The Hidden Genes of Professor K

by Gabriel Farago

  Exhausted, Señora Gonzales closed her eyes and floated back to that painful time at the Ritz during the war. Having her child taken from her in such a brutal way is something no mother can forget. Has Jack really found out what happened to my baby? she wondered, drifting into a restless slumber. Will I be content when I finally know what happened, or will my heart bleed again? Then she saw long forgotten faces and heard familiar voices reaching out to her from a turbulent past.

  First, the handsome SS Major who had swept her off her feet was smiling at her from the top of the stairs at the Ritz, and calling her name. Then came Göring, chatting excitedly with Coco Chanel and Sarah Bernhardt in the fabulous dining room filled with Germans. Finally, she saw her friend, Anastasia Petrova, flirting with a dashing young officer at the bar, telling him that her heart was French, but her ass was international …

  Señora Gonzales sat up with a jolt; someone was knocking on her door. It was Lola coming to take her down to dinner. Isis walked up to Lola from behind. ‘Let’s go down together, Mamina,’ she said. ‘I have the feeling that tonight will change us all.’

  ‘As you wish,’ said Lola and stepped aside.

  Always conscious of appearances and maximum impact, Isis, the consummate performer, couldn’t help herself. She linked arms with her grandmother and guided her towards the stairs. Together they would make an entry worthy of a megastar.

  Downstairs, the evening was already in full swing. A string quartet was playing softly in the background and pre-dinner drinks were being served in the elegant salon facing the garden. The floral arrangements the countess had ordered from the village were stunning, giving the evening a festive touch, like a special occasion to be celebrated with family and friends in the intimacy of a beautiful home.

  Countess Kuragin, an experienced hostess, knew exactly how to make her guests feel relaxed and at ease. She made sure that Sir Charles and Sir Humphrey were comfortably seated next to Hanna. Two elderly gentlemen and a ravishing young woman were always a good mix and an excellent way to keep the conversation lively and sparkling. Copious quantities of vintage champagne would do the rest and François made sure that no one had an empty glass.

  Jack and Dr Rosen were chatting on the terrace. Far too serious, thought the countess, looking at their faces. Definitely in need of some lighthearted distraction. She took a silver tray with an assortment of delicious canapés from the waitress and walked outside. ‘You must definitely try one of these,’ she said. ‘Foie gras in puff pastry; an old Russian recipe from my aunt. Delicious.’

  The countess needn’t have worried. Distraction was on its way. Slowly, one step at a time, Isis and her grandmother came walking down the stairs. For an instant the conversation stopped, as everyone watched. Two remarkable women approaching an evening of destiny together, thought Jack, and followed the countess across the room to greet them.

  The dinner was a sumptuous affair. Coquilles St Jacques and freshly shucked oysters, followed by honey-roast confit of duck with sour cherries, prepared the way for a crème brûlée that Escoffier would have been proud of. The countess had instructed François to raid the wine cellar for something special, and he did. A 1982 Château Latour à Pomerol, and a spectacular 2009 Château Margaux blended perfectly with the main course. Impressed by the vintages, Sir Charles – a serious wine connoisseur – was delighted. The evening was off to a good start.

  The countess realised the meal was merely preparing the way for the main event of the evening – Jack’s briefing – and had structured the dinner accordingly. As the hostess in charge, she was able to control the evening and guide her guests. After the dessert plates were cleared away, she suggested they all go into the music room next door for coffee and liqueurs. Tristan, who as a special treat had been allowed to join them for dinner, said goodnight; he was taking his new friend Boris to meet Anna in her studio.

  With all eyes on him and anticipation growing by the second, Jack knew it was time to begin.

  105

  Jack walked over to a large TV screen set up in front of the grand piano. ‘You may be wondering,’ he said, ‘what something so obviously out of place is doing here in this beautiful music room.’ Jack pointed to the TV. ‘Actually, tonight it will take centre stage. Why? Let me show you.’ Jack looked at his watch. Just gone six a.m. in Sydney, he thought, and turned to face François standing behind him. ‘It’s time,’ he said. ‘Let’s start.’

