airman went on:

"Apparently she felt that she'd never be able to make you leave her once you came round again and she was desperately anxious to have you safely out of it. She insisted that we should bung you in the plane and that I should get off with you while you were still unconscious."

Gregory lurched forward. "Look here, Charlton," he said thickly, "you've got to turn round and take me back. I'm not going home yet I can't. You must find that farm again and land me. Understand?"

"Sorry; can't be done," Freddie called back with boyish cheerfulness. "I'm the captain of this bus and you're only a passenger. If you've got any complaints you can make them when we land at Heston early in the morning."

"Now, listen." Gregory laid his good hand on Charlton's shoulder. "That girl we left is Erika won Epp or, to give her- her married name, the Countess won Osterberg. She's the grandest, bravest thing that ever walked, as well as the loveliest, and I'm not leaving her in the lurch. It's unthinkable! "

"She'll be all right; she said so."

"She won't. You don't understand. She's won Pleisen's niece and she was up to her neck in the conspiracy. If it hadn't been for her I would never have been able to deliver a letter from the Allied statesmen, guaranteeing Germany an honourable peace and a new deal if the Generals would out Hitler and his thugs. Just think."