The Counterfeit Candidate, page 7
Paz was kneeling on the floor, desperately clawing through the final bag. Yet again he was thwarted, as there was no sign of the contents of Franklin’s box. He was about to ask his men to recheck everything one more time when his earpiece broke into life.
“Boss, a police car has just pulled up outside. Two cops are heading your way.”
One of Paz’s men, Thiago Rivas, was positioned outside the front of the building in a black transit and he watched as two police officers made their way towards the front entrance of the housing estate. Ramos’s flat had a tiny backyard that was accessed from the kitchen door.
Paz and his men headed for the only exit left to them and climbed over the wall, which led directly on to a small side street. He screamed down his wrist mic, “Thiago, swing the transit around to the back of the estate.”
At the same moment the two officers entered Ramos’s flat, Paz and his men were clambering into the back of a blacked-out van. Héctor Santos was the senior of the two patrol cops and had worked the same beat for nearly twenty years, but he’d never seen a sight like this before. The entire floor of the apartment had been savagely ripped apart and was covered with what he figured must be millions of dollars’ worth of items. In the corner of the room lay the prone body of Sebastian Ramos. His green eyes were wide open and appeared to be staring directly back at him. The blood surrounding the bullet wound in his forehead had started to congeal into a grotesque crust.
The rookie cop turned to his superior. “Héctor, what the fuck has gone on here?”
Santos flicked down the switch on his chest-mounted radio. “This is Officer Santos. We are in apartment 1B at the main housing estate on Avenida da Lacarra. We have a murder scene and we urgently need senior backup.”
There was little traffic on the road and the black transit made its way swiftly back towards the offices of Theodor Consultants. No one had spoken since the sudden retreat from Ramos’s apartment and the men on board knew better than to attempt to break the awkward silence as their boss was evidently seething with anger.
Paz decided to call Luciano to bring him up to speed and reached inside his jacket pocket for his mobile. In an instant he remembered he had left the broken phone behind in the flat on the dining table. At that moment, he let out a terrifying cry which sounded more like a howl than a scream.
* * *
Vargas and Torres stood over the slain body of Sebastian Ramos. He had patently suffered at the hands of the same torturer as his friend, Ricardo Gonzales, and now two of the three bank robbers were dead.
Torres looked away from the corpse and turned to his boss. “Identical M.O. as before. Interrogation and then a single gunshot to the head. I’m betting ballistics will confirm that Ramos was shot with the same gun that killed both members of the Gonzales family. Ramos obviously hid his share under the floor while Gonzales used his father’s shed but, otherwise, the story is the same.”
Vargas nodded in agreement as he stared grimly at the outlandish crime scene. “Once again, the haul is left behind, but what we don’t know is whether they found what they were looking for this time. Yet again, these bastards have a head start on us. Get the team to check out the immediate families and close friends of both our victims and see if anyone jumps out as a possible suspect. It’s vital we locate his whereabouts before they do.”
Vargas was turning to leave when he spotted the broken mobile on the dining table. Torres handed him a pair of transparent latex gloves to slip on before picking it up.
“Must be Ramos’s phone, sir. I’ll get the boys to bag it up and bring it back to the station.”
Vargas didn’t reply. He continued to stare at the horrific image frozen underneath the broken glass of the mobile. Despite the cracks on the screen, he could clearly make out the corpse of Ricardo Gonzales. He angled the screen for Torres to see.
“No, Juan. This phone doesn’t belong to Sebastian Ramos. It belongs to his murderer.”
Chapter Fifteen
September 1946
El Calafate
In September 1946, three highly significant events took place within two weeks of each other. Ronald Franklin, aka Martin Bormann, founded a new business based in Buenos Aires. Emilia Franklin, aka Eva Braun, gave birth to a son, and the Nuremberg trials issued their verdicts on 199 high-ranking Nazis, who were being tried for war crimes.
Bormann was a genius of finance and administration and, in the fifteen months following his arrival in Argentina, had deployed some of the massive sums he had secretly invested in South American banks to create a brand-new enterprise: the Franklin Pharmaceutical Corporation. He recognised that, in the post-war era, the pharma industry would flourish and that drug manufacturers would be intrinsically linked to the economic well-being of developing nations. His long-term plan was to migrate the company to the United States and build it into the biggest pharmaceutical corporation in the world.
He greatly admired American giants such as Johnson & Johnson, Merck and Pfizer, viewing them as a template for his new enterprise. Bormann diverted over fifty million dollars into setting it up from scratch, recruiting the very best talent. He sought out research scientists, biotech specialists, industrial pharmacists and experienced senior management. He also funded the purchase of a major new office development in a prime location and kitted out three floors of the building with purpose-built labs, stacked full of state-of-the-art equipment.
There was a significant German population living in Argentina, with over forty thousand based in the capital alone. Many of them wielded great economic influence inside the country and controlled a considerable part of the nation’s industrial, chemical and electrical goods production. A number of them were Nazi sympathisers who revered Ronald Franklin as, despite his altered physical features, they were aware of his true identity and were in total awe of him.
