The first thing he noticed were the gold initials M.B. He shut his eyes for a moment and tried to visualise Bormann carrying the case into important meetings with his father. He flicked the twin catches, opened the top and peered inside. For the next couple of hours, he scrutinised the carefully filed documents and viewed the black-and-white photos, many of which featured his parents and Bormann. He was particularly fascinated by the pictures that had been taken on board the boat. He’d never seen them before but his mother had spoken many times of the marathon sea crossing and he had always struggled to visualise the true hardship of the journey. The photos confirmed the oppressive, claustrophobic atmosphere of the interior cabins, and, for the first time in his life, he felt able to understand the sheer drama and deprivation that his parents had suffered in fleeing Germany. He noted the two 8mm film cans and figured they probably contained personal footage of his father and Bormann, no doubt shot by his mother.

Finally, he opened the yellow tobacco tin that contained his father’s war medals. He placed them in a neat line on the quilt, turning them over one at a time to read the engravings. He’d always known his father had been awarded the Iron Cross but had assumed it had been lost during the chaos of the last-minute escape from Berlin.

On his deathbed, Bormann had left him with an enormous dilemma. The contents of the case were of huge historical value, as they provided unquestionable proof of the authentic chronology of Hitler’s escape from Berlin and his post-war existence in Argentina. He fully understood why Bormann had protected the unique collection but he also knew that, should it fall into the wrong hands, the master plan he was in the process of enacting would implode.

In the end, he was guided by his gut instinct and used the landline in Bormann’s apartment to book an appointment with the manager of the Banco Estero. Two hours later, he sat in the back of a taxi on the way to the airport, clutching the key to Box 1321 in his hand, wondering if he’d made the right decision.

Chapter Fifty-Two

30 January 2012

San Francisco

Franklin was alone in the boardroom, having just finished a series of management meetings, when his personal assistant buzzed through.

“Sir, the pilot’s confirmed everything is in order for your trip to Phoenix this afternoon. The flight time is just over two hours, so if you want to make the Convention Center in good time for John’s speech, you need to be airborne by three.”

“That works for me. I’ll probably stay over, so book me into the same hotel as John.”

“Sir, there’s one other thing. Lieutenant Hembury from the LAPD has just been on. He says he needs to speak with you urgently.”