Secrets of the Last Nazi (10 page)

F
ather Samuel switched
off his alarm clock. The alert was unnecessary: he was already awake, thinking through all that might happen following the peculiar events triggered by Werner Stolz’s death. Slowly, he swung his legs out of bed, gathered himself, and picked up his encrypted communicator. One new message. He clicked it open:

Then he clicked on the attachment, to open a very long file made up of 230 pages of information. It was an electronic intercept, taken from a photocopier in the Headquarters of the German Diplomatic Police.

Quickly, he typed a reply.

Father Samuel felt his heartbeat quicken as he checked the papers as fast as he could.

Nothing he didn’t yet know – although he suspected it would be news to many people who read it. Would it satiate their curiosity, or fascinate them to find out more? Father Samuel didn’t know, but at least he knew what the international team had.

Until he noticed an obscure one-page document towards the end of the attachment – a sheet which didn’t seem to relate to any of the others. From the single word title, Father Samuel realised it could be more important than all the other information in the attachment put together.

Swiftly, he began his morning prayer, and called on God to make the international team pass over that single page.

T
hree loud raps
on the door broke the silence. Heike-Ann dutifully sprung to her feet to pull open the heavy door. It was a man from the hotel staff carrying a tray of coffees. Silently, they watched him serve beverages. Only once the waiter had gone, and the soundproof door had settled back in place, did the conversation resume.

Glenn volunteered the first reaction. ‘So, Stolz thought he could predict the future.’

Zenyalena shot back. ‘More than “thought”. He
did
predict the future.’

‘Oh come on.’ Glenn was pulling his chin back into his face, looking sceptical. . ‘Nobody really believes all this. There’s always a better explanation. It’s just that people love voodoo stuff.’

Heike-Ann seemed to be agreeing with the American, tilting her head as she sipped her water.

Glenn realised the others were only half-convinced. ‘Look,’ he said. ‘Stolz’s “predictions” were probably written by a bunch of flunkies – just Nazis trying to impress their beloved Führer.’

Zenyalena shook her head. ‘Then explain how they’re so accurate.’

‘Most likely they were written after the event. Maybe Stolz wrote lots of predictions and just kept the ones which turned out to be true. There are lots of ways he could have done it.’

Zenyalena started to lean her head back and look down at the American. ‘So how do you explain Stolz getting so rich?’

‘Lots of people get rich …’ Glenn seemed to suddenly become aware he was talking to a Russian brought up in the Communist era. ‘… Well, lots of people get rich in the
West
, anyway. It doesn’t mean they have special powers to predict the future.’

Glenn tried to laugh it away, but the others all looked unsure - as though they wanted to believe Glenn, but the evidence they’d seen in Stolz’s papers was just too compelling.

Still hoping the Englishman was his most reliable ally, Glenn turned to Myles. ‘You teach at Oxford University, one of the world’s top academic establishments, right?’

‘I’m only a lecturer there,’ said Myles.

Glenn made his point. ‘Look at the evidence. People have been trying to predict the future for years. It’s never been done. It’s far more likely Stolz was doing some sort of fast-and-loose magic trick. Maybe he got money for it or something. He couldn’t have really been predicting the future. How could he?’

‘You may be right,’ said Myles, answering slowly. ‘Perhaps this is one big trick. But what if the Nazis really
had
cracked some ancient science which allowed them to predict the future? They’d keep it secret, wouldn’t they – just like Stolz. A very small number of people would have protected it – perhaps just him. And if they could, they’d make their fortunes from it after the war, just like Stolz.’

‘He must have written his predictions afterwards,’ huffed Glenn.

‘Then we have to test his predictions another way.’ Myles picked up the papers. He turned to Heike-Ann. ‘We’ve got the originals from Stolz, right?’

Heike-Ann nodded.

‘Then we send them for carbon dating,’ announced Myles. ‘If papers have the date “1942” on them, then we can take a sample and see whether they really were written around that time.’

Zenyalena took up the theme. ‘Is carbon dating accurate?’

‘It’s not perfect,’ accepted Myles. ‘But it’s accurate enough. We should know whether they were written in the 1940s. We just need to check whether they were written before the events they predict. We’ll have to get them sent to a laboratory. It usually takes a few weeks …’

Glenn, Zenyalena and Heike-Ann were silent, absorbing Myles’ suggestion.

Then, Myles remembered: Frank.

