“He is the one who bought that castle to train skinheads. Not ‘Nazis,’ of course, because they can’t say that. We would put them in jail. So they find other ways. It’s all the same.”
“In a few weeks he’s going to have a meeting of all the, as he calls them, uber-leaders from the strongest neo-Nazi movements all over the world. He said the reason they have not had the worldwide impact they deserve is that they have lacked unity. Instead, they compete. He says they need a unified vision, a unifying leader, and the finances to make this real. The time is nearing when they will come out into the open. They will be overt, uniformed, and aggressive. They will have public meetings and marches and openly recruit people. They will have enough numbers that no one will dare challenge them, just like the SA in the twenties and thirties. They will live inside the laws mostly, especially inside the United States, where as long as they don’t call for the violent overthrow of the government, they can say whatever the hell they want. They can publish the most scurrilous rubbish, and nobody can touch them. And what they know, is that people buy it. They believe it. He wants everybody wearing the same uniform, publishing the same documents, and calling for the same result: The racial purification of each country; and then his ultimate objective, the violent overthrow of each country’s government.”
Florian shook his head. “Violent overthrow would never work here.”
“I think it’s more likely they would try and do it like Hitler did. Get elected or appointed, then take over. Hitler’s party joined the Reichstag with thirty-five percent of the vote.”
“You know a lot about Hitler.”
“Been reading a lot lately. And frankly, probably like a lot of others, I’d always taken him lightly. I dismissed him as a lunatic. Now I sort of get it. How he convinced so many people that his ideas were good for Germany. He wasn’t the only strident Jew-hater in Germany. Everyone in politics was at the time.”
Köhler looked out the window pensively. He looked back at me, adjusted his glasses, and said, “Many people here don’t take Eidhalt seriously. Of course, this is how people initially regarded Hitler, the stupid corporal, the uneducated painter. But of course the fact that Hitler was uneducated does not mean that any other uneducated man can do what Hitler did. Each circumstance is unique. But this man, I have been watching. I have followed him very closely.”
“Do you have anyone inside his organization?”
Köhler went on pretending I had not asked a question. “Eidhalt is not very well educated and is from what was formerly Eastern Germany. Dresden. He enlisted in the German Army. He was trained as a solider. He stayed in the army for six years and became a sergeant. His record is not distinguished. He was an adequate solider, and was good at marksmanship, but was a troublemaker. He had anti-immigrant beliefs, and was disciplined for fighting with a solider of Turkish descent in his unit. He was demoted, though he was promoted again. He got out of the army as a sergeant. And, of course, Rolf Eidhalt isn’t his real name.”
“What is his real name?”
“Herman Dieckhoff.”
“Why Rolf Eidhalt?”
“We don’t know. He started calling himself that when he started going public with his nonsense.” Florian moved a little closer. “One interesting thing. They give soldiers tests to find out how intelligent they are. To find out if they can do some of the more sophisticated training, like electronics or radar maintenance. He scored at the highest of his class, but wanted nothing to do with radars or electronics. He said he wanted to be a solider. He said he had joined the army to be a soldier and to carry a rifle. His commanding officers thought he was humorless and intense, and believed he was forming an underground group—like a club. Men who thought alike. He did form this underground club, but we, well, army intelligence, could never break into it. It seemed to be anti-immigrant—and there were only white Germans—but no one would talk about it. To this day, they don’t know what he did inside the army.”
“How’s that possible?”
“Like I said, it was not possible to break into his circle. He was not considered a significant threat, and he left the army.”
“What about now? How did he get to the point where he could buy a castle?”
Köhler smiled, “Ah. That’s where the story really gets interesting. It turns out he has quite the business sense. Just as he got out of the army his father died, leaving him a money-losing auto maintenance shop in the center of Dresden. He tried to run it for a while. He was trained as a mechanic by his father. He wasn’t very good at it, and he didn’t enjoy it. He continued to lose money and finally gave up. But what he apparently didn’t realize at first was that the property on which the shop sat was also owned by his father. So when he finally gave up on the shop, he put the property on the market and found out that the property was worth more than a million euros. He sold it, and began his new life.”
“What did he do?”
“Well, he disappeared off the radar for a bit. Have you heard of the marches in Dresden?”
“Yes.”
“You know about the Dresden bombing.”
“In World War II?”
“Yes. It is one of the things that is not talked about very much in the United States, I suspect. But it is still talked about quite a bit in Germany, if anything is talked about.” He smiled ironically.
“The Allies killed more than twenty-five thousand people in Dresden. By fire bomb. Dresden used to be called The Florence of the Elbe . . . it was so beautiful. Your American writer, Kurt Vonnegut, was a prisoner of war in Dresden and was there when the bombing happened. Did you know that?”
“No, I didn’t.”
“He had to collect the bodies. They were later burned. Too many of them. He was in a prison they called Schlachthof Fünf. Do you know what that means?”
