Ghost Flight (51 page)

Jenkinson shrugged. ‘I’ve spent most of my adult life in the archives researching the Second World War. You’d be amazed what an industry has grown up around it. But I’ve never come across anything that even remotely rivals all this.’ He waved a hand at the pile of documents on the table. ‘And I must say, I’m rather enjoying myself. Mind if I have a crack at another?’

‘Go right ahead,’ Jaeger confirmed. ‘There’s too much for Ms Narov to deal with in the one night. But I’m curious, what happened to that Hans Kammler file that you found in the National Archives? The one you emailed me a couple of pages from?’

Jenkinson seemed to jump slightly, a hint of worry creeping into his eyes. ‘Gone. Vanished. Kaput. Even when I checked the online cloud storage systems – not a page remains anywhere. It’s the file that never was.’

‘Someone went to great lengths to make it disappear,’ Jaeger probed.

‘They did,’ Jenkinson confirmed uneasily.

‘One more thing,’ Jaeger added. ‘Why use something so basic as a book code? I mean, the Nazis had their state-of-the-art Enigma cipher machines, didn’t they?’

Jenkinson nodded. ‘They did. But thanks to Bletchley Park, we broke Enigma, and by the end of the war, the Nazi leadership knew that.’ He smiled. ‘A book code may be simple, but it’s also utterly unbreakable, unless you have the exact same book – or, in this case, books plural – that the code is based upon.’

With that he joined Narov, turning his fine mind to cracking another of the documents.

91

Number crunching wasn’t really Raff and Jaeger’s strength. They busied themselves making brews, and keeping vigil on the deck outside. Jaeger wasn’t exactly expecting any trouble here at the marina, but both he and Raff were still alive and in the game because they’d been trained to expect the unexpected – training they still lived by.

After an hour or so Dale came and joined them. He took a long pull on his coffee. ‘Only so much reading documents a sane man can film.’

‘Talking of film, how’s it going?’ Jaeger asked. ‘Carson happy, or are you about to be shot at dawn?’

Dale shrugged. ‘Oddly enough, he seems pretty sanguine about it all. We got to the aircraft and lifted it out of the jungle, just as we’d promised. Fact that we lost it along the way – it just means there won’t be any sequel. But once I’m done here, I’m supposed to head to an edit suite, so I can start cutting the series.’

‘How’re you going to make me look?’ Jaeger queried. ‘You editing out my ums and ahs?’

‘I’m going to make you look like an idiot,’ Dale replied, deadpan.

‘Do that and you
will
get shot at dawn.’

‘Do that and there’s no film.’

They laughed.

There was a certain camaraderie between them now – one that Jaeger would have never imagined possible upon their first meeting.

It was pushing midnight by the time Narov had her first document cracked. Sure enough, the Voynich manuscript was proving the key to unlocking its meaning, but even so it was slow and painstaking work. She came and joined Raff, Dale and Jaeger on the barge’s open rear.

‘I am maybe fifty per cent done,’ she announced. ‘And already it is incredible.’ She glanced at Jaeger. ‘We now know exactly where the first three Ju 390s –
Adlerflug I, II
and
III
– were headed, as would our warplane,
Adlerflug IV,
have been, had she not run out of gas. Which means we know exactly where the Nazis had their safe havens.

‘
Aktion Feuerland
,’ she continued. ‘You know why they called it that? They named it after Tierra del Fuego – the land of fire. Where is that? It is the sliver of land where the extreme southern tip of Argentina slips into the Atlantic . . . For me, Argentina is no massive surprise. It always was the key suspect for sheltering the foremost Nazis.

‘But there are several other locations that the document reveals. Other safe havens. And they do come as a real shock.’ Narov paused, struggling to control her elation. ‘You know, we have never had the wherewithal – the intelligence or expertise – to finish this. To end it
.
But with breaking these codes, maybe we do now.’

Before Narov could continue, there was a triumphant yell from inside. The voice was that of Jenkinson, and they figured it had to be something utterly extraordinary, for it wasn’t in the archivist’s nature to get needlessly overexcited.

They hurried inside.

