Offspring

by Stan Mason

  The secret to the emergence of a movement likely to surface within the next decade lies in the financial base established during the Second World War. At that time, the Third Reach plundered art treasures, gold, silver and other valuable, from every country they occupied. In the past three decades, most of those treasures have been sold and the money invested worldwide. It is estimated that the funds available when Die Stunde arrives will amount to over fifty billion United States dollars.”

  The frustration began to build up inside me again. The information was stunning but it didn’t tell me anything about Die Stunde... except for the odd term “when Die Stunde arrives”! I had assumed it was an organisation of some description. The data now led me to believe it was a stated time. But when, where, what, why? As my feelings began to subside, I thought about the fifty billion United States dollars in the kitty and wondered who controlled it. There had to be a treasurer somewhere who managed the funds. My blood froze as I reflected the words of my abductors that day. ‘Wer ist der Bankvorsteher? Who is the banker?’ So that’s what they meant! They were looking for him too! At least it gave me the opportunity to recognise who were the good guys and the bad ones. I had an inherent wish to join forces with the two men who used me as a target... although they might be criminals eager to get their hands on some of that money. But who was the banker? And from where did he operate? There were many questions flooding my mind. One of them in particular demanded an answer which could not be found. For what purpose were the funds going to be used?

  I began to rummage through the drawers frantically, trying to find something substantial, but my time had run out. Unknown to me, the night security officer undertaking his routine inspection had noticed the reflection of light from the lamp as he traversed the hallway. He walked into the outer office, approached the door of Miss Grayson’s office and turned the handle in vain before calling out to me.

  ‘You can stay locked in there as long as you like, feller,’ he shouted casually. ‘I’ve already contacted the police.’

  I weighed up the situation rapidly, assessing it as a canny poker player... a talent I had learned as a young cub reporter during the less busy periods of the newspaper business in my early days. His statement was unlikely to be true. When he saw the light, he would have investigated immediately to discover the door was locked. After all, the light might have been left on accidentally. He would never have called the police before checking out the situation. Of one thing I was certain. Had he telephoned the police, he would have waited for them to arrive before challenging me. He would never have risked his life in the process if they were on their way. It was time to fold my cards before losing out on the deal. I darted to the door, unlocked it quietly, pulled it open swiftly and rushed out at speed, knocking the security officer to the floor by the sheer impetus of the charge. I ran down the corridor to find the lift doors open. I hurried inside and released the switch to close them, sending the elevator to the ground floor. My heart thumped firmly in my ears as I reached the front door. It was only then I realised the major flaw in my plan. The door was locked! I had ignored the means by which I would make my escape from the building. However, I was fortunate because the key rested sweetly in the lock on the inside. Clearly, the rules for the security staff guarded against an onslaught from without. There were no proper measures taken to resist an enemy from within!

  I locked the main door from the outside as I left and tossed the key far into the darkness before walking away from the building. At that moment, the wail of a police siren could be heard to cut through the night air. In a minute or so, police officers would reach the spot trying to gain entry to the building. They would be firmly denied. In the confusion, I would elude capture to pursue my enquiries. I hailed a passing taxi which took me back to the newspaper office where I found Ted Flanders scanning the proofs of the next day’s edition. I walked in and he glanced up at me with an ugly scowl on his face, resenting the interruption.

  ‘Don’t you ever go home?’ I asked him seriously.

  ‘What for?’ he snapped. ‘There’s no one to go home to!’

  ‘Don’t you ever relax or watch television? There’s life after work, you know. Didn’t anyone ever tell you?’

  ‘When you read the news day after day, Jimmy, you realise what a horrible world exists out there. I’m much better off in here... even if it does get lonely at times!’

  ‘Well,’ I responded sadly, taking Miss Grayson’s locket from my pocket, ‘there’s no fool like an old fool!’ He shrugged showing his dislike of the cliche but it failed to arouse any other emotion within him. ‘Can you get the boys to enlarge this photograph?’ I continued. ‘I want them to concentrate on the necklace around this woman’s neck... in the picture. It may be nothing but I have a gut feeling.’

  He took the locket and stared at it. ‘Good looking woman. Who is she?’

