The Hunt

25

‘We shall light a fire,’ Kammler announced, excitement burning in his eyes. ‘In the chaos and panic that ensues, we will seize power in all the ways we have planned. Between the eight of us in this room, we control a good slice of the world’s media. We will pump out the message even before the dust starts to settle: it is time for a new world order, one that only we can provide.’

Kammler gesticulated wildly. ‘Economies will lie in ruins. We will show that iron law and order is needed to build a sustainable future. And that is something that only we – the global Nazi brotherhood; fascism – can deliver.

‘The world’s public – bloodied, reeling, thrust into a terrible recession – will be ready! At last, right-thinking people will be ready. The message of liberalism and tolerance – of equality – will be exposed for what it is. A sham that has robbed the Aryans of our birthright.’

‘And the targets – they remain the same?’ von Alvensleben queried pointedly. He was nothing if not persistent. His repeated circling back to this question was starting to grate. Maybe he did know something.

‘They do, Josef, as I’ve already said. Why would they have changed?’

‘The countries to be attacked?’

‘We’ve been through all of this before,’ Kammler snapped.

‘The countries?’ von Alvensleben pressed.

‘China. Russia. The US. Britain. France. Canada. Then Israel, as the grand finale. You’ll be pleased to know the prevailing winds will ensure that much of Israel is enshrouded in fallout.’ Kammler flashed a thin smile. ‘Gentlemen, what Hitler began, we will finish in one fell swoop.’

‘That’s seven by my count,’ von Alvensleben pointed out. ‘Seven nations. Eight is the sacred number.’

‘China will be hit by two.’

‘Why China?’

‘The Americans and British like to perpetuate the myth that they won the war. More lies. The single greatest loss of life was suffered by China. Over twenty million dead. In essence, the Chinese – along with the Russians – bled us dry. For this, we will make them suffer disproportionately.’

‘And the targets – they remain exclusively political, military and economic?’ von Alvensleben pressed. ‘There will be no mass murder for mass murder’s sake?’

Kammler eyed the man. He was nothing if not sharp. ‘Correct.’

‘Please send me an up-to-date target list. Indeed, you might circulate it to all.’

‘Gladly.’

‘Timings,’ von Alvensleben remarked. ‘Has there been any impact upon the schedule?’

‘None. We go ahead as planned. We strike on the thirtieth of April, the anniversary of the Führer’s death. And in doing so we prove that he did not die in vain. Quite the contrary: his legacy lives. The Reich will rise anew and conquer!’

‘That’s only six weeks from now. You can still meet this deadline?’

‘I can.’

‘Timing is utterly critical,’ Bormann interjected, a hint of excitement in his voice. ‘This is our chance to seize control financially even before we do politically. From finance all else flows. Stock markets, currency trading, futures – the financial system will survive. We can profit massively, as long as we know the day and hour of the strike!’

Kammler smiled. ‘Exactly. And trust me, we will.’

It was a high-risk strategy, one that could backfire. The world might spiral into a dark chaos from which it would never recover. It could spell the end of humanity. Of civilisation.

But what true civilisation was there left that was even worthy of the name, Kammler mused. Jews, blacks, Muslims, Asians, homosexuals, the disabled: all had been raised up with the fall of the Reich to a perverse equality with their obvious masters.

The natural order of things had been turned on its head, and it enraged him. Tortured him. In short, all of Hitler’s warnings had come to pass, as the human race, plague-like, devastated the natural world. On balance, what was at risk? The present unnatural, sick order of things wasn’t worth saving.

Now, to seal the support of the Kameraden. Kammler pulled a sheet of paper from his pocket.

‘At this juncture it seems opportune to remind us of the final words of the Führer,’ he announced portentously, ‘written just hours before his death. From his last will and testament, I quote.

‘“This war will one day go down in history as the most glorious and heroic manifestation of the struggle… Centuries will go by, but from the ruins of our towns and monuments, hatred of those ultimately responsible will always grow anew. They are the people whom we have to thank for all this: international Jewry and its helpers!”’

On hearing those words, a reverential silence had settled upon the room.

