Secrets of the Last Nazi (18 page)

Five …

The relief that the grenades hadn’t exploded immediately was lost in the rush. Furiously he hobbled down the air vent as fast as he could.

Four …

Foot-hand-foot-hand … His injury made it hard to place his right foot on the rung each time he tried.

Three …

Myles kept climbing down, knowing these could be his last seconds alive. He was now almost five metres down from the grenades …

Two …

He pulled himself into the wall, clutching hard and ducking his head down into his shoulders.

One …

F
ather Samuel handed
his passport to the receptionist, and placed his travel bag beside him on the floor. Although he was only moderately overweight, it was enough for long trips to be an exertion – the overnight flight from Israel and the convoluted rail journey to Oxford from London’s Heathrow airport had both been harder than expected.

‘You are just here for two nights, today and tomorrow?’ asked the receptionist. When Father Samuel confirmed her information was correct, she pressed a button on her computer and passed him a short printed card. ‘Please just fill out some contact details here and sign here,’ she directed, pointing to different boxes on the form.

Father Samuel feigned gratitude, then shuffled to one side of the main reception desk, where a pen was chained to a leaflet dispenser. But instead of taking the pen to sign the form, he was drawn to one of the tourist leaflets. It was promoting a university event which was open to the public, and it was happening tonight.

He lifted out the flyer, disgusted that such material was openly available in the city, while he desperately tried to learn more about the event. What did it mean if discussions like this were already happening – publicly and seriously – and in Oxford of all places, a city overflowing with academic respectability? It meant his mission was even more vital than he had imagined. Even without Stolz’s papers, it seemed as though, in Oxford at least, the secret was barely a secret any more.

He would have to find out what was said – to discover what information was already out there, and who knew about it.

Samuel filled out the form, handed it in, then took his key card and accepted the directions up to his room.

Before he left reception, he folded one of the promotional leaflets and placed it in his pocket. Then he lifted out all the others, scrunched them up, and stuffed them in his travel bag for disposal in the seclusion of his room.

It was just a small gesture, but one Father Samuel hoped would help prevent Oxford Astrology Association’s speaker meeting on ‘War and the Natural World’ from having
too
large an audience.

M
yles waited
.

Silence.

He didn’t know whether to be relieved he hadn’t been killed, or depressed that the grenades hadn’t exploded. He kept clutching the wall, his head tightly tucked in and his grip firm, still expecting the blast at any moment. But it didn’t come.

Slowly, he poked his head out, instinctively looking up. Was there any clue which might indicate whether the grenades were duds? Old explosives – they were like fireworks: not be returned to once they’d been set off, whatever happened. But he
needed
them to go off.

He would need more grenades. He had to repeat the whole thing: more grenades, another attempt.

His thoughts were disturbed by a sound below him.
Footsteps on the rungs.

He looked down: Pascal was climbing up towards him. ‘Stay there, team leader,’ called the Frenchman. Pascal was approaching with speed, coming fast up the shaft.

Myles called down. ‘They didn’t go off,’ explained Myles, apologetically, but also trying to warn the Frenchman that they were still dangerous.

The Frenchman didn’t respond. He obviously knew. Then Myles saw he was carrying two more grenades, one in each hand, as he pulled himself up the rungs. Myles winced as Pascal allowed the grenades to brush against the ladder.

Myles shifted to the side, allowing Pascal to squeeze through. The Frenchman called as he climbed up past Myles. ‘It’s my turn now,’ he said. ‘You should get down.’

M
yles briefly wondered
why the Frenchman was volunteering, but Pascal made clear Myles had no time to think. ‘Myles, climb down. Now!’ he instructed.

Quickly, Myles hobbled down the rungs as fast as he could, leaving Pascal to climb up above him.
Hand-foot-hand-foot …

When Myles had almost reached the floor, he heard the Frenchman reach the top.

