They both shook her hand and sat.
Their hostess pointed. “He also said that President Fox was not, as he described, on your Christmas card list.”
Cotton smiled. “That would be a diplomatic way to put it.”
“He’s no friend of mine, either,” the older woman said. “For some inexplicable reason, he ordered my phone calls monitored.”
Which had been big news.
A few months back a whistleblower had revealed that the NSA had spied on Eisenhuth’s and other world leaders’ cell phone calls. Why? It had not been explained. But the White House had not denied the claim, either. It seemed a clear breach of trust. Allies should have no cause to spy on one another.
“I simply do not trust him,” the chancellor said.
“I am curious, though, why not use your own intelligence service for all this?” Cotton asked. “Why would you need us?”
“Let us say that my relationship with the Bundesnachrichtendienst is … strained, at best. Nonexistent, at worst. The BND disagrees with a great many of my policies, and sometimes they do their best to undermine them. We also have reason to believe that they may have been complicit with Washington in spying on me. So I choose not to involve them. This situation requires the utmost secrecy.”
Cassiopeia got that part, but, “They do all work for you.”
“That seems to mean less and less anymore. People have their own agendas now. I prefer to keep this matter close, which is why I was grateful for Danny’s assistance. Have you read what he provided?”
“On the way over,” Cotton said.
“And is it ingrained now in that eidetic memory of yours?”
Cotton smiled. “It’s there. A gift from my mother’s side of the family.”
“A precious one, too. I must confess that, at first, I thought this whole thing was a joke, a fraud, that there was an opportunist, nothing more, trying to be important. But now I am not so sure, given the murder of the woman in Partenkirchen.”
“Do you honestly believe Martin Bormann and Eva Braun survived the war?” Cassiopeia asked.
“Why not? Mengele did. Eichmann did. Barbie and a thousand other war criminals did.”
“The Israelis searched decades for Nazis. Private hunters like Simon Wiesenthal looked, too. Would Bormann not have surfaced?”
“How much about Martin Bormann do you know?”
“I’ve read a lot about him,” Cotton said. “We both have, in fact.”
Cassiopeia nodded.
“He was an extremely secretive man,” the chancellor said. “Hitler’s private secretary, a shadow, the faceless party chief, always lurking in the background. He was certainly someone good at disappearing. He was also the gatekeeper to the Third Reich. Nobody talked to Hitler unless they first passed through him. He possessed a network of informants scattered all across Germany who kept him apprised of everything. He received written reports from them every Saturday night. Of late, I have read some of those. They are fascinating in their detail. He also controlled all of the local governors, the Gauleiters, who ruled the occupied territories. That gave him enormous power.
“By February 1943 Bormann knew the war was lost. That is when he began to make plans. One was Aktion Aderflung. Project Eagle Flight. A complex scheme to smuggle gold, gems, stocks, and other assets out of Germany. The other was Aktion Feuerland. Project Land of Fire. Designed to secure a safe refuge for select Nazis in South America.”
Cassiopeia was familiar with both, having read about them.
“We know for a fact that enormous amounts of money and valuables were transferred from this country. During the war the Nazis plundered the national bank of every country they conquered. Records show that Argentina’s gold reserves grew from 346 tons in 1940 to 1,173 tons by 1945. That is a massive increase during a world war, and it all came from Germany. Bormann was in charge of the party’s finances. He knew where every asset was located, every hiding place.”
“But the accepted conclusion is that Bormann was killed in May 1945 trying to escape Berlin. After Hitler died,” Cotton said. “I’ve read the accounts. The testimony came out at Nuremberg. There were eyewitnesses who said an explosion killed him. And as I recall, DNA tests on bones found in Berlin in the 1970s confirmed that it was his skeleton.”
“All of those accounts of his death have been contradicted,” the chancellor said. “There is no way to know what happened when Bormann tried to flee Berlin. The Russian army was everywhere. He was surrounded.”
“So how did he get out?”
“I have no idea.”
“And the DNA?” Cotton asked, pushing the point.
“In 1998, when those tests were run, we did some lying of our own. We wanted Bormann dead. There was nothing to be gained by keeping alive the myth that he survived. So the remains were ‘identified’ through DNA as belonging to him. Part of that deception was to entice some sort of denial from Moscow and a release of information from its restricted archives contradicting those supposed results. But nothing happened. Only silence. So we cremated the remains and scattered the ashes in the Baltic Sea, ending the matter.”
Cassiopeia heard what she’d not said.
So they could never be tested again.
“Now new information has been delivered to me,” Eisenhuth said. “Unsolicited, I might add, which seems to come directly from those restricted Soviet archives. Our experts say the documents are authentic.”
“You think Gerhard Schüb was das Leck?” Cotton asked. “He was working for the Soviets during the war?”
“It is possible. And he may be living in Belarus. But I am told you were not able to find much there.”
“That’s a bit of an understatement,” Cassiopeia said. “We learned how to jump out of a plane with one parachute.”
Eisenhuth seemed impressed. “Sounds exciting.”
“It is.”
“Does the information you received explain how Eva Braun escaped the bunker?” Cotton asked.
“Only in general terms. And please remember, there has never been, to this day, a positive identification of any remains belonging to Eva Braun. Nothing at all. And the so-called Hitler skull fragment, supposedly found in 1945 at the grave site in Berlin, was DNA-tested a few years ago. The results revealed it was the skull of a woman under forty, not Hitler’s. And it was not Braun’s, either. There is no forensic evidence to support a finding that Hitler or Braun died in the bunker.”
“But you think that some anonymous information, sent to you by who-knows-who, is authentic?” Cassiopeia asked, not hiding her skepticism.
“If it is fake, why was Hanna Cress killed? Who went to all that trouble to silence her? And with cyanide-laced cigarettes? That shows a certain level of sophistication, would you not say?”
No question on that count.
“Let’s be frank,” Cotton said. “You think revealing Theodor Pohl as the son of Martin Bormann will end his political career.”
“The thought has crossed my mind. Is that so bad?”
“You tell me.”
Eisenhuth grinned. “You are quite direct.”
“Occupational hazard. Especially when people are asking me, and others, to put our asses on the line for them.”