It was gone midnight when Hembury and Vargas arrived back at the apartment. Earlier in the evening, Hembury had arranged for two of his senior detectives to meet them at Wicks’s townhouse. As soon as the hitman had sent through the confirmation message to Franklin, he was taken away for further questioning and charged.
Vargas grabbed a couple of beers from the fridge as Hembury spoke on the phone with Amanda Carter, filling her in on the latest events.
“Troy, this episode confirms this man is a monster, running totally out of control. I’m not sure you should be walking into the lion’s den tomorrow.”
“At least we have the element of surprise on our side. He clearly won’t be expecting me to show. I think for now we stick to the plan.”
A few hours’ later, two planes took off from different locations, both heading for San Francisco. Hembury and Vargas took a scheduled Delta flight from LA, and John Franklin joined his father on board his private Cessna at Phoenix Airport. As they belted up for the two-hour flight, John again queried the need for him to go to his father’s house for a meeting he now knew wasn’t going to happen.
“Given the news on Hembury, I’d like to go straight to my office. There’s so much going on at the moment. I just can’t afford the time.”
“John, I told you last night we have to play this very carefully. Hembury may have had someone on his team book him an internal flight for the meet, so it’s more than possible he made a note of who he was coming to see. Now he has mysteriously disappeared, they might just send someone else along to try and find out the purpose of the meeting. We will obviously play dumb, and as Hembury’s body will never turn up it will lead nowhere and become a dead end. So I want you with me.”
John recognised his father’s tone of voice, and the prospective president knew better than to argue.
Hembury and Vargas landed just after eight and grabbed their pre-booked hire car. They drove north, heading for the exclusive area of San Francisco where Franklin’s mansion was located.
Pacific Heights was regarded as the most expensive neighbourhood in the United States and was renowned for its billionaire residents and record-breaking house prices. With a valuation topping forty million dollars, Franklin’s residence on Pacific Avenue was one of the three most valuable properties in the area. Hembury parked up opposite the Dutch colonial mansion an hour before he was due to arrive. It was set well back from the street and boasted a magnificent circular drive that led to the opulent marble-columned entrance. Vargas peeled down the electric window and leaned out to take a closer look at Franklin’s grandiose pile.
“Amazing what a few tons of Nazi gold will get you.”
Hembury was also looking at the mansion. “Franklin’s used that stolen wealth to build a business empire that has made him one of the most powerful and influential figures in the country. He’s used the platform it’s created to manoeuvre his son to within touching distance of the White House. It’s just totally incredible.”
“Troy, are you still happy to make this play? Maybe we should front up to Franklin and his son together.”
Hembury shook his head. “Let’s stick with the plan. I’ll drop you at the hotel and then FaceTime when it feels like the right moment. When he sees you’re still alive, it’ll be a double whammy.”
Franklin had given his staff the morning off, so the massive house was empty when he and his son arrived back just after nine in the morning. They grabbed themselves some fresh coffee and pastries in the kitchen and made their way through to the study where they sat and waited, wondering if anybody would show.
At precisely ten o’clock, Hembury stood outside the electric gates and pressed the buzzer on the videophone entrance panel. Franklin glanced across at the screen that was fixed to the office wall and gasped in horror as if he’d been struck by a lightning bolt. Staring back at him in black and white was a ghost. Filling the frame was the unmistakable face of the police lieutenant, who he thought was dead. John knew his father well enough to realise something was drastically wrong. Richard Franklin took a few moments to compose himself and then pushed the gate release button.
“That bastard Hembury is somehow alive. The hitman obviously just took the money but never carried out the job.”
John was out of his chair and standing next to the screen, glaring at the image. “How much do we think he knows?”
“John, we are about to find out. Let me do the talking. Don’t forget, your running mate is the governor of California, so we have the power to shut him down. Trust me, we will crush him.”
Franklin left the office and strode through the grand entrance hall towards the imposing front door. He stared at the handle but paused before reaching for it, sensing the physical presence on the other side. He took a deep breath in an attempt to quell the twinge of fear and misgiving that had suddenly overtaken him. Finally, he turned the handle.
The door opened and the two adversaries faced each other for the first time since Hembury had visited Franklin’s office.
“Lieutenant. Incredibly punctual. I like that. Please come in, my son is waiting for you in my office.”
Hembury had seen the poker face before but this time he could sense a slight discomfort bubbling beneath the veneer of self-assurance that Franklin was so good at portraying. “Good to see you again, Mr Franklin. Something came up at the last minute that almost prevented me making it but, happily, I was able to take care of it.”