Pascal called down. ‘Now get clear …’

As Myles reached the last step, he let go of the rungs and clambered back into the underground cavern.

Pascal’s voice called down again, much fainter now, echoing through the vertical tunnel. ‘I’m setting them off …’

Myles listened: silence, then the quick clang of steps and hands on metal rungs, rushing down the air vent. He pictured Pascal coming down as fast as he could go. Myles covered his ears, and positioned himself flat against the wall. Heike-Ann, Glenn and Zenyalena did the same.

They were looking at each other when the blast came. Myles felt his whole body judder. The cavern shook as a rush of air shot into the underground space. Dust filled the room, and the hanging spheres swayed on the ceiling.

Then the inevitable clatter of an object. It was a body, tumbling from halfway down the vertical shaft. Myles, Heike-Ann, Glenn and Zenyalena rushed back towards the bottom of the air tunnel. There they saw the Frenchman’s body, lying in blood on the floor.

8
.33 p.m
. CET (7.33 p.m. GMT)

P
ascal’s face was bloodied
, and his torso covered in dust from the explosion and fall. Myles grabbed his shoulder and tried to turn him.

Glenn shouted into his ear. ‘Pascal – Pascal – you alive?’

Myles put his fingers on the French colonel’s neck and found his pulse. It was racing.

Slowly, the Frenchman started to rouse. He opened his eyes. Myles noticed the man’s pupils were dilated in shock.

Pascal put his hand out, looking for something to grab hold of. ‘I’m alive?’

Zenyalena and Heike-Ann took hold and pulled him up. ‘Yes, you’re alive,’ answered the Russian. ‘But you shouldn’t be.’

Myles was particularly grateful – Pascal’s heroism had probably saved his life. ‘Do you feel OK?’ he asked.

Pascal clutched his head. He tried to explain himself, but the combination of the fall and his poor English made it hard. ‘I think I have “visions”,’ he muttered.

‘You see two of everything? Double vision?’

The Frenchman nodded.

Zenyalena turned her head upwards. Sunlight was coming down from the top of the shaft – the concrete cover had been blasted away. ‘You’ve done it. You cleared the exit,’ she said. Her face began to smile for the first time since they had gone below ground. ‘We can escape!’

Heike-Ann looked at Pascal’s leg. Although there was no obvious wound, the Frenchman would clearly need some help getting up the ladder. Myles started to lift him, and Glenn came to assist.

But Pascal brushed them off. ‘It’s fine. I can climb …’ The French colonel staggered to his feet and, almost drunk with concussion, grabbed hold of the rungs. He started to haul himself up, taking each rung slowly. Glenn and Myles watched closely, following him up the ladder, aware he could fall again, but he eventually made it up all fifty-five rungs. Finally, at the top of the vent, Pascal stepped onto the concrete top of the air shaft, stumbled over the debris from the explosion, and collapsed onto the grass outside the prison. Myles followed, careful to lift his leg over the rusted metal that was now twisted into odd shapes.

There were already three prison staff standing around them, alerted by the explosion. One of them was holding handcuffs, ready to lock up any prisoners who had just tried to escape. But when they saw Myles’ knee brace, they bent down to help. Very politely, they asked to see his ID. Myles obliged.

Glenn, Heike-Ann and Zenyalena came up, one after the other. Zenyalena inhaled the fresh air deeply and turned her face to the bright sunshine, clutching Stolz’s papers from the cavern. Soon, all five of the team were sitting on the grass, glad to be out of the underground complex.

It was Glenn who spoke first, still catching his breath from the climb. ‘Pascal – you need to see a doctor.’

Pascal’s expression seemed to agree – he was still recovering.

But Zenyalena was less sure. ‘If we lose Pascal, our mission could fail.’

Glenn shook his head. ‘This man’s just been a hero. Our mission must pause so he can have medical treatment.’

Myles could tell what Glenn was thinking – they had only just survived, and they should quit while they still could.

