The Blood Flag

by James W. Huston

  Before any backup plan could be put into place they were gone. Florian listened to his radio. “They have captured one of them. Not a marcher . . .” he paused. “Someone on a roof.” He looked up but didn’t say anything. “He had night vision binoculars and has been there for hours, they think. Long before we got here.”

  “They knew we were coming,” I remarked.

  Florian nodded. “These are different Nazis. Perhaps we underestimated them.”

  We walked forward to inspect their masks and capes as the flames began to die.

  I looked down at the banner in the street that the leaders of the march had been carrying. It was on a pole, and was written in that same old English font I had seen weeks ago. “Dein kurzes Leben, mach es eternal.” I asked Florian, “What does that say?”

  “Your short life, make it eternal.”

  “Meaning?”

  “They are trying to say that the way to become eternal is to recognize you’re already dead. The German government has killed you. Emasculated you. You are nothing to them, only others matter. It is what we discussed before.”

  I watched diminishing flames around us from the discarded torches and the gasoline. “They are going to attract a lot more people with this.”

  He nodded. “That is what we are afraid of.”

  * * *

  As the next day came to a close and I was back in D.C., my BlackBerry rang. “Yes?”

  “What are you doing tonight?” Jedediah.

  “What do you have in mind?” I asked.

  “You know Lady Bird Johnson Park?”

  “Sure.”

  “There’s a trail, right by the river. Be there, east side. Nine o’clock. I’ll pick you up.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  The connection broke. I went home, had dinner with my family, and then headed to the Potomac River.

  I wore jeans and a black North Face fleece, and as usual, carried my Glock nine millimeter.

  I arrived fifteen minutes early. It was dark, and traffic rushed by in front of me. I waited. At exactly nine my phone rang again. A different number.

  “Yes?”

  “Can you get to the river?”

  “What for?”

  “That’s where I am.” He hung up.

  I shook my head and headed across the grass and through the trees until I was at the bank of the river. As I stepped close to the water, the lights of a boat came on directly in front of me. It had been there, moving very slowly against the flow of the river to hold its position without its lights. The boat moved sideways against the current and turned upstream as it nudged into the bank. As I jumped on board, the motor roared and we turned away and headed downstream. It looked to be about twenty-two feet long with a small covered cabin. I stood next to Jedediah, who was wearing jeans and a long-sleeve white T-shirt. He was barefoot. He looked at me, unsmiling. There was an awkward tension.

  “You finally got a cell phone?”

  “Thanks for the reminder,” he said as he reached up on the panel next to him and tossed it into the river.

  “That’s expensive.”

  “Not really. One-time use. You can learn a lot from the people who run drugs. Half the people I know in the mountains of South Carolina run meth. Those boys know all the tricks.”

  “You can never be too safe,” I said.

  “I would assume you’d know that.”

  “That’s why I said it.”

  He motored downstream around the point of Fort McNair, and headed up toward the Frederick Douglas Bridge. He passed under the bridge and turned to the bank on the right, across from the Navy yard. We approached a soft bank that was marshy and hidden by trees. He drifted between two overhanging trees and stopped. He turned off the lights of the boat and put the engine into idle. He dropped the anchor over the side and let the rope feed out until it touched the bottom. He let it play out a little more, and then tied it to the cleat. He sat in the padded seat in the back of the boat, and pointed at a folding captain’s chair for me to sit in front of him. I did.

  I said, “So what’s going on? I’ve got a lot to talk to you about, but first tell me what you’re doing in D.C.”

  He stared at me in the dark. What little light there was reflected off the river onto his face in an uneven way, like a candle through a piece of silk. Somehow it made him look even more dangerous.

  “Business. A national chain of body shops is trying to buy me. They flew me up here to persuade me what a good idea it would be to sell my shop to them.”

  “You interested?”

  “No. But I like free food and drink.”

  “So what’s going on?”

