The Fuhrer's Reserve

by Paul Lindsay Narrated by Bill Weideman

Overview

One after another, aged Nazis are being murdered in Europe, South America, and the United States. Enter FBI Special Agent Taz Fallon, who soon discovers the killings aren't the work of a vigilante bent on revenge for the Holocaust. Instead, they turn out to be part of an elaborate plot to put a new generation of Nazis into power. And the key to the entire scheme is a huge cache of paintings looted by Hitler from Jewish families during the Second World War.

In The Führer's Reserve, Paul Lindsay weaves a tale of high stakes art smuggling, vicious homicides, and brilliant investigative prowess. Are Hitler's stolen masterpieces really hidden somewhere in Illinois? Could a secret Nazi sympathizer, known only as der Kurator, actually sell these works of art to finance a new Fascist movement? Can agent Taz Fallon, working with a beautiful young art historian, risk destroying Rembrandts, Titians, Vermeers, and countless other treasures to stop a Nazi coup? With a storyline as authentic as today's headlines, Lindsay-a former, highly decorated FBI agent himself-provides page-turning thrills and captivating insights into the way real world sleuths solve unimaginable crimes. It's no wonder that USA Today has written of Paul Lindsay, “Step aside, John Grisham!”

Editorial Reviews

Barnes & Noble Guide to New Fiction

The FBI actually tried to stop the publication of Lindsay's first book, but he's back again with a "fascinating" work packed with all the "twists and turns" of Raiders of the Lost Ark plus the verisimilitude of Joseph Wambaugh's crime fiction. Generally considered "amazing." "For John Grisham lovers." "Would make a great movie." For others, it made for a "good adventure read, but was hampered by insufficient character development."

Publishers Weekly - Publisher's Weekly

In Lindsay's new thriller, irrepressible agent Taz Fallon swashbuckles through neo-Nazi assassins and psychotic Third Reich holdouts while finding romance and playing his uptight FBI boss like a baby grand. One of Germany's last war criminals has a plan to enact Hitler's scheme to rebuild the Reich, with the help of the cache of priceless art looted by Hitler and Goering and smuggled to America. The stolen art is slated to fund Rolf Brunner's campaign to bring the Neo-Nazi German Democratic Party to power in the next German elections. One of the priceless paintings handpicked from the looted stock has come up for auction in New York, and seductive Sivia Roth, an Israeli art researcher who tries to return stolen art and artifacts to their rightful owners, tracks the painting to Chicago, hooking up with Taz Fallon along the way. The sleuthing pair are thwarted by Kurt Decker, the ex-convict son of an SS officer, recruited by Brunner to kill the few people who have information about the art reserve. Decker happily slays old Nazis and spins a few tricks in hopes of making off with the art himself. With witty aplomb, FBI veteran Lindsay (Witness to the Truth) runs his cast through a minefield of violence and a plot full of hairpin curves. Fallon falls one step behind Decker investigating the clues at a murdered Nazi's Chicago home, and the reader is never sure if he will catch up. The interplay between Decker and Brunner echoes Fallon's tetchy relationship with his employer, helping to create a sturdy parallel plot line and accentuating the fumbles of the likable hero. A surprise ending will leave readers gasping. (May) Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.|

Library Journal

Agent Taz Fallon is back, tracking Hitler's missing art treasures. Copyright 2000 Cahners Business Information.

Kirkus Reviews

Now that the obliging Swiss are turning over Holocaust victims' bank accounts, the FBI's Taz Fallon is free to worry about the last round of spoils from the war: a priceless cache of looted paintings hidden away by Hermann Göring. There'd be no hurry to dig up the hundred canvases, of course, if it weren't for the complications Lindsay (Freedom to Kill, 1997, etc.) distributes so generously. As soon as Rölf Brunner hears about the paintings from the ancient war criminal, he wants them he because he can use the proceeds from their sale to finance his German Democratic Alliance's rise to a new round of fascistic rule. Kurt Decker, the son of Hitler's favorite commando, wants them because Brunner is paying him handsomely for their recovery. Sivia Roth, of the International Foundation for Art Research, wants them so that they can be restored to their rightful owners. And of course the FBI wants them because—well, that's what the FBI does. (Lindsay notes with passing amusement the complete lack of appreciation most of the trove's pursuers have of their value as art.) The pace ought to step up still further with the news that the first half dozen canvases carry unobtrusive identifying marks that will help whoever rounds them all up locate the other 94 paintings. But this is just where things bog down, with Decker's goons and Fallon's suits racing each other to one hot spot after the next, with just enough variation in the results to keep the pot boiling, as the good guys labor to crack an elaborate (and elaborately solved) code those foxy Nazis were using. "And you thought art history was going to be boring," Fallon tellsSiviaRoth. It's not, but this time, despite all the conscientiously planted surprises, it might be just a wee bit predictable.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940172270611
Publisher:	Brilliance Audio
Publication date:	07/25/2007
Edition description:	Unabridged

Read an Excerpt

Chapter 1

"Herr Trauchmann," said the guard who accompanied the visitor, "your new attorney is here to see you. You have one half hour."

