The Fourth Reich

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Book excerpt

Chapter 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.

Chapter 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.

Chapter 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.”