Secrets of the Last Nazi (13 page)

A
s Myles saw the words
, in English under the German, ‘National Library of Austria – Heldenplatz Entrance’, he knew they’d come to the right place. He hobbled towards the door of the building as quickly as he could, his ruptured knee slowing him down when he wanted to rush. The rest of the team followed behind, then Glenn, Zenyalena and Pascal overtook him as they realised, like Myles, that this must be where Stolz had hidden his papers. Only Heike-Ann walked more slowly, careful not to strain herself while she was pregnant.

Glenn started quizzing a receptionist. ‘Do you have all the books written by Ludwig Wittgenstein?’

An intelligent-looking woman in her mid-thirties, the receptionist nodded. She quickly saw her reaction was good news to the bald American and his friends and obviously felt the need to bring him down a little. ‘But you know he really only wrote one book, the ‘
Tractatus’
. All the other things he wrote were just papers, articles for academic journals – that sort of thing…’ The woman seemed familiar with Wittgenstein’s work.

Zenyalena decided she couldn’t let the American lead the questioning. She elbowed Glenn out of the way and spoke to the receptionist herself. ‘So are all his books— er, sorry, his one book. Is it on display?’

The receptionist shook her head. ‘Only copies - the original manuscript is in an American University. But since Wittgenstein wrote it in the trenches, there’s not much left, just a few soggy notes.’ She checked on her computer. ‘Er, we have twelve copies – in the Upper Reading Room.’

Zenyalena looked around at the others. Twelve copies of a very public library book. It wasn’t a promising way to hide secret papers.

But Myles knew they had to check. ‘And which way is the Upper Reading Room?’

The woman stood up to point around a corner to some stairs. Myles thanked her as he took her directions. The others followed, then Zenyalena began half-running in an attempt to get to the books before anyone else in the team. Myles heard Glenn mutter curses as he ran after her, with Pascal closely behind. Only Heike-Ann stayed with Myles, both of them moving at walking pace.

After two steep flights of stairs, Myles and Heike-Ann followed a corridor into the Upper Reading Room, which was vaguely eerie. No one was inside, except Glenn, Pascal and Zenyalena, who had just found the right shelf.

‘But they’re paperbacks,’ Zenyalena complained. Disappointed, the Russian pulled down the first of the identical books. ‘Where inside do we look?’ She started flicking through the pages, realising there was too much to read.

Finally Myles caught up, calling across to Zenyalena as he arrived. ‘Find the contents page. Then find where Wittgenstein explains how we deceive ourselves when we think we’re making free choices.’

The five of them huddled around the Russian. It was Heike-Ann who saw the contents page first. ‘Section Five. Turn to Section Five,’ she said.

Zenyalena quickly rifled through the pages until she was on Section Five.

Nothing – just a normal chapter.

‘Try the other books,’ instructed Myles.

Zenyalena picked up the next copy. Glenn took one too. Pascal and Heike-Ann did the same.

It was Heike-Ann who found some thin pen marks scribbled in the margin. Someone had notated the book, as if a student was making notes to themselves. But something about the handwriting – it was jagged and deliberate – suggested it had been written by an old person with an infirm grip. Heike-Ann held out the notes for the others to see:

Myles pointed at the last two letters. ‘WS – Werner Stolz, right? What does the rest of it say – can you translate?’

‘It says, “See the file of official records from the Vienna police from 1913.”’

Myles acknowledged the clue, then gave an instruction to the team. ‘OK, let’s split up. Everybody look for old Austrian files.’

Glenn and Zenyalena immediately started looking in opposite parts of the Upper Reading Room. Pascal went back towards the door, obviously looking for someone to help.

Heike-Ann turned to Myles, who had started searching around the room, wondering where the files might be. His eyes soon gazed upwards: the Upper Reading Room had a small raised level which seemed more promising. The only way up seemed to be via an old cast-iron staircase. Together, Myles and Heike-Ann started to climb.

At the top, they split in opposite directions, and took several minutes to check the tall ranks of shelves for anything which might look like old Vienna police records. Myles sensed this part of the library was rarely visited. It was also quite enclosed, almost hidden, making it the ideal place to store sensitive papers, or – if Stolz had more sinister intentions – to set a trap.