  ‘Miss Grayson. A technical adviser on defence matters.’

  He stared at me for a moment and tossed it indelicately on his desk before picking up a folder. ‘Research Department has been busy on your behalf,’ he informed me. ‘Is that what you’ve come back for?’

  I sat down on one of the armchairs in his office and draped myself across it as he stood up and poured out two drinks from a bottle hidden in the bottom drawer of his desk. He passed one to me and we sipped them for a while until he opened the folder. ‘What do you want first?’ he joked. ‘The bad news or the bad news?’ I shrugged aimlessly allowing him to continue at random. ‘Sir Peter Cavenham is a highly-respected civil servant with an eminent appointment at the Home Office. There no need to go into details. You can look him up in Who’s Who at your leisure. Henry Maitland is the Personal Assistant to the Prime Minister. He seems clean enough. Miss Linda Grayson is a civil servant with ten years of service who started off at the Ministry of Education before attaining promotion to the Ministry of Defence. We’re having trouble with Lieutenant-Colonel Topham. He doesn’t seem to hold office either in the civil service or in the official military lists. In effect, like Henry Jacobs and State Security, he doesn’t exist.’

  ‘Well I wasn’t witness to a mirage, Ted, that’s for sure. They were all at that meeting as large as life!’

  He ignored my comment. ‘There was nothing on Conrad Hayle, although they’re still working on it. But the Glazers were tracked down to the name of Glazermann, a name of German extraction. They’re working on that as well.’

  The office fell silent for a while as he stared at me. I took another sip at my drink and thought about the information. There had been two people at the meeting in the House of Commons whom, I was informed, did not exist... and that was in the presence of the Prime Minister! What was going on?

  ‘Can you get me a full run-down on the gold and treasures plundered by the Nazis between 1940 and 1945 from all the countries they occupied in Europe?’

  ‘What for?’ he asked, without showing any emotion or surprise.

  ‘Because it’s important to the assignment, that’s why! I want to know everything... especially the name of any person who might have been appointed to take charge of the loot.’

  ‘Come on, Jimmy,’ he cautioned. ‘Do you know what you’re asking? How can Research Department find out something that’s remained a mystery for so many years? You’re asking too much.’

  ‘Why don’t you let them try and find out? They might just turn over the right stones to discover something evil lurking underneath. That alone would be a scoop for the paper!’

  Flanders appeared irritated by my persistence. ‘Do you realise the cost of switching people in Research Department on to this kind of work?’ he accused, as though I was wasting money recklessly. ‘You’re lucky you’ve got such a good-natured and understanding editor like me. I’ve got to answer to some very hard-nosed superiors when it comes to cost. A lot of others wouldn’t let you do it.’ He screwed up his eyes to look at m
e closely. ‘Are you sure it’s absolutely necessary?’

  I allowed him to fall silent until deciding to try a new tack. ‘Fifty billion United States dollars, Ted. How does that grab you? That’s the kind of figure we’re talking about. Nazi war treasures liquidated into cash and invested in various money markets, securities, bonds and currencies throughout the world.’

  He took a large fresh cigar from the top drawer of his desk and slowly removed the tip with the blade of a pen-knife. I felt a tiny twinge of conscience as the person responsible for driving him back to the habit of smoking cigars again.

  ‘Fifty billion dollars,’ he muttered dryly. ‘And I suppose you’re trying to find the man who’s in charge of all that money. The banker!’

  I remained perfectly still but my eyelids flickered before I stared at his face. ‘What do you say that?’ I asked calmly, as my heart beat faster at his choice of words.

  He puffed furiously at his cigar to make certain the end was burning brightly. ‘Say what?’

  ‘Der Bankvorsteher!’ I returned quickly to test his reaction.

  Der Bank... what?’ he challenged in a puzzled tone. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

  I reproached myself for believing he was involved with the conspiracy, warning myself at the same time to calm my nerves and fears. The effect of the incidents of the past few days was beginning to make me paranoid. I was becoming suspicious of everyone. I needed to restore some semblance of order to my mind. Poor old Ted! He really didn’t know what I was talking about. He always tried to keep one step ahead of his reporters but this time the water was way over his head and we both knew it. I left the office shortly afterwards to muse on my own problems. I took the view it was important to visit the Dog and Duck to talk to Calvin. This time the newspaper would have to pay handsomely for his services but I reckoned it would be worth every penny... if he could deliver the goods!

