A dark legacy, p.7
A Dark Legacy, page 7
“I see, okay, I will write to the guy; he seems coy in not giving any other details about himself or what he may have. You think he is scared?” asked Nathaniel.
“Not a clue, it’s your baby Nathaniel, check it out,” said Benjamin Schneider and hung up.
Using his pseudonym, Schwarzweiss, Nathaniel swiftly dispatched an email to Hans Schulz.
“Herr Schulz, thank you for your email to the editor. I am very interested in what you have to say or show me. How can I reach you?
Almost immediately a reply arrived from Hans Schulz, with an address in Berlin.
As Nathaniel gazed at the email, lost in its implications, Annika entered the room. She began to set the dinner table, her movements a silent ballet in the room’s quiet. Noticing Nathaniel’s furrowed brow, she paused and, with a gentle tilt of her head, asked, “Hey, a penny for your thoughts? Is anything the matter?”
Nathaniel called Annika over and showed her the emails. After a quick perusal, Annika stared at Nathaniel quizzically and asked, “What do you think it is?”
“No idea, but I am going to find out,” said Nathaniel.
Next morning, Nathaniel phoned his office. He told Benjamin that he would be visiting Hans Schulz directly from his residence. After hailing a taxi on Kurfürstendamm, he settled into the backseat and provided the driver with the address.
As the taxi wove through the city, Nathaniel watched the transition of scenery. Roughly 20 minutes later, he found himself in the serene suburban expanse of Pankow, Berlin. The car turned onto Moorweg, the destination Schulz had specified. It was a tranquil residential lane, each home set apart with its own small, tidy garden. Winter’s chill lingered over the patches of grass, still clinging to their green and brown hues.
To the left, the houses narrated their own discreet tales. An older one sported a red-tiled roof and lace curtains behind a front door that whispered for a new coat of paint. Adjacent stood a contemporary structure, its facade a stark white against the backdrop of its predecessors, with windows that framed the world outside in wide, clear views. A child’s bicycle, discarded on its side in a driveway, painted a silent portrait of domestic life.
Nathaniel’s mind drifted as he watched the houses pass by. The pattern continued: each home had small porches, some adorned with garden gnomes, others boasting potted plants.
The taxi rolled to a stop in front of a house on the left side of the street. This one had a hedge and a mailbox that stood at attention by the gate. Nathaniel closed the door, and the driver turned around and went back the way they came.
A few moments after he rang the doorbell, Hans opened the door, holding a half-empty cup of coffee. “Herr Schulz, I am from Faktencompass. We exchanged emails yesterday, remember Schwarzweiss?” said Nathaniel, introducing himself.
“Well, I suppose you want to remain anonymous; I can understand why you used a pseudonym to write that story,” he said, ushering Nathaniel in.
Nathaniel did not take the bait. “Yes, investigative reporting of this nature can be tricky, Herr Schulz. Also, it is a practice at Faktencompass to keep the real names of the authors out of the public. Besides, in this situation, I think it’s safer for you as well if you forget about me after this visit.”
“All very understandable, Mr., whatever your name is,” Hans smiled and asked, “would you like a cup of coffee?”
Nathaniel declined, blaming the rather large breakfast he had.
“Suit yourself,” said Hans.
After a moment of silence, Hans spoke up. “Your story in the paper brought back horrible memories, Mr. Nameless,” said Hans.
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that, but then I did not expect that story to evoke happy memories for anybody. Those were terrible years. My grandfather was witness to much of it as well,” said Nathaniel.
Hans seemed to have drifted off into his personal world and said, still lost in deep thought, “All through my life, I carried the scars of those times but lived my life trying to forget them. Fortunately, I loved my work; I was a train driver for Deutsche Bahn all my life, you know. Being alone in the control cab offered time for reflection, and the task of ferrying people provided a sense of purpose. But these days, I hear you may not need drivers for trains anymore, the times are changing ever so fast, Mr. Nameless.”
“True, Herr Schulz, times are indeed changing, but some of the winds from the past still seem to be blowing our way, no?” asked Nathaniel.