The old Nazi glanced up at the lawyer who had entered his cell at the Rüdersdorf prison and wondered which was going to be more difficult, convincing him of the existence of the largest cache of stolen art in history, or persuading the elegant young man to murder him. "My right to counsel now has a time limit?"

"If you want to meet with your attorney in the normal visitation facility, it does not."

"You know my health will not permit that."

With the tinny arrogance that came with minor rank, the guard said, "Then you should be grateful an exception has been made that allows him to come to you."

The old man looked at the guard with a false pleasantness that was intended to heighten the indignity of what he was about to say. "This job, it really is at the limit of your abilities, isn't it?"

The lawyer was intrigued. If this man's demeanor was any indication, it was not difficult to understand why the men of the Third Reich had almost conquered the world. Despite history's recriminations, they believed their power was absolute -- what was right then was right now -- and always would be. Even the guard, whose basic tool of survival was control, gave ground to the old man's insolence and left without another word, only able to slam the cell door in response.

The steel lock snapped into place and the lawyer suddenly felt the icy abandon of confinement. Although he had visited men in prison before, this was his first time in a locked cell. The pulse in his neck strained against his starched shirt collar.

Tattered gray light filled the cell like weightless, hovering dust. His eyes adjusted slowly as he felt his way along the wall. Thin bands of gritty mortar separated large, flat stones so cold that they drained the heat from his hand. A sharp, chalky dampness he had not noticed in the corridor caused his nostrils to flare involuntarily. The air was thick with age, unstirred by human movement, or desire.

Confinement was not merely placing a wall between good and evil, but rather an assurance that these men remained untouched by the influences of the outside world, to deny them civilization, to punish them by submersing them in their own lawlessness. The visitor promised himself never to return.

Hans Trauchmann pulled himself upright in his bed and then took a carefully measured breath to recover from the effort. He was one of the last war criminals held in German prisons. An operations officer during WW II, he had been charged with serving in the "Jewish Affairs" office of the Sicherheitsdienst, the intelligence service of the dreaded SS. From its inception, the SD had been staffed with only the most loyal of Hitler's men -- a necessity because of what they would ultimately be asked to do.

Given the Führer's mandate to eliminate Europe's Jews, Trauchmann devised most of the "legal" procedures used to identify, confine, and seize their property prior to the final solution. In the end, the prosecutors would charge that Trauchmann's efficiency in those efforts was without parallel in the history of human cruelty. He was responsible for the deaths of millions of men, women, and children, eradicating thousands of years of Jewish lineage.

Avoiding capture for nearly two years after the war, he was not brought to trial until 1948. By then the German people had grown to hate any reminder of the war and the Holocaust even more. The proceedings were short and, as much as possible, unspectacular. He was quickly convicted for his "atrocities against humanity," but hanging was feared too sensational for a country waiting to heal its history with the sluggish salve of time, so he was sentenced to life imprisonment. Fifty years later, Hans Trauchmann, the Holocaust's Expeditor, had been all but forgotten.

His visitor today was Rölf Brunner, a member of the German Democratic Alliance party. His name was not well known, but Trauchmann's old contacts had informed him that Brunner was a man who could get the most shadowed tasks accomplished without problem or notice.

The GDA was gaining strength, having won 28 percent of the vote in the last election. But the press had started becoming critical lately. The party was accused of being unduly contemptuous of foreigners, and of trying to censor the media when it attacked the government's methods. Although they were careful not to specifically include Judaism, their platform included the outlawing of "foreign" religions such as Scientology and all forms of Islam. And they advocated a buildup of the military. Such proposals, while appealing to the broad populace of Germany, had also been the cornerstones of the Nazi regime. The media began labeling Brunner's party "the Fourth Reich." As a result, many of the GDA's financial contributors, although still in agreement with its philosophy, started withdrawing their monetary support for fear of being linked with anything remotely connected with the black days of Adolf Hitler.

But Trauchmann believed fascism would always have an audience in Germany. Its roots went back to the Thirty Years War in the first half of the seventeenth century, when the country's population fell from twenty-four million to four million, leaving the strong and ruthless to survive. He believed the GDA, like the Nazi party, represented the thoughts and aspirations of a majority of the population, and with the right help, could come to power.