“No.”
“Slaughterhouse Five, the name of his famous novel. In any case, in 1990 or so, the neo-Nazis—or skinheads—decided to use the anniversary of that bombing to demonstrate. They have marched there every year since. This year, there were ten thousand of them. So for those that think Nazism is still not alive and well in Germany, they need only go to Dresden on February 13th.”
“What does that have to do with Eidhalt?”
“He’s from Dresden. Ever since he made his money, he’s been involved in the march. We know he has helped fund it. He doesn’t march, but he sends people to it. And pays for people to travel.”
“He stays behind the scenes.”
“He was playing a very clever game. He didn’t join any organization. He would monitor them all and help them all. Waiting for the best to rise to the surface. Those that were led by stupid men, he would ignore. Those that were led by smarter men, with better connections and better financing, he would help. He has been waiting for ten years to seize the moment, and now is that time.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because in taking that one million euros he has now converted it over the last twenty years to fifty million euros. He purchased property all over the former East Germany. When companies were motivated by the government to move into Eastern Europe and therefore needed land or buildings, he would sell to them. And when the government needed a new headquarters for their agency, he would sell it to them. As I said, he is now worth a lot. Maybe more than fifty million. And much of it is liquid. We know where all his accounts are, at least we think we do, but we also believe he has some accounts in Switzerland now. And maybe even in the United States. He has a very clever accountant. We think some of the money has moved without us knowing where it went.”
He shifted. “And now there is money coming into his accounts—a new account that he thinks he has hidden—that we can’t trace back. But we know it isn’t from Europe. We think it’s a secondary source of funding. Someone who is supporting him or funding him.”
“So,” he said, sighing. “We
have a man who is Nazi to the core, rich, clever, and now believes it is time to stand on top of what he sees as a rising tide of nationalism, anti-Semitism, anti-immigration and anti-Muslim sentiments, and economic fear. Things aren’t as bad as they were in the twenties and thirties, but there are enough young men who are unemployed and enough who think all of Europe is about to be destroyed by immigration that Eidhalt has many followers. And they see Turks as the cause of their unemployment. Turks and other immigrants. They, of course, also blame Jews for the decline of social morals and standards, and hate the European Union for—they say—taking away Germany’s identity. It doesn’t have to make sense. It just has to work. And people follow it.”
“He sounds dangerous.”
“He is. Even the press is noticing. There were many reports of his buying this castle. It dates back to the 1400s in Bavaria. One of the few available to the public, and it was in some disrepair. He bought it two years ago and put it in workable order. He installed the most modern security, power everywhere, air conditioning, and comfort. So instead of a drafty old stone castle, he finished the stone walls to modern standards with structural steel and electronics. And he will not let anybody in. There are no photographs of the inside of the castle since the completion. Only rumors from workers and employees, but not much of that. They are all very loyal and quiet.”
I asked, “So what is it he’s doing with this castle?”
“Would you like some more coffee? I’m going to get an espresso.”
“That sounds good.”
We both stood then walked over to the gleaming white machine. Köhler pressed the button for the small espresso cup and then did one for me. He put sugar in his and offered me some, which I declined. We took our cups to the table and pushed our larger coffee cups aside. He drank half his espresso in his first sip.
“Okay. That’s the question. He is much more difficult to observe now that he is in his castle. And he has put up such security that we can’t even get close to observe. We are left to watch the people going in and out of one of the three gates. Often times, they come in black-windowed cars, which we trace. But they are almost always cars for hire. Sometimes people arrive on motorcycles with fraudulent license plates, or even buses. But we understand he is establishing a headquarters for a new movement, which some call the Azi Party. Legal, but so close as to be an insult. Likewise, he has apparently devised a symbol. He has taken what is missing from the Azi party, the Ns and put two of them, one across each other in the middle of a red and black flag. It is not a swastika, but it is remarkably close. Everyone immediately recognizes it, I am told. I have not seen one of his flags yet. Apparently, all of this is being formed in secret. We can only guess that he intends to reveal this at some point.”
“And when is that to be?”
“We think soon. That is why your visit is of note. What is it that you have learned?”
“We have a confidential informant in the Southern Volk.”
Köhler nodded. “I have heard this. You know what the word Volk means?”
“Sure. Folk. People.”
“Yes. But it is a little more than that. It is the common man. The everyday person. You may not know for example that the car, the Volkswagen, was given its name by Hitler himself. That was called the people’s wagon. The Volkswagen.”
“Seriously?”
“It is not commonly spoken of, but it is true. It was started in World War II, at the direction of Hitler himself, to produce a cheap car for the common person. But go on.”
“Well, after I had my little experience in Recklinghausen, I had decided to try to do something about this growing neo-Nazi movement. I don’t really know if I’ll be able to do anything, but I am sure as hell determined to try. I met with Karl, who you have been working with in Washington.”
