Secrets of the Last Nazi Page 4

  Frank wanted them to take it seriously. ‘Come on, it’s easy work. There’s some guy who died. An old Nazi. Russia’s insisting that an old protocol means the man’s papers have to be looked at again, now he’s dead.’

  Myles and Helen didn’t answer immediately. They kept reading the page. Helen finished first. ‘It doesn’t say what was so special about this guy,’ she said, looking up at Frank. ‘Er …’ She scanned the email for the old man’s name. ‘… Captain Werner Stolz. Why him?’

  Frank shrugged his shoulders.

  Myles was looking pensive. ‘So this means getting inside the head of an old Nazi bureaucrat?’

  ‘Yes, Myles. You’d get an insight into how the Nazi system really worked.’ Frank hoped his words might sell the idea to Myles. Instead, they put him off.

  It wasn’t just that Myles hated bureaucracy – he didn’t like studying the Second World War at all. It meant accepting the old-fashioned theory of war: that war was between countries, not people. War as described by most TV documentaries, including their obsession with World War Two, was misleading. Worse than that, it was dangerous. Most modern wars are inside countries, not between them, as Myles lectured his undergraduates. Students loved Myles for his radical views.

  Myles put the paper down, next to the image of his brain scan. ‘Thanks Frank. But I’ll pass for now.’

  ‘Are you sure, Myles?’ Frank was surprised Myles was turning down the offer. ‘It’s work you can still do with a bad leg … It’s just, if you are interested, Whitehall will need to know in a day or two.’

  ‘Yes, Frank, I’m sure.’

  Helen tried to change the subject. ‘Any idea what that guy was trying to take from your museum?’

  Frank stretched his face in an expression which said, I can help with that one. He dug into his bag again and fished out some papers, which he placed on the table. ‘Here.’

  Helen looked at them, not sure how to react. ‘These are what he took?’

  ‘Yes. The police gave them back to me.’ Frank turned his head to look at the file as he spoke. ‘They’re papers from my new exhibit, mainly. All about how the natural world impacts on war. But one, I know will fascinate both of you …’ Frank opened a cardboard file with some ceremony, and revealed a single sheet of typewriting.

  Myles still looked bemused. ‘What is it, Frank?’

  ‘It’s a real “Hitler letter”,’ Frank answered, proudly. ‘It’s a note which allows the bearer to draw on “All Resources of the Reich” in the performance of their duty. And look: here’s the signature.’ Frank pointed to an illegible squiggle near the bottom of the page. The dictator hadn’t put much effort into writing his name.

  Myles sat up in bed. ‘So you think the museum thief was a trophy hunter?’

  ‘Could have been – working for a private collector, maybe. An Adolf Hitler signature can earn quite a bit at auction,’ explained Frank. ‘Funny to think that Hitler – probably the most evil man in history – is still causing people to die.’

  Even Frank was still fascinated by the dead dictator. Like so many of Myles’ pupils, Frank was drawn in by the Hitler myth.

  Myles refused to look at the signature. Instead, he focussed on the small print at the bottom. He pointed out a name.

  ‘“SS Captain Werner Stolz”, it says. Is that who this “Hitler letter” was for, Frank?’

  Frank peered closely at the name, then slowly pulled his face back. ‘Yes, the same guy who just died in Berlin,’ he said, mildly amused. ‘Well, isn’t that funny?’

  Helen and Myles looked at each other. Neither of them believed it was a coincidence.

  Myles turned towards the other papers, and thanked Frank with his eyes. ‘Reading material for while I get better, huh?’ He flicked his thumb up the edge of the pages, glimpsing the material inside. Most of the documents were in German – a language he couldn’t read. ‘Simon Charfield should get a German speaker for this – not me,’ he said.

  He waved to Frank, who stood up to leave. Helen showed the museum curator out of the room. By the time she returned, Myles was asleep.

