PARADOX - Chapter 10

Chapter 10

April 25, 2012 – Berchtesgaden Germany- Hotel Zum Turken



As the taxi wound up the steep incline towards the Hotel Zum Turken, Monday caught quick glimpses of beautiful Lake Konigsee in the distance. He had been on the lake several times to visit the famous chapel of St. Bartholomew, which could only be reached by boat. This world-famous church, originally dating back to the 12th century, lies at the tip of a picturesque peninsula deep inside the lake and surrounded by steep cliffs. Neighboring the chapel stands the former hunting lodge of Berchtesgaden's provosts and Bavaria's kings. This was a favorite setting for many visiting artists.

Rounding a final sharp curve Monday saw the historic hotel in the distance. The Hotel Zum Turken was close to the Berghof, which had been Hitler's home at Obersalzberg. During the war, the hotel was used as accommodation by the SS who guarded Hitler. Under the hotel was a series of tunnels and bunkers. Monday had been in them several times both as a tourist and archeologist.

He could almost picture a column of SS guards marching up the road in immaculate uniforms. The small guardhouse to the right, where once stood alert sentries was still there, little changed since the war.

The taxi driver dropped them at the entrance to the hotel and wished them a good day. The small hotel was built in the traditional Bavarian style, white stucco bottom with cedar boards on top. Flower boxes dominated the upper part of the structure and a stand with international flags was arranged outside. Only one other vehicle was in the parking area, an old model Mercedes.

Monday saw only two customers sitting at one of the tables, an elderly man and woman. A quick glance around found another customer sitting at a small bar in the corner, half way through a large German beer.

“Hi, Henri.” Monday walked over to the bar and pulled out a stool for Daria. “Daria, I would like for you to meet Oberst Heinreich von Schwerin.”

“For the sake of God, call me Henri!” The man bellowed in deeply accented English as he took Daria’s hand. “Have something against me do you Monday, with an introduction like that?”

“Sorry Henri. May I introduce Fraulein Daria Wolff.”

“Just Daria. I’m not married and it doesn’t seem I will be so anytime soon.”

Monday cast her a jaundiced eye at the curt remark. “Hitting the beer a little early Henri, or is this a new Bundeswehr training program?”

“Was a time when we had beer for breakfast, you and I.” Henri raised his stein for another deep drink. “Guess now that you are out of the army, you’ve evolved into a civilian wuss.”

“What is wuss?” Daria asked. “I have never heard of it before.”

“Vas is wuss? Wuss my dear is a man who is no longer a man. A weakling, a groveling, a sniveling half man.”

Henri was of medium height, close-cropped hair going gray at the temples, and stoutly built, almost heavyset. He had a large blond moustache sprinkled with frostings of gray and his eyes were lively and cheerful like those of an imp. Add white hair, a white beard, and a few more pounds and he could easily pass for Santa Claus.

“Thanks for the wonderful introduction.” Monday raised his hand for the server to bring him and Daria a beer. “The first thing old warriors do when they meet after a long time is the rooster walk.” He nodded to Daria. “It’s a way to prove that age and disability has not impaired their high level of machismo.”

“So, you have something interesting to show me?” Henri asked, getting down to business.

Discovering that the elderly couple had turned out to be the Inn’s owners and retreated to the kitchen, Monday signaled for Daria to pull the papers from her purse and show them to Henri.

“These are copies of the originals found in the hem of Paula Hitler’s burial dress. We recovered them with the help of an attorney and a representative of the Minister of Culture/Antiquities. They have the originals.”

Henri looked askance at Monday. “Getting sloppy are we? I suppose you didn’t have either of them checked out before hand? Never mind.” He laid the documents on the bar and scanned them. For a full half-hour Henri went over the documents several times pointing to a line or word and occasionally grunting to himself.

“Twenty tons in gold bullion,” he whispered, suddenly wide-awake. “Do you have any idea how many Euros that is?”

“Yes we do, but we need help following the clues that give the directions.”

“Ach! Let me see. The notes make reference to several places and several people,” Henri muttered. “They mention a Junkerschule and call it the cradle of the Reich. They reference a man called Johann Jäger but say his death is nil but his birth reflects the sun and the sun shines from the place of his birth to the number of paces from the door of Stadtpfarrkirche. They also mention The Knight's Cross of the Iron Cross upon the date which the blood of Caesar was spilt. This much I do know,” Henri stated, looking again at the papers. “The Stadtpfarrkirche. This is a church built in the 15th Century, 1466 I think, and I have visited it several times, so have you.”

Monday thought hard about the name and how it may fit in with his archeological studies. Finally it hit him. “Bad Tölz.” He hit his palm to his forehead. “The Stadtpfarrkirche is a famous church in Bad Tölz. While stationed at Flint Kaserne I visited it several times to admire the Gothic architecture. So, we know where to search.”

“We know where to start the search,” Henri corrected. “This bit about Mr. Hunter and Caesar’s blood is confusing. We may have to call your old friend from the funny farm, Ted Wrigley on this one.”

Ted Wrigley was a member of British Intelligence who previously worked with Monday and Henri on several covert missions.

“Junkerschule,” Monday muttered. “Wasn’t Flint Kaserne a Nazi Officer Candidate School at one time?”

“Ja, I am certain.” Henri sat back and looked at the ceiling. “In 1937 a SS Junkerschule was established at Bad Tölz which operated until the end of WWII in 1945. I believe there was a sub camp of the Dachau Concentration Camp also located nearby to provide labor for the school and the Zentralbauleitung, Central Administration Building. The SS or Schutzstaffel, the Führer’s  protective squadron, were considered the elite of the Nazi Regime and there were several breeding camps established where pure German women were sent to be impregnated by the SS. It was actually a breeding camp for the master race, in effect, the future cradle of the thousand year Reich.”

“I remember now,” Monday cut in. “The school was occupied by General Patton and his Third Army headquarters immediately following VE-Day and later was redesignated by the US Army as Flint Kaserne. It became the base of the 1st Battalion, 10th Special Forces Group and the 7th Army Noncommissioned Officer’s Academy until 1991. I was stationed there with the 10th until 1990.”

“So, this mention of Junkerschule as the cradle of the Reich combined with Stadtpfarrkirche definitely places the gold in Bad Tölz,” Henri muttered. “Where does Johann Jäger come into play and how does Caesar’s blood and the Iron Cross fit in?”

Monday’s cell phone abruptly rang. He excused himself to answer the call. A moment later he returned to the bar. “Chester,” he said. “The Team’s at my hotel. Why don’t we join them there and we’ll have more brain power to solve this riddle?”

“The Molester.” Henri beamed. “You got the Molester mit you here now? That is good. I always liked Chester. He is cool and calm, as you Americans say. Not a hot head like you, Monday.” Henri threw several Euros on the bar and said farewell to the owners. He led them to the dark Mercedes in the parking area. “Old but dependable,” he remarked as he pulled out of the parking area and headed down the steep road.