The Fourth Reich E-Book

Helen Goltz

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Krimi
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

At the book launch of his father's biography, the stilted footage of Holocaust survivors is projected behind Benjamin Hoefer. As the video comes to an end, it closes in on Eli Hoefer's gaunt face, four red words scratched across the last frame: Nazi. Jew hater. Fake.

FBI Special Agent Mitchell Parker is frustrated to be called in on what he believes is a police matter, but digging deeper, a much more far-reaching threat is revealed.

Soon, Parker and his team find themselves in the middle of a Neo-Nazi plot that spans continents... and threatens to bring one of the worst atrocities in history back to life.

Leseprobe

THE FOURTH REICH

MITCHELL PARKER CRIME THRILLERS BOOK 3

HELEN GOLTZ

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Chapter 44

Chapter 45

Chapter 46

Chapter 47

Chapter 48

Chapter 49

Chapter 50

Chapter 51

Chapter 52

Chapter 53

Chapter 54

Chapter 55

Chapter 56

Chapter 57

Chapter 58

Chapter 59

Chapter 60

Chapter 61

Chapter 62

Chapter 63

Chapter 64

Chapter 65

Acknowledgments

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About the Author

Copyright (C) 2020 Helen Goltz

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2022 by Next Chapter

Published 2022 by Next Chapter

Edited by Rachel Quilligan

Cover art by CoverMint

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author’s permission.

For my two wonderful aunties—

Pamela Westwood and Fay Wardell

1

Mitchell Parker stood alert, watching and listening. At six-foot-two with dark hair and an athletic build, he was ready for this, trained and attuned. He squinted and his blue eyes scanned the area. He had just downed one suspect at close range but he saw a movement, a shadow in the window of a building opposite. He dropped low, loaded two rounds into his handgun and ran in the shadows towards the building. He was feeling good, fit again; time had ensured his injuries from the last mission were more mental than physical now.

There it was again; the same movement. He raced to the building, easily taking the two flights of stairs and bracing as the figure emerged from the top stair. In a split second he assessed the enemy and fired. A noise behind made him wheel around, gun at the ready, but he stopped just in time as the picture of a child appeared.

In his earpiece he heard the command to stand down. Mitch unloaded his weapon and holstered it. He moved down the stairs back to the command center where Joseph Nabor, the training instructor, waited. He stood a foot shorter than Mitch and a foot wider, most of it muscle.

“Not bad, not bad at all, Mitch,” he said, taking the gun from Mitch and checking it.

Mitch grabbed a bottle of water while he waited for the report. He followed Joseph to his desk and dropped into a chair opposite.

“How did you feel?” Joseph asked, taking a seat.

Mitch shrugged. “Fine.”

“And the point-blank range shots?”

“No problem. It is closer to what we’ve experienced in the real world lately.”

Joseph nodded and looked at Mitch’s score sheet, made a few notes, and signed it. “Out of the sixty rounds, you did pretty well. You did better at the two-handed shooting after stage one, but most agents do. Fifteen yards was your best, but all up you got fifty-two out of the sixty. A good result. That’s Hogan’s Alley and your VirtSim both done now,” Joseph said, referring to the Virtual Simulator Tactical Training system that Mitch had recently undertaken.

Mitch thanked him and while looking over the sheet, finished the bottle of water. “What did Ellie get?” he asked after his team member Ellen Beetson.

“Fifty-eight,” Joseph said with a smile. “Don’t need to look that one up, she’s a crack shot.”

“Damn, she’s done it again,” he sighed.

“If it’s any consolation, you’re ahead of the rest of your team … Nicholas and Adam,” Joseph said.

“Nope,” Mitch rose, “the only consolation, Joe, is that she’s on my team.” Mitch smiled and departed with a wave.

2

The film flickers on the bare white wall of the museum … black and white, grainy. In the dark, the museum guests watch, their faces lit by the light that spills from the haunting images. On the white wall screen, a line of people shuffle in rows of two through the Auschwitz arch and into the bleak surrounds. Some glance around, their faces masks of confusion. At the gate, dressed in striped pants and tops resembling pajamas, some in striped coats, are gaunt prisoners watching the new arrivals. The new arrivals are hurried by German guards—officious men with weapons. One woman, a mother, clutches the hand of a teenage girl as she looks directly at the camera—a look, a plea for help.

The camera pans to the end of the line where people are being herded off a train freight carriage, clutching their luggage and each other’s hands. A dog breaks away from the guard and rushes towards the row of marchers, and many scream in fright, pushing the people in front of them to move faster. Soon the platform is empty except for a pile of suitcases, several guards and their dogs, and a number of bodies. The train moves slowly away.

The film cuts to another scene—a long line of people are being marched out of the camp. They are painfully thin and trundle along. Nearer to the gates a small group of prisoners look out with trepidation. The camera closes in on one man then the film flickers and disappears.

