The German Connection (True Fiction Series Book 1) Read online

  The German Connection

  Ben Goetz

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Nine Bob Note Publishing

  Copyright © Ben Goetz 2013

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this publication may be copied, reproduced in any format, by any means, electronic or otherwise, without prior consent from the copyright owner and publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, names, places and events are the product of the author's imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or any locales is entirely coincidental.

  Cover Design: The Racquet Lounge

  Edited By: Morissa Schwartz

  Free Books : Ben Goetz

  OTHER BOOKS FROM BEN GOETZ

  The American Deception

  The British Evasion

  Contents

  Introduction

  Chapter 1. West Germany

  Chapter 2. Washington DC

  Chapter 3. Don't Tell

  Chapter 4. The Spider

  Chapter 5. Bavaria

  Chapter 6. Uncle Martin

  Chapter 7. Promised

  Chapter 8. Secret Agent

  Chapter 9. Berlin

  Chapter 10. Loan Sharks

  Chapter 11. Back To The Beginning

  Chapter 12. The Israelis

  Chapter 13. The New York Times

  Chapter 14. Buenos Aires

  Chapter 15. Suicide

  Chapter 16. South America

  Chapter 17. Contact

  Chapter 18. Smart Dress

  Chapter 19. Making Sure

  Chapter 20. Meeting An Old Friend

  Chapter 21. Rude Awakening

  Chapter 22. No Show

  Chapter 23. Right Wing Party

  Chapter 24. Family Reunion

  Chapter 25. Safe Passage

  Chapter 26. Walking Stick

  Chapter 27. Get Going

  Chapter 28. Welcome

  Chapter 29. Fingerprints

  Chapter 30. Identity

  Chapter 31. Thinking

  The American Deception

  Prologue

  Chapter 1. Damaged

  Chapter 2. The Right Profile

  Introduction

  The first part of my assignment was to create a new identity for myself, under the tutelage of Josh Levin, a respected go-getter at the agency. A placement under Josh was considered to be fortunate, he had an excellent track record of bringing along new agents quickly, and training them to be very competent. I was just starting my career as an agent, but because of my background and the strong recommendation from Josh, “basically, he's the only guy we have capable of doing the job,” I was a shoe in for this particular assignment. Forging a new identity is much harder nowadays because of advances like easy access to information on the Internet, face recognition software, fast access to fingerprint databases, et al. Back in the late 80's however, when I was starting out, it was much easier to be whoever you wanted to be, all you needed were the right papers and a well produced back-story.

  How I got here is...complicated.

  Chapter 1. West Germany

  My dad, a former agent himself; raised me because my mom had unfortunately died while giving birth to my younger sister. When I was a child he was obsessed with keeping our identities safe. My sister and I were never allowed to tell anyone who was not approved by our dad where we lived or what our names were; we kept our destinations secret and tried to prevent any photos being taken of us. We also could not reveal any personal information about ourselves, and my dad always made sure we understood the rules; there was no room for mistakes. Maybe that's why even today I do not own a smart-phone or have a Facebook account.

  My dad was not one to talk too much about what he did, but when we got older, he explained why he was so secretive about our personal information. He said that his job was top secret and that the people he dealt with would like nothing more than to get access to one of his family members, and take them hostage or possibly kill them to get at him, so this is the way it had to be…always.

  We spent a lot of time in West Germany when we were growing up, because my dad was posted there; we went to an International school, but we had many friends who were locals in the Berlin suburbs. My best friend was a German kid called Johann Adler. We were together most evenings after school and at weekends, and to make us feel at home, his family often spoke to my sister and I in English, as well as German.

  Many of the foreign kids I went to school with did not mix with the locals; they didn't venture far away from the Military bases or their homes, so their German was poor compared to mine. Once I had lived there for a while, I spoke to the locals only in German, it lead to my school friends calling me “the kraut,” because I spent all my spare time with the German kids. The upside was that I learned to be one of them and blend in, my German friends taught me their slang and treated me like one of them.

  I realized at a young age that I was a good mimic, I could hear someone speak and instantly do a decent impression of them. I could do a flawless one of my friend Johann; we also looked very similar, so we would often pretended that we were brothers just for fun. Unfortunately, as with most jobs abroad, my dad's time in Germany eventually came to an end and we moved back to Washington DC, just after my 18th birthday.

  Chapter 2. Washington DC

  I stayed in contact with Johann but did not see him for almost three and a half years, then one day out of the blue he announced that he was coming to America in the summer to visit my family and I. This was great news, I had been having a hard time adjusting to living back in the US. I had already spent three years at Georgetown University, but still did not feel as though I fit in. I was pretty much a loner the whole time I was there, except for the three girls that I dated, none of which lasted more than six months.