Köhler nodded.
“I met this CI with him. Eidhalt actually went to visit his organization in South Carolina. In person. He said it is time for unification. All to wear the same uniforms, to have the same philosophy, and to achieve the same objective—to take over their country’s governments, peaceably if possible, and through violence if not. But here is the key. He said there would be a meeting here in Germany on November 9th, and he would only invite those who had done something to show they were deserving. He has promised that those who are invited will be part of the new movement. The leaders.”
“We have not heard this.” He looked around like he was expecting someone else. He turned back. “What do they have to do to get invited?”
“Eidhalt didn’t say. They have to show they deserve it. He left it up to them. Our CI thinks some other groups may try something really dramatic, like blowing up a federal building or having an anti-immigration raid in a worker’s camp in California or Arizona. But I think he’s looking for something smarter. In any case, I told our informant that I would come up with something that would get him invited.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“I don’t know. First, I have to come up with the idea. Then I have to see how I fit. Because together, you and me, we’re going to bring all these men down.”
Köhler’s eyes widened. “How? And if they’re doing nothing illegal?”
“Oh, they’ll be doing something illegal. I promise you. At the very least, it will be an international conspiracy to undermine foreign governments. It may also be a conspiracy to undermine the German government itself.”
Köhler nodded as he considered what I’d said. “You may be right. What is it you propose to do?”
“I hadn’t thought about the castle very much. You say it’s located outside of Munich?”
“Yes.”
Thoughts flooded into my head as something occurred to me. “After Recklinghausen, I took my family to Munich because I’d heard it was a beautiful city. We stayed in a wonderful hotel, and when we asked the concierge where we should go to dinner, she recommended that we go to the Hofbräuhaus am Platzl. She said it was a wonderful place with traditional German food, great beer. It was great. The place is huge. Great oompah band, men in lederhosen, women in those dresses—”
“Derndls.”
“Right. All very cheerful and upbeat. But when I got back to our hotel room—did I tell you that my father was a military historian?”
Köhler shook his head.
“Quite the expert on World War II history and American diplomatic history. Maybe that is why I knew, but I remembered that Hitler started his whole movement at a beer hall in Munich. I had to look it up to find out if I had just had dinner where Hitler marched. So, I looked it up, and that’s when I read about the beer hall putsch.”
Köhler nodded. “It’s very famous.”
“It’s not widely known in the States. So the beer hall where the putsch occurred is gone. I guess that gave me a little bit of comfort, but I read on, trying to remember exactly what it was about. They stormed out of the beer hall, armed, and headed toward the center of the city. So Hitler’s gang and the hundreds of men—armed with guns and sticks and wearing swastikas and carrying a big Nazi flag—stormed toward the city hall. But somebody warned the authorities, and before they got there the police stopped them.
They told the Nazis to stop advancing or they would be fired on. Hitler ordered them forward and the state police fired. I think sixteen were killed. The first Nazi martyrs, as Hitler called them. Hitler was arrested, thrown in prison, and that’s where he wrote Mein Kampf.”
“Exactly.”
“So this castle being in Bavaria is not coincidental. He’s starting where Hitler started.”
“I agree.”
I sat back, suddenly struck with an idea that made me start. It sent a chill through me. I said, “I may have just thought of the idea I was looking for.”
“What is it?” Köhler asked.
“One of the men in front was carrying that large Nazi f
lag. He was shot and fell, and the flag fell to the ground. Other Nazis who were shot fell on top of the flag and bled to death on it. That flag became famous. It became known as the Blood Flag.”
“It is very famous. In German it is die Blutfahne.”
I sat forward. “After the battle, somebody took the flag. They hid it until Hitler got out of prison. And when he began his public life again, he used the Blood Flag like it had magical powers. Any big ceremony or swearing in was always in front of the Blood Flag. He would have them touch it, to show respect to the original Nazi martyrs. In that movie, Triumph of the Will, the flag was right there, leading the parade. It was everywhere; it was Hitler’s favorite symbol. He touched it to other unit flags, passing on the strength of the Nazi martyrs.”
Köhler nodded again. “All true. But so?”
I spoke a little more quietly. “The flag disappeared in 1944 and has never been found. Most people think it’s still out there, in some basement, or in storage. Maybe in a safe deposit box in Switzerland. What if I tracked it down and used die Blutfahne to help the Southern Volk?”
“He would think it is fake.”
I sat back. My mind was spinning. “Well, we are members of two of the organizations that have the best forensic teams in the world. If we can’t prove it’s real, nobody can.”
Köhler smiled. “I don’t think that Herr Eidhalt would want authenticity from the FBI or the BKA.”
“Obviously. But we can help find the way to do it. And maybe you can help me. We know the names of the men who died on that flag. Their DNA has to be on the flag. All we need to do is find the flag, then find a family member of one of the dead men.”
The Blood Flag Page 6
