Secrets of the Last Nazi (21 page)

S
ally Wotton’s
desk was quiet again.

The last upload to
Mein Kampf Now
had caused quite a stir. She had been asked to give ‘emergency briefings’, presentations to the top management group and one-to-ones with various deputy directors. It was the first time senior types at the CIA had taken a real interest in her work. A few of them even seemed interested in her, and she’d been asked – ordered – to come into work especially early, just in case there was anything new. But with no updates on the terror-group website for a while, and no breakthroughs from the tech boys trying to trace the uploads, the trail had gone cold. Even the photograph of a dead man hanging in a hotel room had been a tease – some analysts reckoned it was taken in northern Europe because of the furniture, but the background was too out-of-focus for anything more precise.

It meant Sally was back to browsing the web. Or, more accurately, browsing those website which a CIA computer algorithm had identified as ‘suspect’, and which belonged to the category assigned to her.

There was the usual dross. ‘Death sites’, crazy protestor sites, and obscene stuff which tried to frighten but didn’t. Sally now paid special attention to all the Hitler sites which came up, just in case any were connected to
Mein Kampf Now
. When she’d suspected one yesterday, she’d raised the alert immediately and within minutes a lonely teenager in rural Tennessee had his bedroom invaded by a swarm of Federal agents. Even though the agents soon found the youth wasn’t connected to the terror group, the teenager’s mother still took away his computer privileges and grounded him for a month as a punishment.

It made Sally wonder even more about her job. She was trying to do what the CIA was meant to do – to protect the USA from threats. Yet, when it had happened, Sally’s role seemed to have amounted to giving a few powerpoint presentations and getting some deputy directors to nod their heads in concern. She was fairly sure others had begun working on
Mein Kampf Now
without telling her, making her feel left out.

She scrolled down today’s list of highlighted sites.

She squinted, checking the words again.
‘Humanitarian Pursuit’ ?

She scratched her head. Why was something humanitarian a threat? Surely pursing humanitarian goals was a good thing, wasn’t it?

She clicked on it, and instantly realised why the algorithm had selected it. The website was linked directly to
Mein Kampf Now
.

Humanitarian Pursuit
believes the threats made by
Mein Kampf Now
are horrendous. We believe in the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and that all people should be allowed to thrive in peace and prosperity in every part of the world...

Mein Kampf Now
and
Humanitarian Pursuit
have opposite goals…

She scrolled down. There were pictures of starving African children eating from tins of food aid, and a poverty-stricken farmer trying to take in a failed harvest. Library images? She didn’t know. She guided her cursor to read the text at the bottom.

Humanitarian Pursuit
would like to meet the instigators of
Mein Kampf Now
. We want to talk to you, to understand you and – yes, we are self-confident enough to use the word – negotiate with you…

We believe
Humanitarian Pursuit
and
Mein Kampf Now
can agree a peace deal.

Sally raised her eyebrows.

‘Humanitarian Pursuit’
– she’d never heard of it before. She typed the phrase into a search engine, and only the page to come up was the one already on her screen. She checked whether this ‘Humanitarian Pursuit’ was registered with any Federal authority. It wasn’t.

She didn’t know whether to praise it or be suspicious. Was trying to negotiate with
Mein Kampf Now
a good idea or a very stupid one?

She knew her seniors wouldn’t be interested in this one. There were thousands of do-good organisations all across the world. Even though this one was trying to ‘do good’ with
Mein Kampf Now
, it wouldn’t be a priority for the CIA.

But it was a priority for her. Sally sent a request to the tech boys – she wanted the site traced and monitored, just like the original Hitler site.

Then she realised something very odd about the site indeed, and she smiled to herself. Something so simple, so easy to overlook.
Now that would definitely interest her boss…

At last, her over-trained brain had been useful after all…

T
he flight was punctuated only
by a brief refuelling stop just before the twin-engined helicopter passed out of German air-space. The team stayed on board. As they flew on, into France, Myles could make out the tell-tale ditches which had marked out the First World War trenches from a century earlier. Pascal noticed them too, and seemed fascinated.

As promised, the international team were dropped exactly where Myles had specified: in Compiègne, on a well-tended patch of grass and pavings in the middle of a wooded area. The Chinnook had evidently called ahead – the site had been roped off, and tourists moved away. The machine was able to descend safely, without anyone below it or too close to the rotor blades. The team rushed out, thanking the helicopter crew as they left.