In December 1945, six months after their secret arrival into the country, Bormann invited a hand-picked group of businessmen for a weekend stay at El Blondi, where they were granted a brief audience with the Führer. Rumours had been circulating for months among pro-Nazi elite circles that Hitler and Bormann had escaped from Berlin and set up a home somewhere in the Santa Cruz area. Once the businessmen had seen Hitler for themselves and confirmed the rumours were true, Bormann became the most powerful and significant figure in Buenos Aires. Financially, he had access to seemingly unlimited funds and, politically, he had the support and protection of the Perón regime. For the second time in his life, he found himself at the centre of a country’s economic and political power base.
Three years earlier, in 1943, Bormann had started to learn Spanish and English: essential skills he knew he’d require in order to pull off his long-term plan. Two female tutors, specialising in the respective languages, came to his house every day at separate times. The lessons only stopped when he was forced to move into the bunker. Within a week of relocating to El Calafate, he’d recruited a local schoolteacher who was fluent in both, a huge bonus for Bormann as it saved him precious time. He was a dedicated student, and when he chaired the first ever board meeting of Franklin Pharmaceuticals on 17 September 1946 his English was getting there but he was fluent in Spanish, albeit with an unmistakable German accent.
He glanced around the impressive boardroom at the assembled directors, some of whom were meeting for the first time. He had poached most of them from rival pharmaceutical companies located throughout South America. An easy task as he had tripled their salaries and offered generous sign-on bonuses in order to entice them away from their jobs.
“Gentlemen, welcome to the birth of a new enterprise. Today, we begin life as a virgin company with zero status. In five years, we will be the largest pharma company in South America and, in twenty years, the Franklin Corporation will be the biggest pharmaceutical company in the world.”
No one in the boardroom who heard Ronald Franklin’s opening words had any doubt he would achieve his aim.
* * *
Ten days later, at three o’clock in the morning, Eva Braun gave birth to an eight-pound baby boy. Hitler and the Third Reich had gained an heir. Richard George Franklin entered the world at precisely three fifteen in the morning, after Braun had gone through two days of difficult labour. Hitler insisted on the choice of the baby’s middle name as a tribute to his paternal grandfather, Johann Georg Hiedler.
It had been a complicated pregnancy and, on two occasions, Braun had nearly miscarried, so Bormann had arranged for a local midwife to live at the house for the last three months, just in case the baby was premature but, in the end, Richard was born only two days early.
Such was Bormann’s deference towards the Führer, he let five hours pass before informing him of the overnight birth, waiting until the maid had taken him his breakfast tray. Hitler was sitting up in bed, scooping out some yolk from a boiled egg, when Bormann knocked and entered.
“Führer, I have excellent news. Eva has delivered you a healthy son and both are well. She has fulfilled her duty. When you are ready, I’ll ask the midwife to bring the baby to you.”
Hitler smiled and rested his spoon on the silver tray. “Martin, tell me, how should I feel? You’ve experienced this so many times. I feel absolutely nothing. Why do I have no desire to see the baby?”
Bormann was not surprised by Hitler’s indifference and had expected the low-key reaction.
“Yes, as a father of ten, I can tell you they only become interesting once they can converse. But, Führer, this baby is special as he will eventually take forward your legacy and continue your bloodline.”
Hitler rarely joked but he laughed out loud at what he was about to say.
“Martin, my sources tell me you have spread your genes far and wide and that you have fathered many more children than those you refer to with your wife, or should I say the ten you admit to.”
This was the first time in their entire working relationship that Hitler had ever shown any interest in Bormann’s personal life and he relished the moment.
“I’m proud to say I take every opportunity to extend my pure bloodline and to the best of my knowledge, I have fathered another ten at least.”
Bormann was known to be a serial womaniser and, in his previous existence, had made no secret of his relationship with a famous theatre actress, whom he openly referred to as his second wife. He also regularly engaged in other extramarital affairs and both his spouse and mistress had little choice but to accept the public humiliation.
Bormann was not a handsome man. He was short and stocky and possessed little charisma or charm. However, he was an unstoppable force of nature who was happy to exploit the power and influence of his position to seduce women.
Hitler downed his glass of orange juice and continued to smile at Bormann.
“Martin, it seems that, in the matter of paternity, I am no match for you. Inform the midwife to bring the baby to my room. I am ready to meet my son.”
“Yes, Führer.”
Bormann left the room feeling totally ecstatic. Braun had produced an heir for the Führer and the next part of his plan had been successfully executed.
* * *
In late September, the infamous Nuremberg trials drew to a close and sentences were handed down to senior representatives of the Nazi regime. Bormann had been following events closely through local radio and newspaper coverage. In addition, he was constantly updated on his telex machine by pro-Nazi allies, still based inside Germany. Throughout the trials, Hitler’s mood swings heightened as he became increasingly agitated. Bormann noted that the Führer’s daily cocaine intake almost doubled overnight. He met with Hitler in his study once a week to give him an update on developments. On 1 October, just four days after Braun gave birth, Bormann briefed the Führer on the grim details of the sentences.