Zenyalena was resolute. ‘I think we can all agree on two things. First, that we need to carry on finding out Stolz’s secret. Second, we need Pascal. That means we go on. Tonight. Pascal, I’m sorry, but you’ll have to get treatment later.’

Glenn dismissed her with a huff. ‘Sorry Little Miss Russia, but we don’t even know where the trail leads next. We can’t go on tonight, because we don’t know where to go. We have to treat Pascal first,’ he said. Still shaking his head, he started turning the dial on his watch and conspicuously pulled a long wire from inside it which he held up, still attached.

Heike-Ann looked at him, bemused. ‘What’s that?’ she asked.

Glenn kept concentrating on his watch as he answered. ‘I’m calling in a medical chopper,’ he explained.

Pascal and Myles looked at each other, unsure how to react. But Zenyalena’s reaction was certain. ‘You what?’ she demanded.

‘I’m calling in air support,’ replied the American. ‘To take Pascal to the nearest US military hospital.’

‘No, you will not,’ Zenyalena insisted.

Glenn ignored her, still adjusting his watch. Finally, when he was satisfied, he looked up at her. ‘Too late,’ he gloated. ‘The helicopter will be here in about eight minutes.’

For a moment Zenyalena seemed outmanoeuvred. She stared at the other members of the team, aghast. Then she became confident again. ‘Then we all go with him,’ she stated, as if it were an unquestionable fact. ‘The team will stay united.’

Glenn raised his eyebrows, feigning indifference.

Myles decided that he ought to step in. ‘Is that OK, Glenn, if we all go in the helicopter?’

‘If there’s space, then yes,’ acknowledged Glenn. ‘They’ll probably send a Chinook CH-47, so we should be fine.’

‘And at the other end – this US military hospital,’ probed Myles. ‘Will we all be allowed in?’

Glenn didn’t reply immediately. Then he shrugged, and simply offered, ‘That’s up to them. If not, I’m sure you can stay nearby.’

Zenyalena was still furious. ‘If we do go into this secret US military base, or whatever it is, this is the maximum number of nights we will stay there.’ She thrust a single finger, her middle finger, towards the American.

Glenn shook his head dismissively. ‘You can stay just one night if you want to. I’ll be staying until Pascal’s had his emergency care.’

‘Don’t think the Americans can stop this,’ Zenyalena shot back. ‘And if your watch can transmit signals, why didn’t you disable it when we all disabled our phones in Vienna? And why didn’t you get help when we were trapped underground a few minutes ago?’

‘I couldn’t get a signal underground,’ explained Glenn. He was about to say more when they were all distracted by a low-pitch fluttering noise above them. The whole team craned upwards to see a huge twin-engined helicopter manoeuvring through the sky. The Chinook buzzed close towards them, blasting a strong downdraft onto them which made them shield their faces, then began circling for a place to land. After a few moments when it seemed to dangle in the air, the helicopter started to move directly towards the sports stadium beside the prison.

‘Come on,’ said Myles, lifting up Pascal. Glenn and Heike-Ann accepted his lead while Zenyalena made sure she had the papers.

One of the prison officials guided them towards the sports stadium, and onto the grass football pitch. The Chinook had landed on the centre circle, its rotor blades still spinning fast and blasting air throughout the arena. Aircrew beckoned them towards the rear-ramp, urging them to run.

Briefly, the prison official stopped them, making a point of checking all of their IDs. But he was swiftly satisfied and seemed particularly impressed by Heike-Ann’s police card.

Heads down, Glenn, Zenyalena and Heike-Ann ran between the jets at the back of the aircraft to climb aboard – Heike-Ann cradling her abdomen as she went, instinctively protecting her unborn baby from the noise and shuddering. Once inside, they quickly found seats and began buckling themselves in. Helping Pascal, Myles moved more slowly, but soon they were both aboard. The Frenchman was taken by a team of three paramedics in military fatigues who strapped him onto a treatment tray for take-off. Myles was handed ear protectors and instructed to sit down.

