Chapter 70: The Curtain Rises
A few days later, at Hamburg Port, a cruise ship flying the Norwegian flag slowly docked.
Among the stream of disembarking passengers, one young man kept his face hidden behind the raised collar of his coat. Around him moved several burly men whose sharp eyes swept the surroundings without pause, their heavy waists hinting at concealed weapons beneath their clothes.
The moment the group stepped off the ship, an Imperial Eagle rolled up to meet them.
The rear door swung open, revealing Joseph's haggard face.
"Leader, they still haven't made a move. What should we do? Should we release the news that you've returned?"
Jörg did not answer any of Joseph's rapid fire questions.
He lit a cigarette. Bluish gray smoke drifted lazily out through the crack in the car window.
"No hurry," he said at last. "Has the news of the President's serious illness still not been made public?"
"No."
At that reply, a trace of gloom flashed through Jörg's eyes.
Christmas was only three days away. Yet there had been no public update on the President for over a week. That could only mean one thing. Drew had found a way to suppress the news.
He really had prepared his move well.
If Jörg had not left behind contingency plans before leaving Germany, this would have been a true ambush.
But there were no ifs in politics.
The moment he returned, the outcome was already decided. What remained now was only the performance, and he intended to make it memorable.
"I understand."
He tapped ash from the end of his cigarette.
"Do not reveal that I'm back. Also, write a letter to Mr. Hindenburg in my name. Tell him that I have returned, and inform him of the suspicion that Seckt is about to assume office."
"Yes, Leader. But what if Mr. Hindenburg is involved as well? After all, Mr. Seckt also…"
Looking at Joseph's weary expression, Jörg smiled faintly and shook his head.
"Do not be so nervous, Joseph. Mr. Hindenburg may be wary of me and of the Progress Party. He may even suppress me when necessary. But he would never use this method to drive me out."
He leaned back into the leather seat.
"That is not because I once saved him. It is because he understands perfectly well that I am his representative within the Army."
"I am an extension of his political power. In other words, he and I are bound together. Mr. Seckt may not even know what his old friend is planning."
That explanation only left Joseph more confused.
If Seckt did not know either, then why not simply inform him directly?
The answer appeared in Jörg's quiet chuckle.
Joseph's eyes widened slightly.
The Leader intended to use this incident to advance even further.
If it succeeded…
Commander in Chief of the Reichswehr at twenty five.
That was no longer a rise. It was ascent at the speed of a shell.
Seeing Joseph understood, Jörg continued,
"Your thinking isn't wrong. But you still need to think deeper. Arrange another car. It will take me back to Berlin, to the First Armored Division garrison."
He looked out through the window at the streets rushing by and murmured in a voice so soft it was almost swallowed by the engine.
"Forgive me, Mr. Seckt. Reform cannot be gentle. Do not blame me."
Meanwhile, in Munich, Hindenburg was spending a rare quiet day at his country estate.
He turned the newspaper, took a sip of black tea, and asked the secretary who handled his daily affairs,
"Has anything notable happened recently?"
The secretary reported every matter in order.
"There is news from Berlin. The President has been ill recently and is undergoing treatment in hospital. His duties have temporarily been taken over by Chancellor Wilhelm Marx."
"Which hospital?"
Hindenburg frowned at once.
As far as he knew, Ebert was a workaholic no less stubborn than Jörg. Unless the situation was truly serious, he would never abandon work, not even during Christmas.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Hindenburg. The telegram did not specify. It only said that, for reasons of safety and health, the President is temporarily not receiving visitors."
"Not receiving visitors?"
Hindenburg paused, but at first he did not read too much into it.
"What is the next item?"
"It concerns Mr. Cardolan, one of Mr. Jörg's people. He asked whether you were currently in Berlin. That message came a few days ago. Yesterday, he even sent a handwritten letter."
Asked whether I was in Berlin?
The phrasing immediately made Hindenburg uneasy.
It was too strange for a normal inquiry. It sounded more like a test.
When he connected that with the President's sudden illness, a cold suspicion rose in his chest.
He took the unopened handwritten letter, read it word by word, and the leisurely ease on his face vanished completely.
"Arrange the nearest train to Berlin immediately," he ordered.
Then he corrected himself, voice hard as iron.
"I mean now. Immediately."
Back in Berlin, with Christmas fast approaching, the streets outside the police headquarters were unusually lively.
People who had finally begun to emerge from the economic crisis now had a few spare notes in their pockets. They bought chocolates and sweets as gifts for their children. Pubs that had once stood half dead were crowded again, full of workers raising glasses and shouting in celebration at the return of better days.
Political storms usually gathered out of sight.
To ordinary people, who cared more about their households than cabinet maneuvering, the economy was improving, Christmas was near, and everything seemed to be moving in a hopeful direction.
Only a very small number of people asked an uncomfortable question.
Why had the President's Christmas message appeared earlier than usual this year, and why had it been printed in newspapers instead of delivered by radio?
Bogg sat in his car with the presidential dismissal order clutched in his hand, feeling the city's festive atmosphere through the glass.
He had to admit that Jörg was brilliant.
But brilliance, in his experience, rarely lived long.
Though the document in his hand was forged, the fact that no rumor had leaked for so long proved one thing clearly enough. Those standing behind Drew were far more numerous than he had imagined.
He stepped out of the car.
The bustling police station fell silent the instant he appeared.
The officers inside had already read the intent in his face. Without a word, they shifted to block the staircase leading to the second floor, hands resting near their pistols.
The guards who came with Bogg answered the gesture in kind, fingers tightening on triggers beneath their coats.
The atmosphere tightened at once.
Bogg swallowed, then raised the appointment letter high and shouted,
"Move aside. By order of the Weimar Republic, I am here to meet with Mr. Vito, the current Chief of Berlin Police. Anyone obstructing me is defying a lawful order, and I have the right to dismiss you on the spot."
The policemen did not yield.
Just as Bogg was about to turn around and retreat so he could escalate the matter, Vito emerged from his office.
The officers immediately opened a path for him.
"Is there something you need, Herr Mayor?" Vito asked from above, looking down the stairs.
"Chief Vito, on behalf of the Berlin City Government and the Weimar Republic, I formally announce your dismissal. Place all seals and official documents in your office, remove your uniform, and leave the Berlin Police Department immediately."
Bogg's voice rose with deliberate severity.
"If you refuse to cooperate, I have the authority to arrest you."
He had expected shock. Or disbelief.
Instead, Vito smiled with maddening calm.
His calloused fingers took the document from Bogg's hand.
In the next instant, shredded paper drifted through the air like snow.
"I will not obey a false order," Vito said evenly. "If you want to dismiss me, have the President come in person. You are not qualified."
"Vito, think carefully. Gathering men to resist orders is rebellion. The penalty is execution."
Bogg's warning might as well have been addressed to the walls.
Vito drew his pistol, cocked it with a crisp metallic snap, and said in a voice that rang through the station,
"If you do not leave, I will shoot you right now."
That was precisely the outcome Bogg had wanted.
Without another word, he turned and walked out.
The moment he stepped through the main doors of the police station, Vito lifted the telephone receiver, dialed a number from memory, and spoke with quiet respect:
"Mr. Jörg, they are about to make their move."
.....
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