The Manhattan Deception

by Simon Leighton-Porter

  ‘What other things?’ asked Novak.

  ‘Why there were no pictures of my father in the house, no pictures of her come to that. It also explains why a bunch of plain-clothes goons turned the house and the yard upside-down after she died, and why they asked me a whole bunch of questions I didn’t understand. I do now.’

  ‘So what’s the Los Alamos angle? You’ve lost me there.’

  Pauli put his head in his hands for a moment and then looked up. ‘That’s the scary stuff. It’s clear she didn’t really grasp what was going on, but it seems that by early 1945 the Manhattan Project was in deep shit. The physics worked ok but they couldn’t refine uranium fast enough to make a bomb. And although they could make plutonium, they couldn’t get the trigger mechanism to work.’

  ‘I still don’t see where your father…Hitler, I mean, comes in. He wasn’t a scientist – a fucking psychopath but not a scientist. Sorry, no offence.’

  ‘None taken. Yes he was a psychopath.’ Pauli smiled. To Novak it looked more like a grimace. ‘It’s almost like some sick take on the Alcoholics Anonymous confessional thing, you know, “my name is Eric Pauli and my father was a psychopath.” “Very good, Eric: your turn now Mr Skywalker...”.’ He shook his head. ‘Sorry, where was I?’

  ‘Los Alamos.’

  ‘Right. So the Germans have these two guys working on their A-bomb project: Georg Reiss had found a better way of refining uranium and Max Standfluss had invented a working implosion trigger. The only reason the Nazis didn’t make their bomb first was that they couldn’t get their hands on enough uranium to build one. Without Oppenheimer and the two Germans, the war in the Pacific could’ve dragged on for years.’

  ‘So your father cut a deal.’

  ‘Yep. Seems like the idea came from FDR and Churchill. Guess they were desperate to get these guys out before the Russians picked them up.’

  ‘So why didn’t they just whack him and Eva as soon as they’d got their hands on the scientists?’

  ‘My father had already thought of that. He asked for letters of safe transit for all four of them and then had them flown out to Switzerland along with 25 kg of gold and a whole bunch of looted art. That was their insurance policy.’

  ‘Can’t say I blame him in the circumstances.’

  ‘Yeah, but here’s the twist,’ said Pauli. ‘The guy who acted as intermediary and set everything up was a certain Admiral Wilhelm Canaris. To make sure there were no leaks, on Hitler’s orders, Himmler had him shot at Flossenburg concentration camp the day after they skipped town. Nice way of repaying his loyalty, huh?’

  ‘And you want to know what I think you should do?’

  ‘I was thinking of going public with it and letting the voters decide.’

  ‘Are you kidding?’ said Novak, aghast. ‘You mean to tell me you didn’t see the documentary about that poor guy in Seattle? You know, Arnie Hillman, the poor bastard who’s Hitler’s nephew – they damn near tore him a new asshole. You can’t choose your parents…’

  ‘That’s what Janet said.’

  ‘Well she’s right. Eric, if you want my advice, you keep this quiet. If you go public, it’s not just your reputation that’s at stake – think of all the other people who must’ve had a hand in this: FDR, Churchill, Truman, Stimson, Ike, Oppenheimer, Fermi, Groves. Do you really want to drag their names and our country through the shit?’

  ‘I hadn’t thought about that.’

  Novak looked him in the eye. ‘No. This is what you do. You carry on with the same line that you never knew your father, which is true, and that your mother never spoke much about her past: also true. Leave it at that and let ‘em dig – they sure as hell won’t find anything.’

  ‘And you still want to work for me?’

  Novak looked him straight in the eye. ‘Course I do,’ he said. ‘Nothing changes.’

  ***

  Eight years ago: it seemed like yesterday. And now, alone in an Albany hotel room, reality assailed him from all sides. Nothing changes, he thought to himself. Eight years on from the conversation with Novak and everything had changed. The White House was touching distance away – Janet, who’d grown to like the idea of being First Lady, was practically measuring up for curtains – and now he faced the same dilemma all over again but with an expanded cast list containing two actors who could potentially ruin everything. It was time to change tack.