  I took a taxi to the old tavern in Backchurch Lane before it closed and bought a drink at the bar. Calvin sat on his usual stool pretending not to have noticed me. After a while, I edged across to him to start the process. ‘Two things, Calvin,’ I ventured hopefully. ‘Die Stunde and Der Bankvorsteher. I need some answers fast. What can you tell me about them?’

  He stayed poised on his stool for nearly half a minute without moving a muscle. The wheels of his mind, however, were grinding at a rate of knots as he swung his right arm automatically to guzzle a mouthful of beer. ‘The information you want is going to cost you a bomb, Mr. Reporter,’ he muttered softly. ‘An absolute bomb. I hope you understand that.’

  ‘Name your price,’ I offered eagerly. The administrator of expense accounts at the newspaper would have had a fit if he could hear me now.

  ‘Two thousand to start with. That’s my price. And no bargaining!’ He sounded very adamant but I knew Calvin better than most other people. He was a money-making machine in the field of information and no reasonable offer was ever turned down.

  ‘Halve it and begin!’ I negotiated in terms that he knew.

  He looked at me with a dull expression on his face. ‘Don’t trade on brotherly love with me!’ he insisted, taking a firm stance. ‘I’m not bargaining on this one!’ There was a long silence and then he decided to yield. ‘Fifteen hundred but no less. That’s my final offer!’

  Another long silence prevailed as I feigned anguish at the price. ‘Twelve hundred and that’s cash in the bank, Calvin. What more do you want? Cash in the bank!’

  The choice of words seemed to turn the tide for he nodded his assent. ‘O.K.,’ he agreed quickly, ready to be that much richer in the space of a few minutes with no tax to deduct from the payment. Calvin offered information to everyone who was prepared to pay for it. The only institution with which he maintained total silence was the Inland Revenue.

  ‘What’s Die Stunde?’ I asked, waiting impatiently for the answer, intending to get value for money.

  ‘Comes to mind,’ he began, with the same twang and intonation as W.C. Fields, ‘that you’ve got it all wrong, my friend. It’s not what, but when!’ He paused for a while. ‘Comes to mind, the hour is midnight on the first day of June in the year two thousand and fifteen.’ He stopped for a moment to pass wind noisily, like the sound of an agitated seal, and I turned my head away at the foul stench emerging from the horrid man. ‘Sorry about that,’ he apologised, with complete absence of sincerity. ‘I’ve got to pay a visit. Look after my stool, will you. I’ll be back in five minutes.’

  He slid off his seat and I watched him stagger under his great weight to the gentlemen’s toilet at the far end of the bar. I concentrated on my aperitif thinking about the information he had given me. Die Stunde... midnight on the first of June, two thousand and fifteen! Why had that date been chosen? And what was going to happen then? How did Calvin manage to get the information? Unfortunately, destiny decided to play its own hand at that moment although I was unaware of the consequences. I waited for nearly ten minutes with frustration building up inside me. I wanted to know more... much more... and Calvin was willing to reveal it to me. I have no idea what motivated me to search for him but in my impatience I decided to go an find him. It wasn’t very difficult because he lay dead on the floor of the toilet drenched in a pool of his own blood. There was a large metal stake protruding stoutly from his abdomen like a giant kebab skewer. All twenty-two stone of quivering flesh lay still and silent. I stared at the inert body with a sense of deep sadness, rueful that all the knowledge stored in that brain now lay fallow. Everything I wanted to hear was locked forever in his large head, or had been carried with his spirit to the next world. If he had rested on that stool for a little longer... just a few minutes more... I would have been that much wiser. Alternatively, if the call of nature had occurred later, Calvin might still be alive. My mind reverted back to the trial of Albert Henley. If his simple misdemeanours were considered grave... sinful enough to cause his death... what punishment would be inflicted on the person who offered information to Calvin of some of the most innermost secrets of International Three Thousand for capital gain? The big fat man knew all about the movement; there was no doubt in my mind about that! He didn’t realise how dangerous it was, or that the information was too sensitive to handle. I returned to the bar to stare at his stool for the very last time. For a moment I could swear I could still see him sitting there, his right arm holding a glass of beer which he swung automatically towards his mouth. I could picture him saying: “Comes to mind, my friend... comes to mind... ” and I made a hasty retreat before someone else found the body and called the police. There was no reason for my implication in the enquiries following his death. I was not a witness to the crime and I wouldn’t be able to help them in any tangible way.