Tall and thin, Brunner wore a navy blue suit that had been made for him in London. Even in the low cell, he took care to stand erectly. The jacket and trousers draped perfectly. His thick blond hair was cut short, and his suntanned face could have been described as passively Scandinavian if not for the three long, formal scars that crisscrossed his left cheek. Each was wide and pale, inferring that however Brunner had come by them, they had never been treated medically. A history of survival was suggested, and the permanent sneer of superiority left on his face seemed somehow justified.

"Thank you for coming, Herr Brunner." The old man's words came in short, ragged gasps. With some effort, he gestured to a lone chair. "Sorry you had to come to this damned place, but my health..."

Trauchmann's general appearance was unkempt -- his shirt and trousers were shapeless cuts of dark cloth that covered him dutifully. His hair, now a muted silver, was matted and uncombed. But his face, as evidenced by a scattering of dark red nicks, was freshly shaven. For a man in his condition, Brunner knew it was a task not easily accomplished. "It is my honor, Herr Trauchmann." The stone chamber had a hollow, muted echo and it accented the insincerity of Brunner's words. "How are you feeling?"

Recognizing Brunner's disingenuous tone, Trauchmann said, "I see you are someone who has little use for pretense. Good. For me, this is an indication of an individual's trustworthiness. So I will simply say that, for a dying man, I have few complaints." Besides being eighty-five, sixty years of smoking, in the form of emphysema, were demanding final payment from Trauchmann.

There was no request for pity in the old man's voice, which greatly relieved Brunner. When summoned to the prison, he was aware of the Nazi's failing health and hoped he would not be asked to construct a final will, or worse, be given a list of meaningless requests to perform that would somehow pave the way for the old man's entrance into the next world. Instead, he found himself admiring the callousness with which Trauchmann regarded his own imminent death. "I am honored that you would call me. But I have to confess, I really do not practice law any longer. Out of respect, I have come to see if there is anything I may do for you."

"There are a couple of things." He smiled. "The most immediate of which is a cigarette. The doctors do not allow me to smoke, and I do enjoy them so."

Brunner took two out and lit the old man's before his own. He smiled and said, "I assume the rest of your requests will not be as uncomplicated."

Trauchmann took a shallow drag. After a single cough, he held the cigarette at arm's length and examined it with his still uncorrected eyesight. "American -- very nice." He took another drag. "You are correct. What I am about to propose will not be easy, but if you agree, it will allow me to be of service to the Fatherland one last time."

"And how may I do that, Herr Oberstleutnant?"

Trauchmann was pleased that this man from another generation offered his respect by using the former lieutenant colonel's SS rank. "I am told you are a man of unusual loyalty who can accomplish the most difficult of tasks."

"I am willing to do what must be done for the good of the party and for Germany."

Contemplatively, the old man drew on the cigarette again. "These are words I have heard many times before, and the closer the Reich grew to defeat, the more emphatically they were sworn. And those were better days. Now deeds rarely outlive their promises. Are your deeds as relentless as your rhetoric?"

Brunner considered the old man's skepticism. "I doubt if you would have sent for me to discuss something that is -- I am guessing -- out of the ordinary, unless you made inquiries as to what kind of man I am."

"Inquiries are merely another application of words. I am more concerned with what sins you are capable of."

"Since sin is a moral concept, I would imagine my capabilities are without limitation."

"Then you would not mind telling me of one out of the ordinary act you have committed for the good of your party."

"You ask a great deal."

"You stand to gain a great deal. More than you could possibly imagine."

"What could you offer from a prison cell that would tempt me into such self-incrimination?"

The old man studied the glowing tip on his cigarette before looking up. "If you agree to my terms, when you leave this prison, you will have the means necessary to bring your party to power in the next election. But first, I need to know exactly how committed you are."

Trauchmann's pale blue eyes invited a search for credibility. They reminded Brunner that this man had kept some of history's darkest secrets through half a century of confinement. "There was a certain newspaper which had been investigating my party -- until its offices were burned down."

"That was you?"

"I believe they used to call you the Expeditor. It is sometimes an enjoyable position, no?"

That Brunner understood the pleasure of such sabotage told Trauchmann the young man had indeed been responsible for the act. He nodded his head slowly, indicating his approval. "Have you ever killed a man?"

Although Brunner knew what the next question would be, he decided to let the old man unravel his proposition at his own pace. "No."

"Could you?"