  Helen sat back down and started leafing through the papers. A page slipped out and fluttered to the floor. The paper had yellowed and the words on it were from an old-fashioned manual typewriter. As she bent down to collect it, she saw the title was simply ‘Communism’, and began to read:

  The event of 1917, which we associate with the revolution in Russia, is first repeated between November 1952 and July 1953. This major change in communism will soften the ideology; it will become defensive and diplomatic. Stalin’s style of communism will be no more. The event happens again in March 1989, June 1989 and November 1989. The first of these could end the monopoly of communism in government; the second – in June – will see governments oppose the people; and on the third, in the second week of November 1989, the people will rise up against communism – and win.

  This was history she knew well: March 1989 was when non-communists were first allowed to take their place in the Russian Parliament. On 3rd and 4th June 1989 the government of communist China cracked down on democracy protestors in Tiananmen Square. And the evening of 9th–10th November was when the Berlin Wall tumbled down, taking with it communism in Eastern Europe.

  She turned it over, searching for a date. When she spotted it at the bottom, Helen found herself involuntarily shaking her head at the information in front of her.

  She tucked her hair behind her ear, trying to remain calm as she realised she wasn’t holding a report about world events. It wasn’t a report at all. It was far, far more important than that. The papers she was holding had the potential to shape world events.

  Eleven

  5.15 p.m. GMT

  * * *

  On the fourth floor of St Thomas’ hospital, while Myles slept, Helen started to rifle through the rest of the file – papers a thief had tried to steal from the Imperial War Museum, at the cost of his life.

  The first few pages seemed to be a series of newspaper clippings. All about Rudolf Hess, Hitler’s trusted second-in-command, until he mysteriously flew to Scotland in 1941 and tried to cut a peace deal.

  Next were documents about how weather forecasts helped Eisenhower plan D-Day, then some typed letters between an American Corporal Bradley and his major from 1945.

  She checked the front of the file. A small white sticker had the words ‘World War 2 – war/natural world’ scribbled on it. The documents were background research papers for Frank’s new exhibition.

  Then she returned to the page marked, ‘Communism’ and rubbed the old paper between her fingers. If it was a hoax, it had been done very carefully. She peered closer to notice the paper had been torn. She was holding only part of the page - the bottom half had been ripped away. Someone had taken the prediction seriously enough to tear it in two.

  Suddenly she jolted upright.

  The movement made Myles stir. ‘Helen?’ He was still drowsy.

  Helen put her hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ve got something for you.’

  Myles took a moment to focus, then hauled himself upright, into a sitting position to listen.

  ‘The papers. They’re from World War Two, but they seem to predict the fall of the Berlin Wall …’ She showed him the document. ‘… See – November 1989. How did they do that?’

  Myles shrugged. ‘One of Frank’s practical jokes, I guess.’

  He glanced at the rest of the papers. Most were in German – he couldn’t read them.

  Then he was drawn to the correspondence between Corporal Bradley and his superiors, and started to read.

  * * *

  Munich, July 11, 1945

  Major Smith, Sir

  With greatest respect, Sir, I believe we would be placing the United States at great risk if we halted the investigation into Captain Stolz.

  * * *

  Yours Faithfully,

  J Bradley, Cpl.

  He turned the page to see a short reply from the Major.

&nb
sp; Corporal Bradley, Stolz’s papers will be filed with the Military Commission for analysis at a future date, as yet undetermined.

  Smith

  Then another letter from Bradley, this one dated a fortnight later.

  Munich, July 27, 1945

  * * *

  Major Smith, Sir

  Whilst I have every respect for the wisdom of the military, Sir, to file Stolz’s papers with bureaucrats could turn out to be the greatest mistake ever made by Western Civilisation. Bureaucrats will never understand the potential of Stolz’s research. His work, Sir, simply must be investigated further by people with more open minds.

  * * *

  Bradley.

