Inside the huge fort of a building in Frankfurt, Bormann followed the two men on whom he had sprung a surprise visit down a long corridor. One was Walter Schackt, Hitler’s sweating Finance Minister. The other man was Kurt Flammer, the Direktor General of the German National Bank, and a high ranking officer of the Treasury. They entered a private elevator that dropped them four stories down, deep underground and opened into a cavernous vault. A uniformed guard handed all three men white smocks, which they slipped on over their suits.

Everything was spotless. Not a speck of anything that could be construed as dirt or dust was to be seen. Silent, unseen humidifier fans produced a cool breeze throughout. Bormann had never seen anything like it. “It looks and feels like a hospital!”

“Indeed,” said the rotund banker. “Come, let me show you something interesting.” He led the way into another large room to the left. Bormann had to bite his lip to keep from reacting like a child on his first visit to a circus. From floor to ceiling were neatly organized stacks of paper currency from practically every country on earth, including Francs, Pounds, and American Dollars of every denomination. “Billions?” Bormann said.

“More than billions,” the Direktor smugly confirmed, “In this vault plus four more like it.”

Bormann whistled softly through his teeth. He felt a distinct chill permeate his body from the soles of his feet to his collar. His quick mind wasn’t slow to react, however. He could easily guess where a great deal of all this money had come from. It represented the lion’s share of looted national treasuries from every helpless country Germany had overrun. To the conqueror belongs the spoils of war. “It’s… It’s very impressive,” he managed an echoing whisper, trying hard to keep his awe from being discernable.

Schackt, anxious to impress further, clucked like a mother hen. “True, but there is something in the next vault even more so.” He nodded at Flammer who turned and led the way through an arched passageway to a massive stainless steel door. It was so well engineered and balanced, Flammer only had to shove it gently with his left hand to open it. Bormann felt his sphincter tighten. He blinked rapidly at the sight. It was a cavern—a large cavern-–full of gold! Dull-yellow bars of solid gold, each twenty-pound ingot boasting a molded, encircled imprint of the swastika
showing on its top side. “Gott in Himmel!” Bormann’s voicewas close to cracking.

Flammer snickered, enjoying himself. “Yes, heaven would be a good description of this place, that is, for any ordinary man less than God. However, do not be fooled.” He gestured by throwing both arms out from his sides as if helpless. “Most of this comes in and goes out on a regular basis. War costs a staggering amount of money, and this war is cash-hungry. Unfortunately, Germany does not fight on credit.”

Bormann found some vocal control. “But, why is it all here?”

“I beg your pardon?” said Flammer.

“I mean, why is it all in one place? Wouldn’t it be more advisable to store it in more than one location? What if this spot was bombed?”

Flammer arched an eyebrow. “We believe it is quite safe here. The physical protection is state-of-the-art, including the guards, who are ranking SS men, committed to their duty. Besides, neither the English nor the Americans have bombs strong enough to reach down here. Trust me on that.”

Bormann kept his face neutral. I trust no one about anything, you fat fool. “Of course. You are quite correct.” He straightened, to signify he was satisfied with the ‘inspection’ tour he had requested on such short notice. “The Fuehrer will be pleased with my report, I’m sure. Thank you, Flammer. Down here, everything appears to be quite in ordnung. Herr Schackt, do you perchance have some coffee in your office upstairs?”

Just as Bormann suspected, in his private office, the wily Minister of Finance had a good supply of the best coffee, which he brewed and poured himself, along with generous dollops of ‘requisitioned’ French brandy. “Your visit here today comes as something of a shock, Herr Bormann,” he said. “Forgive my curiosity, but I was not aware our Fuehrer thought there might be some kind of problem in our department. To be blunt, he has rarely shown much interest in how we administer the Fatherland’s money.”

Bormann showed another poker face. Schackt was right. Hitler knew next to nothing about economics. So little in fact, that even his own personal finances would have been in shambles had Bormann not taken charge of them some time ago. The truth was simply that, unlike Goering and a not a few others, Hitler was not greedy when it came to personal wealth his conquests had made possible. His official, considerable income came solely from sales of his book. Mein Kampf had long since supplanted the Holy Bible in every household in Germany, since every single German citizen was required to buy a copy. Extra money was not important to Hitler. He had far more pressing things on his mind. Bormann had taken quick advantage of that, and had set himself the formidable task of learning where the Third Reich’s money came from and where it went. He had also organized the Adolf Hitler Endowment Fund, effectively blackmailing Krupp, Theissen, von Bittnerhof and most of the other big shots of German industry who were getting war-rich into ‘contributing’, and which Bormann himself doled out to party members and Hitler’s entourage in regular tax-free payments.

“This is excellent coffee,” he said. “I wish I knew your private source for it.”

Schackt’s face turned beet red, and Bormann leaned forward to drop the hammer. “The Fuehrer’s mind has many compartments, Schackt. And none of them are empty. I assure you he wants to know the Fatherland’s treasury is safe and unassailable. As I said, I will give him a favorable report.”

Schackt allowed himself a short breath of relief.

“However,” Bormann went on, “I am positive he will disagree that all this wealth should be kept here. All the eggs in one basket? No, I think not. Perhaps we should transfer some of it to Switzerland, especially much of the gold. I shall discuss it with him in detail and let you know
his decision.”