As Brunner had feared, whatever Trauchmann was about to suggest, killing was going to be part of it. "Carrying out even the most distasteful tasks is simply a matter of motivation."

"We shall see," Trauchmann said, his voice deliberately unfinished, hinting that Brunner's assurances would be tested. "First you must give me your word -- your honor -- that this will be kept in strictest confidence."

"If what you are about to tell me can bring my party to power, my word will hardly be necessary."

The old man exhaled cigarette smoke in short, jerky streams through his nostrils. "As I see it, the only thing that can keep your party from succeeding is money to finance its campaigns. I can tell you where to find the necessary funds." Brunner's left eyebrow lowered itself in mild disbelief, to which Trauchmann responded with a short, coughing laugh. "Quite a trick for a dying old man who has been locked away for fifty years, eh? I must be delusional, yes?"

Brunner straightened himself. "I am sorry, Herr, but it is a lot for one man to accomplish with one conversation."

"A successful life is about power. I once had it, but for half a century, I have not. It was what I thought my life would always be about. But -- the misfortunes of war. What I am about to propose will allow me to taste it one last time, and take that taste to my grave. Then all these years in a cell will not have defeated my life."

Brunner felt the conviction in Trauchmann's words. "I'm here at your service, Herr Oberstleutnant."

"Good. Der Führervorbehalt -- does it mean anything to you?"

"The Führer's Reserve? I am not familiar with the term."

"Are you familiar with Reichsmarschall Goering's passion for art?"

"I am an enthusiastic student of the Third Reich. I think every German has seen photographs of Carinhall."

"Do you know how he obtained those objects he stockpiled at his hunting lodge?"

"They were properties confiscated by the Reich."

"That's correct, and those that were actually purchased were done so with, more or less, confiscated funds taken mostly from Jews." Trauchmann paused and then said, "What I am about to tell you must not be shared with anyone other than possibly those at the highest levels of your party. With this revelation will go a terrible power, and a worse responsibility. If you tell anyone else, I guarantee it will spread like a plague and defeat all that you wish to accomplish."

"The weight of discretion is something I have become accustomed to."

"That is your reputation," Trauchmann said. "Have you ever heard the name Josef Rathkolb?"

"I do not think so."

"He is a man who is known in a very small circle of Reich officers as der Kurator. He helped gather the majority of Goering's art for him. I never met him until the end of the war, at Berchtesgaden, where the Reichsmarschall was under house arrest. I assume you know why."

"For treason?"

"Yes, but he still had visions of some day becoming Führer, and knew to do so he would need a great deal of money. So he gathered us all there and ordered Rathkolb to bring his art collection from Carinhall. By that time it had grown so large, Rathkolb needed to commandeer two trains to transport it."

"I assume that Hitler didn't know that this was being done."

"Goering told us that he did, but I think we all knew otherwise. Then he told us why we had been summoned, to help Rathkolb smuggle one hundred of the paintings out of the country."

"This is what you refer to as the Führer's Reserve?"

"Yes. And remarkably, the entire operation was accomplished within three days."

"Why paintings? Wouldn't gold or jewels have been more practical?"

"Goering was a shrewd collector. Not only did he handpick which hundred paintings should be taken, but he thought that art would grow in value more rapidly than any other asset available to the Reich at that time. And frankly, he did not have access to the amount of gold or jewelry that would have been its equivalent. He was right about the paintings. In the last fifty years, art has unquestionably been the best investment. And with the works he chose, it has been even better."

"Would I recognize any of the artists?"

"Some that I remember are Rubens, Cranach, Rembrandt, Van Dyck, Van Gogh, Renoir, Picasso, Degas, Gauguin, Toulouse-Lautrec. But Goering had an insight into the future of art, he sensed who would become important. A good example of this was his collecting of the 'degenerate artists,' such as Matisse, Chagall, and Mondrian, who, because of their lack of Aryan purity, were largely banned by the Third Reich," Trauchmann said. "Goering was also clever enough not to choose the most famous of their works, as he knew they might be more difficult to sell."

"Where is the Reserve now?"

"Probably in the United States with Rathkolb."

"He trusted one man with it?"

"Goering once told me that Rathkolb was the only man he knew who was more obsessed with the Nazi ideology than he was. Goering saw obsession as a gift and trusted him because of it."

"Exactly what are you proposing?"

"You must recover these paintings and finance your party into power to ensure Germany's future."

"Elections are very expensive. What is the current worth of the collection?"

"The value of the collection is difficult to estimate. I am no expert, but if one Van Gogh can sell in America for over seventy million dollars, and a Cezanne for sixty million, then I would think an extremely conservative guess would be half a billion dollars. I read the newspapers; I know how expensive an election is. That's more than even the United States needs to elect its president and senate combined."