  “Well you failed—thanks for nothing—but our head guy came up with an idea. I thought I should tell you what it is. It’s going to be pretty damned dramatic.”

  “No, don’t! I just got back from Germany, and have the perfect idea. If we pull it off, you’ll be the biggest player in Germany!”

  “Too late. He’s said what we’re going to do.”

  “Can’t be too late. This is huge. You’ve got to give me some time.”

  “I’m not in charge. He is. And he’s determined. Once he sets his mind to something, just clear out. That’s what’s going to happen.”

  “What does he want to do?”

  “He’s sort of a World War II history buff and thinks one of the ways to get back to what Hitler had going was to get some things that were important back then.”

  “Go on.”

  “There’s a display going around the country. World War II through Russia’s Eyes.”

  “And?”

  “Hitler killed himself in a bunker in Berlin. The Americans let the Russians take Berlin. We figured why take all those casualties ourselves. Let the Russians die. And die they did, but they took Berlin with a vengeance. And they found Hitler’s bunker intact. They pulled all the stuff out of that bunker that was there when Hitler died and kept it. The stuff that was in that bunker, Hitler’s personal stuff, is what’s on this tour.”

  “Wow. So what’s the plan?”

  “One of the stops is in Atlanta. He’s going to break in and take all of Hitler’s shit. Shoes, uniform hanging on the coat rack when he shot himself, his riding crop, and his hat. This is the real stuff. It’s what Hitler had when he died. And we’re going to go get it.”

  “Has to be a lot of security.”

  “A ton. He doesn’t care. He’s got a line on some C4, and he’s going to do it full on. Get as much of the stuff as he can. We’re going to hit it on the last day. We’re going to have guys go through with hidden video cameras every day to check out the security, the timing, everything. And then we’re going to take it down on the last day.”

  “Don’t do it. And if they insist on doing it, I don’t want you involved.”

  “May have to be. I do what he says, or he gets suspicious. He’s suspicious anyway. Every time I leave town he’s suspicious. He suspects his wife. He suspects everybody is ratting on him. He’s paranoid. So we do what he tells us. Plain as that.”

  “Tell me about him.”

  “Don’t you have a file on him?” I nodded.

  Jedediah waited, then said, “His name is Greg Brunnig. He’s extremely smart. College educated. Been in some trouble, but nothing serious. He could pass for a banker.”

  “It’s like stealing a Picasso. People don’t get away with that.”

  “Oh, he’ll figure it out. He’s that smart. And nobody’s going to be looking for somebody to steal any of that stuff.”

  I doubted it. “You think the Russians haven’t thought about somebody grabbing this stuff?”

  “Well, we’re going to. Or at least we’re going to try.”

  I listened to the dissipated wake of a passing ship slapping against the side of the boat. “Seems like a rea
lly bad idea. And I think I’ve got something better.”

  “Yeah, now you do. We have our marching orders. It’s set. It’s going down next week.”

  “Next week? How are you going to get a plan together in a week?”

  Jedediah thought he heard something in the marsh and waited.

  I looked out over the marsh with him. “What are you listening to? How could anybody be out here? There’s no place to be.”

  “I don’t take chances.”

  “So how does he plan on pulling this off?”

  “Even if it’s really a sophisticated thing. Even if we have to hack our way in with axes and blowtorches, it’s not a problem.”

  I was perplexed. “How is that not a problem?”

  “Because we have a couple of guys who will take the fall. They’ve been unofficial parts of our group for years, but they’re always in and out of prison. They’re fully criminals. They like being criminals, and they don’t care if they go back to the house. It’d be like a family reunion. They’re big-shit Nazis with tattoos they got in prison. They protect each other and nobody messes with them. They’ve already committed a couple of felonies and the cops are right on their tails. So, they know they’re headed back to the slammer anyway. They say they’ll sacrifice themselves for the cause. It will be glorious.”

  “That’s the plan? To get caught?”