“Ah, you are a clever one, you mean the reason why you are here, right?” asked Hans. “Well, I have something here with me. I inherited it from my father, Otto Schulz, who was a Nazi sympathizer, I am embarrassed to admit. I could never reconcile with him on ideology. It has been gathering dust with me since his death,” he continued.
Nathaniel asked slightly impatiently, “Something related to the story in our paper?”
Hans rose from his chair, went into his study, and returned with the black attaché he had taken out of earlier from his cabinet of curios.
He handed it over to Nathaniel and sat down. “Mr. Nameless, in the final days of the war, Berliners’ nightmare was continuing. My father had an uncle, Fritz Becker, who was a close aide, almost like a personal assistant to Martin Bormann. Towards the end of 1944, Fritz Becker was given an assignment by Bormann…”
It was November 1944 and Berlin was in ruins. The Russians were approaching from the east and all Nazi hopes of the 1000-year Reich were in shambles.
Martin Bormann carried a black attaché case under his arms as he walked in long strides to the entrance of the Chancellery. He snapped his fingers at a colonel waiting for him at the entrance.
He handed over the case to the man and said, “Fritz, das muss sofort Klaus Hofmann erreichen. Klaus ist in Obersalzberg am Berghof. Es ist mir egal, wie du es machst, reite bis dorthin, wenn nötig. Aber sorge dafür, dass es in die Hände von Klaus Hofmann gelangt. Wenn du Hofmann nicht finden kannst, suche nach einem Mann namens Helmut Braun.” said Bormann to Fritz (“Fritz, this must reach Klaus Hofmann at once. Klaus is in Obersalzberg at the Berghof. I don’t care how you do it, ride all the way there if you must. But see to it that it gets to the hands of Klaus Hofmann. If you can’t find Hofmann, ask for a man by the name of Helmut Braun”).
Fritz received the case reverently, pride evident on his face. He gave a Nazi salute, clicking his boots, and then turned towards his motorcycle.
Bombs were exploding in the distance and Berlin was being reduced to rubble by the allied forces. The Red Army would be a few more months before reaching Berlin. As Fritz Becker weaved his motorcycle through the rubble and ruins of Berlin and put some distance between himself and the Chancellery, a bomb exploded nearby, throwing Fritz and his motorcycle several feet into the air.
He was badly wounded but scrambled to his feet, clutching the case close to his chest; he started walking, dragging his injured feet, and profusely bleeding from his head wound. His vision blurred and he realized that he didn’t have much time.
After a couple of kilometers, nearly succumbing to exhaustion and blood loss, Fritz reached a partially ruined building, half standing. He dragged himself inside an open door and reached a room where a few Berliners were huddled together and shouted, “Otto, Otto Schulz are you in here?”
Otto and his wife, along with a very young Hans, were sheltering inside from the bombing. Otto shouted back, “Uncle here! Are you all right? You are bleeding, and your hand looks like it’s broken.”
“Never mind that, I was supposed to get to Berchtesgaden by the end of the day, but there seems to be no chance of that now. I want you to do our Führer’s bidding. This case must reach Klaus Hofmann or Helmut Braun as soon as possible.” Fritz was by now bled out and began to lose consciousness, drifting in and out. He slid down to the ground as Otto tried to hold him. “Remember Berghof, Obersalzberg, Klaus Hofmann, Helmut Braun…protect this with your life…” his voice now a whisper as he breathed his last in the hands of Otto Schulz. Hans watched, wide-eyed and in shock, from a few feet away.
Nathaniel and Hans sat in silence as Hans finished his story. After a few moments, Nathaniel said, “Herr Hans, this Klaus Hofmann and Helmut Braun are one and the same. During my research, I came across some information that at that time, and even now, I cannot fully confirm. But I believe Klaus Hofmann changed his name to Helmut Braun sometime in 1944, and the rumor was that he may have escaped to Argentina. This is something that was not in the story we published.”
Hans looked at Nathaniel and said with surprise in his voice, “You know, Mr. Nameless, this has been in my possession all these years, and I have only looked inside once. The day after my father passed away, I hoped and prayed that what it says never comes true. But your story brought back the terror I felt reading it.”