Bormann sat back and sipped his coffee. He knew that Schackt had no way of knowing he was lying through his teeth. Hitler had not sent him there at all, but would without doubt listen to and agree with his logic, then probably say something like, ‘Good idea, Martin, take care of it immediately.’ And Bormann would waste no time taking making a discreet visit to the German Embassy – and a few certain banks - in Zurich, Lucerne, and Geneva.

Pleased with his morning’s work, he glanced at his watch and stood. “You will excuse me now, Minister. I have a luncheon engagement. Rest assured I will tell the Fuehrer you and Flammer are doing a very good job.” He offered a hand, which Schackt grabbed and pumped like a reprieved prisoner. Bormann then turned on his heel and left, laughing to himself. What an imbecile. It was easy. This is all going to be so very easy. Bormann checked his watch again. He hated being late for anything, even if it was a simple lunch with his younger brother, which was business. His mind was already on another lunch date in Berlin the following day, which definitely was not business.

----

Leni Riefenstahl sat impatiently in the dingy Bierstube-cafeteria just inside the entrance of the gigantic complex of the UFA film studios. She had more important things to do than play matchmaker for sugar-daddys and actresses, but there was no way she was going to chance getting on the bad side of Martin Bormann. Ever. Nervously, she lit another cigarette and waited, thinking of how that stupid cow Eva Braun had described the scene when the Fuehrer found out
about the lunacy of Rudolf Hess’ defection. Hitler had worked himself into a fine lather, cooled off enough to organize some hasty—and largely ineffective—damage control, and then had screamed, “Where is Bormann?”

Leni’s mouth turned up into a sardonic smirk. Well, old Martin hadn’t been far away, had he? Not likely. Leni blew a smoke ring. Ha! She had known some crafty, devious people in her time, especially in the film making industry which was chock full of small intrigues, but Martin Bormann was by far the slickest operator she had ever known. She knew only a little about him, which was probably a lot more than ninety-nine percent of Germany’s population did. He’d been a young soldier in the Great War, had jumped on the Nazi bandwagon early on, and had served as an elected member of the Reichstag, (this after also serving a year in prison— for murder, no less!) Though he disguised it well, Bormann was far and away the smartest of the motley gang of thugs Hitler had surrounded himself with, and was not one iota less evil. She had not been surprised as he had quietly but steadily worked himself into a position of power that no one could afford to ignore.

Of all the men she had known, Leni thought, Bormann — because he had absolutely no conscience—was the most dangerous, and although she enjoyed a close and unique relationship with Adolf Hitler, all that could change drastically if she ever crossed the man who had taken Hess’ place.

She stubbed her cigarette out when she noticed the two women approaching her table. Finally! She gestured for Jutta Winter and her daughter to sit. “You are late. He will be here in five minutes.”

She eyed the mother and daughter professionally. Jutta’s fresh Bavarian looks, which had stood her in such good stead for years of playing barmaids and farm-girls, were on the verge of fading, and she was gaining too much weight now. Edda, who had inherited her mother’s healthy complexion and high-breasted figure along with her actorfather’s fine bone structure, dark hair, and light blue eyes, was just now blossoming into what would be one of Germany’s great beauties. Plus, Edda Winter had twice her mother’s brains, three times her cunning, and four times her acting talent.

“Are you working now, Edda?” Leni asked, though she knew the answer.

“No, Fraulein Riefenstahl, but I hope to land something else soon. Can you tell me, I mean us, more about this Bormann person? He’s been sending me flowers and Swiss chocolates every day recently, and I’ve never even seen the man. At least not that I know of.”

“I can tell you this much, Edda,” Leni said, “In my opinion—and don’t forget, I’m in a position to know—he will soon be the second most powerful man in all of Germany if not already.”

“But how does he know me?” “He has seen the two films you have made so far.” Leni didn’t tell the women she had sent Bormann the prints herself. “I think he is quite taken with you. In fact, I am sure of it, and he wants to meet you personally, which is the reason for this lunch today.”

The street-smart, experienced Jutta sneered. “He only wants to lay her, that’s all. I’ve heard about his fooling around with more than one actress.”

“Mother!”

Knowingly, Jutta glanced sideways at her daughter. “Don’t play the innocent ingenue’ with me, you ambitious little slut. I know you’re far from a virgin any more. You’d sleep with anybody who could advance your career, but you’d better watch out for this one. He could hurt a lot more than your heart— or your future.”

“Oh, please,” Leni said, “Spare me the family wash. I’ve heard it all— Ach, here he comes now. Listen quick, Edda, a little advice. If he takes you out somewhere, wear something long, and no high-heeled shoes.”

Leni wasted little time performing perfunctory introductions, then said, “Oh, by the way, Jutta, can you spare me a few minutes over in my office? There’s a role in Lanning’s new film I’d like to talk to you about.”

“Naturlich,” Jutta said, standing up and offering a hand to Bormann. “A pleasure to meet you, Herr Reichsleiter.”

Leni took Jutta by the arm and led her out into the street. “Don’t worry, Edda will be fine. She’s already a damned good actress.”

“I know. Better already than I ever was or will be. But she had better watch her step with that one. I’ve heard he is quite the stallion.”

Leni snorted. “I’ve seen a few horses that were better looking, but my guess is that Bormann will move mountains to boost Edda’s career.”

“More than Goebbels could?”

“Far more.”

“That’s surprising, Leni. Why do you think so?”

“Because, my dear Jutta, I think for the first time in his life, Martin Bormann may be in love!”

Copyright © 2007 by Tom Lewis, All rights reserved.