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who was actually sobbing. “Come on, boy, we got out of Berlin, didn’t we? There’s nothing to cry about.”
    He called to the landlord, “The bill’s on me, my friend, let the beer flow.”
    He turned to Hoffer. “I’m so pleased to see you. Let’s sit down.”
    In a corner booth, they talked, young Schneider listening. “We’re getting by,” Hoffer said. “It’s mainly subsistence farming, but we’re all in it together. Everyone is taken care of.”
    “And you?”
    “Well, I act as bailiff. It gives me something to do.”
    “You haven’t…”
    “Found someone? No, Baron.”
    “What about the Schloss?”
    “We had the Americans for two years, so it’s in good condition. The thing you don’t know about is the… situation with Holstein Heath.”
    “And what would that be?”
    “When the border between the East and West was agreed on by the Allies, we should have been inside the Eastern zone, and Communist.”
    “I thought we were in the Western zone?”
    “Well, no, that’s it. We aren’t there either. The whole of the estate isn’t in either of the zones. Someone made a mistake drafting the map.”
    Max von Berger was astonished. “You mean we’re a kind of independent state?” He laughed out loud. “Like Monaco?”
    Hoffer, an intelligent man, said, “Well, not exactly. The police are technically West German. However, they’re all local boys, mostly ex-army or SS, so they see things our way.”
    “Excellent.” Von Berger drained his beer and stood up. “Show me the Schloss.”
    Hoffer did, and he’d been right. It was run-down, but the Americans hadn’t kicked it to pieces. Finally, they approached the chapel. It was dark in the early winter evening, but candles flickered close to the mausoleum. Von Berger stood and looked and noticed some winter roses.
    “Who are those from?”
    “Village women. They like to keep things right. It’s the same at the church for the others, my wife, the girls.”
    Von Berger said, “That day, Karl, those final killings. It wasn’t that I was leaving it to you. I felt you had a greater right.”
    “I know that, Baron.”
    “Do you ever regret what we did?”
    “Never.”
    “Good. Now, pay attention. We were comrades then and comrades now, and I am going to share my greatest secret with you.”
    He went behind the mausoleum and pressed the hidden catch. The statue groaned and moved. Von Berger reached in and took out the briefcase.
    “This is the true reason we left Berlin.” He opened it and extracted the blue book. “This is Hitler’s diary, Karl.”
    “My God in heaven,” Hoffer gasped. “Can this be true?”
    “Yes. I’ll tell you later what’s in it, but right now we’ll put it back.”
    He pressed the catch and the statue reversed into place. He fastened the briefcase and held it up.
    “And in here is the solution to all our financial problems. I’ll explain it to you as we go. The first thing we must do is visit Berger Steel. We’ll need decent suits and some sort of vehicle.”
    “I’ve still got a
Kübelwagen
from the war, Baron.”
    “Excellent. Stuttgart then, but Geneva first. That’s where the money is.”
     
    Geneva was amazingly easy. At the bank, the passwords and codes from the material given him by the Führer inspired immediate compliance. The rather ordinary-looking banker indicated how immense the resources were at his disposal, and he transferred ten million into a liquid personal account, thus establishing his name and status. The bank, in effect, jumped to attention.
    His next move was to contact Berger Steel’s lawyers in Munich, leading to a meeting on-site at the Stuttgart factory. They toured it with the general manager, Heinz. It was working, of course, but in a low-key manner, a certain amount of steel-making, but not much more than that.
    “As you can still see, we had bomb damage, but on the whole we were lucky and we’ve an excellent workforce,” Heinz told him.
    The lawyer, Henry Abel