by Greg Iles
this: Why would the real Hess make such mistakes?"
"Because he was crazy!" Ilse retorted. "Everyone's known that for
years."
"Everyone has said that for years," Natterman corrected.
"Hitler and Churchill started that rumor, yet there's not one scrap of
evidence suggesting that Hess was unbalanced right up until the day he
flew to Britain. He trained months for that mission. Can you seriously
believe Hitler didn't know that? Hess was eccentric, yes. But mad? It
was the men he left behind who were mad!"
"Hess could have written those papers himself," she argued. "If Hess
didn't know Latin when he went into Spandau, he certainly could have
learned it during his years of imprisonment."
"True," Natten-nan admitted. "But unlikely. Did you note the quote
from Ovid? High-flying language for a self-taught student. But that's
verifiable, in any case."
Ilse tasted her tea. It had gone cold. "Opa, you can't really believe
that the Allies kept the wrong man in prison all these years."
"Why not? Ilse, you should understand something. These papers do not
exist in a vacuum. They merely confirm a body of evidence which has
been accumulating for decades.
Circumstantial evidence, testimonial evidence, medical evidence-" "What
medical evidence?"
The professor smiled; he loved nothing more than a willing student.
"Evidence unearthed by a British army surgeon who examined Number Seven
while he was in Spandau.
He's the man who really cracked this case open. My God, he'll be
ecstatic when he finds out about these papers.
"What evidence did he discover?"
"A war wound. Or a lack of one, I should say. This surgeon was one of
Hess's doctors in Spandau, and in the course of his duties he came
across Hess's First World War record. Hess was wounded three times in
that war-the worst wound being a rifle bullet through the lung. Yet
when the surgeon examined Number Seven, he found no scars on the chest
or back where that wound should have been. And after looking into the
matter further examining the prisoner's X rays-he found no radiographic
evidence of such a wound. There should have been scarring of the lung,
caused by the force of the bullet and other organic particles tearin
through it. But the surgeon found none. He had quite a b of experience
with gunshot wounds, too. He'd done a tour of duty in Northern
Ireland."
Natterman chuckled at Ilse's bewildered expression.
"You're surprised by my knowledge? You shouldn't be. Any German or
British historian could tell you as much." He laughed. "I could give
you twice as much speculation on who started the Reichstag fire!"
"But the details," she said suspiciously. "Dates, medical evidence ...
It's almost as if you were studying the case when I called you."
The professor's face grew grave. "My dear, you have obviously failed to
grasp the monumental importance of this find. These papers could shake
the world. The time period they describe-the forty-four days beginning
with Rudolf Hess's flight to Britain and ending with Hitler's invasion
of Russia-represents the turning point of the entire Second World War,
of the entire twentieth century. In the spring of 1941, Adolf Hitler
held the future of the world in his hands.
Of all Europe, only England still held out against him. The Americans
were still a year from entering the war. German U-boats ruled the seas.
If Hitler had pressed home the attack against England with all his
forces, the British wouldn't have stood a chance. The Americans would
have been denied their staging post for a European invasion, and Hitler
could have turned his full might against Russia with his flanks
protected." Natterman held up a long, crooked finger.
"But he didn't invade England. And no one knows why."
The professor began pacing the kitchen, punctuating his questions by
stabbing the air with his right forefinger. "In 1940 Hitler let the
British Army escape at Dunkirk- Why?
All through the fall of 1940 and the spring of '41 he delayed invading
Britain. Why? Operation Sea-Lion-the planned invasion of Britain-was a
joke. Hitler's best generals have admitted this.
Churchill publicly taunted Hitler, yet still he delayed. Why?
And then the core of the whole mad puzzle: On May tenth, Rudolf Hess
flew to Britain on a secret mission. Scarcely a month later"-Natterman
clapped his hands together with a crack-"Hitler threw his armies into
the icy depths of Russia to be slaughtered. Ilse, that single decision
doomed Nazi Germany- It gave Churchill the time he needed to re . arm
England and to draw Roosevelt into the war. It was military suicide,
and Hitler knew it! For twenty years he had sworn he would never fight
a two-front war. He had publicly proclaimed such a war unwinnable. So
why did he do it?"
Ilse blinked. "Do you know?"
Natterman nodded sagely. "I think I do. There are dozens of complex
theories, but I think the answer is painfully simple: Hitler had no
choice. I don't believe he ever intended to invade England.
Russia was his target all along; his own writings confirm this.
Hitler hated Churchill, but he had tremendous respect for the English as
a people-fellow Nordics and all that. I think Hitler put off invading
Britain because he believed-right up until it was too late-that England
could be neutralized withoutfiring a shot. I think certain elements of
the British government were prepared to sign a peace treaty with Hitler,
so that he would be free to destroy Communist Russia. And I believe
Rudolf Hess was Hitler's secret envoy to those Englishmen. The moment
Hess's presence in England was made public, Joseph Stalin accused the
British of conspiring with Hitler. I think Stalin was right."