The coded reply wasn’t lost on Franklin, who realised his hitman had botched the job. He turned and gestured to Hembury to follow and the two men walked down the hallway into the huge study, where John Franklin was waiting. Hembury had seen him on television countless times and the first thing that struck him was how much smaller he was in real life than he appeared on screen. His trademark smile beamed as he walked forward and warmly shook hands with the lieutenant. Hembury wondered how many thousands of fake handshakes he had given during the campaign. Richard Franklin eased into the seat behind his desk while his son moved into position, standing next to him, creating a united front. Hembury knew the moment had come to bite the bullet and he opened with the script he had rehearsed with Vargas.
“Two weeks ago, a safe depository in Buenos Aires was broken into and a number of boxes were raided, one of which was owned by the Franklin Corporation. The criminals who took part in the heist were systematically tortured and murdered by agents working for a security company called Theodor Consultants. It would appear Theodor was desperate to locate and repatriate the contents of Box 1321, the box owned by your company. Media reports suggest a rival gang was trying to steal the haul. But that’s not true.”
Richard Franklin sat stony-faced in his chair while John perched on the end of the desk, looking distinctly uneasy.
Hembury maintained eye contact with the older man. “Theodor was taking its instructions directly from you, Mr Franklin.”
“Lieutenant, this is getting very tiresome. As I told you last time, a bank robbery in Argentina does not fall under the jurisdiction of the LAPD, so I can’t see why it should be of any interest to you.”
Hembury had been expecting Franklin to use the same ploy as last time. “It became of great interest to me and the LAPD last night when you employed a hitman to try and take me out.”
Although the blood was visibly draining from Franklin’s face, he managed to keep his composure. “Lieutenant, I would imagine that hundreds of boxes were hit in the robbery, so it’s impossible to know what specific box was being chased down by this Theodor company and, secondly, they have no connection either to me or to the corporation. So, right now, I’d like you to leave, and you can be certain I will be speaking to the governor directly to ensure you are seriously reprimanded for coming to my home with this outrageous accusation.”
It was time for Hembury to play his first major card. “Mr Franklin, Interpol is now working with the Buenos Aires Police Department and using all the considerable means at their disposal to break through the cloak of secrecy surrounding the true share ownership of Theodor and I have no doubt they will discover a direct link to the Franklin Corporation. In addition, Theodor’s CEO, Matias Paz, is currently in police custody. He has been charged with multiple counts of murder and is facing a life sentence. I wonder how long it will be before he decides to cut a deal with the authorities in order to gain immunity?”
Hembury let the last sentence hang in the air for maximum effect. John Franklin went to speak for the first time but his father gestured to him to remain silent.
“By the way, Mr Franklin, we now know that a mobile we found at one of the crime scenes, containing a contact number for your San Francisco office, belonged to Paz. I assume it was a direct line running straight to your office?”
Hembury was on a roll and ready to play his second card. “Last week, I spent a number of hours examining the contents of Box 1321 and now I totally understand why you tried so hard to keep them secret. The original documents and photographs chronicle the story of Adolf Hitler, Martin Bormann and Eva Braun’s safe passage from Germany to Argentina by boat. Also included are forged birth and death certificates that show their change of identity.”
Once again, Hembury paused to see if either man wished to speak but it was clear he had a captive audience, so he ploughed on. “They assumed the surname of Franklin. Adolf Hitler was your father, Mr Franklin.”
Hembury, for the first time, looked directly at John. “And your grandfather.”
Still, neither man spoke. They just stared back grimly at Hembury, who was now relishing the encounter.
“I even got to hold seven of Hitler’s war medals, including the coveted Iron Cross. But the most revealing insight into their secret existence after the war came from two reels of 8-millimetre film that show them in situ at their home in El Calafate. Trust me, it was far better than anything you’ll find on Netflix. Some parts of the film show Hitler and Bormann entertaining other prominent Nazis who also escaped to South America. But my favourite scene from all the remarkable footage will be of special interest to you, Mr Franklin, as you star in it. It shows you, along with your mother, celebrating your fifth birthday at a large party in the garden at El Blondi. I’m sure you must remember it.”
John Franklin was clearly struggling to hide his emotions and he looked distraught as Hembury continued with the onslaught. His father was desperately trying to work out a strategy to counter the relentless attack but it was all unravelling too fast.
“What do you want, lieutenant?”
Hembury was buoyed by this first sign of concession and decided it was time to play his third card. “I’ll let you know that shortly, but I haven’t finished yet, because I’m about to come to the biggest secret of all.”