  The word ‘must’ had been underlined in pen – probably by Bradley himself. Myles was growing to like Corporal Bradley: the man shared his own disrespect of authority. The letter was followed by a curt military telegram:

  * * *

  Corporal Bradley: reassigned to Alaska, with effect from August 2nd, 1945.

  * * *

  Myles imagined Bradley being taken off his work, and shook his head. Poor Bradley – he had lost his battle, and the bureaucrats had reassigned him to freezing Alaska as a punishment. ‘Helen, do you reckon you might be able to track down this guy, Corporal Bradley?’

  Helen’s face opened up at the possibility. ‘I could try, if he’s still alive. He’d be very old by now.’

  Myles wondered. Whoever Bradley was, he had found some reason to think the German SS Captain Stolz was very important. Myles didn’t care for the Second World War, and worried even less about satisfying the governments of Britain, France, the USA and Russia. Helping Bradley beat the bureaucrats, though – that made sense. ‘So, what do you reckon about taking up Simon Charfield’s assignment, and following up on Bradley’s advice – seventy years late?’

  Helen nodded. ‘Yep, I think you should.’ Then she looked again at the ‘Communism’ page, with its eerie predictions about 1989. ‘Be careful, Myles.’

  Using Helen’s mobile, Myles called Simon Charfield directly to accept. Relieved that he had his man, Charfield printed off a standard Contract of Short Term Assignment, or COSTA, and carried it along Whitehall, across Westminster Bridge, and into the hospital.

  * * *

  He passed the contract to Myles, with a pen, and waited. Only when he had the signed COSTA, and was about to leave to arrange air tickets, did he ask, ‘Were you persuaded to come along by the Bradley letters?’

  ‘You put them in the middle deliberately, didn’t you,’ answered Myles.

  ‘I did, yes,’ admitted Charfield. ‘To make you feel like you’d found something.’

  Myles accepted the answer, then shook his head. ‘It wasn’t the letters from Bradley which persuaded me,’ he said. ‘It was the replies.’

  DAY TWO

  Twelve

  DAY TWO

  Heathrow Airport

  United Kingdom

  5.45 a.m. GMT

  * * *

  Gripping his economy flight ticket with his teeth, Myles manoeuvred his injured knee onto the plane. His height and the aluminium crutches made it awkward. Along with his briefing pack, there were too many things to hold. But at least his briefing pack was slim: a few emails printed out, a scanned photo of Stolz, and a last page with just a single sentence on it.

  Ref: Doc 1945/730306

  – Debrief report (W Stolz, SS Captain)

  (Allied War Powers Act)

  Myles checked the back of the paper: nothing. That was it.

  The emails were correspondence between five people he’d never heard of were copied in. Then he looked at the email addresses: mostly fco.gov.uk – the British Foreign Office. But there was also an @state.gov – the US State Department, and one from someone using @diplomatie.gouv.fr, which meant the Quai D’Orsay – the French Foreign Ministry. He scanned through the pages. The very first message had come from the Russian Government, but they’d been left off the rest of the email chain.

  He read the text. Some mention of Werner Stolz, but he wasn’t the main subject of the emails. Most were about whether or not to re-open a joint investigation into Stolz, as the Russians demanded. Much of it was legal jargon, debating how much of the agreements reached in the closing months of World War Two still applied.

  Myles put the papers down and looked out of the plane window, wondering what had he stumbled into.

  The airline stewardess was leaning towards him. ‘Your seatbelt, Sir?’

  Still thinking about Stolz, Myles registered the instruction and clumsily tried to fit one part of the mechanism into the other. He watched the runway as the plane accelerated, about to take off, and pondered why were the Russians so interested in such a very old man who had just died. What made this low-level SS officer so special?

  The plane shuddered as the nose began to rise. Myles read the emails again. He was missing something. This was a puzzle he couldn’t solve – not yet. He didn’t have enough pieces. And he knew most of the pieces of the puzzle dated from the end of World War Two. Some would be lost, some buried, and – if they were important enough – some hidden. It meant that to solve it, he’d have to investigate the world as it was at that time. The world when it was at war. The world which still obsessed so many of his students.

