Richard Franklin pushed the DVD into the machine and waited for the familiar image to appear on the TV screen. He was in his bedroom and Mucki was sprawled across the bed, happily snoring, dreaming about his next meal.
Franklin sat down gently next to him, careful not to disturb the giant Alsatian. When the image appeared, he pushed play on the remote control and waited for his favourite film to begin. A black-and-white caption filled the screen. It contained five words and a date, “Richard Franklin—Alaska bear hunt—2008”.
Franklin’s eyes widened as he watched the giant brown bear make its way towards the shaky handheld camera. The video cut to a wider angle that showed him in the foreground aiming his Winchester hunting rifle at the oncoming predator. The footage cut back to a shot of the bear as two bullets pierced its body. It let out a primeval roar and fell backwards, crashing into a large bush. Franklin then ran across to the stricken bear, who was wriggling on its back in agony. He emptied two more shots into its stomach and after that there was no more movement. The next image showed Franklin posing next to the dead animal, cradling its head against his body.
He hit the stop button and stared across the room at the same bear’s head, now mounted above the fireplace in his bedroom. Every time he watched the footage he’d paid two of his guides to film, he revelled in the same sensation of total pleasure and power he had felt when he first pulled the trigger four years earlier. He leaned back onto the bed and curled up next to Mucki, being ever so careful not to wake him.
Vargas ended his call and looked across at Hembury working in his open-plan kitchen, creating an avocado salad to accompany his pasta Bolognese.
“That was Torres. They want me back as soon as possible to head up the investigation into the attack. They haven’t formally identified Alex’s remains, but no one’s heard from him since he picked up my keys from the station. What’s left of his BMW was found outside the building. Troy, it’s devastating to think I sent him to his death.”
“Nic, you can’t blame yourself for what happened. We’re dealing with a psychopath who has absolutely no boundaries and will stop at nothing to protect his son’s ambitions for the White House.”
Vargas nodded and stayed silent for a moment, contemplating his next words. “Troy, this whole case is a nightmare. It’s become an obsession and Franklin has to be stopped. I told Torres I’m pursuing a strong lead in California and bought myself forty-eight hours at best.”
Hembury nodded and tried to lighten the atmosphere. He started to make a French dressing. “If things go well with Amanda tonight, that might just be long enough to carry out our plan. Do me a favour, there’s a liquor store at the end of the street. Would you pick up a couple of nice bottles of French red wine and a few snacks? Her favourite is Nuits-Saint-Georges.”
“Am I going to be the third wheel tonight cause I’m really not in the mood?”
Hembury emptied some croutons into the salad bowl, walked across the kitchen and rested his arm on Vargas’s shoulder. “Nic, we just need to get her on our side. If she agrees to go along with this, we’ll have some very strong leverage to use against Franklin.”
By the time Vargas returned from the shop, Hembury had finished prepping the food and was busy setting the table. “Perfect timing. She just texted to say she’s ten minutes away. Let’s get that wine open.”
Amanda Carter was one of the BBC’s highest-profile and pre-eminent news correspondents. For five years, she had anchored the UK’s prestigious ten o’clock bulletin and, before that, she’d cut her teeth as a war reporter, working on the front line in Bosnia and Lebanon. For the last three years, she’d been based in Washington, where she worked for BBC World News as their senior US political correspondent. At forty-five, she was at the height of her beauty and her stunning figure was complemented by her crystal-blue eyes and jet-black hair. Her exceptionally pronounced cheekbones and Angelina Jolie lips completed the effect. Senior White House politicians were intimidated by her looks and scared of her sharp intellect.
When Hembury formally introduced her to Vargas, he couldn’t help but think of the old adage that his friend had been punching way above his weight. She oozed warmth, with a lively sense of humour and an infectious laugh. Within a few minutes, the three of them were sitting around the table arguing about why Americans were so obsessed by the classic English accent. An hour and a half later, they had demolished Hembury’s pasta dish and were working their way through the second bottle of red.
Carter downed a large scoop of chocolate chip Häagen-Dazs and smoothly changed the subject. “Troy, as much as I love your spaghetti Bolognese, I didn’t fly over two thousand miles just to sample it again. Nic, are you ready to share your story with me?”
Vargas stood up and left the table. “I’m going to need my laptop.”
Although she was a veteran journalist, known for her tough interviewing style, it was telling that for the next hour Amanda didn’t ask a single question. She just sat and listened as Vargas took her through the entire story, step by step, concluding with the military-style attack on his apartment. She then spent another thirty minutes viewing a protected online file, containing copies of the most relevant documents and photographs that had been hidden away in Box 1321.
Vargas had also used his phone camera to make video copies of the 8mm films that showed Hitler and Braun enjoying post-war life in Argentina. Finally, he played her the video Hembury had secretly filmed of Braun during their encounter in El Calafate. She sat at the table, totally enthralled, occasionally scribbling down questions in her notebook.
When Vargas finished, she switched into full journalistic mode and reeled off a series of questions, aimed at both men. “Troy, as you said when you called me, it’s probably the most unbelievable story I will ever come across in my career and you’re not wrong. However, I’m not sure the world is ready to hear that Hitler’s grandson is a few months away from becoming the next US president. But, if it is true, this story needs to be told. You won’t be surprised to know I have some questions. Firstly, other than Paz’s mobile phone, do we have any other evidence that connects Richard Franklin to the murders?”
Vargas was quick to reply. “Not yet. I’m convinced the Franklin Corporation owns Theodor Consultants, but the names of the shareholders are deeply hidden in a group of offshore holding companies that we’re trying to break into.”
Amanda put down her pen. “We might be able to help your guys with some added resources for that part of the investigation. Do we have anything that ties Franklin to the hired assassin who killed García outside the courthouse?”
“No. Again, I’m sure he was hired by Theodor, but Paz isn’t talking.”
Carter wrote something down in the notebook. “Nic, if I’m going to put my neck on the line, I need to know that the source material is still around and totally safe – the birth and death certificates, the original photographs, the 8-millimetre film, along with Hitler’s medals.”
“Amanda, you have my word that every single one of Franklin’s attempts to destroy the evidence has failed. All the original materials are stored in a totally safe place. I’ll transfer the file to you now so you can show it to whoever needs to see it at your end. Then Troy and I will fill you in on our plan.”