  Everybody in the intimate room was comfortably seated around the elaborate marble fireplace, with a good view of the TV. Countess Kuragin had arranged this quite deliberately because she knew what was coming. To accommodate its sophisticated clientele, the chateau was equipped with the latest video conference facilities. Jack had the same setup in his Sydney apartment for conference calls with his publishers and editor on the other side of the globe. François made a quick phone call and turned on the TV.

  First, a picture of a modern living room appeared. Brilliant sunshine was streaming through large open windows, and water could be seen sparkling in the distance. Then slowly, the camera turned slightly to the left, showing three people seated around a coffee table facing the camera with Anna’s striking painting on the wall behind them.

  ‘Good morning, Sydney,’ said Jack. ‘Can you see us?’

  ‘We can,’ said Alexandra, waving. ‘Good evening. We hope you’ve had a lovely dinner.’

  Jana and Carrington waved too. ‘The reception is excellent,’ Carrington said.

  ‘What a splendid idea,’ said Sir Charles to Sir Humphrey sitting next to him.

  Isis held her grandmother’s hand and kept staring at the TV screen, but said nothing.

  Skype on steroids, thought Lola. Clever. She locked eyes with Jack and nodded, her approval obvious. Once again, Jack had surprised everybody. Despite the tyranny of time and distance, he had managed to bring everyone together. Once he had made the necessary introductions and explained who everyone was, his anticipated briefing session could begin.

  ‘Firstly, a big thank you must go to Katerina for opening her wonderful home to us at such short notice,’ said Jack, pointing to the countess sitting next to Lola and Hanna in front of him. ‘And for a most memorable dinner that made us all feel so welcome and relaxed.’ Jack bowed to the countess to a round of polite applause. ‘Without her,’ continued Jack, ‘we wouldn’t be here. And without all of us coming together, right now, here, in one place, I wouldn’t be able to tell you about the extraordinary things I’ve discovered, and the events – and the people – who played a part in making it all possible.

  ‘As many of you have directly participated in those events and contributed to the discoveries, I will call on some of you, if I may, to give your own account of what happened, and why. That way, we’ll make sure that nothing is lost or overlooked and authenticity and accuracy are preserved in every way possible. This is essential if we are to uncover the truth, which is often cleverly disguised, hidden, or simply too far-fetched to be believable.’

  Having set the parameters, Jack the storyteller was in his element and ready to begin. The story he was about to tell had all the hallmarks of a riveting tale of war crimes, deception, greed, intrigue and murder, but also of selfless love, heartache and joy, where destiny and fate had ensnared lives in a complex web, resulting in a drama of Shakespearean proportions that was bound to keep any audience spellbound and glued to their seats to the very end.

  In many ways, however, it was much more than that. It was a reflection of real life and real people, and Jack was about to disclose what he had discovered about some of those people, tucked away in hidden corners of their lives.

  ‘On the way here, I thought long and hard about how I should begin,’ said Jack. ‘To do this story justice and put everything into proper context, we have to travel back a few years and revisit a devastating bushfire in the Blue Mountains just outside Sydney, and a photograph discovered by accident. This is it here …’

  Jack held up a copy of the shocking p
hotograph of the SS Major, his Doberman, and the naked boy hanging from a tree. ‘This is where it all began. In the ruins of a cottage destroyed by that fire. Those of you who have read my book – Dental Gold and Other Horrors – would be familiar with all this. It was the beginning of another extraordinary journey, which culminated in the exposure and trial of a notorious Nazi war criminal – Sir Eric Newman, alias Sturmbannfuehrer Wolfgang Steinberger, the man in this photograph. Jana was the investigating police officer and Marcus the barrister who conducted the trial in Sydney. And the person who gave us the first important clue in the investigation and showed us the way, was Lena Abramowitz, an Auschwitz Holocaust survivor. I mention her here because in a surprising twist, she features again in a most amazing way in our story. But for now, let’s focus on Sturmbannfuehrer Wolfgang Steinberger, and how the mention of his name persuaded me to take on this extraordinary assignment.’ Jack paused and turned to Señora Gonzales. ‘Perhaps you would care to tell us, Señora, why I was approached by Isis, your grandson, in the first place?’