“Göring, Streicher and Ribbentrop have all been sentenced to death.”
Hitler’s hands were trembling and he glared at Bormann as he digested the information. He eventually nodded and then carefully wrote the names down on a pad in front of him. Despite his best efforts, the writing was an illegible scrawl.
“What about Albert?”
Bormann knew that Albert Speer, the renowned architect, was one of the Führer’s oldest friends and a close ally. In 1942, Hitler had appointed him minister of armaments and, in that capacity, he had been responsible for supervising the use of slave labour from the occupied territories in the production of munitions.
“Speer has been sentenced to twenty years.”
Hitler grimaced and added to his unreadable notes. “What about the traitor, Hess?”
“Führer, he escaped the death penalty but has been sentenced to life imprisonment.”
Hitler was clearly distressed to hear his former deputy had escaped the hangman’s rope. He burst into life, smashing his fists on the desktop. This brief flash of rage instantly reminded Bormann of the psychotic, unstable nature of the man who had once been the most powerful leader in the Western world.
“Martin, we need to find a way to end his life inside prison. It is an outrage he has been spared. He must die …” there was a long pause before the Führer completed the sentence “… and he must suffer first.”
Bormann knew this was an impossible request to fulfil, but was happy to humour the Führer.
“Of course. I will issue instructions.”
Bormann stood up to leave but Hitler had one final question.
“Martin, what about you?”
Bormann’s face broke into a devilish grin. “Führer, this very day I have been sentenced to death by hanging.”
Chapter Sixteen
12 January 2012
Buenos Aires
Paz sat in the cemetery at his usual spot. He stared at the imposing statue of Firpo, desperately hoping to find some inspiration to help determine his next move. He had two important phone calls to make and opted to make the easier one first. He pulled out his newly acquired burner and punched in Luciano’s number from memory.
“Luci, it’s been a shitstorm of a morning. Can you believe that bastard Ramos hid his cut under the fucking floorboards of his flat? We went through everything but no sign of our stuff.”
Herrera could sense the desperation in Paz’s voice. “Boss, did he give up anything that can help us find out where the hell García is and what he did with his share?”
“He knew fuck all, Luci. He said the three of them made a pact not to make any contact with each other for twelve months and they all did their own thing with their share of the boxes. I worked the bastard over and there’s no way he was lying. Did you find anything at García’s flat?”
“Boss, we ripped it apart but found nada. Also, unlike Ramos, his apartment floor is solid concrete, so that wasn’t an option for him. It doesn’t feel to me like he has done a runner. I think the rat will return and we’ll be waiting for him.”
There was a short pause before Paz continued the conversation. “Luci, I’ve fucked up big time. I left my phone at Ramos’s flat. The bastard smashed it up. When the police suddenly turned up, I left without it.”
Luciano was clearly stunned by this news but tried to sound positive. “Boss, that phone is secure. They won’t get anything from it.”
A cynical smile broke out on Paz’s face. “For all our sakes, Luci, I hope you’re right. If not, we’re all fucked.”
Paz took a deep breath before making the second of his planned calls. He’d already made a decision on whether to tell his employer the grim news about the lost mobile. Richard Franklin was working at his office desk and reached for the red phone, knowing that Paz would be on the other end.
“Paz, I hope this time you are calling with some better news.”
“Yes, Señor. We continue to make progress. This morning we located the second of the three thieves and his stash from the break-in.”
Paz heard the sharp intake of breath from the other end of the line.
“Unfortunately, he didn’t have the contents of your box.”
Franklin grimaced before replying. “For Christ’s sake, Paz, I thought you had some good news for me. My patience is running out fast.”
“Señor, we have the name and address of the third thief and right now my men are staking out his apartment. As soon as he returns, I can guarantee we will find your box. It has to be in his share of the haul.”
“What do you mean returns? Where the fuck is he?”
Paz moved the phone away from his ear as he felt the sheer force of Franklin’s unbridled anger. “We don’t yet know, but we believe he’ll be back sometime soon.”
“Have you got any other bad news for me?”
Paz thought about his mobile, which he guessed was now in the hands of the police. “No, Señor. Everything else is good.”
He glared at the unsecure burner phone he was now forced to use and sat for a moment reflecting on the raging hatred he felt towards Franklin – the only figure in his life who wielded total power over him. He knew it was an inevitable consequence of doing a deal with the devil. Then a subconscious switch in his brain automatically flicked into action and his thoughts turned towards Tomás. He wondered if the boy was available, and, a few moments later, he reached for the phone and began typing an email to the Eros agency.
Chapter Seventeen
12 January 2012
Buenos Aires
Vargas was back in his office, discussing the latest developments with Torres. They had passed the mobile to their IT specialists, whose initial diagnosis had not been encouraging. It appeared this was not a regular iPhone. It was encrypted with an inbuilt firewall that required a set of passwords to open it up.
“Juan, we’ve had four executions in the last twenty-four hours and we badly need a break if we are going to prevent a fifth. We’ve got to find out who the third man is. And pronto.”