The professor's eyes blazed with fanatical conviction.
"But neither Stalin, nor all his spies, nor a thousand scholars, nor I
have ever been able to prove that! For nearly fifty years the truth has
lain buried in the secret vaults of the British government.
By law the relevant Hess files are to remain sealed until the year 2016.
Some will never be opened. What are the British hiding? Whom are they
protecting? A secret cabal of highly placed British Nazis?
Were there powerful Englishmen-even members of the royal family-who were
so afraid of communism that they were ready to climb into Hitler's bed
for protection, no matter how many Jews he slaughtered?"
Natterman punched a fist into his palm.."By God, if these Spandau papers
end up proving that, the walls of Parliament will be hard put to
withstand the firestorm that follows!"
Ilse stared at her grandfather with astonishment. His passion had
infected her, but it could not blot out the worry she felt for Hans.
Yet somehow she couldn't bring herself to confess her fears to the old
man. At least debating the fine points of conspiracy theories helped to
pass the time quickly.
"But if the prisoner was a double," she.said, "how could he fool his
Allied captors? Even an actor couldn't hold out
under interrogation."
Natterman snorted scornfully. "The British claim they never
professionally interrogated him. And why should they? They knew Hess
was a double from the beginning.
They held him incommunicado in England for the first four years of his
captivity, and they've been playing this ridiculous game ever since to
cover up the real Hess's mission.
The American government supports Britain's policy right down the line.
And the French have never made a fuss about it. They have their own
skeletons to hide."
"But the Russians," Ilse reminded him. "You said Stalin suspected a
plot from the beginning."
"Perhaps the double didn't fool them," Natterman suggested.
"Then why wouldn't they expose him!"
Natterman frowned. "I don't know. That's the conundrum, isn't it? It's
the key to this whole mystery. There are reasons that the Russians
wouldn't have talked in the early years.
One is that certain alleged Anglo-Nazi intrigues-between Hess and the
Duke of Windsor, for example-took place on Spanish and Portuguese soil.
If such meetings did actually occur, Moscow would have known all about
them"Natterman grinned with glee-"because the mI-6 officer responsible
for the Spanish desk at that time was none other than Kim Philby. What
irony! The Russians couldn't reveal the Windsor-Hess connection without
exposing the PhilbyKGB connection! Of course that only explains the
Russian silence up until 1963, the year Philby fled England. The real
mystery is what kept the Russians quiet during the remaining years."
Ilse was shaking her head. "You make it sound so plausible, but it's
like a huge house of cards.... It's just too complex."
"I'll give you something simple, then. Why did the British never use
'Hess' for propaganda during the war? They locked him away from the
world and refused even to allow him to be photographed. Think about
that. England and Germany were locked in a death struggle. Even if
'Hess' had refused to cooperate, the British could easily have released
statements criticizing Hitler that were supposedly made by Hess. Think
of the boost that would have given English morale. And the negative
effect on the German people! Yet the British never tried it. The only
possible reason I can see for that is that the British knew they didn't
have the real Hess.
They knew if they tried to use 'Hess' against the Nazis, Joseph Goebbels
could jump up and say, 'Fools! You've got a bloody corporal in your
jail!' or something similar."
"If that's true, why wouldn't the Nazis have said that from the
beginning?"
Natterman smiled enigmatically. "Hitler's reasons I cannot divine. But
as for the other top Nazis-Goring, Himmler-they were only too glad to be
rid of Hess. He was their chief rival for Hitler's favors. If the
Fuhrer, for his own reasons, was content to let the world believe that
his lifelong friend and confidant had gone insane, and was a prisoner of
the British, Hess's chief rivals would have been only too glad to go
along." Natterman rubbed his hands together.
"Yes, it all ties up rather neatly."
"So says the great professor," Ilse said dryly. "But you've missed one
thing. Even if the Allies had reasons to keep quiet, why in God's name
would the double@yen if he had agreed to such a mission-keep silent for
nearly fifty years?
What could anyone threaten him with? Solitary confinement in Spandau
Prison must have been a living death.
Natterman shook his head. "You're a clever girl, Ilse, but in some ways
frighteningly naive. Soldiers aren't asked to agree to missions;
they're ordered. In Hitler's Reich refusal meant instant death. You
saw the word Sippenhaft in the papers?"
She nodded. "What does it mean? 'Clan punishment"?"
"That's close enough. Sippenhaft was a barbaric custom that Himmler
borrowed from the ancient Teutonic tribes. It mandated that punishment
be visited not only upon a traitor, but upon his 'clan.' After Graf von
Stauffenberg's abortive attempt on Hitler's life, not only the count but
his entire family was executed. Six of the victims were over seventy
years old! That is Sippenhaft, Ilse, and a more effective tool for
ensuring the silence of living men has yet to be devised."