Jenkinson held up a sheet of paper. ‘This – is – it,’ he stammered, breathlessly. ‘This changes everything. It would have been so easy to overlook – one seemingly unremarkable sheet of numbers . . . But finally it all starts to make sense. Horrible, chilling sense.’

He gazed at the four of them, his lower lip trembling with . . . what? Excitement; trepidation; or was it dread?

‘There is little point in shipping your loot, your top people and your
Wunderwaffe
– your wonder weapons – to the four corners of the earth, unless you have a reason. A schedule. A
master plan
.’

‘This,’ he waved the paper. ‘This is it.
Aktion Werewolf
. Operation Werewolf: blueprint for the Fourth Reich.’

He glanced at them, fear etched in his eyes. ‘Note: Fourth Reich. Not Third Reich.
Fourth
Reich
.’

They gathered in stunned silence as Jenkinson began to read.

‘It begins: “At the orders of the Führer, from the ashes of the Third Reich the Ubermensch” – that’s the master race – “will work to ensure that we rise again . . .”’

Jenkinson proceeded to read through the entirety of the document. It outlined a plan to use the Allies’ greatest weakness – their paranoia over the rise of the Eastern Bloc and Soviet communism – against them. Even at the Allies’ hour of victory, the Nazis would use that paranoia as their Trojan Horse – one through which they would survive, and rise again to conquer.

‘Using the stupendous wealth they had accumulated during the war years, they would infiltrate all sections of society with ‘true believers’. They would appear to harness their technology for the benefit of their new masters, while in truth subverting them. The most promising
Wunderwaffe
technologies would continue to be developed, but in absolute secret, and for the benefit of a Nazism reborn under the Fourth Reich.

‘“No one should underestimate the task now lying before us”,’ Jenkinson read from the last paragraph of the document. ‘“Operation Werewolf will not be accomplished overnight. We will need to be patient. We will need to rebuild our power and marshal our forces. The Führer, assisted by the greatest minds in the Reich, will work away in secret for this end. And when the Reich rises like a phoenix from the ashes, this time it will be global and unstoppable.

‘“Many of us may not live to see this day”,’ he continued, ‘“but our children certainly will. They will seize their birthright. The destiny of the
Ubermensch
will be fulfilled. And revenge – revenge will be finally bestowed upon us.”’

Jenkinson flipped over the sheet of paper, turning to a second. ‘They mention getting their people installed in the Office of Strategic Services – the forerunner to the CIA – the American government, the British Secret Intelligence Service, top corporations . . . the list goes on and on. And they give themselves seventy years to do so – seventy years from the date of their ultimate ignominy: their May 1945 unconditional surrender to the Allies.’

Jenkinson glanced up, fearfully. ‘Which means that any time around about now, the new Reich is due to rise, Phoenix-like from the ashes.’

He turned the document around so that it faced Jaeger and the others. At the bottom of the second page was stamped a familiar form – a
Reichsadler
.

‘That,’ he indicated, ‘is their mark. It is the emblem of the Fourth Reich. That circular symbol below the eagle’s tail – the writing around it is also in code. In fact, it’s triply encoded, but I’ve managed to break it.

‘Decoded it reads: “
Die Ubermensch des Reich – Wir sind die Zukunft.
The master race of the Fourth Reich – we are the future.”’

92

Jaeger glanced across the warm aquamarine waters at Irina Narov. ‘Your wave,’ he challenged. ‘If you think you’re man enough.’

Behind them a massive swell was rolling towards the shimmering white sands, growing taller and more powerful as it neared the beach.

‘
Schwachkopf
! Race you!’ Narov threw back the challenge.

They turned and began to paddle furiously in the direction of the shoreline. For an instant Jaeger felt the roar of the surf fill his ears and then the powerful thrust of it lifted up the rear of his board. He paddled faster, trying to catch the wave and become a part of it, as it thundered towards the thin sliver of silver that was the beach.

He accelerated, the surfboard tearing down the face of the water, and in one smooth move sprang to his feet, his legs bent at the knees to better cushion the ride. As his speed increased, Jaeger felt the familiar adrenalin rush, and he figured he’d execute a quick roller turn, just to ensure he beat Narov in style.

