Simon thought for a moment. ‘Well, a lot of our shaven-headed, armband-wearing friends make no effort to decry the Holocaust. In fact, some of them would be all too happy if it had been ten times worse. But then you have this diverse splinter group, associated with the neo-Nazi movement but in some ways quite distinct, who want to persuade the world that Hitler never really did these things and that the historical account has been fixed to vilify him.’
‘And he was actually a great guy, he loved his mum, etc, etc.’
‘You get the idea. Quite a strong little subculture going on there.’
‘That’s what I’m interested in. Anyone in particular stand out?’
‘Before I say any more, Ben, I have to ask you why you want to know all this.’
‘Personal interest,’ Ben said. ‘Nothing you’d like to share with me?’
‘I’d rather keep it to myself, Luc.’
‘Only I seem to remember the last time you and I were in contact, you left a bit of trouble in your wake. Like dead men and bullets all over Paris.’
‘That was then, Luc. I’ve settled down now.’
‘Maybe. But some people never change.’
‘Trust me. I just want to talk to someone about a wartime document, written by someone called Kammler.’
‘That’s it? A document? You don’t want to take the document from them, or anything like that?’
‘No, I already know where it is. I just want to ask some questions. Nice and easy, nothing sinister.’
‘So why not talk to whoever has it? Why go looking for someone else?’
‘Long and boring story. Let’s just say I’m not flavour of the month with the owner. Plus, I don’t think he knows much. So, are you going to help me or not?’
Simon was quiet for a moment, and Ben could almost hear him thinking. ‘There
‘So you wouldn’t be risking anything by telling me a name or two.’
‘I could tell you more than one or two,’ Simon said. ‘But here’s the problem. I don’t know exactly what you want from them, but I do know the way you work. I give you this information, you’re going to start kicking down doors. They’re not going to like that, and when they try to get in your way it’s going to end with you wiping the floor with them. As a result of which, people like me will have to go in and clean up the mess. I’m not sure I like that idea.’
‘You went out on a limb for me before, Luc.’
‘And half of France got shot to pieces.’
‘That won’t happen this time.’
Simon paused again. ‘Let’s say I trusted you and gave you some names. It’s not going to take you very far. These guys’ thing is violence against the weak, stamping about chanting slogans, getting swastikas tattooed on their foreheads, breeding pit bulls and sawing off shotguns. Fine, it might satisfy you to kick some asses, but if it’s historical information you’re after, I have someone in mind who I think would be a lot more use to you.’
Ben smiled into the phone. The idea of meeting these characters with swastikas on their foreheads appealed to him. Just the kind he’d enjoy pressing information out of. People like that knew other people, giving him a whole network he could take down if necessary. He’d dealt with that type before. But first things first, and it sounded as if Simon had something interesting here.
‘Go on.’
‘There’s a guy called Don Jarrett. A fellow countryman of yours. I think you’ll be interested in him.’
‘Who is he?’
‘Let me start off with who he was. Back in the seventies and eighties, he was a very well-respected historian and author. Third Reich expert of the highest order, apparently. But then he started getting a little too pally with some of the old Nazi officers he hung about with for his research. He was seen at a lot of far-right rallies and his name went down on the list of people to watch. Then, a few years ago, he stepped up his profile by writing a book claiming that the Nazi Final Solution against the Jews was a fabrication, a con trick by governments. When he tried to back up the book sales with a European lecture tour, he was arrested in Germany, charged with illegally denying the Holocaust, and put in jail for three years. Only served half that, but while he was inside his wife left him, he lost his job and his home in England, and when he was released he went into exile. These days he keeps his head down and isn’t a threat, though we still like to keep an eye on him. Bit of a loner, and a real cold fish. He might not be willing to talk to you. But if you could absolutely promise me that there’d be no trouble—’
‘Where do I find this Jarrett?’ Ben cut in.
‘I’m waiting for that promise first. That you’ll go easy, and be discreet, and all of those things that’ll make me happy. Or else no dice.’
‘Everybody’s got me making promises today.’
‘Still waiting.’
‘All right, I promise,’ Ben said.
‘I hope I’m not making a big mistake here.’
‘I won’t lay a finger on him. Unless he makes the first move, in which case I swear to hide the body really, really well.’
‘That’s not funny.’
‘Come on, Luc.’
‘All right. Jarrett has an apartment in Bruges. He eats lunch at the same cafe in the middle of town, same time, every day. You’ll find him there. Let me have your fax number. I need to go and talk to someone right now, but give me twenty minutes and I’ll send over what you need.’
By the time Brooke came back downstairs fifteen minutes later, Ben had a map spread out across the table. On the chair was his old green army bag, packed, strapped and ready to go.
‘You don’t waste any time, Hope.’
‘Just twenty-three years,’ he said.
Brooke watched as he traced his route across the map. ‘So where are you heading now?’
‘Belgium.’
‘What, right this minute?’
‘I have another call to make, and I’m waiting for a fax to come through. Then I’m gone. I’ve got a lunch date in Bruges.’
‘Looks like your Interpol guy came up trumps for you.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Better hurry, then.’
‘I’ll make it.’ He folded up the map, grabbed the webbing shoulder strap of the bag and started heading for the door.
‘Ben?’ she said hesitantly.
He looked back at her. For a fleeting moment it struck him how good she looked standing there with her hair still damp from the shower. She had nice eyes. Something he didn’t notice often enough.
‘Maybe you’d like me to come along?’
‘What about your lectures?’
‘Jeff could stand in for me, couldn’t he? Just this once?’
‘I don’t know if that would be a good idea, Brooke.’ She looked away, flushing. ‘Shouldn’t have asked. You’re the boss.’
‘It’s not that,’ he said. ‘I’d be happy for Jeff to stand in for you, if you needed it. But this is something I have to do on my own.’
She nodded. ‘I understand. When will you be back?’
‘I don’t know,’ he said truthfully. ‘Soon as I can.’
