The Blood Flag (8 page)

“Do you know where it is?”

“I went to Germany and talked to the German FBI. They're going to help me find it.”

Another pause in the darkness. “You didn't tell them about me, did you?”

“I told them we had someone on the inside, but not by name. No description, no nothing.”

“I didn't authorize you to talk about me to anybody!” I could feel him breathing like a caged animal. “That's part of my deal with Karl. Shit, even him telling you was over the line. I can't trust any of you.”

“I just said we had a guy. They have no idea who it is.”

“So you'd be fine if they ID me, that I can take your government-issued handgun and shoot you in the chest with it, right? Because if you're that sure, then you're not taking any risk at all.”

“Sounds fair to me.”

Jedediah stood up. “You don't have a lead on the flag at all, do you?”

“No, I've only just come up with the plan. Give me a little time.”

“Well, then we've got to go with our bird in the hand. And when you get a line on the Blood Flag, you let me know.”

He walked to the wheel, started the boat, pulled in the anchor, and headed to where he had picked me up.

On the way home I called Karl from my car and told him what had happened. He was impressed both by the Southern Volk's industriousness and by the fact that they would all be in jail within a week. He too saw the threat to our plan, and agreed I had to go to Atlanta to stop it from blowing up in our faces. We couldn't let Jedediah get arrested.

First thing the next morning I called the Special Agent in charge of the Atlanta Division. I told her I needed a meeting with her, Atlanta Police, and the head of the Russian security. She said the Russian advance team was already in Atlanta and that the materials would arrive in about three days. I told her to set it up at the FBI office and I would be there by tomorrow. I called Alex and told her to clear her calendar. We were going to Atlanta.

The Atlanta office was well known as being independent minded. They didn't wait for direction from Washington. So the news that I was coming from D.C. uninvited and wanting to meet with them and the Russians (and make a big deal about something or other) was not going to sit well. If it was an Atlanta issue, they would believe they could handle it. And if it wasn't an Atlanta issue, then we should leave them alone. I wasn't looking forward to the meeting.

We took a cab to the downtown FBI office and were escorted to the top floor. When the elevator opened, we were met by the special agent in charge, Karen Brindle. We stepped out of the elevator with our roll-aboard suitcases. I greeted her, and she didn't respond. She just stared at my suitcase, pointed down the hall, and began walking. I had heard about Karen. She was well known as a hardass, both inside the agency and outside. She was all business, no nonsense, and no humor. I was a little surprised at her appearance. She was wearing a skirt. Not many FBI special agents wore skirts these days. In fact, when I looked more closely, she was wearing a suit. Even in these days of business casual passing for getting dressed up, most special agents dressed down as far as they could. She seemed to be going in the opposite direction. It was a nicely tailored suit and she wore medium high heels. She had shoulder-length dark brown hair and was actually quite attractive. After several seconds of silence, she said, “I have a conference room set up.”

I walked next to her down the spotless hallway. “Thanks for helping. This is really important.”

“It better be,” she said as she opened the door to the conference room and pushed it away, indicating for us to go in before her. We put our rolling bags in the corner and stood by the table. Karen came in followed by two other men. The conference room was set up for ten people, and there were bag lunches stacked on a table at the end of the room.

She said, “I've ordered lunch. While we eat you can tell us what the hell is going on. The Russians will be here at one. Does that work for you?” she asked, seeming to hope that it didn't.

“Yes, thanks. Again, I apologize for this short notice and the intrusion. I will explain it all, and hope you can understand how significant this is.”

She nodded, checked her BlackBerry, and looked at the lunches. “Tell us what you know.”

I grabbed the first bag, opened it, and spread it in front of me. The others grabbed theirs and sat at the end of the table near me. I told them the whole story, starting with the ceremony at Normandy up to my conversation with Jedediah two days ago. I didn't tell them his identity, but they sure understood his significance.

After I was finished Karen asked, “We haven't had any issues with the neo-Nazis in our area. Aren't they just like a twisted Boy Scout troop?”

“Those days are over. They've decided to come out of the woodwork and be counted. The immigration thing has been a focal point, and they are gaining recruits faster than anybody expected. Some of it is because some actual leadership has risen to the top. Brunnig is charismatic. But the real threat is this guy in Germany trying to unify everybody, and he has the money to do it. That's what we've got to stop. But, right now we have to take care of what's going to happen here this week. Tell me about security for the exhibit.”

