This was an age where if a man had the small amount of balls required to walk through a Verboten sign, he could wander round pretty much on any roof he fancied. Even one that overlooked a place where the head of state was scheduled to present himself publicly.
Stanton looked at his watch. The Kaiser was scheduled to make his appearance in less than an hour.
The watch reminded him of Bernadette. ‘It doesn’t tick!’
He really loved her voice.
He looked about himself. He was alone on the roof and completely unobserved. He began to make his way towards the eastern end of the building, moving from chimney to chimney, avoiding treading on air vents.
He was about halfway between the roof garden and the roof ledge when he heard voices and before he had time to take cover two workmen appeared before him from behind an asphalt-covered ventilation shaft.
Fortunately they were more surprised to see somebody besides themselves on the roof than Stanton was, and he recovered first.
‘Good morning,’ he said loudly in German, moving to place the sun behind him. ‘The staff in the coffee garden informed me that there were men on the roof. Kindly explain your purpose for being here.’
Again the natural presumption of authority was the key. Had he hesitated it was possible that the men might have challenged him, but he gave them no chance.
‘We’re works and maintenance,’ one of the men replied.
‘Please may I see your authorization,’ Stanton went on.
Stanton could see that they were hesitating. No doubt they had performed maintenance work on the roof many times and never been challenged before. If he gave them time to think they might just decide it was them who should be asking the questions.
‘His Imperial Highness is making an appearance in Potsdamer Platz this lunchtime. I’m sure you are aware of this. The surrounding area is therefore subject to inspection. Kindly show me your authorization at once.’
That did it. The men produced their time cards.
‘Thank you,’ Stanton said after a cursory glance, ‘this is in order. Please inform me what the purpose of your work is here today.’
‘A couple of the girls in cushions and soft furnishings were complaining about a fluttering and banging. They thought it was a bird, which sometimes do get caught in the air vents, but we can’t find anything so either they imagined it or else it’s got away.’
‘Or it’s dead,’ his companion volunteered. ‘They sometimes just die of panic. In which case the girls’ll smell it in a day or two and we’ll know to take the grid off and fish it out.’
‘That’s right,’ the first man agreed.
‘Good,’ Stanton said, ‘and your purpose here is finished?’
‘Yes. We’re done now. We was going on our break. We had thought about taking it here, sir. What with the sun and air, sir.’
Stanton noticed that the second man was carrying a vacuum flask and a small cloth-covered bundle, which he took to be their lunch.
‘I’m afraid that will not be possible today. The roof must be cleared.’
The two men shrugged, touched their caps and left, exiting via a service hatch, which Stanton noted as a possible escape route should he need to make a hurried exit.
When the men had gone, Stanton pondered the encounter. He didn’t think it would cause him problems. After all, he intended to be back in his apartment in Mitte before the police had even deduced that the shot might have come from the top of the Wertheim store. There was no doubt that his bullet, if successful, would make a pretty big mess of the Kaiser’s skull and in the process punch the man clean off the podium. Working out an angle of trajectory from the corpse would be impossible so the cops would only ever be able to guess at the location of the gunman. He was a very long way away and the shot would be difficult using a gun made in 1914. It would therefore take them some time to include the Wertheim roof in their list of possibilities. If they ever did get around to interviewing the two workmen about the ‘official’ who had ordered them from the roof, the trail would be long cold.
It had been an unsettling moment, though, and he slipped off the safety catch of the Glock in his pocket just in case. If necessary he would kill anyone who attempted to confront him.
He was horribly aware that he only had one shot at saving the world.
Alone once more, Stanton made his way to the edge of the roof. There was a small ledge from which the slate-tiled ‘helmet’ of the building sloped steeply away for three metres or so, ending in a fringe of iron guttering that prevented him from seeing the colonnaded edifice beneath.
Stanton sat down, opened the bag he was carrying and took out the pieces of his rifle and sight. Having assembled the gun, he took off his jacket and bunched it up on the ledge as a cushion for a steady aim. Then he took stock of the scene that was now gathering in the Potsdamer Platz three hundred metres to the west.
Lines of troops had now assembled and the viewing stand was filling up. By looking through his telescopic sight Stanton could see the faces of the dignitaries and their wives quite clearly beneath their polished top hats and fancy confections of lace and flowers. The centre of the presentation podium was still empty but there were a number of people assembled at either end. Glancing further afield Stanton saw that a military band was playing, the sound of which was reaching him borne on the breeze. Between the band and the podium there was a space lined on either side with soldiers where it was clear the Emperor’s car would cross the Platz.
He settled down to wait, hoping that the celebrated German efficiency would deliver the Emperor on time. In fact, he arrived a few minutes early, perhaps anxious to get such a boringly non-military function over with as soon as possible so that he could get back to his beloved parade grounds. There was a stirring in the crowd, and the rhythm of the distant music changed to what Stanton thought he recognized as ‘God Save The King’. He was momentarily taken aback before recalling having read that the German Imperial anthem Heil Dir Im Siegerkranz used the same tune. The anthem signalled the arrival of the royal motorcade.
There was much cheering and waving of hats as the middle car drew up in front of the red carpet. The small crowd, which had been swollen by the host of golden daffodils on their lunch break from the department store, were clearly enjoying the occasion. A gaggle of dignitaries scurried forward to greet the monarch. Stanton couldn’t see this part of the proceedings because the royal car was in the way. He could only imagine the great man trying to look interested while the details of the new tram-line pattern were explained to him.
A few moments passed and the party emerged from under the cover of the roof of the car and the Kaiser strode up the red carpet towards the podium. Stanton viewed the scene through his gun sight but there was no chance to get a clean shot. The monarch was leading the group and all Stanton could see through the crowd of top hats that followed him were the ostrich plumes of his ridiculous helmet. Wilhelm was, of course, in uniform. Only he would have felt it appropriate to dress up as an admiral of the fleet or a commander of the heavy cavalry in order to open a new tram junction.
The Kaiser mounted the platform. Stanton, who was already stretched out on his stomach behind the telescopic lens of his rifle, placed his finger against the trigger and took a view through the cross hairs. It was a fairly long range so the target bobbed about considerably in the circle of his lens but hopefully when it arrived at centre stage it would be still. But Stanton doubted that the Kaiser would remain still for long. The whole event was scheduled for only fifteen minutes and the Kaiser appeared to have brought no notes with him. Perhaps he would not speak at all and simply deliver the snip.