"But after five decades ... who would be left to carry out such a
sentencet' Natterman rolled his eyes. "How about one of those bald
neo-Nazi psychopaths who roam our streets at night with brickbats? No?
Then how about these 'soldiers of Phoenix' that Number Seven mentions?
He certainly seems terrified of them. And don't forget this: at the end
of the war, close@ to forty divisions of Warren SS remained under arms
throughout the world. That's more than a quarter of a million men! I
don't know how many Death's-Head SS survived, but what if it were only a
few hundred? Just one of those fanatics could wipe out a man's family,
even today. I fought in the war, and I could easily shoot someone down
in the street tonight." Natterman glanced at his watch. "And that is
my final word on the subject," he announced. "I must go."
"Go?" Ilse said uneasily. "Where are you going?"
Natterman picked up his briefcase. "To do what must be done. To show
the arrogant, self-righteous British for what they were during the
war-no better than we Germans." His eyes sparkled with youthful
excitement. "Ilse, this could be the academic coup of the century!"
"Opa, what are you saying? Those papers are affecting you just like
they did Hans!"
Natterman looked sharply at his granddaughter. "Where is Hans, by the
way?"
"At the police station ... I guess." Ilse tried to summon a brave face,
but her mask cracked. Hans had been gone far too long. "Opa, what.if
they know what Hans did ... what he found? What would they do?"
"I don't know," he answered frankly. "Why don't you call the station?
If Hans's superiors don't know about the papers, it can't hurt. And if
they do, well ... they'll be expecting your call anyway, won't they?"
Ilse moved uncertainly toward the phone in the living room, then
snatched it up.
"Listen very closely," Natterman cautioned. "Background voices,
everything."
"Yes, yes ... Hello? May I speak to Sergeant Hans Apfel, please?
This is his wife. Oh. Do you know where he is now?" She covered the
mouthpiece with her palm. "The desk sergeant says he knows Hans but
hasn't seen him tonight. He's checking." She pulled her hand away.
"I beg your pardon? Is this the same man I spoke to earlier?
Yes, I'll'be home all evening." Natterman shook his head violently.
"I'm sorry," Ilse said quickly, "I have to go." She dropped the phone
into its cradle.
"What did he tell you?" Natterman asked.
"Hans stopped in to answer a few questions, but left soon after.
The sergeant said he wasn't there longer than twenty minutes.
Opa?"
Natterman touched his granddaughter's quivering cheek..
"Ilse, is there some place in particular Hans goes when he is under
stress?"
Ilse held out for a moment more, then the words poured out of her.
"He talked about showing the papers to a journalist! About trying to
sell them!" "My God," said Natterman, his face white. "He wouldn't!"
"He said he wouldn't. But-"
"Ilse, he can't do that! It's crazy!
And far too dangerous!" "I know that ... but he's been gone so long.
Maybe that's where he is, meeting a reporter somewhere."
Natterman shook his head. "God forgive me, I hope that's it.
He'll probably turn up any minute. But I'm afraid I can't wait."
He held up his hand. "Please, Ilse, no more questions.
I'm going to the university to get some things, then I'm leaving the
city."
"Leaving the city! Why?"
Natterman donned his long overcoat, then picked up his I briefcase and
took his umbrella from the stand by the front door. "Because anyone
could find me in Berlin, and eventually they would. People are
searching for these papers now-I can feel it." He laid a hand on Ilse's
shoulder. "We have stumbled into a storm, my child. I'm trying to do
what is best. It's nine o'clock now. You wait here until midnight.
If Hans hasn't returned by then, I want you to leave. I'll be at the
old cabin."
"On the canal? But that's two hundred kilometers from hereF' "I just
hope it's far enough. I'm serious, Ilse, if Hans hasn't arrived by
midnight, leave. The cabin telephone's still connected. I always pay
the bill. You have the number?"
She nodded. "But what about Hans?" she asked, her voice tremble' ngThe
professor set down his briefcase and hugged his granddaughter.
"Hans is a grown man," he said gently. "A policeman. He knows how to
take care of himself. He'll find us when he's ready. Now I must go.
You do exactly as I said." He patted his briefcase. "This little
discovery is going to make a lot of people very nervous."
Too dazed to argue, Ilse kissed him on the cheek. "You be careful," she
said. "You're not a young bull anymore, you know."
"No," said Natterman softly, his eyes glittering. "I'm a wise old
serpent." He grinned. "You haven't forgotten your patronymic, have
you? 'Natter' still means snake. Don't worry about me."
With that the professor kissed Ilse's forehead and slipped outside the
door. He looked disdainfully at the old elevator; then he stepped into
the stairwell and, despite his excitement, started down with an old
