Chapters (58)
- Cover
- Dedication
- Chapter 1
- Chapter 2
- Chapter 3
- Chapter 4
- Chapter 5
- Chapter 6
- Chapter 7
- Chapter 8
- Chapter 9
- Chapter 10
- Chapter 11
- Chapter 12
- Chapter 13
- Chapter 14
- Chapter 15
- Chapter 16
- Chapter 17
- Chapter 18
- Chapter 19
- Chapter 20
- Chapter 21
- Chapter 22
- Chapter 23
- Chapter 24
- Chapter 25
- Chapter 26
- Chapter 27
- Chapter 28
- Chapter 29
- Chapter 30
- Chapter 31
- Chapter 32
- Chapter 33
- Chapter 34
- Chapter 35
- Chapter 36
- Chapter 37
- Chapter 38
- Chapter 39
- Chapter 40
- Chapter 41
- Chapter 42
- Chapter 43
- Chapter 44
- Chapter 45
- Chapter 46
- Chapter 47
- Chapter 48
- Chapter 49
- Chapter 50
- Chapter 51
- What Happened to the Witnesses?
- Acknowledgements
- About the Author
- Rory Clements Readers’ Club
- Letter from Author
‘He was a travel writer, a man who went to many countries and counted many great men among his acquaintances and friends. He’s dead now. Five months ago, as the Allies closed in, he and his wife dug graves for themselves, then killed themselves with poison and bullets. They had been living in a little wooden house on our land near Walchensee and they are interred nearby in the woods. He wanted no stone, no memorial. His books sold in millions, but I predict that the Allies will not allow him to be remembered, for he believed wholeheartedly in the National Socialist cause.’
Wilde looked at his watch ostentatiously.
‘Forgive me, Professor, am I boring you? You asked how I met Julius. That would have been 1936. Colin Ross hosted a dinner party and Julius and I both happened to be invited. We hit it off and were great friends ever since. I rather think Colin was trying to get us together, as though we had a similar world view. Certainly I took to Julius immediately, as did my wife, Henriette.’
‘Where is Boden now?’
‘I told you. I don’t know if Julius is even alive.’
‘And his wife?’
‘He has never married.’
‘What about his parents? Where are they?’
‘I heard that his father had died, but I imagine that Ilse Boden is still living in the family home in Schwarzenkirche. Go and talk to her. She should know her son’s fate.’
‘Does the house have a name or number?’
Schirach laughed. ‘It is called the Bauernhof Edelweiss. A rather quaint name for such a grand farming enterprise. It is not difficult to find. There are not more than forty or fifty houses in Schwarzenkirche and everyone there pays homage to the Boden family. In England you would call them liege lords.’
‘I believe Julius Boden was also seen as a bit of a war hero.’
‘Indeed. The greatest of war heroes and much decorated. Iron Cross First Class, Knight’s Cross with Oak Leaves and I don’t know what else.’
‘And he was SS?’
‘Jah, he was.’
‘They were the cruellest of the cruel. Real savages. War criminals to a man. How come an urbane fellow such as yourself counted him as a friend.’
‘Julius was a soldier, but I do not believe he was a savage. I cannot believe it.’
‘I bet they all say that now.’
‘But in the case of Julius it is true. He is – or was – a man of great honour and courage. He believed in the military code, as did I. It was something we tried to inculcate in our Hitler Youth.’
‘One more thing. Where is Hitler?’
‘A question I have been asked many times. I was not in the bunker, but I have been told that he is dead and I have no reason to disbelieve the reports.’
‘If your friend Boden had rescued him from the bunker, where would he have taken him to hide?’