Once again, Hembury switched his eyeline directly to the presidential candidate. “One that not even you know.”
John Franklin’s eyes flicked for a moment to his father, who acknowledged the look and had a mystified expression on his face.
“One of the death certificates we found in the box was a double forgery. Not only was the identity of the person a lie but the documentation of their death was an even bigger one.”
Richard Franklin guessed what was coming next and avoided any further eye contact with his son.
“Eva Braun didn’t die on 28 October 1970. Instead, she changed her identity, for a second time, to Valentina Suarez. After John’s birth in America, she was forced to fake her death by you, Mr Franklin, together with Bormann, as you both thought she might prove a liability down the line.”
John Franklin turned to his father and spoke for the first time since Hembury had entered the room. “Is any of this true, Dad? I always believed she died the same year I was born.”
Richard Franklin spoke to his son as if Hembury wasn’t present in the room. “Everything your uncle and I did was done to protect you, John. From the moment you were born, we planned your path to power and it was far better you believed both your grandparents were dead. That way, you had no real ties to Argentina. No reason to ever go there.”
Hembury picked up again as he was pumped and ready to deliver the death blow. “John, even a cunning arch manipulator like Bormann failed to foresee one flaw in the plan – Eva Braun’s longevity. In a few days’ time, she will celebrate her one hundredth birthday.”
Richard Franklin’s voice roared into life, in a desperate attempt to shield the truth from his son. “That’s a lie, John. It’s a total fucking lie.”
Hembury ignored the hysterical outburst and reached inside his jacket for his iPhone. He set the video function live and held the mobile in the air. An image of Eva Braun filled the screen, and for a couple of tantalising seconds nothing happened. Then the silence was broken by the sound of an old woman’s voice. Both the Franklins spoke fluent Spanish and had no problem tuning into her Argentinian accent.
“Martin planned everything. He was a true genius … He planned our suicides and the escape from Berlin …”
For the next few minutes, no one spoke in the room. The only movement was made by John Franklin, who edged closer to the phone to gain a better look at his grandmother. Richard Franklin kept his eyes on the screen but, at the same time, his right hand edged steadily towards the bottom drawer of his desk. He slowly slid it open, without making a sound. When the video file stopped playing, Hembury detected the slight hint of a tear in John Franklin’s eyes. He put the mobile away and regained eye contact with Richard.
“Mr Franklin, you asked me before what I wanted. I’m ready to tell you.”
Franklin stared back impassively, his poker face restored.
“I’m not sure the American public is ready to learn that the man who might be their next leader is the grandson of the most reviled dictator who ever lived. A man who ordered the annihilation of an entire race and was personally responsible for over thirty million deaths. It would blow their minds to discover their next president was Adolf Hitler’s grandson. Make no mistake, I am prepared to release the original documents if you leave me no choice. But I’m prepared to offer you both a way out.”
Richard Franklin gave a slight nod and discreetly kept his right hand hovering by the open drawer.
“Tomorrow morning, you will make a joint press statement. John, you will announce that, for personal reasons, you have decided to stand down from public life with immediate effect and therefore renounce the Republican nomination. Richard, you will announce you are retiring, and as the CEO and majority shareholder you are handing the Franklin Corporation over to the government as a gift to the American people. As long as neither of you ever reneges on this deal, the contents of Box 1321 will remain a secret. Any deviation whatsoever and the world media will receive everything.”
Richard Franklin managed a wry laugh. “Lieutenant, no one is going to accept our resignations at face value. It’s a ludicrous idea and I also think it’s a massive bluff on your part as all the evidence you’re talking about has been destroyed.”
At that precise moment, Franklin produced a gun from the open drawer and aimed it directly at Hembury. “Let me introduce you to a very special weapon that has a secret all of its own.” He stood up from the desk and slowly walked across the office towards an alcove supporting a six-tiered bookshelf. He continued to aim the gun at Hembury and used his left hand to reach for a red leather-bound book on the bottom shelf. He raised his arm and proudly held it high in the air. “This is a first edition of Hugh Trevor-Roper’s bestselling biography, The Last Days of Hitler. It was first printed in 1947, and, ever since it was published, it has been regarded as the definitive biography of my father. When it comes to Adolf Hitler, this is the bible and, for sixty-five years, historians and students alike have paid homage to its contents.”
Hembury knew Franklin was a ruthless killer, but now he could see he was facing a level of malevolence he’d never encountered the like of before. Franklin placed the book down and walked back to his desk, keeping the gun raised the whole time.
