Chapter 69: The Snake Cave
On Unter den Linden, the accumulation of snow and the sudden drop in temperature had turned the normally orderly avenue into a rare snarl of congestion.
Traffic policemen in bright uniforms wove through the jammed vehicles, signaling drivers forward one by one.
But one officer was different.
The tall traffic policeman's eyes kept drifting over the passing cars, as though he were searching for something rather than directing traffic.
Soon, he found it.
After exchanging a subtle look with the traffic captain, he pulled a small notebook from his pocket, recorded the exact time Mayor Bogg's car turned back, then mounted his bicycle and rode hard toward the Police Bar.
Inside the mayor's car, Bogg was still lost in the echoes of the discussion from earlier that evening. He never noticed the insignificant figure who had just slipped away from beside his window.
On the other side of the city, in the inner office on the second floor of the Police Bar, a round table had become the center of a gathering far more dangerous than any parliament debate.
The irregularities in the names on the list had made Joseph intensely vigilant.
Without Jörg, their central pillar, most of the pressure had fallen squarely onto his shoulders. For the past two days, sleep had become a luxury. Even allowing himself to close his eyes for a moment had felt like indulgence.
Cardolan and Guderian sat beside him, both rigid and silent, as though awaiting the judgment of apostles on the final day.
Not long after, a knock sounded at the door.
Vito stepped inside, still in his police chief's uniform. His expression was so cold that he did not need to speak for the room to understand the answer.
Berlin, and perhaps all of Germany, was about to lose the fragile political calm it had only just regained.
"Most of the people on the list went out tonight," Vito said. "According to the observations of patrol officers at several intersections, their cars all traveled along highly similar routes. Every one of them ended up heading for the same suburban location."
He paused, then added in a lower voice:
"Based on our earlier investigation, that place is very likely Drew's private hunting residence. An old Army veteran."
He loosened his collar. His face was faintly flushed, though it was hard to tell whether the color came from tension or excitement.
"I have every reason to suspect they are preparing to move against Jörg."
Guderian spoke first.
"Should we notify Mr. Ebert, Marshal Hindenburg, and Commander in Chief Seckt?"
"No," Joseph answered at once. "Assume the worst."
He pressed both hands against the table.
"First, confirm Hindenburg's location. The President has barely appeared for the past two days. I have a bad feeling about that. As for Seckt…"
He stopped, then finished grimly.
"The Leader made his position clear. Seckt is not trustworthy. We need to make military preparations."
"Further details can wait until Jörg returns."
Cardolan picked up where Joseph left off.
"But what if they move before the master gets back?"
The moment the question was spoken aloud, Joseph turned his head, his gaze settling fully on the silent Guderian.
Guderian understood at once.
"I will lead troops to secure the General Staff Headquarters," he said. "But I need to make one thing clear in advance. There is still a rapid reaction force in Berlin, along with a former Royal Cavalry Regiment. It will take time for the First Armored Division to enter the capital, and during that gap…"
"Leave that to me," Vito cut in.
"If they want to move, I will impose a citywide curfew immediately and have people seize the broadcasting station at the same time. More than half of Berlin's police can be on the streets within hours, helmets on, submachine guns in hand."
His voice was utterly certain.
"No one will stop them. The police listen only to the Progress Party, only to Mr. Jörg's orders."
Joseph nodded slowly.
"If they dare make their move while the Leader is still abroad, then this becomes the emergency response plan. If Jörg returns before that, then all actions are to follow his orders. That remains our highest priority. Understood?"
"Understood."
"Understood."
"Understood."
The three replies came one after another.
Joseph rose, took the radio contact address Jörg had given him from his pocket, and strode out of the office flanked by two personal guards. His destination was the radio station.
Guderian followed close behind.
Soon, only Cardolan and Vito remained.
Cardolan stared at him for several long seconds.
Vito was about to ask what was wrong when Cardolan handed him a check and a separate slip of paper covered in addresses.
"This is this year's police welfare fund from the Progress Party," Cardolan said. "The other sheet contains the addresses of several major merchants and landowners in Berlin. If the situation turns critical, secure them first. They control far more people than they appear to."
Vito nodded, accepted both items, and gave Cardolan a firm pat on the shoulder.
"I will."
He turned to leave, then stopped at the door.
"Goodbye, Cardolan."
"Goodbye."
Once everyone had gone, the officer waiting outside finally stepped in and asked in a low voice,
"Chief Vito, we still have a considerable number of heavy machine guns and grenades left over from the firearms seizures. Should we…"
"Distribute them to the various police stations," Vito said immediately. "And make sure the matter remains confidential."
He lit a cigarette and looked out at the thick snow beyond the window.
"Berlin is about to change."
A ribbon of smoke escaped from between his lips.
"I only hope it becomes a glorious revolution, not a change written in blood and steel."
Far to the north, Oslo remained blissfully unaware of the tension gathering in Berlin.
At the German diplomatic consulate, there was no sign that anyone had learned of President Ebert's grave illness. A diplomatic reception was in full swing in the center of the hall.
Young dancers in white stockings and short skirts moved like swans gliding across an icy lake, their lithe figures and carefully trained elegance displayed for the hall's distinguished guests.
Not far away, Jörg stood quietly appreciating the performance.
Seeing the interest in his eyes, Mandor smiled and asked with knowing amusement,
"Which one has caught your eye? As a man with experience, let me warn you, Jörg, always take precautions. Otherwise you will find yourself in trouble, both in private life and in politics."
Realizing Mandor had entirely misunderstood him, Jörg shook his head, took a sip of red wine, and replied with a faint smile,
"Do you know me so little, Herr Minister? I am only appreciating art."
He raised his glass toward the dancers before letting his gaze drift away.
"There is still a week left before Norway's invitation ends," Mandor continued. "Are you truly not returning to Germany for Christmas? I do wonder which dancer in Moscow has captured your heart so completely."
"No dancer, no matter how beautiful, can compete with politics," Jörg answered. "Besides, Herr Mandor, I still have too many matters to settle in Soviet Russia regarding the Army."
"So you say."
Mandor had only just opened his mouth to continue when footsteps from behind made Jörg's relaxed expression sharpen instantly.
Ethan approached quickly and bent to speak into his ear.
"Sir, there is a telegram from Berlin. I think you need to read it."
Jörg took the telegram and read it line by line.
When he finished, a cold sneer rose at the corner of his mouth before he folded it away.
"Herr Mandor," he said evenly, "I may have to return early. I need to trouble you with something."
From the change in Jörg's expression alone, Mandor immediately understood that the matter was serious.
"What is it?"
"Inform Berlin that the Soviet Russia leg of the trip has been extended. Go to Moscow and deliver my greetings to Mr. Stalin personally."
Mandor frowned.
"Jörg… you are not going to Moscow after all?"
Jörg shook his head.
"Plans never keep pace with reality, Herr Mandor. I may have to return to Berlin ahead of schedule. Keep my whereabouts secret and behave as though I am still with the delegation. If anyone asks to see me, tell them I am ill."
He looked toward the dancers once more, but there was no appreciation left in his eyes now.
Only calculation. Only urgency.
In Berlin, the snakes had already begun to gather.
.....
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