“Well, I am glad you reached out to me, Herr Schulz,” said Nathaniel.
“I am not sure why I held on to it all these years. What I read in there shook me to my core. I considered burning it but held on to it for reasons I can’t fathom. Maybe it was waiting for you,” said Hans.
Nathaniel opened the file and looked at the cover with the words “Phönix” printed across. Inside the file, the first piece of paper was a letter. It started with the ominous words at the top.
“FOR THE EYES OF KLAUS HOFMANN ONLY”
An hour or so went by. Oblivious to Nathaniel, Hans brought a cup of coffee for Nathaniel who was too engrossed in his reading and did not protest. Once he finished, he looked up at Hans, his face ashen, drained of blood.
Hans stared enquiringly at Nathaniel and asked, “So what do you think?”
Nathaniel replied in a subdued voice, “Herr Schulz, this is unbelievable! A conspiracy of this scale could only have come from the minds of men who are willing to play the long game. But the Nazis were not exactly master strategists. I am skeptical. My theory has always been that a conspiracy that has too many moving parts is usually unworkable.”
“Well, you are the expert, my father often chastised me in the last years of his life for not helping in the search for Klaus Hofmann to hand over this case. He had no idea what was in it. His only objective was to serve the Third Reich. I never bothered, and in his final years, he used the names Klaus Hofmann and Helmut Braun interchangeably. Very well, now that I have handed this over to someone who can in some way prevent it from becoming reality, in case it is real, I am relieved,” said Hans.
Nathaniel felt as though the old man was disappointed for some reason and said, “Rest assured, Herr Schulz, I am not going to ignore the contents of this case as it does connect with the letters of Eva Braun that we published, via this man Klaus Hofmann, allegedly alias Helmut Braun.”
“Well, I hope it is of some use to you. At the very least, I hope you can establish that none of this is of any danger to Germany or the world for that matter,” said Hans.
6
Through the thickening dusk, the winding road to Schloss Wiesenburg, situated in the town of Wiesenburg/Mark in Brandenburg, took on an ethereal quality, flanked by dense groves whispering secrets of the ancient land.
A fleet of five black limousines snaked towards the castle, their headlights cutting through the twilight. The procession approached the castle’s grandiose facade, where a cone-shaped tower stood looming. The vehicles, sleek and silent save for the crunch of gravel beneath their tires, circled the fountain dating from the early 1600s.
The Schloss Wiesenburg was constructed over several centuries. The origins of the castle date back to the 12th century when a medieval fortress was built on the site. Its current neo-Renaissance-style was the result of significant renovations and expansions that occurred during the 19th century.
The Koenig Industries Group purchased the castle in the late 20th century and now served as the personal residence of Friedrich Koenig. It was also open to the public during certain days of the week for tourists.
Men who looked like bodyguards stepped out of each car and scanned the perimeter before they opened the doors to the back seats of the limousines. From each car, one of the five men who had met earlier at the Adlon Kempinski Hotel in central Berlin stepped out.
The men walked silently towards the entrance where a solitary figure stood. He was a giant. As they streamed into the building, the giant nodded at them in acknowledgment.
Once inside, the men were ushered into the main hall and as the grand doors closed behind them, they greeted each other.
No time was wasted with further pleasantries. Their faces reflected a sense of urgency as well as trepidation. The giant asked them to move to the conference hall. “All arrangements have been made, Herr Secretary. Herr Koenig will join you in a few minutes,” he said in a deep voice.
Inside the conference room, there was a long table with 10 chairs around it. Only 6 will be occupied that day.
As they settled down, Friedrich Koenig made his entrance from the opposite side of the conference hall. He walked up to the table and said, “Sehr geehrte Herren,” (“Dear gentlemen,”), I am glad all of you could come. It’s just the 6 of us tonight. I did not invite London, Paris, Madrid, Rome, or New York. I think what we need to discuss can be kept to a small circle for the time being.”