  The summer came and Johann arrived, he stayed at our summer house in Lake Barcroft, Virginia with my dad, my sister and me. We went out on our little motorboat, swam in the lake and did the usual fun, summer stuff, including getting drunk on the illicit beers we sneaked in when my dad was not around, everything was pretty much perfect.

  On one of the last days that we were there, Johann and I went fishing together and got really drunk. By the time we started to walk back to the house the sun was going down and we were very much the worse for wear. We began talking about our days in Germany, and how secretive my dad was with us. We laughed about the silliness of it all and about some of the kids we used to hang out with, I could still do fairly accurate impressions of many of them. After about 20 minutes of walking and reminiscing, Johann said that he had a story about his own family that he would like to share with me.

  Chapter 3. Don't Tell

  Johann began his story, “The way things were for your family with your dad's insistence on secrecy would probably be strange to most people, but not to me. I too have some family secrets of my own.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  “I can only tell you this because I trust you, if you tell anyone it could endanger my life, and possibly my family.”

  I calmed his fears and told him that he knew me better than that; I would never betray his trust, unless he was a serial killer or something crazy like that, then maybe I would!

  He laughed in his booming German tone and said, “No, I have never killed anyone, but maybe some of my family has?” he spoke the last few words very quietly, just above a whisper.

  “The family that you know as mine, they are not my real family, and Johann is not even my real name.”

  “Are you joking? What the hell is your na
me then, were you adopted or something?”

  “No,” he replied, “Well, sort of. When my parents had me my father was much older, and unfortunately a drunk driver killed my mother. My father was left to bring me up, which he did for a few months, but it became impossible because of all the traveling involved in his work, so the Adler family took me in. They owed my father a great debt so they agreed to raise me as their own. My real name is Klaus Schreiber.”

  I was shocked, I would never have guessed they were not a real blood related family, they even looked similar.

  “Wow, so neither of us knew our real mothers, at least I know my real dad, but what about yours?” I asked.

  “He was still in my life, he used to take me out on trips to very high brow parties, reunions with his old work friends, the Opera and Museums. He told me he was a soldier in the war, and he showed me his medals and many old pictures, he took me to Spain on several occasions in the summertime.”

  Johann stopped when we reached a clearing at the edge of the woods, we took a seat on an old tree stump and cracked open our last two beers, and then he continued.

  “As I got older, my father told me more stories with more detail; he would always stop at a certain point and ask me what I thought about the things he had just told me. I think he was trying to gauge how much he should tell me, and to see if I was shocked or upset by what he had said.

  This is where it gets a little more interesting.” He took a deep breath and smiled at me.

  Chapter 4. The Spider

  Johann carried on with his story. “My father told me that he mainly worked in Spain for an organization called Die Spinne (The Spider). They helped what he called, 'old soldiers' retire to South America after the war, which explained why he had spent so much time there during my early childhood.

  Once I was old enough to comprehend what he was telling me, which was probably when I was around 13 or so, he went in to much greater detail. He was very proud of what he had done during the war, he told me that I should be wary of believing the history books that I read at school, they were just propaganda written by the enemy. He said they only served to make the victors look heroic, by making the German people look bad.”

  I interrupted, “That must have been a bit of a shocker, to hear your dad talking like that and being so proud about something so horrible?”

  “He made it all sound like they were just soldiers defending their homeland, but that is just the tip of the iceberg.”

  I took another sip of beer and listened intently. I didn't know it at the time, but Johann was just getting warmed up.

  “At a certain point, my father obviously thought that he could really trust me, because one evening he came clean about everything, it was just before we went to a party at a huge castle in Bavaria.

  He told me that he had been a Nazi in the SS, but even more shocking was at the end of the war he was one of Hitler's personal assistants, and present in Hitler's Bunker (or, 'Führerbunker,' as he called it), in Berlin.”

  This was becoming quite a story, but I was not totally shocked. Many of the parents and grandparents of the local kids we knew in Berlin were soldiers during the war, but I do not remember any of them professing to know, or to have even met, Hitler himself.

  I had to ask him, “Did your father commit any atrocities?”

  “No,” he said firmly. “He was never at a concentration camp or anything like that, but he served one of the most evil men who has ever lived, that's not something I would want on my resume'.”

  I was eager to hear more. How many times in your life does your best friend tell you that his dad knew Adolf Hitler, as bad as that may sound…

  “So what happened to your real dad, where is he now?”

  “He is still alive; he now lives in Austria, he is retired from the organization. I see him several times a year and we talk once a week on the telephone, he is well looked after by his old comrades and the younger members of The Spider.”

  I was surprised, “You mean the organization still exists?”

  “Yes, they are still strong and operating, there are still old Nazis alive in South America, the USA and many other countries. The organization continues to look after them and protect their identities and their families. There is still a lot of money to be made from these old Nazis and their contacts and family friends, they have helped many leaders to get into power by funding them, and when any of the old guard retires, their offspring take over.”

