Hitler's Will

Excerpt 1:

A pool of sweat and tears gathered under the leather blindfold making Andreas’s eyes burn. His right hamstring cramped, but securely fastened across the leather spanking horse there was no hope of relief.
Leather cuffs on each wrist and ankle kept him tightly tethered and spread. A leather collar and chain connected to the floor prevented him from raising his head. The chains across his back, further binding and restricting him, had lost their frightening chill from their first application, directly from Mistress Hannelore’s freezer. “Es ist Kalt?” she had mocked.
Yes, Andreas thought, it IS fucking cold! Now he was alone in the dark, quiet room with his reddened eyes, cramping muscles and the gruesome welts on his ass.
Mistress Hannelore was an artist, able to paint a collage of welts, bruises and red splotches that would find a home in any collection of avant-garde art. Her client had no idea what time it was. She not only toyed with his body, she manipulated his mind, altering his very concepts of time and space. That’s why she cost 500 Euros an hour and was very selective about her clients.
Andreas tried to relax, to find his place, his center, let the energy flow out of him and dissipate. Where is she? What’s coming next? Breathe and feel each breath, let the pain become color and heat, let it out. Footsteps, the precise clicks of her stiletto-heeled boots on the cold, hard floor echoed in her dungeon. He heard her; felt her presence as she circled him, and caught the scent of her as she passed.
CRACK! The leather riding crop exploded against his exposed backside. Just as suddenly she used it to trace a loving line down his spine, and his body folded softly into the sensation. She tormented him with this inanimate leather extension of her being, using the crop to coax any number of responses from him.
CRACK! She struck that tender spot between the upper thighs and buttocks. The pain seared through him. He cringed and tried to relax. Again, it came, the soft caress of the leather.
“Did you miss me, Liebchen? I was here, watching you, enjoying your suffering and confusion. It feels wonderful does it not, to give up all, to yield, to submit?”
She grabbed his hair, running her talon-like nails through it, grazing his scalp. Her lips broke into a soft smile as she attacked the delicate and sensitive skin. In a distant room her phone softly rang, her personal line; the answering machine picked up and recorded the message.
She let go of his head, perhaps a bit too violently. That’s what Andreas wanted, what they all wanted, why they paid the 500 Euros; and she always gave them their money’s worth, always.
She walked to the wall and hung the exquisite leather crop on a hook. Eyeing the array of instruments, she selected a wicked leather whip, a cat-of-nine-tails. She hefted it in her hand, changing the position and grip until she found that sweet spot, a balance she could appreciate.
The leather tails of the cat unwound with a sound that thrilled her—and brought panic to her clients. She saw Andreas wince, knowing he was aware of what was to come, that he hated it, yet he desired it desperately, a desire that had become a need. A paradox, she thought, that must drive them insane.

Excerpt 2:

Bruno was the first to speak. “It’s good to see you, Patrick. What brings you here, although you are always welcome.”
“I wish it were a social visit, I’ve missed sitting and talking with you.” He paused, “I’ve taken a small job, but some of it doesn’t add up. It doesn’t feel right.”
“What kind of advice can an old fighter pilot give you?”
“Anything about the Last Will and Testament of Adolph Hitler?”
Bruno drained his glass and refilled it. He held out the bottle to Patrick who offered his glass for more. “Patrick, what are you involved in?” the old man asked cautiously.
Patrick took a long drink and launched into the story of his meeting with Walter King on the Marienplatz. He left nothing out. The old man listened attentively, silently, occasionally sipping from his glass. When Patrick finished the two sat in silence.
“A most amazing story, and the first time I have heard such a tale.” Bruno walked to a book case and removed a folder. He returned and shuffled through the papers. “There were two documents, one was the shorter Will, and the other was the longer Political Testament. Hitler dictated both documents to his secretary, Traudl Junge, on 29 April 1945, the same day that he married Eva Braun. The executor for the Will was Martin Bormann. The Will was witnessed by Goebbels, Bormann and Colonel Nicholaus von Below.”
He took another drink of brandy and adjusted his glasses before taking up the papers and continuing. “It’s been suggested that the actual author of the Political Testament was Goebbels and that Hitler merely dictated from Goebbels’s notes. The Testament was witnessed by Goebbels, Wilhelm Burgdorf, Bormann, and General Hans Krebs.”
The old man set down the papers and shook his head. “Patrick, I have never heard of another Will, a second Will, nor heard any rumors or stories of a second Will. All the witnesses to the Testament died shortly afterwards. Berlin was a madhouse, a ravaged city. About your mysterious SS Major Strasser, again, I’ve seen no references to him. Many SS disappeared after the war, moved, changed names, records went missing or were destroyed. It was a bad time, a dark time.” Bruno shook his head, “The SS, Patrick, they were a bad lot.”
Patrick held out his glass, “Their uniforms were nice; some were made by Hugo Boss.”
The old man scowled as he refilled Patrick’s glass, “That’s your mother talking. She spent the war drinking Absinthe and listening to Django play Nuages while she sketched frocks on tablecloths.”
“And running guns to the Macquis,” Patrick said.
Bruno shrugged, “I’m sorry I can’t offer you any information on a second Will.”
“Thank you, I suspected as much, but if anyone was to have heard of anything like a second Will I thought you might have knowledge of it.”
Bruno considered for a moment. “Of course there are the legends surrounding Hitler’s death; some saying he deliberately chose the date for Satanic reasons.”
“Satanic?”