  He knew he’d get help from Helen. If anybody could track down the former Corporal Bradley, it was her. It would make a great story, potentially for broadcast. But he would have to learn more about Stolz himself. Who was this man, and what sort of life had he lived?

  Myles began to imagine Stolz when he was a soldier. A time when people gave hysterical support to Hitler, when Germany seemed able to conquer the world, then – as the war turned against the Nazis – when the Third Reich crumbled and collapsed. How had Stolz reacted to it all?

  Myles woke to find the plane landing at Berlin’s Tegel airport.

  Back on his crutches, handed to him with the stewardess’ goodbye, Myles hobbled towards the aircraft steps. Halfway down, he paused to breathe in the surprisingly fresh Berlin city air. Then he was disturbed by a call from below.

  ‘Munro?’ It was an American voice.

  Myles peered down. The man who had called out had already turned away, scanning around to see who might be watching.

  As he reached the bottom of the steps, Myles tucked one of his crutches under his arm and offered a handshake.

  The American ignored it. ‘You got any baggage?’

  His voice was cold and purposeful. Myles noticed his whole head was shaved in an extreme buzzcut: this was a man who coped with baldness by eradicating any trace of hair from his scalp. The American had an ex-military bearing. He obviously kept himself in shape. Probably in his late forties, but it was hard to tell. ‘I said, you got any baggage?’

  ‘Yes. One bag. I couldn’t really take much carry-on.’

  The man kept scanning around, avoiding eye contact with Myles when he spoke. ‘So, you’re the history professor from Oxford University?’

  ‘Just a lecturer, but yes, at Oxford.’

  The American let the words settle before he replied. ‘And you do the Nazis?’ He said ‘Nazis’ with his mouth pulled wide, as though saying the words was a painful instruction from a dentist.

  ‘It’s hard to be a war historian without covering the World Wars. So, yes, I “do” the Nazis.’ Myles wondered whether to explain his unorthodox theory of war. But first he wanted to know more about the frosty American who was guiding him through the arrivals terminal. ‘Sorry, your name is?’

  The American looked at him sideways, then offered Myles a hand to shake. ‘Glenn. You can call me Glenn.’

  Myles stopped on his crutches to accept the gesture. ‘Hello, Glenn. Just “Glenn”?’

  ‘I said you could call me Glenn. I didn’t say it was my name ...’

  The American supressed a smirk. Myles had come across people like ‘Glenn’ before. Probably a spook – they often worked on just a first-name basis. That way, even if they said somet
hing notable, nobody could quote it. All that could be reported was that there was someone called ‘John’ or ‘Sarah’ working on a particular topic in the national intelligence agency. Myles understood: ‘Glenn’ could be a firstname, middlename, surname, nickname, code-name or just a random designation given to the well-honed American official standing beside him.

  Glenn pointed upwards, directing Myles’ eyes towards a sign. Myles duly pulled out his passport, ready to be checked. Glenn waited by Myles while he queued. ‘… So, you read up much about Werner Stolz?’

  Myles shook his head. ‘Not sure there’s much to read, is there?’

  The American didn’t reply immediately. Myles sensed the man was measuring his words before he said them. ‘That’s the thing. There might be more to read than we thought.’

  Myles presented his official document to the German border official, who flicked straight to the photo page.

  ‘Welcome to Germany.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Myles was curious about the fact the American didn’t show anything to the official – he just made eye-contact and was waved through. Myles kept up with his questions. ‘More to read about Stolz, you mean?’

  ‘Sort of,’ explained Glenn. ‘It looks like there might be a problem with the original file. You see, it looks like something went missing …’

  Neither of them noticed the ‘tourist’ testing his camera near the passport queue.

  Thirteen

  Tegel Airport