  It was hard to believe that there were Nazis were still around, but doing the math made it obvious many of them could easily still be alive. It just all seemed so long ago, so, in black and white.

  Chapter 5. Bavaria

  Johann continued, “On the day of the party my father took me into town and bought me a new suit. I was surprised how well known he was, people bowed and shook his hand, and called him sir. Many of them refused to take payment for things that we bought, they all insisted that they were gifts and that serving him was an honor. To a young boy this was very impressive. I felt as though my father was a very important man, and that as his son I was also special, it was easy to get caught up in it all.

  That night a limousine picked us up from our hotel and whisked us to the party through the quiet, still, Bavarian night. The venue was a huge castle all lit up on the top of a hill. When we got closer I could see armed guards patrolling outside, checking the cars entering the castle.

  When we arrived a man opened our limo door and showed us to the entrance, we walked inside into a reception area. The interior was as grand as the outside had suggested. We were checked in and guided down a long hallway decorated with lots of old looking artwork. There were many other guests wandering around, holding drinks doing the usual party type stuff, many of them said hello or nodded and smiled to my father, some came up and shook his hand.

  We reached the end of the hallway and entered into a magnificent ballroom, there was an ensemble playing Wagner on a stage at one end of the room, and there were 50 or so people standing around drinking and talking to each other. We were formally announced at the door, it seemed like the whole room turned to look at us, there was a hubbub of excitement. A uniformed man lead us through the crowd, and many more people came up to greet my father. We went to the far side of the room and settled near a grand fireplace in a cordoned off area. This kept everyone away from us except a few other select guests. I may not have been sure who my father was at the time, but everyone else seemed to know him.

  Then another man arrived, his announcement seemed to bring as much excitement to the room as my father's did. He also came into the private section and greeted my father warmly, like a long lost brother, he introduced himself to me as Wilhelm. He stood and spoke to my father for 20 minutes, joking and laughing, while I gazed around the room marveling at all the rich looking people having a good time. To a kid from the less salubrious suburbs of Berlin, everything seemed fantastic, I was certainly not used to such opulence.

  Eventually we sat down to dinner at the head of a long table in the middle of the dinning hall. We ate a sumptuous five course dinner and then sat and listened to some speeches; my father was mentioned and praised in a few of them.

  Dinner finished and my father left me in the main hall, so he could go and speak with some of his friends and their families. While I stood there I noticed my stepfather, Mr. Adler, in the crowd, so I went up and asked him what he was doing at the party?

  He explained that my father had helped his family after the war, he said he was indebted to him and had come to pay his respects and to help raise funds for the old soldiers.

  I remembered overhearing many conversations about old soldiers and money between Mr. Adler and a man who often visited our house. He was always asking for 'donations for our old comrades.' Mr. Adler could never afford to pay him, even though it seemed as though the man looked after Mr. Adler's father. He always eventually gave in and usually handed the man a stack of American dollars from his safe.”

&n
bsp; Chapter 6. Uncle Martin

  At this point Johann (or Klaus, as I guess he now was) and I stood up and started walking toward the lake-house again, we had been out there a while and it was beginning to get cold. Klaus continued telling the story as we walked along.

  “A few minutes after Mr. Adler had left the room, my father came back and said he wanted to take me to meet someone very important. We went upstairs to a smaller room that was guarded by two armed men, they saluted my father and let us go in. We walked in and I saw a large table with a throne like chair behind it and four other chairs facing it on the other side. Three of the chairs were occupied by old men, one of whom was Wilhelm. They all stood up and saluted my father, and shook his hand. My father sat down on the one remaining chair and told me to stand next to him and be quiet.

  We waited for around ten minutes, the three men all chatted to my father about money and some other people they all knew. All of a sudden the door opened and four men dressed in all black, armed with machine guns, came into the room, behind them was a man walking slowly with a stick, he was a short man, very rotund, and very serious looking.

  Wilhelm walked over first and greeted the man, 'Party Chancellor Bormann, finally, I cannot begin to convey how happy I am to see you after all this time.'

  The man smiled and shook his hand, my father then walked up to him and he gave him a warm embrace and heartily shook his hand. He said, 'This is the man we should all be happy to see, without him we would have lost many of our comrades, he has saved so many, and made it possible for me to be here tonight to once again breathe the pure air of the fatherland.'

  He shook the hands of the other two men and sat down on the big chair behind the desk. He ordered his guards to leave, and it was then that he spotted me, 'Who is this fine young man then?' he asked.

  'This is my son, Klaus, Herr Chancellor. I was hoping that he could also have the honor of meeting you this evening?' My father replied.

  'Of course, I love to meet the new generation, how are we ever going to get anywhere without them, after all, we are just tired old men now.'