Richard Franklin stared straight-ahead, a million thoughts tumbling through his brain. “John, before he died, your uncle and I decided some specific items should be preserved for posterity and for the sake of political history. Maybe it was a mistake but we both believed it was the right call to make at the time. The men who stole those boxes were only looking for cash and jewellery.”

“But, Dad, what if they stumble across what’s in that box?”

Richard Franklin leaned across and rested his arm on his son’s shoulder. “John, it’s in hand. I really don’t want you to worry about this. Matias Paz is all over it. He has all of Theodor’s resources focused on finding the thieves. I know we should have destroyed everything but, once they recover the contents of our box, I promise you I won’t make the same mistake again.”

Chapter Five

30 April 1945

Berlin

At precisely four in the morning, Adolf Hitler left his infamous bunker for the final time. Erich Kempka, his loyal driver since 1934, escorted the Führer to an unmarked Mercedes, accompanied by his new bride Eva Braun and his private secretary, Martin Bormann. A few minutes earlier, Bormann had arranged for Hitler’s barber, August Wollenhaupt, to be smuggled into the bunker with the express task of removing the Führer’s trademark moustache. Hitler’s fear of falling into the hands of the Red Army marginally outweighed his vanity and, at the last minute, he reluctantly agreed to Bormann’s request.

Wollenhaupt cursed under his breath as he waited nervously in the corridor outside Hitler’s study. He could feel his hands violently shaking; they were armed with a top grade cut-throat razor and a pair of black-handled stainless-steel scissors. He had been Hitler’s barber since 1932, but this was by far the most bizarre visit he had ever made to attend to the Führer’s needs. He clearly recognised the huge implications of what he had been requested to do. His mind was buzzing with questions when he suddenly caught sight of Bormann emerging at the end of the corridor, and, as he approached, he managed a half-hearted salute.

“Obergruppenführer, are you sure this is what the Führer wants?”

As soon as he uttered the words, he instantly regretted opening his mouth.

Bormann’s reply was laced with contempt. “Old man, it’s part of my plan and, if you wish to see your family again, you will not question it, especially when you are with the Führer.” Bormann’s eyes momentarily flicked down to the implements in the barber’s hands. “I just hope you can keep your hands steady enough to do the job.”

A few seconds later the door creaked open and Hitler’s valet poked his head out of the doorway, checking to see who was outside. “The Führer is ready for you now, Herr Wollenhaupt.”