The Blood Flag (20 page)

“Do you know where they are?”

“Who?”

“The men who were killed. The ones who bled on the flag.”

“Well, obviously, they are dead.”

He rolled his eyes. “Obviously. I mean, do you know where they are buried?”

“My recollection is that they were buried under or near a monument during Hitler's reign, but after the fall of Germany, the families were told that they were either going to destroy the bodies or that they would give them back to the families but they had to bury them in unmarked graves. So, I think they are still around, at least the skeletons—and they're in some unmarked graves.”

“How many of them bled on the flag?”

“Sixteen were killed, probably three or four bled on the flag. The main guy who died on the flag is well known.”

“You have to find the one who left blood that's testable. We have to match it to that guy.”

“Let's assume we can find the grave of the right guy. Will there be DNA in somebody's skeleton after having died ninety years ago?”

“Sometimes we can identify really old skeletal remains. We'll have to see. How well-preserved is the flag?”

“I think in its early years it was probably kept in a chest, folded. Then in the thirties it was brought out as the magic flag of the Nazi regime. It was probably kept on a flag staff in a protected room when it wasn't being used. And it was used sparingly. After that, it was flown to Argentina and kept in sealed container—probably never displayed at all—or rarely.”

“There's a chance. I can't tell you how good a chance without seeing it. But if we find something on the flag, maybe we can dig up the bones of the ones who died and get some DNA out of the skull. If that fails we can try and use mitochondrial DNA, probably from the teeth if they're still there.

When can I get my hands on this thing?”

“I don't actually have it. Our informant has it. . . . I don't think he's going to let go of it.”

“So, what's your plan?”

“Do you think other labs would be able to do the testing?”

“What lab do you have in mind?”

“The Bundeskriminalamt.”

“The Germans? Of course. No problem at all. But you're going to take the most important Nazi flag in history to Germany to have it tested by the Germans?”

“Maybe. We've got a couple of guys there who are helping me.”

“You do know the history of the BKA, right?”

“That it was started by Nazis?”

“Yes.”

“Yeah. I saw they finally admitted that a couple of years ago. They said it was because no one else in Germany had the investigative skills.”

Wilson chuckled. “Yeah, that's it. They
had
to use elements of the SS and the Gestapo. That's the only choice they had.”

“Right.”

“I'm just saying that an outfit that started that way may have some roots, some sympathies. Be careful who you trust in the BKA.”

“I hadn't really thought that through.”

“Talk to your guys in Germany and see what they think. I would just have some real hesitation. But yeah, they could do it. They're competent. There are also probably several commercial labs in Germany that could do it.” Wilson sat forward suddenly. “You hear about that testing of what they thought was Hitler's skull?”

“No. I thought he was burned outside the bunker after he shot himself.”

“He was. But the Russians were there the next day. Or in a couple of days. I don't remember. They said they destroyed the ashes, but secretly they took the skull back to Russia.”

“What happened?”

“Discovery Channel, or somebody, got ahold of the couch Hitler shot himself on, and pulled DNA off the blood on the couch. So that was in 1945, and they got good samples. Then they went to Russia—got them to let them take samples from the skull, amazingly—and compared it against the couch blood.

“The skull had a bullet hole in it and everything. Great show. Of course, the Russians only gave them thirty minutes access when they got there. Why would they do that? Anyway, you should check it out. It was on TV last month.”

“So what happened?”

“They used some forensic scientists from Connecticut. I watched it over and over. I checked all their procedures—what they told us about anyway—and it looked correct. They knew what they were doing. So they compared the blood, and it wasn't a match.”

“How did I never hear about this?”

“Probably because it wasn't a match. If it had been Hitler's, it would have been front-page headlines.”

“So whose was it?”

“Well, the scientists said the skull was more likely to be a woman, and I think they're right. So what woman had a bullet hole in her head that was close to Hitler?”

“Eva Braun.”

“Well supposedly she just took the poison. But who knows.”

“How do they know they got Hitler's blood off the couch?”

“Never authenticated it. All they did was try to match it against the skull.”

“Why didn't they get more blood from the couch?”

“Not sure. But for your problem, I can recommend some labs in Germany where you can get it tested. But what are you going to do once you get it tested?”

“We have to get it done quickly. In a couple of weeks. Our guy has to meet with this new Nazi who is trying to put together the leaders of all the Nazi movements around the world. One uniform, one leader, one structure, worldwide Nazism.”

He frowned. “That's gotta be stopped.”

“That's what I'm trying to do.”

I went to my office and called Florian.

“Ah,” he said. “Good to hear from you. Have you found your missing friend?”

I wasn't sure Florian would still work with me after Buenos Aires. “Yeah. He's back on board. He says he was never not on board. I'm still skeptical. And the leader of the Southern Volk—the former leader—has now gone missing. I think there's an even chance that our friend did away with him.”

“Well, he has the flag. If we want to do anything with it, we need him.”

“Exactly. But I'm going to need your help.”

“Sure, anything.”

“How do we prove to Eidhalt that this is the actual Blood Flag? We have to authenticate it.”

“We could do some kind of carbon dating. Although, I don't know if that works for something this young.”

“No, anybody could get ninety-year-old cloth. All that would do is date the flag. That doesn't get us there. We have to prove it's
the
flag. I think we have to get the blood sample off the flag and test the DNA of the men who were shot. How can we find them?”

“The ones who fell on the flag?”

“Right. Where are they buried?”

There was a period of silence. “I think Patrick may know. I know that there was something that happened with them. I don't recall what it was. How much time do we have now?”

“Ten days. Then we have to be ready to go to the meeting.”

“Has your friend told them what he has?”