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Finally summoned the courage to tell A. about the baby. Thought he would kill me but instead he was delighted. Kept on for hours about founding a new dynasty, a new Reich, but without any money, our friends either dead or scattered to the four winds, difficult to know how he proposes to do it.

  *

  It was Sunday morning and torrential rain lashed against the windows of Cathy’s townhouse. Thoughts of an early start and a trip out of town were put on hold and replaced by a lie-in, so it was well after ten by the time they surfaced. Dressed in bathrobes, they sat drinking coffee at her small kitchen table. ‘I still don’t think it looks anything like him,’ said Cathy, handing back the letter of transit to James. ‘And it doesn’t get us any closer to proving whether the man in this photograph is Eric Pauli’s father or not.’

  Deep in thought, James made no reply for a moment. Then he said, ‘You know you laughed at me the other day when I mentioned DNA?’

  ‘Would you like me to do it again?’ she asked with a smile.

  ‘You can if you like, but what if there was some way of extracting DNA from the fingerprint on the letter? I don’t even know if it’s scientifically possible or whether DNA can survive that long in paper and ink or even whether there’d be enough to analyse.’

  She nodded appreciatively. ‘I stand corrected, you’re not as dumb as you look,’ she said, dodging the playful swipe he aimed at her in reply. ‘The only problem is, we’ve no proof that the fingerprint, let alone the picture, is Hitler’s. So even if does turn out to be Pauli’s father’s print, it doesn’t prove anything.’

  ‘There must be other members of the Hitler family out there though.’

  ‘Oh there are, but they’re all very cagey about their dear relative – understandably so – and most of them are descended from his father’s half-brother which I think is too far removed to prove a definite link…’ Now it was Cathy’s turn to slap her hand against her forehead. ‘Hillman,’ she shouted. ‘Why on earth didn’t I think of him before?’ She pulled James roughly towards her across the table and gave him a smacking kiss.

  ‘Who’s Hillman?’ James asked once he’d recovered his breath.

  ‘Arnie Hillman. They made a TV documentary about him a few years ago. His father was Walter Hitler, Adolf’s younger brother, which makes him, if our theory is right, Eric Pauli’s first cousin once removed. And that’s a much closer genetic match than Willy Hitler’s descendants.’

  ‘And where is this Arnie Hillman, presuming he’s still alive?’

  ‘Oh he’s alive all right. I’ve met him. He runs a hardware store in a place called Cunningham, about two hours’ drive from here and…’ she tailed off in mid-sentence, caught up in the realisation of what she’d just said.

  James put his head on one side and looked at her quizzically. ‘And what?’ he said.

  ‘Hillman. I’ve just realised something that’s been staring us in the face.’

  ‘Well it’s not been looking my way,’ James said, frowning with confusion.

  ‘Listen,’ she said. ‘We’ve been looking so hard at Pauli that we haven’t thought about the other stuff that’s gone on.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Remember I was supposed to go and talk to Georg Reiss’s son, Robert?’

  ‘The guy who died in the fire.’

  ‘That’s the one. Well, if the letters of transit are correct, Reiss senior came out of Germany with Hitler and Eva. He was ninety-four years old and, according to his son, he sent a letter to Lisa Greenberg shortly before he died. We don’t know exactly what was i
n it but I think it’s safe to assume that at his age he didn’t want the truth to die with him. When his son phoned me, the first thing he said was the old man’s death wasn’t an accident. Then he said something about the letter revealing a conspiracy of deception. He mentioned you specifically and said you didn’t realise the significance of what you’d found and that Pauli’s life could be in danger when the news broke. Now, what does that sound like to you?’

  ‘Just like you said, an old man clearing his conscience by sending a letter to the press.’

  ‘Which he sends to Lisa, probably because of the pieces she’d written in New Horizons about Pauli. So she does her research and then goes hot-foot to see… guess who?’

  ‘Hillman?’

  ‘Ten out of ten. And that very evening, just hours after talking to him she’s found face down in the river. Coincidence? I don’t think so.’

  ‘So where’s the letter?’ asked James.