As they all sat down around the conference table, the Secretary of defense said, “I asked for us to meet because of that damn story in Faktencompass. It was rather disturbing.”
“Yes, yes, disturbing but not of any consequence, I think,” said Friedrich. “What about the rest of you, do you hold the same view as Herr Secretary here?” Friedrich asked.
The men looked at each other and nodded. “I think it would be wise to at least check out this Faktencompass and determine where they got this story from,” said Markus Weber.
“I tend to agree with Markus,” said Stefan Keller.
“What about the rest of you?” Friedrich asked, looking at Sebastian Becker and Christopher Wagner.
“We agree with you, Friedrich. We think it is of no consequence at this juncture. We should ignore it, and it will blow over,” said Sebastian Becker.
“Gentlemen, the elections are coming up in a few months, Plan Phoenix is on track, I am leading in the polls,” said Friedrich. “My view is that we should not attract any attention to ourselves at this juncture. Should anything go wrong in trying to put out this spark, well, it is just a spark, not a fire, it may put all our plans into jeopardy. As you gentlemen know, we and our ancestors have been waiting for this for almost 100 years now. The very purpose for which Ludwig Koenig founded the ‘Neue Ordnung’, is about to be fulfilled.”
“As you command, Friedrich,” the Secretary responded. “Perhaps we should move on to other matters,” he continued.
Sebastian Becker, the lawyer, took the first shot at the plans already in place. “With the help of Stefan here, we now have all our agents in place. About 1000 members of the Neue Ordnung are spread out among various opposition and allied parties. Their primary objectives are to organize anti-immigration rallies and start violence where they can. These men have no affiliation with us that they know of. They only know that their salaries are being paid by their respective Handlers.”
“Good, only blood will cleanse this country. I want you to plan at least two riots a month until the election. A few deaths on our side are inevitable and even necessary. You have your contacts in the publishing houses, ensure there is positive coverage of my immigration policies, and that the violence and chaos are highlighted,” said Friedrich.
Stefan Keller, the politician, joined in and said, “Herr Koenig, I have recruited several immigrants as well. Strategically it is critical for our movement that they are engaged so as to seem to be a force to be reckoned with. We need that ammunition.”
“Good, this should add fuel to the fire and solidify our political platform. Anti-immigration sentiments among the German public are mounting, and we will ensure they intensify through these actions. And oh, by the way Stefan, ensure that our people are also embedded within the ongoing farmer’s strike. Deutscher Stolz will be in full support of the farmers and Neue Ordnung will have to do our bit in to ensure that violence occurs,” said Friedrich, his face lighting up with a perverse sense of pride as he looked around the table.
“Well, if there is nothing else, it’s time for drinks and dinner. Jurgen has also arranged for our usual after-dinner entertainment,” said Friedrich.
There were smiles all around the table. Their excitement visible as Friedrich always hired the best whores in Berlin.
It was early morning, and Nathaniel was at his desk in Annika’s apartment on Kurfürstendamm. Several books on WW II history were strewn around. And the dossier named ‘Phönix’ lay open on the desk.
Clad in a sheer negligee, Annika entered with a pair of steaming coffee cups. Approaching Nathaniel, she planted a soft kiss on his neck and offered him one of the cups, and as her gaze fell upon the dossier on the table, she picked it up, raising an eyebrow at Nathaniel in silent inquiry.
“It’s the most outrageous thing I have read in a long time,” said Nathaniel.
“That sounds ominous, Nathaniel. What is it? Does it have something to do with that story about Eva Braun and her kid?” asked Annika.
“It is a preposterous plan. It looks to me that the Führer, Bormann, and this Hofmann made a plan to be executed after the war and over a period of time,” Nathaniel said.
Annika’s eyes raced across the pages. She glanced at Nathaniel as he continued. “It is a plan to bring back the Reich. Well, a 4th Reich. The leader who brings this about must be a true bloodline of Hitler according to this. Large amounts of money were transferred to Argentina in favor of Helmut Braun during the mid-forties, where he was to establish an organization named ‘Neue Ordnung’ with the sole objective of executing Plan Phoenix,”