Excerpt 3:

Even at mid-day the music in the club was too loud for Steffi’s taste. The room had a pall of smoke and smelled of sweat and beer. Angelika passed through the tables to the far corner, where Jacko held court.
“Detective Angel,” Jacko held up a beer in greeting, “who’s your giant friend?” Jacko presided over his posse of two drug-addict girlfriends and three males in ragged t-shirts and too many tattoos and piercings.
Angelika and Steffi separated, standing at opposite sides of the table, and Angelika cocked her head in a ‘what-did-I-tell-you’ gesture. “This is detective Falke, from Nürnberg, she’d like some information.”
“All the way from there, huh?” Jacko swallowed the last of his beer and slammed the bottle on the table. “Don’t mean nothin’ to me, Sorry Detective, but homey don’t play dat.”
Steffi furrowed her eyebrows at Jacko’s reply.
“Too much American television,” Angelika explained.
With stunning quickness Steffi grabbed Jacko’s hair and slammed his face into the table.
As the other males started to rise, Angelika’s hand went to her Sig-Sauer, and they slowly took their seats.
Steffi jerked Jacko’s head around to look him in the eyes. “I don’t watch American television.”
“You fuckin’ bitch, you broke my nose!”
“I’m only getting started.” Steffi pulled Jacko to his feet, still holding him by his hair and twisting his arm into an arm lock with her other hand.


Excerpt 4:

Anton returned to the room, dropping the grease-stained bag on a table. Max shoved in a hand, removing a Donner Kebab. “Mmmm, thanks,” he mumbled through a mouthful of food.
Anton bent down and pulled Katja’s face toward him. Her eyes glared into his. He reached down and took the beer bottle from between her legs.
Max swallowed a big piece of his sandwich, “She’s alive; I didn’t kill her.”
“Good thing, Max, she doesn’t do us any good dead. When König is through needing her we’ll get rid of her. Get her off the bed, and let her go to the bathroom, but make sure you keep her hands cuffed. I saw what she did to you on the docks.”
“Bitch got lucky,” Max grumbled as he dropped his half-eaten sandwich on the table, and walked towards the bed.
Anton opened his cell phone and called König. “Yes, we still have her—Yea, I went by the house, nothing out of the ordinary, no police cars—Couple of guys walked in, but guys go there all the time, right?—Yea, we can hold her, for how long?—No, nobody knows where we are or who we are—Walther, trust me, we got our end covered here, OK?—Yea, we’ll wait for your next call.”
Max returned to the room and threw Katja on the bed, “That Walther on the phone?”
Anton nodded, “He wants us to hold the girl. Give her something to eat and drink, and chain her up again.”
Katja eagerly consumed the half a sandwich Max threw at her. She needed to keep up her strength, needed to stay alive. Patrick and Dieter will come for me; Mistress will make it happen.


Excerpt 5:

Patrick, Dieter and Hannelore were going over the documents and photos provided by Angelika and Steffi when the phone rang. Hannelore answered, her eyes widening at the flat, dead-sounding voice on the other end of the line.
“We have the girl.”
Hannelore put her hand over the phone. “Patrick! It’s them.”
Patrick took the phone, “Talk.”
“Deveraux? Do you have the document?”
“No. Let the girl go, she’s not involved.”
“That’s not what I hear, Deveraux, I heard she killed Kurt. I’ll keep her, just to make sure you hold up your end of the deal. Bring me the document, and you get the girl.”
“There is no fucking document.”
“You’d better hope there’s a document, for the girl’s sake. We’ll be in touch, don’t do anything stupid.” The line went dead.
Patrick looked at Hannelore, “She’s alive.”
Hannelore was torn between sorrow and anger. “What are we going to do?”
“Do what you have to do,” Steffi said. “Angelika and I will clean up the loose ends, cover your tracks.”
“Then we are going to the Reeperbahn, to the Schwarz Kat club.”
Everyone turned to see Dieter sliding one of the Glocks into the holster behind his back.