‘Hey,’ Heike-Ann beckoned Myles over.

Myles limped towards her, and the German woman pointed to something beyond her reach. Myles stretched up and took the little-used box file from the shelf. Heike-Ann checked the label on the side and confirmed it was the one Stolz had meant, then, with a sense of ceremony, slowly opened the lid.

On top was an inventory: the list of papers the file contained. She lifted it up and passed it to Myles.

Underneath was a formal certificate of some sort. ‘It looks like an official document,’ whispered Heike-Ann, as she touched it with her fingers, unsure whether to handle it. The paper was faded and the ink pale. The old Germanic typeface confirmed it was from another age – from before the First World War.

Myles stared at the rubber stamp in the corner. ‘Police?’

Heike-Ann began reading the German and nodded. It was a copy of a police report from 1913. Underneath were near-identical reports from 1912, 1911 and 1910. She began to go through them. ‘Er, these are from the Vienna police …’ She scanned through them. Apart from being very old, they seemed unremarkable - detritus of a long-gone imperial bureaucracy. ‘… Something about conscription – “all Austrian men are required to register for military service”. These are reports about someone who didn’t turn up as they were required.’

Myles made sure he understood. ‘You mean it’s about a draft dodger?’

‘Yes …’ Then something she read struck her. She pulled back. In an instant of revulsion, she put the papers back down.

Myles tried to console her. ‘What is it? Are you alright?’

She was, but she seemed shaken. ‘This isn’t a normal record. Look at the name …’ Heike-Ann pointed back towards the sheet, drawing Myles’ attention to two words near the bottom but refusing to touch them. ‘… Adolf … Hitler. This is a summons for him …’

Heike-Ann’s eyes up gazed up at Myles for a reaction. ‘That’s why this is so important,’ he said. ‘This is evidence that the dictator – a man who often boasted about his military record as a young man, a man who forced millions of others to fight – tried to avoid serving in the army himself. It’s proof that Hitler was a draft dodger. The Gestapo tried to get hold of these documents in 1938, when Hitler took control of Austria. Looks like they managed it. They must have been given to Stolz for safe keeping.’ Then Myles saw another document underneath. ‘What does this one say?’

Composing herself, Heike-Ann took a short pause to translate, then started pointing at the page. ‘It’s another police report, again from 1913. It logs a “Mr Adolf Hitler” as guilty of the minor crime of vagrancy – sleeping rough. In Vienna, 1913.’ She frowned, not sure what to make of the report.

She was about to reach for the next page when they heard metallic clangs: someone was climbing the iron staircase. She glanced at Myles, wondering whether to hide the papers.

Myles said nothing, but just raised his hand: they would wait silently to see who it was.

More sounds; and then they saw a bald scalp come up to their level, and relaxed as they greeted Glenn. ‘Have you found it?’ he called out.

‘Depends what “it” might be,’ replied Myles. ‘Can you fetch the others?’

Glenn accepted, and went back down to find Zenyalena and Pascal. A few minutes later all five of them were back together, in the most enclosed and isolated part of the building. They all stared down at the box file.

The next paper in the box was a page torn from a book – page number 113 on one side and 114 on the other, with printing in a gothic font. Someone – presumably Stolz – had underlined a few sentences.

Heike-Ann lifted it out, hesitantly. ‘So, er, I’ll translate …’ She started reading. ‘It reads, “The longer I lived in that city, the stronger became my hatred for the promiscuous scum of foreign peoples, and the bacillus of human society, the Jews. I hoped I could devote my talents to the service of my country, so I left Vienna in Spring 1912.”’

Heike-Ann put the page down, glad to be rid of it. She turned to her team leader. ‘Myles, you know what this is from, don’t you?’

Myles checked his assumption was right. ‘Bestselling book of the 1930s?’

Heike-Ann nodded, but Zenyalena, Glenn and Pascal still needed her to explain. ‘It’s from
Mein Kampf
,’ she revealed. ‘Hitler’s manifesto and autobiography.’

Pascal still looked confused. ‘I thought that book had been banned.’