One of the men spoke for the first time. “I have the federal side. We're pretty well organized already. The . . . ” he hesitated, then went on, “The gist of it is the Russians have this display that they set up in a kind of labyrinth. At least according to the diagrams we've been given. You walk into the museum, it's dark, and you walk through a series of displays with photographs and writing and memorabilia that takes up roughly half the museum. It's quiet and subdued. This is the tenth and last stop for the tour. They have the setup down to a science. All they need is the space. But nobody cares about the items in the first half of the exhibit. Nothing there to really steal and no security really needed, although they have basic security. What really matters is the Hitler stuff. Once you get through the horrifying pictures and details of how hard Russia had to fight Germany—did you know that Russia lost twenty some million people in World War II?”

I nodded.

“Well, I sure didn't. It's unbelievable the carnage inflicted by this Nazi régime. Just evil. Anyway, once you get through all that, you get to a thing that looks sort of like a train car. It's not, it's actually an armored bunker. It's intended to be like Hitler's bunker, but you look into it from the outside, like through windows. So you don't really get that close to the stuff itself. Windows are pretty good sized, but bullet proof. And the bunker is reinforced and extremely secure. It's sealed. There's only one door, and it's a combination safe lock that is only known by the assistant chief of security for the Russian group. And notably, he's never actually near the display once it's open to the public. Once he closes and locks that door, he disappears where he cannot be found. So if somebody grabs the chief of security from Russia and threatens to kill him unless they're told the combination, it won't matter. They're not going to get the combination. Even if they killed the chief of security they still wouldn't have it. This guy goes out to zoos, movies, wherever he wants to go. He doesn't carry a cell phone and is completely out of touch. He only comes back once it's time to tear down the display.”

I finished my sandwich. “Sounds like a hard target.”

“It is. And if they try and get it during the load out, that's not going to work either. The whole display is set up separately from the Hitler materials. Including the bunker room. It's all finished and ready to go, and gets here by a series of trucks that are separate from the actual Hitler stuff. Neither one knows how the other is going, and they're required to take routes that are not obvious. The trucks are unmarked. Inside the truck is a container almost as secure as the one in the exhibits. There are Russian security officers with each truck and hitting one of the trucks would be as difficult as an armored car. You're just not going to get in there without an anti-tank weapon or a lot of time.”

I asked, “So when are they vulnerable?”

“Only one time. When they transfer the materials from the truck to the exhibit. It's about a half hour set-up while the exhibit bunker is open. They have to go in and dust, clean everything up, set it all up, and then secure it. There are a dozen Russian security, fully armed. There are local police, state police, and FBI. I don't think anybody could get within a hundred yards of that transfer.”

“Then they're going to hit it at the museum.”

“It's pretty tough. It's impenetrable. It literally is an armored car. I don't know how they'd get through it. They'd never get through the key pad on the door and they'll never find the guy with the combination.”

I pondered how these amateur thieves were going to break into this vault. “When are the Russians coming?”

Karen glanced at her watch. “They should be here in a few minutes.”

“Let's continue this when they get here.”

We ate in something of an awkward silence for the next ten minutes until the conference room phone rang. One of the other agents answered the phone. The Russians were there. “I'll go down and get them,” he said.

He returned in ten minutes with three Russian men, ranging in ages from thirty to fifty. They introduced themselves around, and it became clear that one of them was in charge. His name was Dmitri. He had a buzz haircut, was rather small, maybe five feet six inches, and had no sense of humor. His two colleagues were also from the FRB, the Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation, and were equally humorless. They looked uneasy being at the FBI station.

Karen offered them cookies from the leftover lunch, but they declined. Dmitri said, “You called us to this meeting in a great hurry. What is so important?”

Karen looked at me and then spoke before I could. “There's going to be an attempt on your exhibit.”

Dmitri frowned. “An attempt? For what?”

I answered. “To steal the Hitler items.”

“It's not possible. No one can do this.”

“Maybe so, but they're going to try,” I said.

Dmitri spoke rapidly in Russian to the other two men and then looked at me. “Who?”

I nodded. “A neo-Nazi group based in the Southern United States called the Southern Volk. They are determined to take the items from the bunker. They're going to do it this weekend while they're on display.”

“How do they propose to do this?”