There was a hand gesture from the aircrew, and within seconds the rotors had cranked back to full speed. The whole machine began to shudder. Then the helicopter jolted upwards, nose first before lifting completely into the air. The Chinook rose quickly, and banked, giving Myles a last glimpse of Hitler’s prison before it roared away.

I
t took less
than a minute for the Chinook to reach its chosen altitude and begin a steady course for wherever it was heading. The rear ramp was only partially closed, allowing Myles to survey roads, rivers, farmhouses and Bavarian woodland as it flew. The sun had set in the western sky and, from the twilight shadows, Myles reckoned they were flying south.

His attention turned to the paramedics. They had already cut off Pascal’s shredded clothes to reveal cuts and scars, mainly on one side of the Frenchman’s legs and torso. One of the men was concentrating on Pascal’s head and neck, while another was checking for internal injuries. A drip had been fitted into the Frenchman’s arm.

Although he couldn’t hear what they were saying, Myles thought their body language was encouraging: Pascal’s injuries were not life-threatening.

The head paramedic moved towards Glenn and shouted something in his ear. Glenn shouted a short reply, confirming something and pointing back at Pascal.

The twin-engined helicopter flew on for less than ten minutes before it banked again, and then started to descend steeply. Zenyalena and Heike-Ann both grabbed their seat straps tightly as it swooped down. Within moments, the Chinnok had levelled off just a few metres above an enclosed landing site. Then it lowered itself vertically for a smooth and surprisingly gentle landing.

Ground crew scampered onto the machine and rushed out with Pascal, the three paramedics following closely behind. Then two other men came aboard, both wearing smart US army uniforms and calm in their demeanour. One, an African-American who was clearly in charge, gestured for the international team to stay in their seats. They all waited for the rotor blades to slow and the noise to die, which took almost a minute. Finally, the leading officer mimed for people to lift off their ear defenders, which the team did, almost in unison.

‘Welcome to the US Army Garrison Garmisch-Partenkirchen,’ announced the soldier, ‘otherwise known as the Edelweiss Hotel.’ He said it with a twang, then started handing out folded glossy leaflets to Heike-Ann, Zenyalena, Glenn and, finally, Myles. ‘During your stay in the resort …’

Suddenly the man became alert. He spun round, ready to strike, then caught something thrown at him by Zenyalena. It was one of the glossy leaflets, screwed up into a ball.

‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ he volunteered, sarcastically.

‘Edelweiss, like the movies?’ she shouted. ‘Is this a medical centre or a holiday camp?’

‘It’s both, ma’am. When there’s an emergency medivac, the choppers just fly to the nearest facility – which for you was here. And I think that makes you lucky, ma’am. Believe me, there are worse places. You’re welcome to stay here as VIPs while your colleague is treated, and even more welcome to walk out of the front entrance, if you prefer. Just take some ID with you, or you won’t be allowed back in.’

Zenyalena shook her head in disbelief. ‘Decadence,’ she said.

‘Just trying to keep our soldiers happy,’ retorted the American officer.

‘Army Garrison Garmisch-Partenkirchen – I thought that was familiar. This is where Stolz was questioned, and Kirov was killed, seventy years ago, isn’t it?’ she asked. ‘Hmm? And who killed him?’ Then, without waiting for a reply or asking permission, she unbuckled herself and marched off the helicopter.

The official welcoming party raised his eyebrows, deciding to ignore her. He turned to address his comments to his remaining guests. ‘For those of you who want to stay, there’s food, a bar, telephone and video-conferencing facilities, and family entertainment. Each of you will have a suite. Ma’am, if you’re pregnant, skiing may not be for you, but gentlemen …’

‘Is the telephone secure?’ interrupted Myles.

‘Yes, sir, it is,’ confirmed the officer.

‘Good,’ said Myles. ‘I need to call my partner, back in the UK.’