  “If necessary. We won’t know the exact plan until we see the layout. But this thing is on. You should know that.” His eyes narrowed. “And you’d better not tell your police friends what’s coming. They don’t need any help in catching us.”

  I rubbed my fingers through my hair, frustrated not only at this ridiculous plan but at the possibility of a lost opportunity. “You’ve got to call it off. You’ve got to get to Brunnig. Not only will they catch your pre-qualified felons, they’ll catch all of you.”

  “They’ll never prove it.”

  “Of course they will. You think the police are stupid?”

  “Oh definitely. I think some police are dumber than crayfish. Some of them are even dumber than Nazis. Some of them even are Nazis and will look the other way.”

  “Well the smart ones are going to figure this out, and they’re going to come after you, and they’re going to come after Brunnig.”

  Jedediah glanced at his watch, which had a huge luminous dial and was easy to read, even in the pitch darkness. He stood up and bent down right in front of my face. “Then you’ve got to make sure they don’t. You’ve got to be some good to me. I’m here risking my life to give you information. To help you. Well, it’s time for you to help me. Keep them off our backs.”

  I shook my head. I knew this was coming. The real reason he’d dragged me out here. “Don’t know if I can do that. They may not listen to us.”

  “They’ll listen to you. Make it happen. Do your FBI shit. Get us our ticket to Germany.”

  “That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. I have your ticket to Germany!”

  “What is it?”

  “The Blood Flag.”

  He paused in the darkness. “The Blood Flag?”

  “You know about it?”

  “Everybody knows about it. You have it?”

  “No. We’re going to find it. Then authenticate it and take it to Germany.”

  “Do you know where it is?”

  “I went to Germany and talked to the German FBI. They’re going to help me find it.”

  Another pause in the darkness. “You didn’t tell them about me, did you?”

  “I told them we had someone on the inside, but not by name. No description, no nothing.”

  “I didn’t authorize you to talk about me to anybody!” I could feel him breathing like a caged animal. “That’s part of my deal with Karl. Shit, even him telling you was over the line. I can’t trust any of you.”

  “I just said we had a guy. They have no idea who it is.”

  “So you’d be fine if they ID me, that I can take your government-issued handgun and shoot you in the chest with it, right? Because if you’re that sure, then you’re not taking any risk at all.”

  “Sounds fair to me.”

  Jedediah stood up. “You don’t have a lead on the flag at all, do you?”

  “No, I’ve only just come up with the plan. Give me a little time.”

  “Well, then we’ve got to go with our bird in the hand. And when you get a line on the Blood Flag, you let me know.”

  He walked to the wheel, started the boat, pulled in the anchor, and headed to where he had picked me up.

  On the way home I called Karl from my car and told him what had happened. He was impressed both by the Southern Volk’s industriousness and by the fact that they would all be in jail within a week. He too saw the threat to our plan, and agreed I had to go to Atlanta to stop it from blowing up in our faces. We couldn’t let Jedediah get arrested.

  First thing the next morning I called the Special Agent in charge of the Atlanta Division. I told her I needed a meeting with her, Atlanta Police, and the head of the Russian security. She said the Russian advance team was already in Atlanta and that the materials would arrive in about three days. I told her to set it up at the FBI office and I would be there by tomorrow. I called Alex and told her to clear her calendar. We were going to Atlanta.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Atlanta office was well known as being independent minded. They didn’t wait for direction from Washington. So the news that I was coming from D.C. uninvited and wanting to meet with them and the Russians (and make a big deal about something or other) was not going to sit well. If it was an Atlanta issue, they would believe they could handle it. And if it wasn’t an Atlanta issue, then we should leave them alone. I wasn’t looking forward to the meeting.

