Secrets of the Last Nazi

by Iain King

  This work to be kept secret.

  Thanks – Myles.

  He allowed Glenn, Zenyalena and Heike-Ann to see the note. All three seemed content. Heike-Ann produced a large envelope for him and offered an array of Stolz’s original papers.

  Myles thanked her, selected five of the papers at random, then placed them in the envelope. He sealed it, then wrote Frank’s name and the Imperial War Museum address on the front. ‘We’ll post this when we get the say-so from Jean-François,’ he explained.

  Glenn started shaking his head, as though he was answering questions to himself. ‘You know, this just doesn’t feel right. If the Nazis had a secret method for predicting future events, how come they lost the war?’

  Nobody answered. Not even Zenyalena, who just sipped her coffee.

  Myles, meanwhile, turned to Heike-Ann, his mind elsewhere. ‘What does “ONB” stand for, in German?’

  Heike-Ann looked blank. ‘Where’s it from?’

  Myles pulled out the paper titled ‘Locations’. He laid it in front of the other three, and pointed to three capitalised letters.

  Location One: Schoolmate’s Tract. ONB (where the empire began, 15.III.38)

  ‘We know Stolz hid some of his papers – probably after his flat was raided,’ recounted Myles. ‘If we find the rest of his papers, we’ll know how he did it …’ He began directing his words to Glenn. ‘… And whether it was a parlour trick or whether Stolz really had found some sort of correlation which allowed him to make accurate predictions.’

  Glenn looked at the ‘Locations’ page. ‘So “Where the Empire Began - 15.III.38”. It looks like a date, and I know you Europeans put the month in the middle, right? So, March 1938. Stolz would have been in his twenties. Where was he on the 15th of March 1938?’

  Zenyalena threw up her hands. ‘Where Stolz was on a random day almost eighty years ago? We can never know that.’

  ‘We might,’ said Myles. ‘Anybody got a smartphone? What was happening on 15th March 1938?’

  Glenn pulled a slick mobile device from his pocket. Myles sensed he was showing off the new-looking gadget. Within a few seconds the American had found the Wikipedia webpage listing dates from the year mentioned in Stolz’s clue. ‘Here’s what there is for 15th March 1938,’ said the American, as he began reading. ‘Soviet Union announces that one-time leading communist Bukharin has been executed. French Premier Blum reassures Czechoslovakia. Hitler makes a speech in Heldenplatz, Vienna, Austria, proclaiming the “Anschluss”, or Union, of Germany and Austria.’

  Myles leapt forward. ‘“Where the Empire Began” – Stolz was from Austria, right? So for Stolz, the Empire was the Third Reich, and it only became an empire when his country, Austria, united with Nazi Germany - following Hitler’s speech in Vienna.’

  Glenn tried to understand. ‘So you’re saying Stolz hid his papers where Hitler made his speech in Vienna – this “Heldenplatz” place?’

  Heike-Ann was dismissive. ‘Nice idea, Myles, but “Heldenplatz” means “Place of Heroes”.’ She was shaking her head as she spoke. ‘It’s a huge, open square. You can’t hide papers in a square like that and keep them secret.’

  ‘You’ve been there?’

  ‘Yes. As a schoolgirl. The clue doesn’t make sense.’

  Myles accepted her point. ‘You’re right – it doesn’t make sense. But if we want to find out how Stolz did it, we have to go to this “Heldenplatz” square. Somewhere in “Heldenplatz” is where he hid his secret …’ Myles looked around at Glenn, Zenyalena and Heike-Ann, silently asking them whether they wanted to travel south. ‘… So, what do you think? This is probably the best clue we have.’

  Zenyalena was clear. ‘Simple – we go to Vienna.’

  ‘Thank you, Zenyalena. Heike-Ann?’

  Heike-Ann shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t get a vote. I’m here to assist you. If the team wants to go to Vienna, I’ll come along.’

  ‘Good. Thank you, Heike-Ann. And Glenn?’

  Glenn was more uncertain. ‘I don’t know. We go to some huge square in Vienna. Then what?’

  ‘We look for clues,’ replied Myles straightforwardly. ‘And if we don’t find any, we come back here.’ Myles was about to say more when he was interrupted by the sealed door being opened and the receptionist poking her head inside.