“Not yet. He's supposed to meet Eidhalt in Germany. Then we'll have to find someplace—a commercial lab—that can do this kind of testing that we can sell to Eidhalt.”

“I'm sure we can find such a lab. How do we go about this?”

I looked at the clock. “Assume we can get a blood sample from the flag. We've got to find either the remains of one of the men who bled on it, or one of their descendants. I think we've got to find where these guys were buried.”

Florian hesitated. “You can do DNA testing from someone who's been dead for ninety years?”

“Depends. I know you can do testing on skeletons that have been around for hundreds of years. I'm trying to figure it all out. But for now, see if you can find the guys who were killed. Concentrate on the ones that would be the most likely. One guy apparently fell directly on the flag and bled to death there. Most of the blood's probably his.”

“Let me talk to a guy who has suddenly become interested in what we're doing.”

My antenna went up. “What guy?”

“The Verfassungsschutz. You know who they are?”

“Yeah, sort of closer to the CIA,” I responded, not liking what I was hearing.

“We got a visit yesterday from one of them. About this.”

“About what?”

“He heard we were asking around. Involving neo-Nazis.”

“Why was he interested?”

“Said he was working on a similar project. Wanted to make sure we didn't bang into each other.”

I wasn't sure whether to say what I was thinking or not. “Did you know him before yesterday?”

“No. We had never heard of him.”

“Did you tell him about the
Blutfahne
?”

“Yes, we mentioned it.”

“How did he react?”

“I'm not sure how to describe it. I'm not sure of the best English word. Enthusiastic.”

“Eager?”

“Perfect. Yes. Eager and enthusiastic about our project.”

“Did you say much else?”

“No. He said he wanted to meet soon.”

“I wish you'd talked to me first. I don't like it. I'm coming over there. I'll see you tomorrow.”

I picked up the phone and told Alex we were going to Germany that night.

On my way to the airport, I texted Florian and asked him to meet us in Munich. Alex and I checked in at the Sofitel, a beautiful old building that had been completely modernized. We dropped off our bags and went to the restaurant in the lobby for a late breakfast. Florian and Patrick arrived as we were finishing. I waved. Florian looked a little disheveled with his hair in something of a mess. He was wearing a high-collared zip sweater. Patrick was wearing a sport coat and a blue shirt open at the collar. They ordered coffee and we got refills.

I said to both of them, “I checked the notes you gave me. The guy who seems to be the one who bled right on the flag the most is Jens Friedl. Any idea how to track where he was buried?”

Patrick looked around. He pulled some papers out of his coat pocket and laid them in front of him. “The men who died were buried in graves here in Munich. All marked. After Hitler went to prison, most people thought the movement was dead. Well, after Hitler got out of prison—after writing
Mein Kampf
—he rebuilt Nazism with new energy. The same people who were in the
putsch
were right there with him. Luddendorff, Hess, Röhm, Göring, all of them. They picked up right where they left off. The conditions in Germany were terrible and getting worse. After Hitler maneuvered himself into the position of chancellor, he then made it so that he could never be removed. This was all well known. He dug up the bodies, how do you say it?”

“Exhumed.”

“Yes. He had the bodies of the men who died in the beer hall
putsch
exhumed, and re-buried them under a monument to honor them. In 1934. I have found a picture of it.” He handed me a Xeroxed copy of a photograph that showed an ornate marble monument in honor of the martyrs of National Socialism. I couldn't read the inscription, but the message being conveyed was clear. I handed the picture back to him.

“Then what?”

“Then the Blood Flag became the centerpiece of Nazism. The one magical thing. It, of course, was nothing of the sort, but Hitler made it into that. And the men who died—and bled on it—were the first martyrs of Nazism. So the monument was almost worshipped.”

“What happened to them?”

Patrick nodded. “At the end of the war the Russians were going to tear down the monument and destroy the remains of the ‘martyrs.' They were going to dig them up and burn their bones.”

Patrick continued. “But the families heard about it. They begged for the remains so they could re-bury them. The Russians agreed, but only if they were buried in unmarked graves and never identified.”

Alex frowned. “We have to find unmarked graves?”

Patrick nodded. “Yes.”

“That will be impossible.”

Patrick shook his head, “No it won't. We Germans keep track of everything. The families will know, or someone else will know. We'll find out.”

I nodded as I drank my last bit of cool coffee. “If we find Friedl's, which is the one we have to look for first, you do understand we're going to have to dig it up?”

“Of course!” Patrick said enthusiastically, like it would be the most fun he'd had in years.

“And we have to do this in a way that our buddy, Jedediah Thom, can persuade Eidhalt. I need to get him on the phone, but let's locate that grave first.”

Patrick and Florian prepared to leave. Then I added, “And then I want to hear about your contact with the Verfassungsschutz. But don't talk to them directly. Not yet.”

Florian nodded.

I paid the bill then said to Florian and Patrick. “You guys find that grave this afternoon. Think you can do that?”

“We can try.”

“After you do, let's get together tonight and go look at it. Then you can tell me about this visit that you had. I had an idea on how we might use that to our benefit.”

As the sun set, Alex and I walked out of the hotel and down the street to see the center of Munich. We had spent the entire afternoon researching the flag. I needed fresh air. I sent an email, high priority, to Jedediah's account, telling him we needed to talk.

“Where are we going?” Alex asked as we walked briskly in the cold evening air.

“I want to retrace the route.”

“What route?”

“From the beer hall to the City Hall. The
putsch
.”

“Is the beer hall still there?”

“No. It was called the Bürgerbräukeller, but that building was torn down in the seventies. The Hilton sits on that property now. Tonight we'll go eat in another huge beer hall, Hofbräuhaus, but before we do that we're going to walk the same route Hitler led his Nazis on when the Blood Flag was created.”