There is a sense of relief from the audience that it is over. Suddenly the screen comes to life again. A message appears in large red handwriting, written across the last frame of the film … Nazi, Jew hater, fake! It flashes for five seconds before the film frame goes to white, then crackles and stops; the room returns to complete darkness.

Guests at the presentation gasp, some look embarrassed and look away; some appear angry that the guest of honor should be humiliated in this way … one person claps.

3

Mitchell Parker, wearing a dark navy suit, crisp white shirt and blue and gold patterned tie, paced around his office reading a file. He went in one direction, past the back of his desk, past the meeting table, across the glass windows and entrance door, and back to where he started. Occasionally he stopped, looked up to think, and then continued his path. From the office opposite, John Windsor watched him.

It was early Tuesday morning at the FBI offices in Washington D.C. and only a couple of staff had arrived. John Windsor, the Executive Director for the Trans-National Crime Unit and Mitch’s manager, sat across the room, directly opposite Mitch’s office. In his gray suit, almost the same color as his well-groomed hair, he sipped his tea, waiting for Mitch to finish the file and react. Seeing Mitch close the file, John rose and walked over to his office.

“What do you think?” John asked.

Mitch exhaled. “I think you need to get Ghostbusters on this one.”

John laughed. “But really.”

“I mean, really.” He dropped the file on the desk and it opened, showing a black and white photo of a man with a shaved head, wearing a faded jacket with the Jewish star on it, the Star of David. “Got anything else?” Mitch asked.

“I’ve sent you some CCTV footage. I’ll give a full briefing to the team at eight this morning if you want to check it out before then.”

“What do you think?” Mitch asked, stopping John as the doorway.

John exhaled. “I’d say there’s something in it.”

“Welcome Adam,” John said when the team had taken their seats in his office.

“Thanks, John.” The new member of the team raised his take-away cappuccino in acknowledgement.

John looked at the faces in front of him. Last assignment, Mitch had let one of his agents go, transferring Samantha Moore into Computer Forensics, where she was more suited. Ellen Beetson, an original team member—small, fit, a crack shot and diver with shoulder-length blond hair—remained second-in-charge.

The two other male team members were Nicholas Everett—tall, blond, a childhood friend of Mitch’s and ex-Air Force pilot—who had come into the team through the backdoor as an informer, but had earned his stripes to stay, and Adam Forster—a tall, wiry, dark-haired agent who had just returned from a long UK stint—who was newly assigned to Mitch’s team. They had worked together on a job in London only six months earlier and Mitch had full faith in his abilities, maybe less in his attitude. Mitch was prepared to take that risk to have Adam Forster’s skills on board … Adam was ex-MI5 and MI6, had served in Northern Ireland, Germany, Bosnia, Russia and China and undertaken counter-espionage work for the British foreign intelligence service. Being fluent in four languages was also handy.

“I have a case which is a little unconventional,” John began.

“Is it a case yet?” Mitch asked. “I still think it is one for Ghostbusters.”

“Hold that thought,” John said. “There’s been a series of incidents at the Holocaust Memorial Museum. Last night an honored Jewish guest, Benjamin Hoefer, was delivering a speech at the museum to launch his father’s biography; his father survived a Nazi death camp. At the end of his talk he showed a film which featured his father in the last frame. It starts with Jewish citizens being marched into Auschwitz and ends with the camp inhabitants being marched out just before the Soviets arrived. Now watch what happens.”

John played a file on his computer, projecting it onto the wall opposite. The team turned to watch as the footage of the Jewish prisoners being pushed out of the train onto the platform played across the screen. It cut to the columns of prisoners being marched out of the camp. The film narrowed in on a small group of prisoners at the Auschwitz gates, closing in on one man before fading out. “Keep watching now,” John said. The screen flickered alive again and the bold, red words reading Nazi, Jew hater, fake! flashed across the screen.

“Wow,” Ellen exhaled.

“So why are we getting the case?” Mitch asked.

“There’s been a number of incidents at the museum late at night when it is closed, things missing, items defaced—but more importantly the Jewish guest speaker Benjamin Hoefer has had death threats,” John said. “He just began a book tour. I won’t say it is an easy case, the file is light on.”

Mitch nodded his agreement. “Has Benjamin Hoefer got security appointed to him?”

“Yes, but you’ll want to chat to him and the museum staff, maybe do a bit of surveillance and digging, you know the drill,” John said. He glanced at his watch. “I’ve got a meeting in five minutes, any questions?”

“So someone thinks Benjamin Hoefer is a fake but fake what? Fake Jew, fake sympathizer or was his father a fake?” Adam asked.

“Pretty hard to fake being deported to Auschwitz when you’re in the film frame, unless the footage is a fake,” Nick said.

“How’s your German, Adam?” Mitch asked.

“Gut genug,” Adam answered. “Good enough!” he translated.