He swivelled his shoulders towards the wave, his board riding up the twelve-foot wall of water. He reached the foaming white crest and went to flip himself around so he could come tearing down again. But he’d underestimated just how much five weeks in Black Beach Prison followed by almost as long again in the Amazon had affected him.

As he tried to shift his weight to his front foot, Jaeger realised how stiff his legs still were. He lost his balance, and an instant later he wiped out. The big wave swallowed him, sucking him under and thrashing him around and around within its roaring, throaty depths.

He felt the raw power of the ocean take hold of him and surrendered himself to it. It was the only way to survive such a massive wipeout. As Jaeger had told his son when he’d first taken him surfing: ‘Take your time. Imagine you have ten seconds to save the world; always spend five of them having milk and cookies.’ It was his way of teaching Luke to stay calm in the storm.

When the wave was done with him, Jaeger knew it would spit him out the far side.

Sure enough, several seconds later he surfaced.

He took a massive gulp of air and felt around for the leash of his board. He found it, pulled the board towards him, climbed on and paddled towards land. Narov was waiting on the sands, victory blazing in her eyes.

It was a week since the epic code-breaking session on Jaeger’s barge, and the Operation Werewolf discovery. The idea of the Bermuda visit had been his. The intention: to spend a few days recharging batteries and making plans, courtesy of Jaeger’s parents.

A rest before the coming fight.

Being a tiny British overseas territory set smack bang in the midst of the Atlantic Ocean, Bermuda was about as far away from any prying eyes as it was possible to get. Jaeger’s parents didn’t even live in the largest settlement, Main Island. They’d made their home in Horseshoe Bay, on the breathtaking territory of Morgan’s Point.

Perfectly isolated. Perfectly beautiful.

And a long way from the hell of the Serra de los Dios . . .

Oddly enough for one so driven by the mission – by the hunt – Narov had seemed to jump at the chance of paying a visit to this tiny island paradise. Jaeger figured that once they were away from it all, she would be willing to talk at last about her hidden past, and not least her connection to his grandfather.

He’d tried to broach the subject a couple of times in London – but even there Narov had appeared to be stalked by demons.

The Bermuda trip also offered Jaeger the chance to talk to his parents about how Grandpa Ted had died, something that was long overdue. Sure enough, foul play had been suspected, though Jaeger had been too young to pick up on it at the time.

As the police had failed to uncover any evidence, the family had been forced to accept the suicide verdict pretty much at face value. But their suspicions had endured.

Predictably enough, his mother and father had interpreted Jaeger’s arrival with Narov as being something other than what it was. His father had even gone as far as taking Jaeger into his study for a private chat.

He’d remarked upon how Narov – though at times somewhat odd in her mannerisms – was quite beautiful, and how refreshing it was to see Jaeger taking up with a . . . lady friend once more. Jaeger had pointed out that his father was ignoring one seminal fact – he and Narov were sleeping in separate rooms.

His father had made it clear that he didn’t believe a bit of it. As far as he was concerned, the separate bedrooms act was just that – an act. It was all for show. And with Jaeger’s wife and child absent pushing four years now, his father had made it clear that he and his mother believed it was time.

Time for Jaeger to move on.

Jaeger loved his parents to death. His father in particular had bequeathed to him his joy of all things wild – the sea, mountains, forests. Jaeger hadn’t quite managed to tell him that he’d never felt more convinced that Ruth and Luke were alive. Most probably he’d held off doing so to save his parents any more uncertainty and anguish.

He didn’t really know how to explain his new-found conviction. How could he tell his father that a psychotropic cocktail administered by an Amazon Indian – a brother warrior – had given him back his memories, and with them, his hope?

93

Surfing done for the morning, he and Narov wandered back towards the house. His parents were out, and Narov went to take a shower, to wash the salt off her skin and hair. Jaeger headed for his bedroom and grabbed his iPad. He needed to check for news of the rest of his team.

Until they were all safely out of the Amazon, he felt uneasy planning the next steps. Of course, simply uncovering the master plan for the return of the Reich – a global Nazi power-grab – didn’t necessarily mean that plan was actually being put into action. But the evidence was all too compelling, and Jaeger feared the worst.