  ‘I know you asked not to be disturbed, but are you able to take a call? We’ve had a call from the French Foreign Ministry asking for you,’ she explained. ‘Should I put it through?’

  Glenn nodded to the receptionist, who acknowledged him and left. A few seconds later, the phone began to ring.

  Cautiously, the American picked it up. ‘Hello?’ He frowned with his eyebrows, concentrating on the faraway voice. ‘My name’s Glenn. I’m the United States representative on this team. And you are?’

  After a short pause, Glenn nodded, seemingly satisfied by the answer. ‘Hello, Carine.’ He listened some more, then looked surprised. ‘Well, he didn’t ask us!’ Glenn’s eyes scanned around the rest of the group.

  ‘These things happen,’ continued the American. ‘Apology accepted. When’s he coming?’ Glenn’s face widened again, as he turned his wrist to check his watch. ‘… Well that’s probably going to be before Jean-François himself gets out of bed this fine morning…’

  He leaned forward. ‘… And thank you. The team will discuss it with Jean-François. Until we agree to it, we haven’t agreed. We’ll probably send this Pascal guy straight home again. Understood …? Yes, Merci to you, too.’ Thank you.’

  Glenn took the phone from his ear and pressed a button on it, checking it was off before he placed it back on the stand. Then he shook his head, dismissing the telephone conversation. ‘French Foreign Ministry,’ he explained. ‘Sounds like Jean-François has invited someone else to join the team. Why not have a party and just invite people from the street?’

  Zenyalena kept her gaze fixed on the American. ‘Why do you ridicule him, Glenn? Jean-François probably has a good reason.’

  Glenn paused some more. ‘I’ll tell you what,’ he said, with the look of a man about to cut a deal. ‘We’ll put all this to Jean-François. If he can persuade us to take on another person, then we will. And if he’s up for Vienna, then we all go. Otherwise, we stay here and the team stays as it is. Agreed?’

  Zenyalena began to grin, as though she had just won a small victory. It was the first time in the whole investigation that Glenn had conceded something. She decided to cash in her winnings. ‘Let’s go up to Jean-François now, and ask him. All of us. He must be in – back from his run or whatever.’ She stood up.

  Heike-Ann started gathering the papers on the table while Glenn reluctantly also came to his feet. Myles lifted himself on his bad leg. Zenyalena waited until everyone was with her, then led the party of four upstairs to the bedrooms.

  On the upper floor, Glenn, Myles, with Heike-Ann bringing up the rear, checked the door numbers as they walked down the corridor.

  Zenyalena was already ahead of them, pointing to the end. ‘It’s this one.’ She rapped her knuckles sharply on the door. She called through the door, her tone slightly embarrassed. ‘Mr Jean-François. Wake up time!’ Zenyalena smirked, imagining what Jean-François might be doing, and why he might not want to answer.

  The team looked at each other silently. The room was silent too.

  ‘Jean-François.’ Zenyalena’s voice was sterner this time.

  Again, nothing.

  Myles bent down to look through the keyhole. He closed one eye and squinted inside with the other. ‘I can’t see anything in there. It’s too dark – he hasn’t opened the curtains.’

  Glenn started to look concerned. He gestured for the others to make space. Then he knocked very loudly. ‘Jean-François.’ He was almost shouting though the door. ‘Wake up now. Are you alright?’

  Still there was still no answer.

  Looking reluctant, the American took two steps back, and rushed towards the door. His shoulder slammed into the w
ood, which stayed in place. Glenn recoiled. Then he turned accusingly to Myles. ‘You gonna help me, or just stand there?’

  ‘Let’s just get the spare key from reception,’ suggested Myles.

  Glenn dismissed the idea. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Let’s just barge it open.’

  Myles sized up the door frame. It was robust. Then he looked back at Glenn, and down at his own injured leg. ‘OK, let’s get inside.’

  Together, they pushed again. The lock buckled, and the door swung open. Myles stumbled forward, unable to see into the darkness.

  Zenyalena flicked a light switch.

  Aghast, the four intruders – Zenyalena, Glenn, Heike-Ann and Myles – stood in silence at what they saw: in the middle of the room, Jean-François dangled from piano wire which cut tightly into his neck. Pale and lifeless, his face was frozen in an expression of terror.