“Okay, let’s get copies of the file, everyone have a read and meet in my office in twenty minutes. We’ll strategize.” Mitch rose to leave.

Ellen Beetson cleared her throat. “Mitch, John, before we go, I want to say something if that’s okay?”

“Sure,” Mitch said.

“I know that I am the only girl in the team now,” Ellen began, “but I don’t need to be protected, carried, or pampered. I expect that you will acknowledge my skills, respect that I am Mitch’s right-hand person and can hold my own in a fight, with a gun and underwater. Yes?”

“Absolutely,” Mitch said.

Nick and Adam nodded.

Ellen reached out for the file. “I’ll do three copies.” She walked out to the copier.

Mitch watched her leave. “She’s five-foot-four and scares the hell out of you, doesn’t she?”

Twenty minutes later, with fresh cups of coffee, the team gathered in Mitch’s office. As Adam entered, John walked past and called out. “Adam, get a haircut.”

Mitch looked at Adam’s short ponytail that clipped the back of his suit jacket.

“Seriously?” Adam dropped into a seat opposite Mitch.

Mitch shrugged. “See how long you can get away with it.”

“Yeah, Mitch has been able to get out of counseling for years by pretending he doesn’t hear John,” Nick told him. “Worth a try.”

“It’s not that I’m ignoring John,” Mitch started, “it’s just that every time you turn around there’s someone wanting to know what’s going on in your head.”

“And you don’t want to know what’s going on up there,” Ellen finished for Mitch as she flicked through the copy of the file.

“Thanks Ellie,” he smirked. “By the way congrats on still being the best shooter in our team.”

Ellen grinned. “Ah, you’ve done your test.”

“I have, and full credit to you. Glad you’re on my team.”

Ellen nodded her thanks. “Good of you, Mitch. A lot of managers and team members, especially male team members,” she said with a glance to Nick and Adam, “wouldn’t be such good sports.”

Mitch frowned. “Yeah well I’m pissed off and I still want to beat you, but well done anyway.”

Ellen laughed.

“That’s because you’re usually the best at everything, Mitch, so this is out of character,” Nick said, loosening his tie and sitting back on the chair.

“No I’m not,” Mitch answered defensively. “Ellie is a better shooter and diver, you’re better at navigation and math, and Adam … well I don’t know yet.”

“Driving,” Adam said.

“No, I doubt that,” Mitch smiled, “but there’ll be something. Hopefully we’ll find out before you leave in a year’s time.”

“I’ll do my best to find something,” Adam joked.

“Okay, let’s get to this case,” Mitch began. “Aside from what you read in your notes, this is what I can tell you about the guest speaker, Benjamin Hoefer.” He looked to his notes. “He was born in 1939, he’s now seventy-four; his father was Eli Hoefer, born in Berlin on 22 September, 1920 and died here in the US in 2005 of heart failure, aged 85. Eli was a law student when he was taken to Auschwitz with his wife, Yetta in 1941. Benjamin was two years old. He was taken in by the neighbors, a childless couple.” Mitch showed Adam the file and the couple’s name.

“Gynther and Antje Bäcker,” Adam pronounced the names in their German dialect, “or as we might say, Ginter and Ancha Baker.”

Mitch continued. “Yetta, Benjamin’s mother, died in the camp, Eli survived and returned to collect Benjamin who was seven when he returned in 1946.”

“Benjamin wouldn’t have recognized his father,” Ellen said.

“No, wouldn’t have known him,” Mitch agreed.

The group looked at the photos of the family.

“Amazing there are any family photos,” Nick said. “So why did Benjamin wait almost a decade after his father’s death before putting out his father’s story and his own memoir?”

“Good question. Worth asking, as well as how the photos survived,” Mitch agreed. “Eli brought his son Benjamin to the States in 1948. Benjamin was schooled locally and graduated as a teacher of languages and literature and has taught all his life. Two months ago, Benjamin released the memoirs and has been touring with the publisher to promote them. They tell the story of his father’s life and what he recalls about his own time with the German family,” Mitch continued. He picked up Benjamin Hoefer’s book. “I’ll speed read it tonight and pass it around.”

“I’ve already read it,” Adam said.

“When? It’s only been out a month,” Nick said.

Adam shrugged. “I bought it a few weeks ago. I like to read, it helps me sleep at night.”

“And?’ Mitch asked.

“Well sex helps too,” Adam joked.

Mitch gave him a wry look. “And what did you make of the book, I meant.”

“Ah,” Adam grinned, “the book. Benjamin paints his father as a hero; surviving the camp, helping others, doing the long march. But what’s interesting, more so now that I’ve heard about this incident at the museum, is that Benjamin doesn’t get anyone to validate his father’s version of the story. He then elaborates about his own childhood, living with a German family and how he was passed off as a German child.”

“What about Yetta?” Mitch asked.

“He talks about the loss of his mother, but again there is no investigation into her, how and when she died in the camp or any accounts from survivors who remember her … if there are any still alive—they’d have to be in their mid-nineties by now. He recites what he was told about his mother by his father.”