Only as the Chinnook departed, rising away with its shuddering noise and squall, did Myles realise what a peaceful place they had come to. Like some sort of ornamental garden, there were solemn monuments and flagpoles, as well as the two-room museum and railway carriage he was expecting.

‘You’re the historian,’ said Zenyalena, turning to Myles. ‘Do we need to know about this railway carriage, or can we just follow Stolz’s directions?’

Myles lifted his shoulders, unsure. ‘It may be important. I don’t know.’ They moved towards it. The paintwork on the outside had been polished to a high shine, and the inside was preserved like a crime scene. Peering in through a window, Myles pointed to the table in the centre of the carriage. ‘This is a copy of Field Marshall Foch’s private train – commander of British and French troops towards the end of World War One. When a German delegation crossed the front lines to discuss peace terms, this is where they were taken. The Allies bugged their communications with Berlin, so they knew they could demand an unconditional surrender, and they got it. It was at that table that the armistice was signed, and the Great War ended.’

Zenyalena didn’t want the team to dwell on the history too much. ‘And then, later?’

‘Well, the First World War was known as the ‘War to End All Wars’, recounted Myles. ‘But the treaty which followed soon became the ‘Peace to End All Peace’. Hitler believed the Germans had been tricked. He thought they could have fought on to win, blaming Jews in Berlin for giving up early. That’s why, in 1940, when his armies had beaten France, he made the French surrender in this same railway carriage. He was trying to undo the humiliation of 1918. Or rather, pass that humiliation onto the French….’

Pascal, Heike-Ann and Glenn listened carefully to Myles’ words. Just as he did in Oxford’s lecture halls, Myles’s had captivated his audience.

‘… The Free French liberated this place from the Nazis in September 1944, just two weeks after the last train had taken people from here to the death camps...’

They were all fascinated - except Zenyalena. ‘Thank you, Myles. I think that is enough. Now let’s follow Stolz’s directions.’

Glenn held up his hand. ‘Wait. Surely there’s a reason Stolz sent us here. We need to know why.’

Pascal and Heike-Ann were nodding. ‘Could we at least check out the museum?’ asked the German.

Zenyalena shook her head. ‘No time. Stolz hid his secret files south of here, and that’s where we need to go. If there is a reason why he hid them near here, we’ll be much closer to finding it when we find those papers.’

Pascal, Heike-Ann and Glenn accepted they would have to leave the carriage and go with the Russian. The Russian woman couldn’t be allowed to find Stolz’s next hiding place alone.

Zenyalena marched to the car park, leading the team as she went. Myles found tried to keep up with the pace, but felt a sharp pain in his leg. He had to limp along behind.

The vehicle Zenyalena had hired was easy to find – it was the only minibus there. As she had arranged with the rental company, the keys were underneath one of the back tyres. She spoke as she reached for them. ‘Stolz said we needed to go five hundred metres south of here. No need to measure the distance – this has GPS. Easy.’ She clutched the keys in her palm, and opened the driver’s door.

Myles followed Heike-Ann and Pascal into the back of the minibus. Glenn, last in, made a point of riding shot-gun, sitting next to Zenyalena, who was in the driving seat. The American wanted to watch the GPS.

Zenyalena spoke without looking at him. ‘Set it for five hundred metres - due south.’

Glenn played with the controls, pausing to check it was right before he gave her the go-ahead. ‘Done.’

Zenyalena turned on the ignition and let the engine rumble for a few seconds before putting the vehicle in gear and driving out.

The computerised voice from the GPS – a woman with a mid-Atlantic accent which reminded Myles of Helen - was unambiguous. ‘At the next turning, take the first right…’ The first right was a small, gravel lane. It led away from the railway carriage and the ceremonial space around it, into the forest. ‘…200 metres…’

The team eagerly watched out of the windows. They were driving into the wood. The spot chosen by Stolz was somewhere amongst the trees.

‘…100 metres…’ declared the GPS.

Zenyalena allowed the vehicle to slow as they approached. Gravel crunched under the tyres. Myles sensed this road was not used very much.

‘ …. You have now reached your destination.’

Zenyalena stopped the minibus.

Without words, Glenn jumped out, then opened the door for her passengers. ‘We’re here – wherever ‘here’ is. Let me know if you see something.’

Myles, Pascal and Heike-Ann stepped down onto the track. Zenyalena turned off the engine and lifted the handbrake, subtly pocketing the keys.

Silence. Not even the leaves in the trees made a sound.