  ‘I think that whoever killed her took it. Otherwise I wouldn’t be alive today.’

  ‘What makes you think that?’

  ‘Well, not long after Lisa’s death I got a call out of the blue from Hillman. I didn’t know him from Adam. He said she’d been to see him about a piece she was working on – corporate America versus the little guy kind of thing. Some developer’s building a mall on the edge of Cunningham, which will put his store out of business. Now that’s not the kind of story we’d even consider, and at first I thought it was a try on – we get the, “oh, your colleague’s running a story on x,” line all the time from single-issue fanatics, especially if said colleague happens to be out of the office. And to think I nearly hung up on him.’

  ‘So what stopped you?’

  ‘Because of where Cunningham is. For some reason, on her way back from seeing Hillman, Lisa stopped and posted me, of all things, a plastic bag with a used razor-head in it. Inside was a note saying something like “Pauli, urgent” and the envelope was postmarked Walkersville, which is a town more or less on the road from Cunningham to DC. Anyway, like I said, by ten o’clock that same evening, she was dead.’

  James nodded. ‘Seems an odd thing to send through the post, I’ll admit, but from what you’ve said it looks like your friend Lisa beat us to the truth, paintings, letters and all.’

  ‘I think she did.’

  James continued. ‘OK, let’s say you’re right and the letter from Reiss senior was a tell-all and let’s say Lisa did the sensible thing and started doing some background checking into Pauli before going to see Hillman.’

  ‘Which she must’ve done.’

  ‘And let’s also say she asked enough questions about the “Out of Germany” angle to arouse suspicions, to the extent that Pauli or someone close to him started keeping an eye on her. Let’s also make the reasonable assumption that Pauli’s mother told him the truth before she died. Then the moment Lisa went within a country mile of Hillman, Pauli and his people knew the story was about to break, and with a reasonable guess at the only possible living source. And that’s why she ended up in the river.’

  Cathy’s brow furrowed in concentration. ‘And that’s why Reiss senior fell down stairs and his son was killed too,’ she said. ‘And at a guess, Pauli’s source of information about Lisa’s movements, and mine come to that, was the IT guy who got arrested trying to hack my internet connection. Pauli and his people must’ve worried that he’d blown the story to the police and so had him killed. Looks like the DC homicide guys were right all along; they just didn’t know who the link was.’

  ‘It also explains why someone turned The Lodge over and my flat too,’ James said. ‘They were looking for the letters. Pauli himself accused me of having them during the flight back from Charleston. It could also explain what happened in Wroclaw and the blocked gas flue. I think we should confront Pauli with what we’ve got.’

  Cathy spluttered and almost dropped her coffee cup. ‘James, please tell me you’re joking. Four people are dead already and you and I have come close to making it six. You go near Pauli and we’re both dead. No. We get proof and we go to the police.’

  ‘What proof?’

  ‘First of all, proof that Pauli and Hillman are related in the male line. Without it, the letters and everything else are just circumstantial. With it, there’s a motive and at a push, probable cause.’

  ‘So now we’re back to cotton swabs at dawn,’ said James. ‘Who do we go after first?’

  Cathy thought for a moment. ‘I think we should start with the most difficult one: Pauli. Once we’ve got something he’s touched – a glass, a cup, knife, fork, anything, then we stay out of his way, make it look like we’ve given up and gone home and then we can do the same with Hillman but without putting him in danger. We have to assume we’re being watched. If we go near Hillman now, even if we get a sample first time round, they’ll kill him for sure and then us.’

  ‘OK, so Pauli first it is. That sounds easier said that done,’ James said.

  ‘It’s a long-shot, but I’ve got an idea.’

  ‘I thought you might,’ he said, smiling.

  ***

  On Monday, Cathy returned to work, leaving James with the keys to her car. Carefully briefed, he was to follow precise directions to tourist locations both within and outside DC with the simple aim of trying to find out if the car was being followed.

  On the third floor, the elevator door slid open and she walked purposefully across the New Horizons office, greeting each unhappy Monday morning face as she passed. Hanging her jacket on the back of her seat she logged on to her PC and as she looked up her eyes met the longing gaze of her admirer, Dave Newman. ‘Morning, Dave,’ said Cathy. ‘Good weekend?’

