Robert Craven - Get Lenin

The dance floor was thronged with swirling skirts and rigid uniforms, all moving to the beat of the music. Eva scanned the room as Kincaid roared into her cleavage about himself.

There were a number of high profile guests. She noted the British and French attaches from Munich, their staff, the Italian ambassador and surprisingly Russians — Molotov sitting with Von Ribbentrop’s staff — Americans too. A group of businessmen, immaculately attired, were speaking to Speer and Hitler’s deputy Rudolf Hess in a discreet huddle. It was the first party Eva had been at where there were no journalists or representatives of the ever-pervasive Propaganda Ministry mingling with the guests.

What she was witnessing was a series of high-level meetings happening sub rosa to the sound of an orchestra.

‘Who are those men, Donald?’ she enquired, proffering a cigarette to be lit. Kincaid fumbled around his pockets and found a lighter, gold plated with a swastika embossed on it. He cranked it a couple of times, swaying through the booze.

‘Those? Bankers, financiers, heads of pharmaceutical companies. We’re all looking for a piece of the action. Once Hitler and his boys start taking their Lebensraum, there’s going to be a lot of money to be made out of it. I have several of my people here negotiating newsreel, film and publishing rights.’

Kincaid’s expression altered momentarily, his eyes glazing over like the night he first spotted her. It was a look of unbridled lust.

She made a note of the men’s faces before he took her by the arm to dance. Despite being six sheets to the wind, Kincaid was an accomplished dancer which surprised her.

His moves were assured and she could suddently see how he was a successful womaniser — rich, funny and charming. She looked back at Unity and Diana. Unity was holding court with several SS junior officers, enjoying their attention. Further back, Diana stared out miserably as Mosley and Joyce leaned in close, drowning their sorrows.

The piece came to an end and everyone applauded in a mannerly fashion. Kincaid turned to Eva, planting a wet whiskey-smelling kiss on her cheek. ‘Come to America with me tomorrow. Let me show you around my studios. I could organise a screen test for a motion picture I’m planning to produce.’

Eva was taken aback at the suddenness of the request. She stared into his magnified eyes behind wire lenses, dropped her eyes and, in a voice Madame Yvette would’ve been proud of, breathed, ‘I’d love to.’ She then excused herself.

Kincaid was in an ebullient mood, mingling with his associates and filling glasses. Mosley and Diana had left earlier. Diana touched Eva's arm in concern when she told her she’d be flying out to America with Kincaid.

‘Don’t worry, Diana. I can take care of myself,’ Eva assured her with a wink.

Diana hugged her and told her to mind herself and stay in touch.

Unity had met an SS officer and was remaining behind, waving to the three of them that she was in control of the situation. This was indicated with a jolly thumbs-up.

Eva produced her camera, and catching Kincaid’s eye, held it up asking would they like to have a photo taken. Never missing an opportunity for his face to be on film, Donald T Kincaid lined up with a group of drunken men who posed for the shot. Pretending to be drunk, Eva tried several times to take the photo to the jeering shouts of the men. Shrugging in apology, she squeezed the shutter just as the group broke apart, the men reeling toward the bar, capturing them perfectly in profile.

Now she had to think of a way to get the camera to Chainbridge before she left for California.

Diana answered almost immediately after the second knock. Eva whispered into the gap of the hotel door that she was staying at Kincaid’s place in Berlin and his car was waiting outside. Eva handed the camera to Diana, telling her she’d dropped it, it had broken and could she drop it into a camera shop in Leicester Square, the address written down on a piece of Kincaid’s stationery? The shop would repair it.

‘Of course, dear,’ whispered Diana. ‘Are you sure you’re ok?’

‘Yes,’ grinned Eva. ‘He’s out cold. How’s Oswald?’

‘Despondent,’ said Diana looking back into the darkened room. She had a careworn air about her but seemed to pull out of it. She turned to Eva. ‘You be careful, dear… Promise me?’

Eva touched the delicate hand, marvelling at the length of Diana’s finger tips. ‘I promise.’

Eva turned and headed back to the car waiting outside.

Oswald flew back to London the following day, his limousine calling by Eva’s camera shop. His meeting with Hitler had been brief but unsuccessful. The Reich was not prepared to fund the BUF and Mosley had left empty-handed and out of options.

Unity had remained on as a guest of Eva Braun and Hitler, planning to travel Germany for a few weeks. Diana handed the camera over and the man in the shop coat accepted it with a smile.

Within a few hours, the photograph of Kincaid’s associates were sitting on Chainbridge’s desk. He spread the photograph and intelligence out across his desk and made phone calls to Kell and Liddle. Looking up at De Witte sitting in the shadows feeding lengths of Braille correspondence through his fingers, he informed them that Eva had established contact and had photographed a veritable rogues' gallery; including British Nazi sympathisers.

De Witte stopped feeding the intelligence through his fingers momentarily. ‘Good.’ He started feeding the information again, his face showing no emotion. He was impressed with her.

Eva had developed her friendship with Kincaid through the Goebbels’ screen-test reels. It had taken a while, using the auspices of a bogus London casting agent to feed her details through the Hollywood system. Once headshots and film reels were requested, the agent had contacted Berlin.

Kincaid’s staff in Burbank, California, saw the reel can with the German Eagle stencilled onto it and jumped at the opportunity. A meeting in New York followed and Kincaid took the bait like a greedy schoolboy.

Chainbridge, along with the F.B.I., had a substantial dossier on him. Kincaid’s influence was enormous. Apart from a private film studio in Hollywood, he owned a mansion in Martha’s Vineyard and numerous European properties. Although married and a father of nine children, he boasted openly about having several high-profile mistresses.

In Boston circles he had the Chief of Police, the Attorney General and various teamster organisations in ‘his pocket’. A fervent anti-communist, he and a number of American anti-communists had arranged functions for Hitler and Mussolini in Berlin in the 1930s. Grandiose with his largesse, he had written large cheques for their fledgling political parties, all in the glare of the media.

This wealth had come allegedly through boot-legging during prohibition. He used this money to help break a Boston longshoremen’s strike and take control of the docks. His pay-off from City Hall was under-the-counter and siphoned offshore into various trusts. This money reappeared as armament sales to the Fascists in Spain. He was spotted in Madrid in 1936 along with German ‘advisors’ shipping in guns, bombs and gold bullion to fund Franco’s forces.

His campaign for Mayor of Boston two years earlier ended abruptly after three weeks without explanation. His campaign manifesto used the longshoreman’s strike as an example of Communism creeping into ‘Freedom-loving America’. Rumours of a young actress overdosing on cocaine at his mansion had clung to him like a smell. Nothing was proved and the story buried, the girl’s family dropping a law suit within days of it being issued. The journalist who broke the story was sacked and his card rescinded after pressure from Kincaid’s attorneys.