‘“Do not give up the struggle under any circumstances”,’ Kammler continued, ‘“but carry it on wherever you may be against the enemies of the Fatherland… The surrender of a district or town is out of the question… Above everything else the commanders must set a shining example of faithful devotion to duty until death.”’

He paused for effect.

‘He wrote those immortal words even as Russian troops advanced to within five hundred metres of his Berlin bunker and his men were all but out of ammunition. Such defiance. Such purity of vision. That, Kameraden, is our inheritance. Our legacy. That is what the Führer charged us to fulfil.’

Kammler glanced at each of the figures in turn: Bormann; von Alvensleben; Barbie; Eichmann; Gustav Heim, son of Aribert Heim, who’d earned the nickname Dr Death in the concentration camps; the two Mengele brothers, sons of the infamous Angel of Death. From each he received a solemn nod of approval, his appeal to the Führer’s memory a master stroke.

They broke for refreshments, Bormann and Kammler drifting into a private corner. ‘What of this Narov woman?’ Bormann queried, a hint of worry in his voice. ‘Was it her in Dubai? Is she on to us? On to you?’

‘I’m unsure. Whoever did this was a consummate professional. Not a trace of CCTV footage to identify the culprit.’

‘And Isselhorst? The lawyer. Is his death linked somehow? Surely it has to be?’

‘Ferdy, you worry too much. It will end up killing you.’ Kammler gave a thin smile. ‘But yes, we assume the two are linked. Whoever was spying on that meeting, we presume they got to us via our unfortunate – and very dead – lawyer.’

‘So those who hunt us, are they on to us again? And if so, how close are they?’

‘We have to presume they are. And that means we can afford no delay. No dissent. So I’m doubly glad to see we have reached firm agreement.’

‘Indeed, but…’ Bormann paused. ‘If we are forced to take the kind of action we have discussed, it will be hugely expensive, not to mention risky.’

Kammler stiffened. ‘Then perhaps it is time to dig deep into your own pockets. After all, just look at what our efforts have cost me. We are on the brink of the final solution. By the end, we will have finances and power beyond our wildest dreams. No cost is too great.’

‘I have funds that can be made… available,’ Bormann conceded. ‘But even my resources are not inexhaustible.’

Kammler smiled. ‘They won’t have to be. Not long now, Ferdy. Not long.’

A third figure joined them. They made space for von Alvensleben. Kammler the mastermind; von Alvensleben the intelligence chief; Bormann the banker – these three formed the inner circle of the Brotherhood.

‘We would do well not to underestimate them,’ von Alvensleben remarked. ‘The Secret Hunters. They frustrated us once before, remember.’

‘They did.’ Kammler’s face grew cruel. ‘If we sense they are too close, we must resort to the ultimate sanction. We have people in place. We must hit them where it hurts most. We must cut the head off the snake.’

‘We must,’ von Alvensleben agreed.

Kammler eyed Bormann. ‘It is the only way. Whatever the cost and whatever the risks.’

Somewhat reluctantly, Bormann signalled his agreement. He was a banker; he knew the costs would prove exorbitant. But so too would be the profits he would reap, armed with the foreknowledge of what was coming.

‘Warn your contacts to be doubly vigilant,’ Kammler continued, speaking to von Alvensleben. ‘Even if the agencies of the enemy are officially doing nothing, that means little. They are smart. They’ll run any operation off the books. Covertly. Get your people asking the right questions, in the right places. If the Secret Hunters get too close, we hit them without delay and without mercy.’

Von Alvensleben nodded. ‘Understood.’

‘One thing,’ Bormann ventured. ‘This person we have on the inside. Is now not the time they should be used? Surely they must know how close the Secret Hunters are.’

‘Ordinarily speaking, yes,’ Kammler agreed, ‘but right now, they’ve dropped off the radar. I believe it’s only temporary. I will let you know. We will determine then how best to act.’

An hour later – he could afford to linger no longer – Kammler strode out of the front entrance of the Chateau de Laufen and slid into the rear seat of a chauffeur-driven black Mercedes. The vehicle pulled away from the grand turreted building, which was enshrouded in thick forest overlooking the waters of the Rhine.

He allowed himself a thin smile. He’d won the Kameraden’s blessing.

But unbeknownst to them, he had so much more in mind…