  ‘Go on, Mamina, do as he asks,’ said Isis, squeezing her grandmother’s hand in encouragement. ‘It’s important.’

  Señora Gonzales nodded. ‘I read Jack’s book when it hit the bestseller list,’ she said. ‘When I discovered that the respected Australian banker, Sir Eric Newman, was none other than the notorious Sturmbannfuehrer Wolfgang Steinberger I knew a long time ago, I was in shock. At first, I thought there had been some mistake, but the more I read, the clearer things became. This was definitely the same man. For months, I desperately tried to forget all about this and bury the ghosts of the past, but they wouldn’t let go. Then came my daughter’s shocking murder …’ Señora Gonzales covered her face with her hands. ‘Hidden corners of our lives …’ she whispered, beginning to sob.

  ‘I can take it from here,’ said Isis, coming to her grandmother’s assistance. ‘I was with my mother when she died. Her injuries were so horrific, her face so disfigured, I could barely recognise her. Just before she passed away, she told me I was in great danger and mentioned a secret hiding place in our home only she and I knew about. Her last words were, “Stars, hide your fires”—’

  ‘As you will see, these fateful words – “Stars, hide your fires” – will take on a special significance later in the story,’ Jack interjected. ‘In fact, without those words, and without the discoveries Isis made in that secret hiding place, this story would never have been told and the truth would have remained hidden, perhaps forever. It’s often the little things, a word, perhaps even just a gesture, the casual mention of a name or a place that give us that vital little clue …’ Jack looked at Isis. ‘Could you please tell us what you found in that secret hiding place?’

  ‘I went from the hospital where my mother died, straight to Clarendon Hall in Kent, the Elms family residence where I grew up. There, hidden in an ancient wooden chest in the Egyptian room, I found something quite extraordinary,’ said Isis, her voice barely audible.

  ‘What did you find?’ prompted Jack.

  ‘A bundle of letters, and …’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘Lola, would you mind?’ said Isis. ‘This won’t take long.’

  Lola stood up and hurried out of the room. Moments later, she returned with a beautiful wooden box, which she placed on a small table in front of Jack.

  ‘May I?’ said Jack. Isis nodded. Jack activated the concealed mechanism by pressing a button. The box opened, revealing the magnificent crystal skull, reflecting the light of the candles flickering on the mantelpiece behind them. The scene reminded Jack of another occasion not that long ago, when he and Jana had replaced the missing piece of a pharaoh’s beard on a statue during an auction in London. ‘I feel a bit like a magician,’ said Jack. He pointed to the skull in front of him, glowing like a watching demon.

  ‘It was the discovery of this extraordinary artefact that triggered the chain of events that has brought us here tonight,’ said Jack. ‘Would you care to explain how that came about, Señora Gonzales?’ said Jack.

  ‘When Isis told me about the crystal skull she had discovered and what my daughter had told her just before she died – the warning – I realised it was far from over. The past was once again closing in and I had to do something …’ Señora Gonzales paused again and looked at Isis.

  ‘Tell them, please,’ said Isis.

  ‘I had to find out what happened during the war in Paris all those years ago. Or, at the very least, I had to try.’

  ‘What did you do?’ asked Jack.

  ‘I asked Isis to contact you and ask for your help.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because of your book …’ whispered Señora Gonzales. ‘You exposed Steinberger and found out who he really was. Perhaps you knew more. Perhaps you could find out what happened to …’ Overcome by emotion, Señora Gonzales began to choke.

  ‘I think we should take a little break,’ suggested Jack. He walked to the sideboard and poured a glass of water. Then he sat down next to Señora Gonzales. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked, and handed her the glass.

  ‘Thank you, Jack. I will be in a moment. I wouldn’t miss this for the world.’

  106

  Carrington turned the sound off and poured some orange juice for Jana and Alexandra during the short break Jack had suggested. ‘He’s doing a marvellous job,’ said Alexandra. ‘A born storyteller.’

  ‘He is that,’ Jana said. ‘But as you’ll soon see, there’s always a lot more to Jack’s stories than meets the eye. Deep down he’s a very shrewd and perceptive operator with an uncanny instinct and ability to uncover the truth.’