“Odd, there’s a line of investigation there too.” Mitch added a note to his list. “So as well as that, we need to find out why Benjamin is being threatened, why he is being called a fake or why his father is being called a fake, who has access to the museum after hours, what groups Benjamin belongs to or represents, who was at the function, who might have access to that film and see where the original is if that is not it, and get anything we can find about their history.”

“Anyone got any Jewish connections?” Ellen asked.

The three men shook their heads.

“Mm, bad luck,” Mitch agreed. “Okay, Adam and Ellie, start with the author Benjamin Hoefer, then move onto the book.” He handed it over to them. “Validate what you can and talk to whoever can give you insights…whoever might still be alive. Nick and I will head to the Holocaust Museum.”

“You’re not sold on this one are you?” Nick asked.

Mitch frowned. “From what we know to date, I don’t know why they’d put FBI agents on it. Unless there’s something they’re not telling us, again.”

4

A hush descended as the Chief Executive of The New Aryan Order (NAO), Dirk Schmid, strode down the long aisle in the middle of the packed room. A self-assured man in his forties, six-foot-two, with broad shoulders, athletic, tanned with thinning blond hair and sharp blue eyes, he wore the Nazi uniform like the model of the perfect Aryan man. Two men followed him on stage, his brother Thorsten, the organization’s financial controller—a slimmer version of Dirk but with fearful eyes—and the operating officer, Michael Krupp, a respectable looking man in his sixties.

Close to three hundred men and women rose to their feet, and as Dirk turned at the podium to address the audience, he saluted them. In unison, the members responded with ‘Heil Hitler’ salutes. Behind him large banners featuring the swastika hung from the ceiling. A large framed photo of Adolph Hitler took pride of place on center stage.

This was no normal party; no skinheads or thugs looking for a fight or somewhere to belong. Admission was by birthright and achievement only: German ancestry, a degree qualification and an investment of half a million dollars each. They were the educated, wealthy elite; and dangerous. Together they prepared for the Nazis' return to power but Dirk Schmid had another agenda—a very personal one involving Benjamin Hoefer.

He took a deep breath and looked out over the audience; his colleagues resplendent in their uniforms. He drew strength and pride from what he saw. He began his address using the words of Adolf Hitler:

“My German countrymen and women …”

The audience burst into applause and shouted, “Heil Hitler.”

Dirk Schmid continued. “Every month we gain in strength. I look around and I see so many great minds sharing a vision. The Führer said in his speech at the Berlin Sports Palace on January 30, 1941, that ‘changes of government have occurred frequently in history, and in the history of our people. It is certain, however, that never was a change of government attended with such far-reaching results’.” The audience murmured their agreement.

Dirk continued, talking over them. “The Führer says the Reich was desperate and he was called upon to take over the leadership at a time when it did not seem that they could ever rise to power. I quote ‘We were given power in circumstances of the greatest conceivable pressure, the pressure of the knowledge that, by itself, everything was lost, and that, in the eyes of the noblest minds, this represented a last attempt’.” Dirk looked up for effect. Like Adolf Hitler, Dirk’s oratory skills were his best assets. Seeing he had the audience in his hands, he continued.

“The Führer said, ‘unless the German nation could be saved, by a miracle, the situation was bound to end in disaster.’ When he started the Movement, he had but one thousand members. Can you imagine that? How that changed once the Führer came to power! In his words, ‘here are 85,000,000 Germans looking into the future with pride and confidence. They are heirs of a great history.’ We are now heirs of a great history and this is but the beginning.”

Every person in the room rose to their feet and cheered.

“Sieg Heil,” Dirk Schmid led the crowd.

“Sieg Heil, Sieg Heil, Sieg Heil!”

5

Mitch drove past the austere buildings of the Holocaust Memorial Museum. Out the front, a bus pulled up and tourists piled out. He indicated and turned left into D Street and pulled his black Audi into the parking station.

“Mind if I stay in the car?” Nick said, tapping his fingers on the armrest between them.

Mitch looked over at him. “Why, what’s wrong?”

Nick sighed. “Nothing.” He opened the car door and got out. Mitch did the same and locked up.

“Are you serious?” Mitch asked falling into stride beside him as they left the parking station.

“No, yes … this place freaks me out.” Nick looked around uncomfortably.

“We’re not even inside yet. You should have said, you could have partnered Ellie or Adam.”

“What? And missed out on the chance to spend some quality time together?” Nick said.

Mitch grinned. “Yeah, figured you’ve been missing me, given you and Sam spent so much time together last case.”

“Alas poor Samantha, I knew her, Horatio.” Nick shook his head.

Mitch grimaced. “I still believe it’s the right thing, she was out of control and—”

“Don’t start, she had to go,” Nick agreed before Mitch began his guilt trip on moving agent Samantha Moore out of his team.