“I don't know. I don't think they know. They're amateurs. From what I've heard of the security so far, I don't think they have a prayer of pulling it off.”

Dmitri nodded with some satisfaction. “That is my thinking too. Let them try. They will fail. They will not even get close.”

There was a pause while everyone realized the truth of what he said. But that wasn't where I wanted this conversation to go. I said, “I want you to let them succeed.”

“What? Let them succeed? Why would we do that?”

“Because it is to all our benefits if they do.”

Dmitri looked puzzled. “How?”

“In a few weeks all of the leaders of the biggest neo-Nazi movements in the world will meet in Germany, including, I might add, from Russia. A very wealthy German has bought a castle to train neo-Nazi groups, and is going to provide them with uniforms, weapons, propaganda, and worldwide leadership.”

“So?”

“The meeting is only for those who can persuade him, show him actually, that they're worthy of coming to Germany. We have someone inside the Southern Volk and we need to make sure they get invited. Their idea is to take these Hitler items from the bunker. From your bunker. We need to let them. I think that will almost guarantee that they get to Germany.”

Dmitri looked dumbfounded. “You want us to give these neo-Nazis Hitler's last items? Are you insane?”

“No. And I don't mean for you to give them his items. I was talking to Alex on the way down,” I indicated her next to me, “and we think we have a way to make this work. We can create near perfect forgeries of anything. Including clothing, shoes, desks, anything. I've looked at the photographs of the exhibit online. None of them are close up, and none of them are high quality.”

“No. We want people to come see the exhibit.”

“Exactly. But they don't really know what these items look like up close. They won't know the real from the fake. They won't have a high-resolution photo to compare them to. If we make copies, and if they're in the bunker, they won't even hesitate to think they're the originals.”

Dmitri actually smiled.

“What?”

Dmitri inhaled sharply and then exhaled and shook his head. “We thought perhaps the biggest difficulties with neo-Nazism was in Russia. We guard these bunker items in Moscow as if they were all the gold Russia owns. There is a very determined neo-Nazi group in Russia: The Russian National Unity Group, or the RNE. They're in two hundred fifty cities. They publish a newsletter with a circulation of one hundred fifty thousand. They call each other
Soratnik
,” he said, his tone dripping with anger and sarcasm. “Comrades in arms. They do military combat training near Moscow. They have openly declared their intention to overthrow the Russian government by force. We have long feared that they would try and use Hitler's items from the bunker as their icons. I thought in the United States we would be safe.”

“Do you have anybody inside the RNE?”

Dmitri looked intently at me. “I am not free to discuss our internal intelligence matters. But you can remain confident that we are doing everything that we can.” He continued, “I also need to know who will pay for the damage to our vault, our bunker.”

I said quickly, “I will. We will—the American government—you have my word.”

Alex and Karen both looked at me, obviously wondering how I could be so sure.

I said to Dmitri, “So how are we going to copy the items? Can we have access to the originals?”

Dmitri looked at the man next to him. “Sergei?”

He shook his head. “No. Not possible.”

I said to Sergei, “The best copies would be made off the originals.” Sergei shook his head. He wasn't having it. I didn't have time for this. “Then you must have good photos. And I'll need to see how they're displayed in the bunker.”

“Fine,” Sergei replied. “We have many good photographs.”

“I need a CD of all the best photos you've got. I need to get my people working on these things. I'll head up to D.C., and I'll be back by Friday. I don't know when these guys are going to hit, but I think it will be near the end of the exhibit. They wanted to go through the display several times. When does this display open to the public?”

Sergei said, “Saturday morning at 10:00 a.m.”

“Okay. We have to get you the substitutes by Friday.”

Dmitri nodded. “Sooner would be better. We should probably discuss what needs to be replaced exactly. We can't replace the desk because they'd never get it out of there. I think we need to look at what can be taken out by hand.”

Sergei agreed. “There are only four things anyone could carry out. His shoes, his walking stick, his hat, and his uniform.”

I asked, “How are his shoes still in existence? I thought his body was burned.”

“These were found in his closet.”

I thought for a minute. “Was his skull ever found?”

Dmitri responded, “His body was found by Russian soldiers. They were told to crush his skull with their rifles and break it into bits so there would be nothing for anyone to ever see again.”

“Which gave rise to the myths that Hitler lived on after the war.”

“I suppose, but it also kept the Hitler worshipers at home.”