  We took a cab to the downtown FBI office and were escorted to the top floor. When the elevator opened, we were met by the special agent in charge, Karen Brindle. We stepped out of the elevator with our roll-aboard suitcases. I greeted her, and she didn’t respond. She just stared at my suitcase, pointed down the hall, and began walking. I had heard about Karen. She was well known as a hardass, both inside the agency and outside. She was all business, no nonsense, and no humor. I was a little surprised at her appearance. She was wearing a skirt. Not many FBI special agents wore skirts these days. In fact, when I looked more closely, she was wearing a suit. Even in these days of business casual passing for getting dressed up, most special agents dressed down as far as they could. She seemed to be going in the opposite direction. It was a nicely tailored suit and she wore medium high heels. She had shoulder-length dark brown hair and was actually quite attractive. After several seconds of silence, she said, “I have a conference room set up.”

  I walked next to her down the spotless hallway. “Thanks for helping. This is really important.”

  “It better be,” she said as she opened the door to the conference room and pushed it away, indicating for us to go in before her. We put our rolling bags in the corner and stood by the table. Karen came in followed by two other men. The conference room was set up for ten people, and there were bag lunches stacked on a table at the end of the room.

  She said, “I’ve ordered lunch. While we eat you can tell us what the hell is going on. The Russians will be here at one. Does that work for you?” she asked, seeming to hope that it didn’t.

  “Yes, thanks. Again, I apologize for this short notice and the intrusion. I will explain it all, and hope you can understand how significant this is.”

  She nodded, checked her BlackBerry, and looked at the lunches. “Tell us what you know.”

  I grabbed the first bag, opened it, and spread it in front of me. The others grabbed theirs and sat at the end of the table near me. I told them the whole story, starting with the ceremony at Normandy up to my conversation with Jedediah two days ago. I didn’t tell them his identity, b
ut they sure understood his significance.

  After I was finished Karen asked, “We haven’t had any issues with the neo-Nazis in our area. Aren’t they just like a twisted Boy Scout troop?”

  “Those days are over. They’ve decided to come out of the woodwork and be counted. The immigration thing has been a focal point, and they are gaining recruits faster than anybody expected. Some of it is because some actual leadership has risen to the top. Brunnig is charismatic. But the real threat is this guy in Germany trying to unify everybody, and he has the money to do it. That’s what we’ve got to stop. But, right now we have to take care of what’s going to happen here this week. Tell me about security for the exhibit.”

  One of the men spoke for the first time. “I have the federal side. We’re pretty well organized already. The . . . ” he hesitated, then went on, “The gist of it is the Russians have this display that they set up in a kind of labyrinth. At least according to the diagrams we’ve been given. You walk into the museum, it’s dark, and you walk through a series of displays with photographs and writing and memorabilia that takes up roughly half the museum. It’s quiet and subdued. This is the tenth and last stop for the tour. They have the setup down to a science. All they need is the space. But nobody cares about the items in the first half of the exhibit. Nothing there to really steal and no security really needed, although they have basic security. What really matters is the Hitler stuff. Once you get through the horrifying pictures and details of how hard Russia had to fight Germany—did you know that Russia lost twenty some million people in World War II?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I sure didn’t. It’s unbelievable the carnage inflicted by this Nazi régime. Just evil. Anyway, once you get through all that, you get to a thing that looks sort of like a train car. It’s not, it’s actually an armored bunker. It’s intended to be like Hitler’s bunker, but you look into it from the outside, like through windows. So you don’t really get that close to the stuff itself. Windows are pretty good sized, but bullet proof. And the bunker is reinforced and extremely secure. It’s sealed. There’s only one door, and it’s a combination safe lock that is only known by the assistant chief of security for the Russian group. And notably, he’s never actually near the display once it’s open to the public. Once he closes and locks that door, he disappears where he cannot be found. So if somebody grabs the chief of security from Russia and threatens to kill him unless they’re told the combination, it won’t matter. They’re not going to get the combination. Even if they killed the chief of security they still wouldn’t have it. This guy goes out to zoos, movies, wherever he wants to go. He doesn’t carry a cell phone and is completely out of touch. He only comes back once it’s time to tear down the display.”