“Yeah, she had to go.” He self-consciously rubbed his arm where a burn, now healed, had been as a result of Samantha’s maverick behavior.

The two men entered the museum. The same height but mirror opposites—Mitch dark hair with blue eyes to Nick’s blond appearance and green eyes—they looked out of place in their suits amongst the museum-goers.

Mitch went to the information desk while Nick stood against a wall out of the way of a tour group heading to the museum lifts. Mitch waited until he had the receptionist’s attention. She was a well-groomed, middle-aged woman in a black suit with a sensible haircut.

“Mitchell Parker and Nick Everett to see Hanna Berkman please,” he announced.

She nodded, scribbled down the names and picked up the phone handset.

Mitch stood back and waited. Hanging up she caught his attention as a continuous flow of people gathered around her desk taking the information sheets. “She’ll be with you in a moment Mr. Parker, if you care to take a seat.” She pointed to a bench seat against the side wall.

“Thank you.” Mitch nodded and moved to join Nick. “Been here?”

“Yeah, we had the tour when we were recruits,” Nick said.

“Oh yeah, I forgot that they still do that,” Mitch said, having gone through the training a few years before Nick.

Mitch saw a slim woman in her late-fifties, or possibly early-sixties, approach him. He stood up and introduced himself and Nick.

“Come through to the exhibition room and I’ll tell you what I know,” Hanna Berkman said.

Mitch summed her up as he followed. She looked kind, but in-charge, sensible and knowledgeable.

The two men followed her through the crowd and into a special room that was sealed off from the public.

Hanna turned to face the men. “Benjamin Hoefer’s exhibition of his book and special artifacts was due to open today. Last night was the launch and that is when the incident took place. So as you can understand we’re delaying the opening until we have the all-clear from either yourselves or the police that there’s no evidence in the room that will be destroyed,” she said.

Mitch and Nick moved further into the room as Hanna closed and locked the door behind them.

“This exhibition tells the story of the last evacuees from Auschwitz from January 17 to 21,” Hanna explained as Mitch and Nick looked at the images and displays. “The Germans marched more than fifty-six thousand prisoners out of Auschwitz and its sub-camps. Many of them had survived the camp but would die on the march, just before liberation. They marched them in columns in bitterly cold conditions with little or no water, food or rest. Those that were too weak to continue were shot along the way.”

Mitch nodded, listening. “Death marches.”

“Yes, that’s what they were,” Hanna agreed.

“Why did they evacuate them then?” Nick asked.

“The German military force was collapsing, the Allies were closing in—the Soviets from the east, and the British, French, and Americans from the west. They began to panic, to move prisoners out of the camps near the front,” she said. “Benjamin Hoefer’s memoir begins here because it is when his father returns home to him. His father survives the death march. In his book, Benjamin does go back into the past to tell his father’s story of his time in Auschwitz, but the most moving image is this one.” She pointed to a large black and white photo featuring a long line of people being marched out of the camp by the Germans. Close up in the right hand side of the shot was a number of prisoners standing near the gate. One man was circled; Benjamin’s father.

“And the film reel that is shown is the film footage of this shot?” Mitch asked.

“Exactly,” Hanna said. “But the next frame has been desecrated. We were mortified, as you can image. Would you like to see it?”

“Yes, please,” Mitch said.

Hanna went to a wall phone, pressed an extension and requested that the film be shown. Within a few minutes the footage flickered on the same blank wall as on the night before.

Mitch and Nick watched the railway scene then the next frames as the prisoners were herded out of the Auschwitz gates bearing the words “work will set us free.” Eventually, the film flickered and disappeared before the message appeared in large red handwriting … Nazi, Jew hater, fake! A few seconds later, the film frame went to white, then crackled and stopped.

Hanna turned to Mitch and Nick.

“Can Nick speak with the projectionist?” Mitch asked.

“Of course,” Hanna said. Again she went to the phone and within moments a small door opened at the back of the room and a young man appeared. He beckoned Nick to enter the projection room.

“I have some routine questions if I may?” Mitch began.

“Of course, Mr. Parker, let’s sit.” Hanna moved to a bench seat in the corner.

“Mitch, please.” Mitch sat and leaned forward, his hands clasped. “Why?”

“Yes, I’ve been wondering that as well. This is the first time we have had anything of this kind happen here.” She sighed. “I’ve read Benjamin’s book; it’s an important work for Jewish history.”

“Have you or the museum been threatened?” Mitch asked.

“Not at all.”

“Do you know of any party—a group, an individual, who would have cause to do this?”

“There’s always someone who thinks the Holocaust was a Jewish invention or thinks we should forget about it.”

“But this is personal,” Mitch said.

“Yes, so it would seem. This is the first time I’ve met Benjamin, so I can’t claim to have an inside knowledge of his life or that of his father, but we’ve never had anything like this happen before and we’ve had many themed exhibitions, book launches and speakers from survivors and descendents.”

