Spandau Phoenix. Greg Iles

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СКАЧАТЬ was standard procedure during the war, on both sides. Patton had one. Erwin Rommel also. Field Marshal Montgomery used an actor who could even imitate his voice to perfection. That’s the easiest part of this story to accept.”

      Ilse looked skeptical. “Maybe during the war,” she conceded. “From a distance. But what about the years in Spandau? What about Hess’s family?”

      Natterman smiled impishly. “What about them? Prisoner Number Seven refused to see Hess’s wife and son for the first twenty-eight years of his captivity.” He savored Ilse’s perplexed expression. “The factual discrepancies go on and on. Hess was a fastidious vegetarian, Prisoner Number Seven devoured meat like a tiger. Number Seven failed to recognize Hess’s secretaries at Nuremberg. He twice gave the British wrong birth dates for Hess, and he missed by two years. And on and on ad nauseam.”

      Ilse sat quietly, trying to take it all in. Beneath her thoughts, her anxiety for Hans buzzed like a low-grade fever.

      “Why don’t I let Number Seven speak for himself?” Natterman suggested. “Would you like to hear my translation?”

      Ilse forced herself not to look at the kitchen clock. He’s all right, she told herself. Just wait a little longer. “Yes, please,” she said.

      Putting his reading glasses back on, the professor opened his briefcase, cleared his throat, and began to read in the resonant tones of the born teacher:

       I, Prisoner Number Seven, write this testament in the language of the Caesars for one reason: I know with certainty that Rudolf Hess could not do so. I learned Latin and Greek at university in Munich from 1920 to 1923, but I learned that Hess did not know Latin at the most exclusive “school” in the world—Reinhard Heydrich’s Institute for Practical Deception—in 1936. At this “institute”—an isolated barracks compound outside Dessau—I also learned every other known fact about Hess: his childhood; military service; Party record; relationship with the Führer; and, most importantly, his personal idiosyncrasies. Ironically, one of the first facts I learned was that Hess had attended university in Munich at the same time I had, though I do not remember meeting him.

       I did not serve as a pilot in the First World War, but I joined one of Hermann Göring’s “flying clubs” between the wars. It was during an aerial demonstration in 1935 that the Reichsmarschall first noticed my remarkable resemblance to Deputy-Führer Hess. At the time I did not make much of the encounter—comrades had often remarked on this resemblance—but seven months later I was visited at the factory where I worked by two officers of Heydrich’s SD. They requested me to accompany them on a mission of special importance to the Reich. From Munich I was flown to the “Practical School” building outside Dessau. I never saw my wife and daughter again.

       During the first week at the school I was completely isolated from my fellow students. I received my “orientation” from Standartenführer Ritter Graf, headmaster of the Institute. He informed me that I had been selected to fulfill a mission of the highest importance to the Führer. My period of training—which would be lengthy and arduous, he said—was to be carried out in total secrecy. I soon learned that this meant total separation from my family. To alleviate the stress of this separation, Graf showed me proof that my salary from the factory had been doubled, and that the money was being forwarded to my wife.

       After one week I met the other students. I cannot express the shock I felt. In one room in one night I saw the faces of not only famous Party Gauleiters and Wehrmacht generals, but also the most celebrated personalities of the Reich. At last I knew what my mission was. Hermann Göring had not forgotten my resemblance to Rudolf Hess; it was Göring who had given my name to Reinhard Heydrich, the SD commander responsible for the program.

       There were many students at the Institute. Some completed the program, others did not. The unlucky ones paid for their failure in blood. We were constantly reminded of this “incentive.” One of the most common causes for “dismissal” from the school was the use of one’s real name. Two slip-ups were forgiven. The third guaranteed erschiessen (execution). We were known by our “role” names, or, in situations where these were not practical, by our former ranks—in my case Hauptmann.

       I trained in an elite group. There were eight of us: “Hitler” (3 “students” studied him); “Göring”; “Himmler”; “Goebbels”; “Streicher”; and myself—“Hess.” The training for our group lasted one year. During that year I had four personal interviews with Deputy-Führer Hess. The rest of my training was accomplished through study of newsreels and written records. During our training, several of the “doubles” for the Party Gauleiters left the school to begin their duties. Apparently their roles did not require so much preparation as ours.

       At the end of the training period my group was broken up and sent to various locations to await duty. I was sent first to Gronau, where I was kept in isolation, then later to a remote airfield at Aalborg, Denmark. I repeatedly requested to be allowed to see my wife and daughter, but by this time Germany was at war and my requests were summarily rejected. I spent my time in solitude, reviewing my Hess materials and occasionally being visited by an SD officer. I did have access to newspapers, and from them I deduced that Hess’s position in the Nazi hierarchy seemed to have declined somewhat in favor of the generals since the outbreak of war. I took this to be the reason I had not yet been assigned a mission.

       I must admit that, in spite of the hardship of the duty, I was very proud of the degree to which I could impersonate the Deputy Führer. During my final interview with Hess at the school, he was so shocked by my proficiency that his reaction verged on disorientation. Actually, a few of the other “students” had honed their skills to a finer edge than my own, but what happened to them I have no idea …

      Natterman removed his spectacles, put the papers back into his briefcase, then closed and locked it. “A rather detailed story to be made up out of thin air, wouldn’t you say? And that’s only the first two pages.”

      Ilse was smiling with satisfaction. “Very detailed,” she agreed. “So detailed that it destroys your earlier argument. If this ‘double’ was so meticulously trained to imitate Hess, he certainly wouldn’t make factual mistakes as obvious as missing Hess’s birthday, or eating meat when Hess was a vegetarian. Would he?”

      Natterman met his granddaughter’s triumphant smile with one of his own. “Actually, I’ve been thinking about that since I first translated the papers. You’re quite right: a trained double wouldn’t make factual mistakes like that—not unless he did so on purpose.”

      Ilse’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

      “Just this. Since the double remained silent for all these years, he could only have done so for one of two reasons: either he was a fanatical Nazi right up until the end, which I don’t accept, or—and this is supported by the papers—the fear of some terrible retribution kept him from speaking out. If we accept that scenario, Number Seven’s ‘mistakes’ appear to me to be a cry for help—a quiet but desperate attempt to provoke skeptics to investigate his case and thus uncover the truth. And believe me, that cry was heard. Hundreds of scholars and authors have investigated the case. Dozens of books have been written, more every year.” Natterman held up an admonishing finger. “The more relevant question is this: Why would the real Hess make such mistakes?”

      “Because he was crazy!” Ilse retorted. “Everyone’s known that for years.”

      “Everyone has said that for years,” Natterman corrected. “Hitler СКАЧАТЬ