"That's a very impressive figure. I apologize for underestimating your knowledge in such matters."

"There is no time for amenities. Everything must be completed before the guard returns," Trauchmann said. "When you leave here, the first thing you must do is find Rathkolb, and quickly."

"After fifty years, what could be so urgent?"

"I have received word that one of the paintings is being auctioned in New York at a very private sale. It is by Alfred Sisley, one of the lesser-known impressionists, but the auction estimate for the piece is between two and three million dollars. With that kind of money, it will not remain discreet for very long."

"How soon is the auction?"

"In less than a month."

"Would Rathkolb be selling it?"

"I cannot be certain, but that is the most logical assumption."

"Why would he be selling it now?"

"I'm sure you saw the recent discovery at Berchtesgaden."

"The secret bunker of Goering's, with the documents, yes."

"For fifty years the existence of the Reserve was unknown to the world, but now this business has been discovered. Undoubtedly, there are documents detailing the existence of the Reserve. Rathkolb could be worried about any subsequent search for the Reserve which might, in turn, expose his methods in obtaining much of the art. It is logical to assume that he wants to sell them for his own gain before anyone can discover their existence. But he remains cautious -- just one fairly unremarkable painting and that at an all-but-secret sale. Most likely, he is using it to see if anyone is watching for the works he has in his possession."

Brunner dropped his half-smoked cigarette and put it out with the toe of his shoe. "Can we trace him through this painting?"

"Possibly, but that course would most likely be futile. I suspect he is going through a maze of intermediaries. And then there's always the possibility that the authorities may be watching the sale."

"Then how do I find him?"

Trauchmann dropped his cigarette on the floor and Brunner reached over and extinguished it for him. He could feel its heat through the thin sole of the loafer. "That is a puzzle within a puzzle. Originally there were only two men who knew the exact location of the Reserve: Goering and Rathkolb. Now there's only Rathkolb -- another reason he probably wouldn't hesitate to profit from its sale. But there was one other man whom Goering ordered to always know Rathkolb's whereabouts -- Major Gerhard Braune."

"So I must locate Braune in order to find Rathkolb."

"I can tell you how to find him. The real task will be to get him to tell you where Rathkolb is. The Reichsmarschall was paranoid in his caution. He also instructed Braune not to give that information to anyone but me. And since I will be dead soon, it is unlikely he will be telling me."

"Perhaps a letter from you would suffice?"

"Major Braune was one of Goering's most trusted officers. He is absolutely fanatical in his loyalty to the Third Reich. I know him -- an order is a sacred oath -- a letter will not work. It will be no small task to get Rathkolb's whereabouts from him. He is an extremely determined person."

"He is in the United States also?"

"Unfortunately, no. Goering had him take the paintings by U-boat to Patagonia, in the southern end of Argentina. From there, they were shipped to the United States where he turned them over to der Kurator. Then, other than keeping track of Rathkolb, Braune was done with the affair."

"Is Rathkolb living under an assumed name?"

"Yes, but it was known only to Goering and Braune. Braune, however, is using his real name. Besides his loyalty, he was chosen because he was not wanted as a war criminal. If he had been a fugitive and captured like Eichmann, there would have been no way to find Rathkolb. Presently, he is living in a town called San Carlos de Bariloche."

"I must admit I am not comfortable confronting men of such treacherous reputations, especially in foreign countries."

"Your caution is wise. Because of your position with the party, you cannot afford to be directly involved in this kind of business unless it becomes absolutely necessary. You will need some help, especially in the United States."

"Some of your old comrades who have settled there?"

"I am afraid they are too old. I suspect this will require a younger man's endurance."

"Then some of our friends in America."

"The so-called neo-Nazis? You know as well as I that they are nothing but beer-guzzling brawlers whose leaders are watched too closely by the authorities. Besides, they have the misconception that the world's problems are due to the black man, and do not realize that blacks are merely a symptom of Jewish socialism. No, we need someone of our own blood, someone bred to understand loyalty and honor."

"I don't understand, you said they were too old."

"Their sons are not. Do you know who Major Erich Lukas was?"

"Hitler's commando?"

"Yes."

"A great hero of the Reich, killed in the final days of fighting around Berlin."

Trauchmann gave the content smile of a man who had achieved a successful deception. "Actually, he was severely wounded. He, too, was smuggled out of the country and eventually settled in the United States. Once there, he became Karl Decker, and married an American woman. They had a son named Kurt who would now be almost forty...

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