  ‘Yeah, not bad thanks. You know, kinda quiet.’ She knew his words were loaded with meaning and longing, but as she’d done almost every day since his sudden and unexpected declaration of love, she affected not to notice and carried on being her usual self; not unfriendly but taking great care never to give any encouragement. ‘How was yours?’ asked Newman.

  Resisting the temptation to say something about non-stop wild sex, she replied in kind and swiftly changed the subject to work matters. ‘Oh, didn’t get out much,’ she said. ‘Been working on a piece about Lopez and her foreign policy towards Europe – the excitement nearly killed me.’ He laughed, just a little too heartily she noticed, and then continued, ‘I might need your help with something though, Dave.’

  His large, puppy-dog eyes lit up. ‘Sure, be glad to,’ he said, practically wagging his tail with delight at this scrap from his beloved’s table. ‘What do you need me to do?’

  Cathy lowered her voice. ‘Now don’t go getting ideas, but I’ll buy you lunch and we can talk about it then.’ He almost squealed with delight.

  While Cathy worked solidly throughout the morning, every time she looked up she noticed that he could barely sit still with excitement and by five minutes to midday was practically squirming in his seat.

  Even on a Monday, getting a lunchtime table at La Lanterna was almost impossible. Newman was so thrilled at the prospect of an hour alone with Cathy that he never thought to ask how she’d managed to get a table at such short notice, not knowing that she’d booked it days earlier with the intention of meeting James, until her flash of inspiration had changed their plans.

  She leant towards him and spoke softly, her voice barely audible over the shouted conversations of their neighbours in what is one of DC’s most popular Italian restaurants. ‘It’s about Pauli and I need you to do me a favour.’

  His eyes shone with excitement – Cathy was sure that if she’d asked him to jump out of the window, he’d have done it. ‘Sure, what is it?’ he panted.

  ‘OK, this is going to sound kinda crazy,’ she said. ‘But bear with me. I’ve uncovered some information that I need validated. It’s about Pauli’s parents and to put it bluntly, I don’t think he’s telling the truth about them.’

  ‘I thought they both died when he was young.’

  ‘
They did but I don’t think they were the “good Germans” he makes them out to have been.’

  Newman sat upright with surprise written all over his face. ‘Nazis, you mean?’

  ‘Shhh, Dave, not so loud. It’s possible that’s all. I’ve got names but I can’t tell you whose for the moment. I need you to trust me.’

  ‘Cathy, I’d trust you with my life – ’

  ‘OK, let’s not get carried away. The people concerned are still alive but to prove Pauli’s connection with them I need your help. I need something that Pauli and he alone has touched, or better still a cup or a glass he’s drunk from.’

  She watched as the understanding lit up his features. ‘You want me to get a DNA sample, don’t you?’

  Cathy leant closer still towards him. ‘I do. Now there’s a big Democratic fundraiser coming up and I want you to get a job as a waiter, or anything that’ll get you close to Pauli. D’you reckon you can do it?’

  ‘For you, Cathy, anything.’

  She pointedly didn’t react to his comment and slid him a piece of paper. ‘This is the name of the conference venue and here are the names of the two agencies that the catering company hire their staff from. I took a wander round on Sunday afternoon when it was quiet and got talking to some of the staff who were prepping the place for another function – those that could speak English that is. The staff turnover is huge and they’ll jump at anyone halfway decent – no offence meant.’

  ‘But what about proof of identity, stuff like that?’

  ‘Security is non-existent; most of the staff at these big events are hired for the night and the majority are illegals. In return for a hundred bucks cash the agency will get you a social security number.’ She pushed an envelope containing the notes across the table to him. ‘All clear so far?’ He nodded enthusiastically and Cathy continued. ‘If you look again at the first piece of paper, you’ll see a list of the places you’ve worked: they’re all West Coast and the chance of anyone bothering to check is zero. Finally, you need to learn your new name, Ludis Ozols: Mr Ozols is a Latvian illegal who jumped ship in, oh I dunno, Long Beach, say.’