‘…although I know someone who could speed it up for us – someone at the Imperial War Museum in London. Is everyone happy with me sending some of the papers to be tested?’

Zenyalena replied stiffly. ‘Russia objects to Britain’s Imperial Wars, but we are OK with the museum testing these papers.’

‘Thank you, Zenyalena. Glenn?’

Glenn rubbed his fingers on his forehead, thinking. ‘I agree, but we need Jean-François’ consent before we send off papers. And we’ve already agreed our work needs to be kept secret. We can’t spread it to too many people.’

Myles nodded, picking up a pen. He started writing a note on the back of one of the photocopied sheets.

He allowed Glenn, Zenyalena and Heike-Ann to see the note. All three seemed content. Heike-Ann produced a large envelope for him and offered an array of Stolz’s original papers.

Myles thanked her, selected five of the papers at random, then placed them in the envelope. He sealed it, then wrote Frank’s name and the Imperial War Museum address on the front. ‘We’ll post this when we get the say-so from Jean-François,’ he explained.

Glenn started shaking his head, as though he was answering questions to himself. ‘You know, this just doesn’t feel right. If the Nazis had a secret method for predicting future events, how come they lost the war?’

Nobody answered. Not even Zenyalena, who just sipped her coffee.

Myles, meanwhile, turned to Heike-Ann, his mind elsewhere. ‘What does “ONB” stand for, in German?’

Heike-Ann looked blank. ‘Where’s it from?’

Myles pulled out the paper titled ‘Locations’. He laid it in front of the other three, and pointed to three capitalised letters.

‘We know Stolz hid some of his papers – probably after his flat was raided,’ recounted Myles. ‘If we find the rest of his papers, we’ll know how he did it …’ He began directing his words to Glenn. ‘… And whether it was a parlour trick or whether Stolz really had found some sort of correlation which allowed him to make accurate predictions.’

Glenn looked at the ‘Locations’ page. ‘So “Where the Empire Began - 15.III.38”. It looks like a date, and I know you Europeans put the month in the middle, right? So, March 1938. Stolz would have been in his twenties. Where was he on the 15
^th
of March 1938?’

Zenyalena threw up her hands. ‘Where Stolz was on a random day almost eighty years ago? We can never know that.’

‘We might,’ said Myles. ‘Anybody got a smartphone? What was happening on 15
^th
March 1938?’

Glenn pulled a slick mobile device from his pocket. Myles sensed he was showing off the new-looking gadget. Within a few seconds the American had found the Wikipedia webpage listing dates from the year mentioned in Stolz’s clue. ‘Here’s what there is for 15
^th
March 1938,’ said the American, as he began reading. ‘Soviet Union announces that one-time leading communist Bukharin has been executed. French Premier Blum reassures Czechoslovakia. Hitler makes a speech in Heldenplatz, Vienna, Austria, proclaiming the “Anschluss”, or Union, of Germany and Austria.’

Myles leapt forward. ‘“Where the Empire Began” – Stolz was from Austria, right? So for Stolz, the Empire was the Third Reich, and it only
became
an empire when his country, Austria, united with Nazi Germany - following Hitler’s speech in Vienna.’

Glenn tried to understand. ‘So you’re saying Stolz hid his papers where Hitler made his speech in Vienna – this “Heldenplatz” place?’

Heike-Ann was dismissive. ‘Nice idea, Myles, but “Heldenplatz” means “Place of Heroes”.’ She was shaking her head as she spoke. ‘It’s a huge, open square. You can’t hide papers in a square like that and keep them secret.’

‘You’ve been there?’

‘Yes. As a schoolgirl. The clue doesn’t make sense.’

Myles accepted her point. ‘You’re right – it doesn’t make sense. But if we want to find out how Stolz did it, we have to go to this “Heldenplatz” square. Somewhere in “Heldenplatz” is where he hid his secret …’ Myles looked around at Glenn, Zenyalena and Heike-Ann, silently asking them whether they wanted to travel south. ‘… So, what do you think? This is probably the best clue we have.’

Zenyalena was clear. ‘Simple – we go to Vienna.’

‘Thank you, Zenyalena. Heike-Ann?’

Heike-Ann shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t get a vote. I’m here to assist you. If the team wants to go to Vienna, I’ll come along.’

‘Good. Thank you, Heike-Ann. And Glenn?’

Glenn was more uncertain. ‘I don’t know. We go to some huge square in Vienna. Then what?’