“This pistol is actually the star turn in Roper’s book. It’s my father’s personal weapon. A 7.65 millimetre Walther PPK. The very gun that Roper claims Hitler used to blow his own brains out. It became so infamous that Ian Fleming decided James Bond should have one. It first appeared in Dr. No. I’m a great Bond fan, of course.”
Hembury realised that Franklin was crazy enough to gun him down in his own house. Hitler’s son continued his frenzied rant.
“As you now know, lieutenant, better than anyone, what you uncovered about my father’s post-war life and my very existence tells you the book is full of bullshit, as indeed is your claim to hold possession of the original contents of the box. Unfortunately for you, I know they went the same way as your Argentine friend, Chief Inspector Vargas. Incinerated in a massive fireball. You’re bluffing, lieutenant. And what a wonderful irony that I blow a hole through your temple with my father’s gun.”
Hembury held his nerve and played his final card. “Actually, I’m afraid you’re misinformed. Chief Inspector Vargas is alive and well and the contents of Box 1321 are safely in his hands. Right now, he’s sitting in the lobby of The Laurel Inn, a mile away, waiting for me to FaceTime him. If I don’t call him in the next fifteen minutes, he will release the documents to the media.”
Franklin reeled back in shock and his son rushed forward to prop him up. He sat down again behind his desk, the gun still aimed at Hembury. “A fine attempt, lieutenant, but we both know it’s a last desperate bluff.”
Hembury reached very slowly for his mobile. “There’s only one way to find out. Let me call him.”
Franklin nodded and Hembury hit the contact.
Vargas had been willing his mobile to ring for the last thirty minutes. He was sitting by a small coffee table in the hotel lounge, nursing an untouched drink. His laptop was open, displaying his desktop. When he saw the incoming FaceTime call from Hembury appear on his screen, he felt a surge of excitement pulse through his body. He clicked on the green icon and Hembury appeared. The lieutenant turned the phone around to face the startled father and son.
“Nic, I’d like to introduce you to Richard and John Franklin.”
Richard Franklin instantly recognised the chief inspector from the image he’d downloaded from the internet. His live presence on the screen seemed to deal a fatal blow and he suddenly found himself struggling to breathe.
Vargas assumed the plan he had developed with Hembury had worked so far and it was now time for him to play his part. “Mr Franklin, we had a brief conversation a couple of weeks ago but a great deal has happened since then. I believe the lieutenant has offered you a deal. Before you decide what to do, let me help you make your mind up.”
Vargas pointed his iPhone camera directly at the screen of his laptop, a move he had rehearsed a dozen times in the previous hour. “Can you see the file named 1321?” He pushed the phone closer to the laptop and manually zoomed in to the folder. “This file contains copies of all the relevant documents, certificates, photos and medals, as well as videos of the 8-millimetre films.”
He double-clicked and a black-and-white image of Hitler and Bormann standing either side of the cargo ship captain filled the screen.
“If you fail to call the joint press conference tomorrow morning, this file will be emailed to a senior journalist at one of the world’s leading broadcast networks. I will also give them full access to the original source materials.”
Franklin felt the strength draining out of his body. The Walther PPK suddenly felt as if it weighed a ton. His voice was a monotone. “How do I know you really have the originals?”
“Mr Franklin, neither I nor the contents of Box 1321 were anywhere near the apartment when your assassins struck. I’d already moved everything to a safe place.”
Franklin spoke again but, by now, he sounded like a malfunctioning robot. “No one will believe it.”
Hembury could literally see Franklin disintegrating in front of him. His powerful, physical charisma had vanished and his body shook uncontrollably. “Mr Franklin, we need your answer right now. If this material goes live, both of you will be at the epicentre of the biggest media shitstorm the world has ever known. The internet will transform the story into a global event in a matter of minutes. It will make headlines on every news agency across the world and the city of El Calafate will become the most searched for name on Google. Whatever denials you issue, your reputations will be trashed. It’ll all be over for both of you.”
Hembury turned to John, who was clearly crushed and totally dumbstruck.
“The Republican Party will drop you like a hot potato and your political career will be in shreds. People will revile you as Hitler’s grandson, and for the rest of your life you and your family will be hounded by journalists following up on the story.”
Hembury then switched his gaze to John’s father, who had now rested the gun on top of the desk. “As well as releasing the documents, Nic will press charges against you for conspiracy to commit multiple murders in Argentina and file an extradition claim. I don’t see either of you having much of a choice.”
Richard Franklin glared at Hembury with utter contempt and reached once again for his father’s gun. “All of us have choices, lieutenant.”
In an instant, he placed the barrel of the pistol to his head and blew an enormous hole through his right temple.