Glenn nodded his approval. ‘Let’s all meet up later,’ he said. ‘Breakfast at seven a.m.’

Heike-Ann and Myles agreed as Myles was guided out of the Chinook and away from the helicopter landing site.

Passing buildings mostly made of brick and concrete, Myles was led towards the main part of the complex. An athletic-looking woman with a very American smile noticed his leg and held the door open for him. Inside, there were families enjoying precious R+R together, off-duty soldiers checking out a gift shop, and children seated around a flat-screen TV which was showing cartoons. The hotel rooms were clearly upstairs, and his guide pointed out the restaurant as they walked by – it looked more functional than fancy. Then, through a wooden door, Myles was led down concrete steps, past two underground car-park levels, and into a smaller basement area.

‘I’ll need your mobile and any other communication equipment you have, Sir’, Myles was told. He obliged, emptying his pockets into a tray. Then, a soundproof cubicle was unlocked for him, he was guided in, and the door politely closed behind him. Myles was alone.

A speakerphone, handset and computer keypad were on the desk in front of him, with a computer screen integrated into the wall. Hesitantly, he pressed what he thought was the ‘on’ button, to see the screen come to life with a live video-feed of himself. Then, experimenting with the unfamiliar system, Myles clicked on an icon at the bottom of the screen. A list of options appeared. He typed in Helen’s Skype name, and waited for the video-call to go through. After about a second the image switched to the familiar inside of their shared flat in Oxford’s Pembroke Street. Helen was pulling her chin away from her laptop in mock surprise.

‘Hey Helen,’ said Myles, relieved to see her. He had interrupted her eating toast, her evening snack.

Helen finished her mouthful, still off guard. ‘Myles – where are you? It’s coming up “Undisclosed Location” on the screen.’

‘I can’t say, but I’m glad you’re safe.’

‘You’ve been worried about
me
?’ she joked. ‘I tried getting hold of you, but the Government refused to say where you were. Simon Charfield at the Foreign Office said they couldn’t tell me because I wasn’t a relative … anyway, how’s your knee?’

‘Getting better. I’m managing without crutches.’ He didn’t want to admit he’d forgotten them outside Landsberg prison in the rush to climb aboard the helicopter. ‘How are you?’

She brushed her hair behind her ear. ‘Well, I’ve missed you,’ she said, blowing him a kiss. ‘Enjoying the sights of Berlin?’

Myles paused, wondering how much to divulge. He knew he could trust Helen. But he worried that confiding in her – telling her about Stolz and the Nazi secrets – would put her in danger.

She sensed what he was thinking. ‘Go on. Tell me.’

‘What if … you know ...’ his voice trailed off.

‘I thought it might, but I’m a big girl now.’ She said boldly.

Myles exhaled. ‘So … I went to Berlin. It turns out Werner Stolz must have been really loyal to Hitler, because they gave him very important documents. Stolz probably stayed a Nazi all his life. The team of us – the Russian woman Zenyalena, an American who uses the name “Glenn”, and a French Colonel called Pascal, all helped by a German woman from their diplomatic police service, Heike-Ann – we all looked through his papers, including some we got from his lawyers office. And we think we discovered his secret.’ Myles stopped abruptly.

‘So what is it?’

Myles looked at her image on the screen, wondering how to phrase it. Would she think he was mad or just mistaken?

‘Come on,’ she pressed. ‘You gotta tell me. What was Stolz’s secret?’

‘The planets,’ confessed Myles. ‘They seem to be connected with human events.’

Helen looked confused. ‘Huh?’

‘Astrology,’ Myles explained. ‘It works.’

She frowned. ‘Really?’ Her face was contorted, as if Myles was telling a silly joke. ‘Come on. You mean,
I’m an Aquarius, you’re a Gemini
, that sort of stuff?’

Myles found himself nodding. ‘That’s the way it looks. From Stolz’s papers, the ones we’ve seen.’