‘You’re right,’ said Myles. ‘But, there are still lots of copies of
Mein
Kampf
around. The Nazis printed millions of them. Newlyweds got them as a “wedding present” from the state, which allowed Hitler to skim off millions in royalty payments. But the question is: what’s so special about this page?’

Glenn picked up the single sheet, and checked both sides. A normal page from a book, it looked completely ordinary. He tried to see a pattern in the sentences which had been underlined. ‘Myles? Can you make sense of it?’

Myles wasn’t sure. He turned to Heike-Ann. ‘So in
Mein Kampf
, Hitler writes, “I left Vienna in Spring 1912” – but it contradicts the police report.’ Then he worked it out. ‘It means Hitler lied in
Mein Kampf
, and Stolz had the evidence.’

Glenn was still puzzled. ‘But Stolz was a Nazi, right? He loved Hitler. Adored him. So why offer proof that Hitler lied?’

Myles acknowledged the point – something didn’t make sense. ‘Is there anything else in the box?’

Heike-Ann turned over another sheet of old text. Underneath she saw some much fresher paper. ‘This isn’t from 1913.’

It wasn’t. Printed on bright white paper, probably using a modern computer, was a single line of text. The words were simple:

Heike-Ann scowled as she translated. ‘It says, “Location Two: Where it was written – and he grew fat - minus thirty-two metres”. Does that make any sense?’

Myles peered over. ‘It must mean “Location Two”. It’s directions to Stolz’s next hiding place …’ Then he became confused. ‘… But Wittgenstein wrote his book all over – in trenches all over the Eastern Front, in a military hospital after an injury, then in a prisoner of war camp in Italy. The
Tractatus
wasn’t written in a single place.’

Zenyalena smirked. ‘And was Wittgenstein fat?’

‘No. In all the photos I’ve seen, he looks very thin. He was always thin.’

Glenn turned the paper towards him. ‘Is that really all it says? Is that it - exactly?’

Heike-Ann was sure. She pointed at the letters. ‘ Minus 32 Metre’ – you see, minus thirty-two metres, or thirty-two metres below. That’s what it says. Those are the exact words.’

Pascal tried to be logical. ‘So if Wittgenstein wrote only one book, and he wrote it in lots of places …?’

Glenn rattled through some ideas. ‘Where he started writing it? Where he finished writing it? Did he always write it in bed, or at a desk – so we look for the desk? But “minus thirty-two metres” … What could it mean?’ The American was running dry.

Myles tried a new tack. ‘Are we sure Stolz means the
Tractatus
? Could he mean another book?’

Zenyalena was starting to get frustrated. ‘Well, what other book could it be? Come on – we’ll try to crack that one later. What else is in the folder?’

She leaned over and removed the page about ‘Location Two’ to reveal an older sheet. It looked like one of Stolz’s papers from the lawyer’s office – some predictions made during the Second World War. The date confirmed it: 1942. And the title of this one needed no translation.

Glenn grabbed it quickly. ‘Let me see that.’ Glenn scanned it, half-hoping he could stop himself if he found something he wanted kept secret. But it was no use. He soon realised he could only understand the dates and numbers. The words were still in German.

Glenn held the paper where Heike-Ann could see, and invited her to translate.

Heike-Ann’s eyes took in the words and tried to summarise. ‘It’s more predictions. It says, “War undermines US Power in the following months”. Then it lists August 1814; April 1968; May 2004; and then also April 2059, September 2059, February 2060 and December 2060 ...’

Myles recognised some of the dates. August 1814 was when the British burned down the White House. In April 1968, America was tied down in Vietnam, and in Iraq in 2004.

Heike-Ann was translating to herself, coming towards the end of the page. ‘… The conclusion is “The next anniversary in this 83-year cycle comes in the first week of June, 1944. Within this week, the moon cycle suggests the most likely date for a large-scale, seaborne assault on Reich-territory is on the 5
^th
or 6
^th
of June 1944.’’’

Myles and Glenn shared a glance. They both understood what they had before them.
One of the greatest secrets of the war – the timing of D-Day – had been predicted by Stolz.