  Twenty-Eight

  10.14 a.m. CET (9.14 a.m. GMT)

  * * *

  Myles rushed to the hanging body. He grabbed the Frenchman’s legs, which were cold and felt like pre-cooked meat, to push the body upwards – if there was any chance Jean-François was still alive, the weight needed to be taken from his neck. But the movement only forced the blood which had pooled in the man’s mouth to spew out. Myles felt the liquid soak onto his back.

  Looking up at Jean-François’ neck, Myles could see how deeply the wire had cut. Exposed flesh glistened with half-dried body fluids. The skin was bruised blue, and distorted muscles bulged out on one side. Jean-François’ tongue was poking from his mouth, and his lips were discoloured.

  Quickly, Glenn grabbed the chair from the desk and stood on it. The American unwound the piano wire from the light socket, so that all of Jean-François’ weight transferred to Myles who, still holding the man’s legs, manoeuvred the body onto the bed.

  The Frenchman’s cadaver was stiff, and his face fixed in an expression of extreme fear. His eyeballs gazed out as if he had seen pure evil, the blood vessels inside them had burst. It was clear that the wire had not just cut into his throat, but also choked his jugular artery, severing the blood supply to his head for however long the Frenchman had been hanging.

  Myles bent down, daring to peer straight into Jean-François’ last moments. There was something about the dead man’s face, his eyes and his jaw. Myles tried to see beneath the red saliva oozing out of Jean-François’ mouth to wonder what the man’s last words might have been. The torture evident in his eyes was not just physical, but also psychological; it seemed his death had come in the midst of absolute terror.

  Heike-Ann pushed two fingers onto an unbloodied part of Jean-François’ neck to check for a pulse. She shut her eyes while she waited the few seconds it took to be absolutely certain the man was dead. Eyes still closed, she shook her head and withdrew her hand. There was no need for her to announce that Jean-François had no pulse. All four of them had already concluded the Frenchman died several hours ago.

  While Heike-Ann and Zenyalena moved away, Heike-Ann with her hand to her mouth in shock, Glenn pointed to Jean-François’ wrists. ‘Look …’ he whispered. Without touching the body, the American drew Myles’ attention to two narrow red lines. ‘… His hands had been tied. And now they’re free. Someone cut the binding after he died. Someone watched him die.’

  Myles understood. ‘And piano wire. It’s meant to be one of the cruellest ways to die. You know, when the Stauffenberg bomb plot failed to kill Hitler in July 1944, the dictator ordered the conspirators to be hung from piano wire.’ Myles kept trying to read Jean-François’ expression. ‘It’s as though whoever did this was trying to ... they weren’t just trying to kill Jean-François. Right?’

  Glenn acknowledged the point, while Heike-Ann supressed an audible reaction.

  Zenyalena was distracting herself from the corpse by examining the Frenchman’s desk. Papers from Stolz were still out, as though Jean-François had been reading them when he was disturbed by his killer. Also, his laptop computer was still on, showing a screen saver. Zenyalena clicked on the mouse. A webpage came up, probably the last webpage Jean-François had read. Zenyalena turned the screen around so they could all read it.

  Gauquelin

  Zenyalena scrolled down.

  Michel Gauquelin (1928-1991) was a French statistician and writer …

  She spoke to the others without looking up. ‘It’s a biography. About another dead Frenchman …’ The Russian pulled out one of the papers, ‘… and it matches what he’d been reading from Stolz. Look – a paper from Stolz on this “Mr Gauquelin”.’ Then she noticed Jean-François’ email system was open too. Zenyalena guided the cursor on to the ‘sent’ folder and clicked. There was a single, fairly long message sent just before midnight. Zenyalena brought it up. ‘It looks like he was emailing the Quai D’Orsay, the French Foreign Ministry.’

  Glenn exhaled demonstrably, making clear he thought it was bad taste for Zenyalena to be reading their colleague’s emails so soon after he had been murdered.

  Zenyalena ignored him, and carried on reading. ‘The email’s in French,’ she said. ‘There’s a whole bunch of stuff here about … us. He says, “Glenn, United States, probably military intelligence, obstructive at times, secretive …”’

  Glenn raised his eyebrows, but didn’t say anything. He looked across at Jean-François’ body, deciding not to challenge the dead man’s assessment.