Myles glanced around. They were on a rough roadway – small stones on mud - in the middle of a dense forest. Undergrowth covered most of the ground to both sides of them. There were no other people between here and the museum in Compiègne. It was a good place to hide something, although the seclusion also made it sinister.

Myles saw to one side of the small road: a pattern on the ground. The undergrowth was missing. He hobbled towards the brambles to make sure. As his suspicions proved correct, he advanced more slowly – partly out of respect, partly out of fear of unexploded munitions. It was a trench, from the First World War. ‘Be careful,’ he called back to the others. ‘This place could still be dangerous.’

While Pascal, Glenn and Zenyalena began to follow, Heike-Ann remained where she was. ‘Well, if it isn’t safe, shouldn’t we stop?’ she asked.

But Myles was already out of earshot. He examined the earthworks. Corrugated iron still held up the walls – rusted in places and defaced by recent spray-can graffiti. Wooden duckboards on the bottom of the trench had been buried by a century of autumn leaves and other detritus. In one direction, the trench stopped where it had been filled in - to make the track where the minibus was parked. The other way it led into the unknown, turning at a right-angle. The dense tree cover made it much darker in that direction.

As carefully as he could, Myles slid down into the trench, keeping the weight off his healing leg. Soil scraped onto his new velcro knee support. Weeds rubbed against his clothes.

Glenn jumped down beside him. ‘So this was the Western Front, huh?’

Myles nodded. ‘Part of it. The trees would have protected this part from artillery, which is probably why it’s still here.’

‘But Myles, I thought Stolz’s clue said ‘where He didn’t serve’. Does that mean Hitler served in the trenches somewhere else?’

Still gauging his surroundings, Myles shook his head. ‘Hitler never really spent much time in the trenches at all – just a few weeks out of the whole four years. His war record was mostly propaganda. Nazi fiction. He lied about it in Mein Kampf, too. Hitler spent his First World War comfortable in regimental HQ, a safe distance behind the front…’

Glenn kicked one of the sides. A small volume of earth tumbled down. ‘So you reckon we have to search this whole trench? Stolz could have hidden his stuff anywhere.’

‘No - remember: Stolz was an old man when he hid those papers, and he hid them recently,’ said Myles, as he started limping along. ‘We just need to look for signs of someone hiding papers.’

He remembered explaining to his students how trenches zig-zagged: to limit the damage from artillery shells, and to stop a single gun being placed along the length. The international team would have to follow the zigs and zags, turning each corner until they found whatever Stolz had buried.

Pascal and Zenyalena came down to join Myles and Glenn in the trench. Only Heike-Ann stayed near the minibus, too afraid to leave the gravel track.

Myles started to limp along the narrow passage. ‘Look for anything unusual. And watch out for booby traps,’ he warned. ‘Armies left lots of them whenever they retreated. Some didn’t get cleaned up afterwards.’

They turned the first corner. Part of the wall had collapsed, but grass was growing where it had fallen away. It was an old slippage. Myles stepped over it and continued, to the second corner, with the others following behind.

Myles noticed a white surface on the side near his feet. He bent down to inspect it. It was old - part of a skull buried many years ago. Then some beetles began crawling out of the earth beside them. Zenyalena winced. They left it and continued forward.

The third corner. Myles stopped. There, in the middle of the pathway, was an old ammunition box. It looked as though it had just fallen from the side of the trench. But something about the hole it had come from made Myles wonder: the exposed soil was fresh, with spade marks, as though it had been dug out recently. Myles bent towards it without touching. Paint on the metal cover had flaked off, and the rim where the lid joined the main part of the box was rusted. But there was much less rust than on other steel artefacts he had seen dug up from the trenches.

Zenyalena called from behind. ‘Do you think it’s from Stolz?’

Without answering, Myles tried to look closer still. Then he saw it: a Swastika. It was the confirmation he needed. ‘Yes. It must be. We’re in a First World War trench, and that’s a Second World War ammunition box. The Swastika – it’s from the Nazis.’

Still without touching, as if they all knew it could be deadly, the four of them positioned themselves until they were all standing above it. Glenn pulled a utility knife from his pocket, flicked open one of the blades, and offered it to Myles who took it gratefully.

Myles knelt down and slid the blade into the rust, between the lid and the main box. It was looser than he expected. ‘Do you want to stand back, just in case?’

Zenyalena frowned. ‘Of course not – we want to see what’s inside.’

Nobody else tried to protect themselves either – curiosity drew them all in. If the tin was booby trapped, Heike-Ann, still standing by the minbus, would be the only survivor.