  When I arrived home, I poured myself a stiff drink and sat on the settee blaming myself for not going earlier to see Calvin at the Dog and Duck. Had I gone with him to the toilet there, my own demise might have set the seal on a very imperfect day. It was better to count one’s blessings and think nothing more of it. I swallowed some highly-proofed gin I had bought at an off-licence on my way home and felt a sudden urge to ring Tania. I had no idea why the call should be imperative but she had a right to learn of the arrangements concerning the party to which we had been invited by Conrad Hayle. Her voice sounded strange and halting which set me back a little. She had been so sweet and charming when we left the recruitment meeting, I felt there was an affinity between us... similar to the one shared with Carrie. After a brief one-sided conversation, I threw the receiver to the far side of the settee in disgust. Women were impossible at the best of times! Tania had given me the impression of being a very pleasant person. Now all the warmth and emotion was gone. Why should she react in that way towards me? I sipped my drink miserably, nursing an injured feeling, mainly because I had always praised my ability as a good judge of character. I had assessed her as a tranquil person with a depth of gentleness a
nd passion. It was uncharacteristic for her to display coldness and indifference. There had to be a reason. I had to get round to her place to find out what was happening... hoping I wouldn’t be too late!

  There was another problem which concerned me greatly. Every detective or reporter knows that no person ever realises they’re being followed... unless they suspect someone is tailing them in the first place. As I drove out of the car part underneath my apartment block, I noticed a dark car behind me. It was as I suspected. However, there was no time to shake off my pursuers in view of the exigency of my purpose, and I reached my destination shortly, parking outside the block of flats where Tania lived. As I climbed out of the car, the dark vehicle sped towards me without braking. I dived over the bonnet of my car to avoid being crushed and started to run towards the doors leading to the stairs which led to the apartments. The dark car turned swiftly, almost like a charging bull, and spurted towards me again. I rolled over on the ground scrambling behind another vehicle, wincing as my sharp elbows came into contact with the concrete. As I made further headway towards my planned escape route, there was the harsh sound of tyres screaming and the car turned swiftly, heading back towards me. This time, I lost my nerve to experience paralysis in all my limbs less than ten yards from the stairway. Fear overcame me and I was unable to move a muscle. Reporters are trained to assemble facts and write them into a form satisfactory to their editors and the public. They’re not used to being hunted by predatory vehicles. My life didn’t flash before my eyes partly because there was insufficient time for it to happen. In any case, my brain had seized up, anticipating the agonising pain at the point of impact. At the back of my mind, I heard a single, short, sharp report which sounded like a shot from a rifle and the dark car swerved before careering past me, missing my body by a whisker. It crashed into the concrete fence at tremendous speed, pushing its way through it to hurtle twenty feet downwards on to a broad strip of concrete which sported a large well-arranged rockery. I pulled myself together and hurried on to Tania’s apartment. From outside the door I could hear the faint voice of a man inside. Then came the voice of another man, only this time it was far more menacing. Stepping back a few paces, I charged forward, lifting one leg to waist level which acted like a battering ram, and smashed open the door. As I entered, I took a martial arts stance and surveyed the scene. Tania was tied to a chair and the two men were showing her little chivalry in their quest for information. One of them lunged at me and I side-stepped before using his weight to carry out a simple throw. It was most unfortunate for him because the impetus carried him to the window ledge and he fell backwards, sailing out with the glass framework which smashed to smithereens on the concrete below. The other man, witnessing the fate of his colleague, decided not to press his luck and he raced past me to lose himself in the night.