  ‘Er, “Myles Munro, Great Britain”,’ continued Zenyalena. ‘“Cooperative, unusual and exceptionally intelligent … Zenyalena Androvsky, Russia, prepared to cause disruption within team but determined to understand Stolz …”’ She skimmed on through the text, deliberately leaving out some of Jean-François’ words on her. ‘Then he goes on to describe Stolz’s papers. He says, “Stolz’s papers seem to describe future events. It seems the Nazis made predictions which have later proven to be correct. The question is, how? Stolz may have found some link between human events and predictable natural phenomena. This would have allowed him to forecast future natural events, and then make accurate conjectures about human affairs – all with very precise timings for when they would happen …’ Then Zenyalena skipped to the end. ‘‘‘… I suggest you send someone else to join the team here – we need someone who understands both statistics and history. Lieutenant Colonel Pascal would be ideal, if he’s available. Otherwise, try someone at the French Defence Academy.’’’

  There was silence in the room. Myles and Glenn’s eyes naturally reverted to Jean-François’ body. They were trying to understand the man’s final moments, and – like amateur sleuths – studying the horrific corpse to deduce whatever they could about who killed their friend and colleague.

  Finally, Heike-Ann spoke up, her voice now flat and authoritative. ‘Gentlemen, Zenyalena. We are in a room where a murder happened, and we are contaminating evidence. Please, can we all leave?’ Myles sensed that Heike-Ann’s request was motivated by more than just a professional need to help a police forensic team - she was also reacting to the corpse, her hands on her swollen belly, as if she was calming her unborn baby.

  Zenyalena reminded her who was in charge. ‘Thank you, Heike-Ann. But we have already established that the authority of this team to investigate Werner Stolz is above the normal laws of Germany. And that includes any laws you have about evidence at crime scenes. Agreed?’

  ‘Yes, but,’ Heike-Ann gulped, preparing to answer back quietly. ‘This is now the second unlawful killing in Berlin, after Stolz himself. Three, if we include the attempted murder with carbon monoxide …’ She gestured towards Myles. ‘I have no idea who did this to Jean-François. And I don’t think any of you do, either …’

  Glenn, Myles and Zenyalena all looked blank. None of them even had any suspicions.

  ‘… OK,’ concluded Heike-Ann. ‘We need to bring in the German police. This needs a proper investigation. Before anything else bad happens.’

  Glenn’s posture seemed to be agreeing with Heike-Ann. ‘She’s right. We have all of Stolz’s paper
s. We can take them back to our capitals, and each of us can examine them there.’

  But Zenyalena wasn’t having it. ‘No, Glenn. We don’t have all of Stolz’s papers. We know he hid some more – probably in Vienna.’

  ‘In Heldenplatz? Come on …’ Glenn said the words mockingly, ridiculing the idea that Stolz had managed to stow some papers secretly in a large, popular piazza in the centre of the Austrian capital. He squared up to Zenyalena. ‘Anyway, without Jean-François, we have to end this investigation.’

  ‘No, Glenn. If we stop examining Stolz now, we can be sure his secret will be lost.’ Then she caught something in the American’s eye. ‘Or is that what you want? Do you want Stolz to keep his secret?’

  ‘No. I want to find it as much as you do. But look, Zenyalena.’ He pointed at Jean-François’ body, still lying on the bed. ‘That could have been any of us. You, me, Heike-Ann or Myles. And who knew what Jean-François was researching? Not many people.’ Glenn was scanning the others for a reaction. ‘Jean-François’ death needs to be investigated as much as Stolz’s papers. And until we know who did this, there’s a chance that someone else gets killed. It could be you next, Zenyalena.’

  Glenn’s last comments were met by quiet shock. He had gone too far –almost as if it was a threat. There was no need for the Russian to reply.

  The four of them stood still, all eyes fixed on Jean-François’ corpse.

  Finally, after more than a minute, Heike-Ann spoke very quietly. ‘Come on. I think it’s time for us to leave the room, now.’

  Without words, they all accepted she was right. Together, the team shuffled back out, acutely aware that their former leader was no longer with them.

  Twenty-Nine

  10.35 a.m. CET (9.35 a.m. GMT)

  * * *

  Myles, Glenn and Zenyalena walked back down to the hotel lobby, still silenced by what they had seen.