Secrets of the Last Nazi Read Online Free Page A

we never let one kill a liaison officer working for a foreign power.’ She pulled out another sheet with Soviet-era typewriting on it. ‘And look: Kirov died just days before he flagged this Captain Stolz as “special interest”. The Nazi even spent time living in the States after the war. I tell you: this one smells.’
    Ludchovic accepted her superior logic. ‘How do you want to proceed, Madam?’
    Zenyalena sank in her chair, fully aware that the best information about Stolz would have been lost in the turmoil of post-war Germany, seventy years ago. But there was still a chance to win one over on the Yanks.
    ‘Ludchovic: I want you to prepare a Demarche. Demand a full investigation of Stolz. If the Americans refuse, we’ll know they’re hiding something. Send it today.’
    The secretary understood. ‘To be delivered by our embassy in DC?’
    Zenyalena was about to agree, but then stopped herself, her lips pursing into a mischievous grin. ‘No – New York. We’re going to do this through the United Nations. The old United Nations.’

Seven
    St Thomas’ Hospital,
    Central London
    10.05 a.m. GMT
----
    A serious-looking man in an open shirt and white coat breezed into Myles’s room, then paused before he spoke. ‘Mr Munro?’
    Myles nodded.
    The doctor approached Myles’ trolley-bed, then exhaled, as if he had some difficult news to tell. Myles remained silent.
    ‘Mr Munro – er, can I call you Myles?’ asked the doctor.
    ‘If it makes it easier. Yes. Myles is fine.’
    More silence.
    ‘How do you feel, Myles?’
    Myles raised his eyebrows – how did he feel? ‘Er, well, I feel pain. I feel a little thirsty. I feel like I don’t like hospitals much …’ He mused some more. ‘… I feel you’re about to tell me.’
    Myles watched as the doctor tried to explain.
    ‘You see, Mr Munro, we did a scan,’ began the doctor, barely managing to speak to Myles’ face. ‘Two scans, actually – an X-ray of your leg, and an MRI. A brain scan …’ The doctor paused again. ‘Well, Mr Munro, in a way it’s fortunate that you broke your leg, because it allowed us to look inside your head.’
    Myles nodded, thoughtfully. ‘So what did you find there?’
    ‘Mr Munro – Myles – you see, I’ve heard of you. You’re the military history guy with the unusual theories about war, right?’
    Myles didn’t respond. He didn’t care about his reputation. His silence confirmed the doctor was right.
    The doctor checked Myles’ bandages as he continued. ‘… And you see, Mr Munro, every brain is different. They’re unique – like fingerprints. And yours is unique too.’
    Myles tried to understand the diagnosis. ‘So my brain is unique, like everybody else’s?’
    ‘Yes. But yours is very unique – different,’ said the doctor. ‘Let me show you the images, to explain.’
    Myles waved his hand, ‘Don’t bother with that, just tell me what it means.’
    ‘Well, you might think in an unusual way, Mr Munro.’ The doctor watched to see Myles’ reaction. There was none; Myles just stared back at the doctor.
    Myles already knew he was odd. ‘Highly gifted but too ready to challenge authority’, was one official description. Some had said he was a misfit. Others said he was clumsy, couldn’t spell and had a problem reading aloud. His memory was extraordinarily good for abstract facts and dates, but hopeless for normal things, like where he’d left his keys.
    ‘So I’m different. So?’ asked Myles.
    The doctor nodded, calmly observing Myles’ face. Then he tried to cushion his words. ‘It means, Mr Munro, that you may experience life a little differently to other people.’
    ‘Everybody experiences life differently – don’t they?’
    The doctor was stumped, and started picking at his white coat. ‘If we may, we’d like to put you on a research programme. We think there might be a link between the shape of people’s brains and the lives they lead. We want to study you – to see if there’s