Chapters (61)
- Prologue
- Chapter One
- Chapter Two
- Chapter Three
- Chapter Four
- Chapter Five
- Chapter Six
- Chapter Seven
- Chapter Eight
- Chapter Nine
- Chapter Ten
- Chapter Eleven
- Chapter Twelve
- Chapter Thirteen
- Chapter Fourteen
- Chapter Fifteen
- Chapter Sixteen
- Chapter Seventeen
- Chapter Eighteen
- Chapter Nineteen
- Chapter Twenty
- Chapter Twenty-One
- Chapter Twenty-Two
- Chapter Twenty-Three
- Chapter Twenty-Four
- Chapter Twenty-Five
- Chapter Twenty-Six
- Chapter Twenty-Seven
- Chapter Twenty-Eight
- Chapter Twenty-Nine
- Chapter Thirty
- Chapter Thirty-One
- Chapter Thirty-Two
- Chapter Thirty-Three
- Chapter Thirty-Four
- Chapter Thirty-Five
- Chapter Thirty-Six
- Chapter Thirty-Seven
- Chapter Thirty-Eight
- Chapter Thirty-Nine
- Chapter Forty
- Chapter Forty-One
- Chapter Forty-Two
- Chapter Forty-Three
- Chapter Forty-Four
- Chapter Forty-Five
- Chapter Forty-Six
- Chapter Forty-Seven
- Chapter Forty-Eight
- Chapter Forty-Nine
- Chapter Fifty
- Chapter Fifty-One
- Chapter Fifty-Two
- Chapter Fifty-Three
- Chapter Fifty-Four
- Chapter Fifty-Five
- Chapter Fifty-Six
- Epilogue
- Author’s Note
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
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.”