‘And you believe it? Come on, Myles – how can you believe this crap?’ She emphasised the word ‘crap’ with her hands, as if something was exploding between them. ‘You’re an academic at Oxford, believing in – I don’t know what? How can the position of, say, Jupiter make me choose sausages rather than bacon in the morning?’

Myles tried to calm her down. ‘I know. It sounds crazy. But the evidence points that way.’

Helen took another bite of toast while she chewed over Myles’ bizarre news.

Myles felt the need to explain more. ‘I don’t know how it works either. But that wasn’t what Stolz had found. He didn’t know
how
astrology worked. All he knew was that it
did
work. Somehow.’

She kept at him. ‘OK, so what’s the evidence?’

Myles leaned back in his chair, trying to remember the papers. ‘Well, first of all, the patterns between the planets. Take Saturn and Neptune. Since ancient times, Saturn has symbolised order and structures, while Neptune is linked with dissolving things away, and the ideals of the masses. The two planets orbit at different speeds, which means they come together in the sky every thirty-six years.’

‘As we view them from Earth?’

‘Yes. And the last time they came together was the second week of November 1989, when the Berlin Wall came down. The timing’s exact. Every thirty-six years, when the two planets come together, something big happens to do with revolutions. The next one is February 2026 – perhaps China will give up on Communism then, or the Communists will be returned to power in Russia, or something. Stolz thought there would be conflict on that date somehow.’

Helen sipped from a mug which was out of view of the laptop camera. She seemed to be remembering the paper from Stolz she had read in the hospital. ‘Did Stolz have anything else?’ she asked.

‘Yes. Lots.’ Myles could tell she was intrigued, but still far from persuaded. ‘The old Nazi had a chart predicting the number of people who would be killed in wars each year, and it was extremely precise. One-in-a-million-trillion precise,’ he said. ‘Hey, Helen - you know what the word “plutocracy” means?’

The question made Helen feel like a schoolgirl. ‘Well, democracy is government by the people. So “plutocracy” is government by big money – is that right?’

‘That’s right. Pluto: it’s the slowest planet, and when it goes into a different sign of the zodiac, there seems to be a big deal to do with governments and money.’ Myles listed the dates he remembered. ‘Er … 1884, 1913, 1939 ... the dates when the EU and the World Trade Organisations were set up … even the credit crunch. The next one’s in 2023. Stolz reckoned something about technology and world organisations on that date.’

Helen’s face became sceptical again. Myles knew that, as a journalist, she’d come across lots of people who were convinced of nonsense. Cures for cancer, mind-reading machines, even voodoo. Usually it was hokum. When there really was something to it, it was only because people expected there to be. It was the belief, not the cure itself, which did the curing. The ‘placebo’ effect. Helen paused before she spoke. Myles guessed she was trying to find a tone of voice which didn’t condemn him. ‘You know, scientists can explain why people believe in ghosts,’ she said, ‘even though they don’t exist. Could there be another explanation for all this?’

Myles didn’t answer immediately. It was a difficult question. ‘I’m not sure. It really looks like there’s something in it. But if there is, I don’t know how it works. And I’m not about to look at the planets before I make decisions, if that’s what you mean.’

Helen relaxed. ‘So how do the Nazis fit in?’

‘Well, it looks like the Nazis worked this out, and more. Stolz had papers predicting events in the USA and UK, and he had maps predicting Hitler would be vulnerable around Stalingrad. Then there’s stuff about when nuclear accidents are likely. And statistical work, too – data connecting future careers with the position of Mars when people are born. We think he’s got more – much more. We’ve only found half of it so far.’

‘You know where the rest is?’

‘No, not yet. We’ve only got clues,’ he admitted. ‘And the trouble is, we’re not the only ones looking for it.’

As he said the words, he thought he heard a noise behind him. He checked, but the door to the soundproof cubicle was firmly closed.