“How would someone get access to that film to put that last frame in?” Mitch continued.

“They would have to have a security key to get up to the projection room. We’ve run our CCTV footage and our computer checks. We can’t find anything. And no, we don’t believe anyone on staff did it.”

Mitch frowned. “I assume the film was viewed and run to the end before being shown publicly?”

“I’m not sure what you mean,” Hanna said.

“It didn’t arrive with the last frame already on it?”

“I see. No, we had a run-through before the launch. It wasn’t there then.”

“Right. Tell me about the strange screenings at all hours,” Mitch said.

“Well Mitch, I’m not one for ghost stories, but the security guard reported on three consecutive nights that the film started by itself and froze on that last frame. The first night it was at ten p.m., the second night at eleven p.m. and last night at midnight. He went upstairs to see who was in the projection room, and there was no one there. I mean obviously there was someone, someone had to start the film, but he hasn’t caught anyone.”

“Any significance with the timing?”

“Not that I’ve worked out yet,” Hanna said.

“Is it film or on computer? Could someone log in or set it on a timer for it to start and finish?” Mitch asked.

Hanna considered the question. “It is film, but best you ask the projectionist that sort of question.”

Mitch nodded. “Thank you. I’ll come back to you if we have any further questions.” He rose.

Hanna stood. “This is an amazing exhibition,” she said. “A dignified and honorable exhibition and I want it to be seen and remembered as such. While I would love big numbers through the door, I don’t want a ghost story attracting people here.”

“I understand,” Mitch said.

Nick re-entered the room through the same door.

“Well, thank you for your time,” Mitch said.

Hanna pulled a business card from her pocket. “No doubt you’ll have more questions,” she said. “It would be lovely if we could open the exhibition tomorrow…”

“I don’t think we are going to need to seal the room, but I’ll get back to you today on that one.” Mitch followed her out of the room. On the way to the car he turned to Nick. “What did the projectionist say?”

“What didn’t he say!” Nick lit a cigarette as they walked to the car. “Ronald, Ron to his friends, is a little excited about the history of film and assumed I would be too. In a nutshell, the writing definitely wasn’t on the film when it was delivered to the museum. Someone has put it on since. Only Ron, the cleaner and Hanna have access to the projection room as far as he knows and as we saw, it can’t be entered without a key. There is a part-time projectionist but he only works on-call if Ron is unavailable. He’s a college kid and doesn’t have access; the security officer lets him in and out.”

“Did he say if it was film, disc or CD? Could it start on a timer?” Mitch asked.

Nick shook his head. “It’s a reel of film and has to be laced onto the projector to start.”

They arrived at the car and Nick stubbed the remains of his cigarette out.

“Prints?” Mitch asked.

“Worth a try, given only Ron has, in theory, handled the film.”

Mitch unlocked the car and dialed John as they pulled out of the parking lot.

6

Adam Forster and Ellen Beetson sat in the foyer of the five-star hotel waiting for Benjamin Hoefer to join them. Many of the tables and chairs in the foyer were taken by business people, networking, waiting to lunch or waiting on airport transfers. In their suits, Adam and Ellen blended in with the business crowd; on the weekend, the hotel was taken over by families and couples on romantic escapes.

“Coffee?” Adam asked.

“Yes please, but I can wait until Benjamin joins us,” Ellen said, looking around.

“I can’t. He’s ten minutes late, he’s got five minutes more and then I’m ordering. What’s he doing up in his room besides keeping us waiting?”

“He might be on the phone or—”

“Being a star,” Adam said. “We’re not the media or his fan club.”

Ellen frowned at him.

“Sorry, I’m not patient by nature.” He watched the elevators. His light gray suit seemed too large on his frame and he had permanent stubble on his face which John Windsor had noted and mentioned to Mitch earlier.

“Clearly. So …” she sat back in the plush cream foyer chairs, “can I ask why you decided to come to the US?”

“You just did,” he teased her. “I was bored.”

“Yes, I can see how that would happen, Mr. Impatient.”

Adam smiled and breathed in deeply. “Right, yes, relax.” He joined Ellen in sitting back in the chair and glanced around to scope the room.

“Worked out the best exits?” she asked.

“If we’re attacked through the front, there are two exits to my right … one behind the bar and one through the restrooms. If the attack is from the lifts, then the front is the most obvious, but there’s also a door behind the concierge desk. We can easily be concealed behind a number of objects so that’s not an issue if we need to defend the area.” He stopped, realizing she was joking. “Sorry, security habits die hard.”

“So I hear.”

“Mitch?” Adam asked.

“He’s the scoping king, never sits with his back to the door and profiles everyone in the room before his coffee has arrived. So you didn’t come back for Samantha?”

Adam pushed up the sleeve of his coat suit, glanced at his watch and at the elevator. “No, Sam was just a fling. Fun, but not life changing, although I’m having dinner with her Friday night.”