  ‘Well put,’ said Carrington. ‘I’m sure we’re in for a few surprises before this is over.’

  ‘I can’t wait,’ said Alexandra. ‘Isn’t Isis absolutely fascinating? And her grandmother – in her nineties? What do you make of her?’

  ‘She’s obviously at the centre of it all,’ said Carrington. ‘I would really like to know how Steinberger fits into all this and how Jack managed to find out about it.’

  ‘Remember the Hoffmeister interview? That should give us a clue,’ said Jana.

  ‘Sure, but where’s the connection? The link between Steinberger and his brother, and Señora Gonzales and Isis?’ said Carrington, shaking his head.

  ‘Knowing Jack, I’m sure we are about to find out,’ said Jana. ‘Here he is. Looks like he’s ready to continue.’

  Carrington waved at the camera and turned the sound back on.

  ‘After Señora Gonzales mentioned Sturmbannfuehrer Steinberger’s name and I accepted the assignment,’ said Jack, ‘she gave me an important clue. She hinted that a good place to start looking into those hidden corners would be at the hotel on Place Vendôme, none other than the famous Paris Ritz. And that is exactly what I did.’

  Jack then went on to talk about how Countess Kuragin introduced him to her old friend, Anastasia Petrova, the famous Russian ballerina, and the extraordinary information he discovered about the years she had spent at the Ritz during the war. He spoke of the scandal of the crystal skull, Göring’s eccentric tantrums and the ballerina’s close friendship with Señora Gonzales. He entertained his audience with his flirtatious adventures involving the flamboyant Mademoiselle Darrieux, and had them in stitches when he told them how he tried to resist her amorous advances without offending her. He explained that he did all that by following what he called ‘breadcrumbs of destiny’, to guide him through the confusing maze of information unfolding all around him.

  ‘The real breakthrough came in two ways,’ continued Jack. ‘First, there was the information I gleaned from the letters Isis found at Clarendon Hall, pointing to Africa – Kenya, to be exact. Then came Dr Rosen with her childhood memories of Anton Hoffmeister visiting her father in the Blue Mountains.

  ‘When we found out that Hoffmeister was still alive and Jana agreed to fly to Buenos Aires to interview him, things began to take on a momentum of their own.’ Jack turned towards the T
V screen. ‘Jana, could you please give us a brief account of what happened during that interview?’ he said.

  ‘Sure,’ said Jana. ‘We knew Hoffmeister was a greedy rogue. Devious, and unreliable. He had played an important part during the Newman trial that caused us much embarrassment. But we also knew that he could have valuable information. He had known Steinberger and his brother since childhood. They had joined the SS together and collaborated during, and after the war. We thought it was worth the gamble.’ Jana went on to describe her meeting with Hoffmeister at the old monastery and how she managed to acquire that important postcard from Nairobi, which provided the next crucial link in the investigation.

  ‘This is it here,’ said Jack. He held up a copy of the postcard for all to see. ‘It cost a hundred thousand dollars for the interview, and a further thirty thousand just for this old postcard. But it was worth it, because without it, we wouldn’t be here. It was the breakthrough I had been looking for. It pointed the way to Nairobi and the Van Der Hooven family. The significance of this will become apparent in a moment. However, before I tell you about that, we have to take a step back.’

  Jack needed some time to collect his thoughts. He reached for his brandy balloon on the piano behind him and took a sip of cognac.

  ‘Let’s pause for a moment and take stock,’ he said. ‘Most of what I’ve told you so far, you would have heard before. However, I feel it is important to revisit how it all began and how we arrived at this point. Allow me to recap: Lord and Lady Elms are brutally murdered in their home in London under suspicious circumstances four weeks ago. The official line of enquiry by the London Metropolitan Police and MI5 – that this was some kind of home invasion gone wrong – isn’t accepted by Isis or Sir Charles. They don’t trust the authorities.’ Jack paused and looked at Sir Charles. ‘They don’t believe the matter will be properly investigated and suspect some kind of cover-up,’ continued Jack. ‘The only question is, why? Determined to find out, Isis decides to commence her own independent investigation and contacts me.