Стив Берри - The Kaiser's Web--A Novel

And that scared the world.

What had someone said?

“I love Germany so much I’m glad there are two of them.”

But Malone’s words rang again, too.

“So you’re taking the easy way to victory?”

God knows she wanted to win. That she could not deny. She was not ready to be sidelined. And if proving Theodor Pohl the son of a monster would derail his reputation, then yes, she’d take the easy way to victory. On the other hand Malone’s observation could also ring true. Exposing Pohl’s heritage might galvanize the other side, making him even more palatable.

Germans were funny on that count.

The opinion polls were close, the people evenly divided. And her fate, Germany’s fate, perhaps even the European Union’s fate, might rest entirely on something that may or may not have happened in 1945.

She turned from the scene outside the window and considered the weeks ahead. So many possibilities. No guarantees.

A multitude of risk.

“God help us all,” she whispered.

CHAPTER TWELVE

STATE OF HESSE, GERMANY

8:00 P.M.

Pohl sat by the window and enjoyed his wine. It was a local variety, the grapes cultivated on terraced slopes above the Rhine in soil that had nourished sprouts since Roman times. He liked the blend, tart but not bitter, a reminder of years ago, at university, when he drank a similar grape and first realized that he wanted to rule Germany.

He was enjoying a rare quiet evening after the speech earlier in Cologne. A multi-state swing was scheduled over the next six days. First north to Bremen, then east to Mecklenburg, south to Stuttgart, ending with two days in Saxony and Dresden. He was growing accustomed to the American style of campaigning, yet it was complicated by the intricate German electoral process. There were no primary elections. Political parties named the candidates. Voting was strictly along party lines. Financing was solely through the parties, with no individual contributions allowed. Even how the money could be spent was subject to rigid control. Posters, billboards, leaflets, mailings, and rallies were permitted. Television ads were practically free. Rules all supposedly designed to stop a demagogue.

Yet the system was perfect for manipulation.

Spend enough money wisely, particularly on direct voter contact—mailings, door-to-door canvassing, political events—and unless the other side did the same with equal vigor, practically any election could be commandeered.

Which was precisely what he intended to do.

He sipped more wine.

The bay in which he sat was part of a towering Renaissance window that overlooked the castle’s inner courtyard. He’d bought the property a quarter century ago after a succession of owners had neglected its maintenance. Little by little squatters had invaded and partitioned the interior like a beehive, tearing away fixtures, removing doors, even burning the wainscoting for warmth. That, combined with centuries of wind and weather, had taken a toll. He’d spent a decade refurbishing the ancient buildings and modernizing with plumbing, climate control, and electricity.

He loved the end result and named the finished structure Löwenberg.

Lion’s mount.

Which seemed appropriate.

From his lofty perch, on a precipice that pitched off into space on three sides, forest stretched forever. He loved Hesse. A place of such exquisite variety. Between the low ranges of the Taunus hills in the south, with their beechwood groves and broad vales, and the magnificent northern woods of Westerwald loomed the loveliest spots of all—the Lahn Valley and bergland (hills) where blueberries ripened in summer and mushrooms sprang in autumn. Ancient citadels and medieval villages lay in abundance, as did health resorts and spas dating back to the time of the Prussian kings.

Home for his entire life.

He was enormously pleased with himself. How could he not be? The campaign was proceeding precisely according to plan. The polls were positive and momentum was clearly on his side. He was glad he’d hired political consultants. They’d so far earned every euro paid to them, and in the weeks ahead their abilities would surely be challenged, but they seemed up for the task.

He even liked his new physical image.

They’d recommended losing ten kilos and gradually adding a dash of auburn to his silver mane. The result had made him look a decade short of his nearly seventy years. His blue eyes, which once seemed misty, were now more alive thanks to a plastic surgeon who’d tightened the folds without anyone being the wiser. Another surgeon eliminated the need for glasses, while a nutritionist counseled him on how to maintain stamina through a vegetarian diet, though he secretly varied from that regimen on occasion. His face, adorning posters all across Germany, now projected the look of a determined statesman. His right-angled nose, taut cheeks, and tight brow were, he thought, imposing. Definitely German, in every way that mattered.

He savored another sip of wine and allowed the alcohol to soothe his sore throat. He’d lost count of the number of speeches he’d delivered over the past few weeks. It seemed like he was forever trying to convince someone that his vision for Germany was best.

Soon, perhaps, he would be chancellor.

Below, a car eased into the courtyard and parked. Headlights extinguished and the driver’s door opened. Josef Engle stepped out, illuminated by the courtyard lights.

His associate had driven with him from Cologne, but had left Löwenberg a couple of hours back. He never questioned the details of how things were done, nor were they offered. Engle simply handled his duties with expert precision.

And he appreciated that dedication.

He needed zealots.

They operated from principles ingrained into their psyche like gravel melded with cement. Which provided the one trait he simply could not do without, whether from his employees or the German people.

Absolute loyalty.

He finished the last of the wine and continued to enjoy the solitude.

His life so rarely included quiet. Since his divorce twenty years ago women had become a nuisance. A marriage was necessary during the early years when image outweighed experience. Voters simply felt more comfortable with a married man, but a succession of politicians with domestic problems, a few ending in bitter divorces, had desensitized the populace and eliminated the unofficial requirement of a family to qualify for election. He was grateful that hypocrisy was over. Second and third marriages were a norm now and Germans, like citizens of every other Western nation, seemed willing to allow their leaders the same latitude with their personal life as they took with their own.

And he was glad.

Ridding himself of Gabriele had been necessary. She was a bother, wanting children, which was the last thing he needed. His focus was the party and winning elections. Not by the smallest of margins, either. He wanted mandates. Victories that signaled change. But not a new Reich. That word still carried the stench of a previous failure.

Which, to him, was Hitler’s worst legacy.

Every law in Germany had been written to avoid a usurpation of individual rights to the benefit of the state, the idea being that nationalism never again be used as a rallying point. But that didn’t mean the individual triumphed. It now simply fell to bureaucrats and judges and local officials, the people charged with actual law enforcement, to either ignore or modify the rules to suit their perception of what was best for Germany. Which explained the steady rise in ethnic violence, especially in the old East Germany, and Marie Eisenhuth’s inability to stay its growth.

A weak point.

One he intended to exploit. Along with several others.