“You know she’s keen on Mitch?” Ellen said.

Adam grinned. “Come on, me or Mitch? As if,” he teased. “Mitch is so uptight, he’d be talking work in bed. Besides hasn’t he got a girl? He did when we were on the UK mission.”

“He broke up with her. Said she was too uptight.”

Adam laughed. “Right.”

“Besides, he’s not uptight socially, just during working hours because his head is always in multiple places,” she defended Mitch.

Adam looked at Ellen. “So Samantha’s keen on him, huh?”

Ellen grimaced. “I’m not playing your game.”

The elevator doors opened and Benjamin Hoefer appeared. He looked around the foyer and Adam rose and approached him. He introduced himself and brought him over to Ellen to do introductions. Adam signaled the waitress and the three ordered coffee.

“Forgive me for keeping you waiting, my daughter was on the phone and she’s worried for me, so I couldn’t rush her off,” he said. Benjamin, a large man with a full-facial beard, sank into the chair. He wore a loose white cotton shirt over black pants.

“That’s no problem,” Adam said.

Ellen shot him a look.

“Awful business, most distressing,” Benjamin shook his head.

“Let’s start at the beginning. Are the death threats, in your opinion, related to the release of the book?” Ellen asked.

“Absolutely,” Benjamin said.

“So prior to that, you were not threatened in any capacity—through your work, through your networks, clubs or in your personal circle?” she clarified.

“No, never. And my father died over a decade ago, so it’s a long grudge if someone has been waiting for this long to get him,” Benjamin said.

“When did you receive the first threat?” Adam asked.

“When the book was released, I received the first one. It was an email sent to the book’s website. No name, no location.”

“What did it say?” Adam asked.

“It said exactly what was on the last slide of the film shown on the launch night—Nazi, Jew hater, fake—except it also said, tell the truth.”

“Do you know what that means?” Ellen asked.

Benjamin raised his hands in frustration and shook his head. “I don’t, I honestly don’t. The book is the truth; my truth as I know it. The stories my father told me and his notes, the life I remember.”

“I’ve read the book and it is a very personal tale; but you don’t substantiate any of the incidents with other accounts from witnesses,” Adam said.

Benjamin Hoefer looked surprised.

“You have read it then?” he said.

They waited as the waiter placed their coffees in front of them, before Benjamin continued.

“No, I don’t substantiate stories for a number of reasons. It is my story and my father’s. Read any autobiography and it is in the first person, it’s not usually substantiated. Secondly, there are very few people still alive who could testify or support our truths and those that are, have settled all over the world. My account is not unique, there are many good voices that have told similar stories—it is just my story.”

“So, the Bäckers, the family that took you in, are they still alive?” Adam asked.

“I don’t know.”

“You didn’t stay in touch?” Ellen said leaning forward. “Were they not your rescuers?”

Benjamin pursed his lips. “It’s hard to explain. Yes, they saved me and of course how could I not be grateful, as was my father. But I was a child when I was taken from them and it’s complex and hard to understand. They looked after me but they also were intent on ‘Germanising’ me.”

“Wouldn’t that be for your own protection?” Adam asked.

“Perhaps,” Benjamin said. He stopped to sample his coffee. Ellen and Adam waited. “You must remember that after the war the world was displaced. In 1948, following intense lobbying by the American Jewish community, the US Congress passed legislation to admit four hundred thousand displaced persons here in the States. My father and I were amongst them.”

“So you were how old when you moved to the US?” Ellen confirmed.

“Nine, not an age where I would stay in touch with adults. I don’t know if my father ever contacted them again in all honesty and we are talking about a time when mail was unreliable. We were writing to the other side of the world with a world full of displaced people.”

“Did you ask him?” Adam asked.

“Of course, but it was so hard to get him to talk about those years. That’s why this book is released after his death; he would never have agreed to it,” Benjamin said.

“How old were the Bäckers when you lived with them?” Ellen asked.

Benjamin sipped his coffee and put his cup back into the saucer. “They seemed old to me then of course, but they were only in their early twenties I think.”

Adam did the mental calculations. “So if they were alive, they would be in their nineties now.”

Benjamin nodded. “When my father returned I didn’t know him, but I was always treated like an alien, never like their child, so I wasn’t unhappy to go with him. Putting it in perspective … I spent five years with them, from the age of two to seven years of age. Then I haven’t seen them for sixty-eight years. I can’t see how they could possibly be connected to the threats I’m receiving.”

“It’s a long bow,” Adam agreed, “but we’re just trying to cover off everything. So from your teaching days, did you have any enemies, competitors or anyone who disliked you?”

“Well not that anyone told me to my face. And again, I retired from teaching when I was sixty, fifteen years ago. Why wait this long to vent at me? No, I think it is related to the book and it is connected to something that has been said in the book, or it is one of those Holocaust-denial groups.”

