Secrets of the Last Nazi by Iain King

to?’
    Jean-François seemed innocent. ‘You think these journalists spoke to someone?’
    ‘Of course they have. They wouldn’t print that unless they knew.’ Glenn began quoting the last sentence, his irritation obvious. ‘It says, “Their work investigating this Nazi-turned-philanthropist has already begun”.’
    Finally Jean-François was beginning to understand. ‘Well, I’m sure it was none of our team. It could have been someone at the care home – or the police …’
    Glenn was unconvinced. He looked accusingly at Zenyalena. ‘Did you make this public?’
    Before Zenyalena had a chance to answer, Heike-Ann finally spoke up. ‘It was me.’
    Glenn and Zenyalena both turned to her. Jean-François’ face invited the German policewoman to explain.
    Heike-Ann lifted her palms as she spoke, as if she had nothing to hide. ‘A man from the newspaper called me yesterday. They asked me to confirm that the international team had arrived. All I said was “yes”.’
    Glenn and Jean-François looked at each other, uncertain what to do next.
    Glenn followed up with questions. ‘How did the journalist know about our investigation, Heike-Ann?’
    ‘He said he’d been told by the Berlin police.’ Heike-Ann’s answer was straightforward. It was hard to believe she was lying.
    ‘Come on – that’s a trick from Journalism 101,’ sneered Glenn. ‘Make something up, pretend you had it from someone else, and ask for “confirmation”. You thought he was telling the truth?’
    ‘Yes, I did. He sounded truthful. Why should he lie?’
    Jean-François held Heike-Ann’s hand. He squeezed it, as if to emphasise that she had done nothing wrong.
    But Glenn was still angry. ‘Can we all agree: no more publicity? No speaking to journalists – or emailing, or any contact with them. Right?’
    Jean-François looked uncertain.
    Zenyalena volunteered a compromise. ‘No publicity unless at least three of us want it. Agreed?’
    Glenn thought then slowly nodded his acceptance. ‘We’ll have to get Myles Munro’s agreement, when we get back to him.’
    The American stared down at the obituary again. The consequence of it was clear. It meant the team’s work was no longer secret. Anybody reading the newspaper, or anybody who did a simple internet search for Werner Stolz, would find out that the dead German’s affairs – as well as his body – were the subject of research. Research which had been ordered at the highest level.
    Eventually the door opened. A prim secretary appeared, holding the door handle. ‘Gentlemen, ladies. You may come through now,’ she said with a haughty tone.
    Zenyalena allowed Jean-François to lead the way, then followed on. Glenn and Heike-Ann trailed behind.
    They were being invited into a wood-panelled office. Books were carefully arranged on the shelves, cataloguing German court cases over many years. They looked neat and probably unread.
    Wearing thick-rimmed glasses, an austere-looking man pointed to the furniture without making eye contact. ‘Good morning. Please ...’
    Jean-François, Zenyalena, Glenn and Heike-Ann were offered leather-bound seats. As they sat, it became clear their seats were lower than the lawyer’s, forcing them to look up at him
    The German lawyer repositioned a paperweight on his desk, then took off his glasses to polish them, paying more attention to imaginary dust on the lens than to the four people in his room. ‘… Now, I understand you have come to me in connection with the late Mr Werner Stolz.’ His English was weighed down by a thick accent.
    Jean-François nodded. He sat forward, keen to make his point. ‘That’s right. You are the custodian of some of Mr Stolz’s files?’ The Frenchman said it as a question.
    The lawyer remained silent.
    Uneasy at the lawyer’s failure to respond, Jean-François continued. ‘Well, we are an investigation team representing the four Allied war powers – France, Great Britain, the United States and the Soviet