‘We look for clues,’ replied Myles straightforwardly. ‘And if we don’t find any, we come back here.’ Myles was about to say more when he was interrupted by the sealed door being opened and the receptionist poking her head inside.

‘I know you asked not to be disturbed, but are you able to take a call? We’ve had a call from the French Foreign Ministry asking for you,’ she explained. ‘Should I put it through?’

Glenn nodded to the receptionist, who acknowledged him and left. A few seconds later, the phone began to ring.

Cautiously, the American picked it up. ‘Hello?’ He frowned with his eyebrows, concentrating on the faraway voice. ‘My name’s Glenn. I’m the United States representative on this team. And you are?’

After a short pause, Glenn nodded, seemingly satisfied by the answer. ‘Hello, Carine.’ He listened some more, then looked surprised. ‘Well, he didn’t ask us!’ Glenn’s eyes scanned around the rest of the group.

‘These things happen,’ continued the American. ‘Apology accepted. When’s he coming?’ Glenn’s face widened again, as he turned his wrist to check his watch. ‘… Well that’s probably going to be before Jean-François himself gets out of bed this fine morning…’

He leaned forward. ‘… And thank
you
. The team will discuss it with Jean-François. Until we agree to it, we haven’t agreed. We’ll probably send this Pascal guy straight home again. Understood …? Yes,
Merci
to you, too.’ Thank you.’

Glenn took the phone from his ear and pressed a button on it, checking it was off before he placed it back on the stand. Then he shook his head, dismissing the telephone conversation. ‘French Foreign Ministry,’ he explained. ‘Sounds like Jean-François has invited someone else to join the team. Why not have a party and just invite people from the street?’

Zenyalena kept her gaze fixed on the American. ‘Why do you ridicule him, Glenn? Jean-François probably has a good reason.’

Glenn paused some more. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said, with the look of a man about to cut a deal. ‘We’ll put all this to Jean-François. If he can persuade us to take on another person, then we will. And if he’s up for Vienna, then we all go. Otherwise, we stay here and the team stays as it is. Agreed?’

Zenyalena began to grin, as though she had just won a small victory. It was the first time in the whole investigation that Glenn had conceded something. She decided to cash in her winnings. ‘Let’s go up to Jean-François now, and ask him. All of us. He must be in – back from his run or whatever.’ She stood up.

Heike-Ann started gathering the papers on the table while Glenn reluctantly also came to his feet. Myles lifted himself on his bad leg. Zenyalena waited until everyone was with her, then led the party of four upstairs to the bedrooms.

On the upper floor, Glenn, Myles, with Heike-Ann bringing up the rear, checked the door numbers as they walked down the corridor.

Zenyalena was already ahead of them, pointing to the end. ‘It’s this one.’ She rapped her knuckles sharply on the door. She called through the door, her tone slightly embarrassed. ‘Mr Jean-François. Wake up time!’ Zenyalena smirked, imagining what Jean-François might be doing, and why he might not want to answer.

The team looked at each other silently. The room was silent too.

‘Jean-François.’ Zenyalena’s voice was sterner this time.

Again, nothing.

Myles bent down to look through the keyhole. He closed one eye and squinted inside with the other. ‘I can’t see anything in there. It’s too dark – he hasn’t opened the curtains.’

Glenn started to look concerned. He gestured for the others to make space. Then he knocked very loudly. ‘Jean-François.’ He was almost shouting though the door. ‘Wake up now. Are you alright?’

Still there was still no answer.

Looking reluctant, the American took two steps back, and rushed towards the door. His shoulder slammed into the wood, which stayed in place. Glenn recoiled. Then he turned accusingly to Myles. ‘You gonna help me, or just stand there?’

‘Let’s just get the spare key from reception,’ suggested Myles.

Glenn dismissed the idea. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Let’s just barge it open.’

Myles sized up the door frame. It was robust. Then he looked back at Glenn, and down at his own injured leg. ‘OK, let’s get inside.’

Together, they pushed again. The lock buckled, and the door swung open. Myles stumbled forward, unable to see into the darkness.

Zenyalena flicked a light switch.

Aghast, the four intruders – Zenyalena, Glenn, Heike-Ann and Myles – stood in silence at what they saw: in the middle of the room, Jean-François dangled from piano wire which cut tightly into his neck. Pale and lifeless, his face was frozen in an expression of terror.