“Are you an only child? No siblings, stepbrothers or sisters?” Ellen asked.

“No, my father had many women companions but he never married again. I don’t know why. He said he loved my mother and would stay married to her forever even if she was gone, but their life together was so short really, seven years. They met at church when my mother was fifteen; she died when she was twenty-two. He then spent the next fifty or so years a widower,” Benjamin shrugged. “I’ve never known love like that.”

“I imagine few do,” Ellen agreed.

“I’m sorry, but I must go.” Benjamin glanced at his watch. “Have I answered your queries sufficiently?”

“Yes, but just one quick question please,” Adam said. “You had the email threat, but any other threats?”

“We started the book tour here in Washington at the Holocaust Museum. That was always our plan and it has only been during the launch and a few days before that we’ve had the strange late screenings of the film and that message. That’s it so far.”

Adam and Ellen rose and thanked Benjamin Hoefer. They headed to the concierge and waited while Adam’s Porsche was brought to the front of the hotel. Ellen watched Benjamin Hoefer as he made his way to the elevator. She felt saddened for the elderly man.

“What do you think?” Ellen lowered her voice.

Adam also spoke quietly. “He doesn’t seem frightened, does he? I’m not sure whether that means at his age or given his background he’s resigned to whatever will be. Or maybe he doesn’t think it will amount to much or it’s a publicity hoax and he’s in on it.”

Adam smiled as he saw his car being driven towards him.

Ellen shook her head. “Men and their cars.”

“Want to drive?” he asked.

Ellen’s eyes lit up. “You bet.”

7

The waitress smiled a different smile for Dirk Schmid—attentive and longing—as she placed his German potato pancakes in front of him. He returned her smile with cool confidence. He waited until his brother Thorsten’s mushroom schnitzel arrived moments later and then tried his meal. It was his favorite restaurant, a German place in downtown Washington D.C., and he habitually ordered the pancakes served with apple sauce and sour cream.

“Always good here,” Thorsten said after his first mouthful. “So are you pleased?”

Dirk smiled. “Delighted little brother, delighted. Every meeting more and more members and even more signing up that can’t get to meetings. How are our coffers looking?”

“On the books as of today, twenty three hundred full-paid members.” Thorsten glanced around and leaned closer to his brother. “That gives us a bank balance of …”

“I know,” Dirk cut him off. “More revenue than almost half of the world’s countries and no deficit.”

Thorsten nodded, his eyes shining in admiration of his brother.

“You are such a natural leader, Dirk, our father would be so proud if he knew of your work. Our grandfather on the other hand …” Thorsten let the words hang.

Dirk’s eyes narrowed. “Our father is a true German, we are lucky. Unlike our grandfather; weak, a stain on the family history.”

“I know I have asked you this once before … but are you sure Dirk? Expose Eli Hoefer and we risk being exposed and us becoming associated with him,” Thorsten said.

“If we do the job right we won’t be associated. I don’t care if he comes out as a traitor, only interested in self-preservation, because his descendents have made up for that. Besides, I want what is rightfully ours and I want Benjamin and his book of fiction shut down.”

Later that evening, Ellen and Nick walked through the Holocaust museum. Nick glanced at his watch.

“Eight now. If the ghost is true to form, he’ll start the film at one a.m.,” he said.

“Or, at ten p.m. again and start the cycle over. Either way, we’ve got a few hours to kill before we have to get out of sight,” Ellen agreed. “So eliminating the only people who know we are here—the Director Hanna Berkman, the projectionist because he had to give us the key and the security officer in the foyer—there should be another presence in the building if that film is to roll.”

“In theory,” Nick agreed.

They walked along the backlit displays. The overhead lights were off; the venue silent.

Nick shuddered. “Creeps me out.”

Ellen stopped and looked up at the display of clothes worn in the concentration camps that hung above her. She moved through the exhibition; Nick reluctantly followed. The lighting was too dim now to read the personal accounts, but no words were needed for the rail car, the bunks and the piles of hundreds of shoes. She moved across the levels from floor to floor, stopping to look at the family photos. It was eerily quiet.

Nick’s phone rang and he jumped. Ellen smiled at him as he rolled his eyes.

“Mitch,” he answered. “I’m whispering because it is so quiet in here. We’re both fine … uh huh … okay … bye.”

“What’s up?” Ellen asked, also in a hushed voice.

“He wants us in position now in case the ghost projectionist arrives early.”

“Probably best,” Ellen agreed.

She followed Nick back down to the foyer and entered the room where Benjamin Hoefer’s exhibition was displayed. As Nick entered behind Ellen, the room filled with light and a film began to flicker on the white walls … the trail of Jewish people could be seen walking out of the camp, looking bewildered, painfully thin and lost.

“Crap,” Nick hissed as he hit the panel in the wall, springing open the projection room door, and bolting up the stairs. Ellen drew her gun and remained on the floor.