They all watched their leader attentively as he bent down and picked up the object wrapped in the cloth by his feet. Uncovering it, he revealed a painting of a man wearing a light blue uniform, and a red swastika armband.
Fleischer hung the picture on the empty hook then reaching into his jacket pocket, pulled out a red banner, clipping it onto the frame at the bottom of the painting. A red, white and black swastika, now hung down from it.
Fleischer turned around to face his audience and gestured at the painting. ‘Our beloved Reichsmarshall, also saw our vision. Unfortunately, the resources to see it through were still in their infancy and the technology was not available. However, in his footsteps, we will be able to complete what he began, and we will prevail. I propose to you, we will use the failures of the East and West rocket programmes as a catalyst to a new war. A war in which in the aftermath, we will walk over the destroyed cities of New York, London and Moscow, to the eventual formation of our new Reich!’
Fleischer reached over to a table, picked up a small red box and opened it. He took out an item, holding it high. The object was a shimmering black German cross matching the one worn by the man in the painting. He stood to attention to address his audience. ‘Now my dear friends, please give me one unified collaborative breath for our future Reich.’
The highly polished cross hung down and rotated in his flexing fingers, saluting the people standing in rows before it, and the crowd stared in awe as its almost mirror-like border flashed, as it reflected the lights of the chandelier.
Fleischer gave an appreciative smile, as a sea of arms rose simultaneously into the air. Two words were chanted and repeated; two words that had not been uttered for twenty five years, and now echoed again around the room, ‘Seig Heil! Seig Heil!’
Fleischer put down his arm and abruptly, the crowd silenced.
‘You have all once again showed your allegiance to the Grand Cross of our beloved Reichsmarshall Herman Goering, awarded to him for his pure, absolute devotion to the Reich. When the shroud of defeat was descending on Berlin, he gave it to me as a token, that I would continue his prophecy.
He moved his eyes to the object.
‘And now it is through the will of you all, that we will complete our mission together; Black Arrow will be destroyed, the N1 will fail, and the eagle will fall!’
There was much applause. Then, on a beckoning gaze from her leader, the woman in the blue dress left the jubilant crowd to stand next to him. He looked into her eyes and smiled at her, then over her bare shoulder, he gave a sharp nod to a man standing next to a radiogram.
As the sound of a band began to play through the speakers, Fleischer began to sing the first line of Horst Wessel’s Die Fahne Hoch, the famed popular anthem at the time of the former Nazi regime.
The woman studied his moving lips, then sang with him, as around the room, a united chorus joined them. The serene scene was like something from another time.
A time when the iconic figure on the wall staring out at them with his steel gaze, was a driving force for a regime which had frozen the hearts of all who had opposed them.
Chapter 3
Eddie Stevenson climbed up the steps from Westminster underground station, walked through the underpass and emerged under the colossal statue of Queen Boadicea on her chariot.
A few yards along the Victoria Embankment through a small park, he turned left towards the daunting white Ministry buildings, and then level with the RAF memorial, found himself in the small cul-de-sac of Wellesley Mews.
Studying the piece of paper in his hand, he confirmed the details and glanced at the numbers on the doors. After walking for a few seconds, he came to a halt outside a black door and pressed the bell. A few seconds later, the door opened and the ex-Scotland Yard detective gave him a friendly smile. ‘Mr Stevenson?’
‘That’s right,’ Gable introduced himself and ushered the man in.
A few minutes later, after being formally introduced, Stevenson sat in the chair opposite Swan’s desk, holding a cup of tea given to him by Gable.
Swan smiled. ‘I trust the Police treated you well, Mr Stevenson?’
‘Yes, Mr Swan. The officer was quite intense, but very polite, and I think I managed to help him as much as I could.’
‘Splendid. I’m afraid that I will have to ask you to go through all those details again, so Mr Gable and I can have a better picture you understand?’
Stevenson nodded. Swan turned to Gable.
‘Arthur, I think it’s time to bring Norris out and take down some details.’
Stevenson suddenly had a puzzled expression on his face, which Swan picked up on instantly and gave a silent chuckle.
‘Please excuse us, Mr Stevenson. A little private eccentricity between Arthur and me. When he was with the force, he gave a name to all his notebooks. In the past there has been a Nigel, a Nicholas and a Nobby and now we have a Norris.’
Stevenson laughed. Suddenly, he began to feel completely relaxed in the company of these two warm and friendly gentlemen.
Gable went over to his desk, opened the drawer, and retrieved the notebook then sat back down on the chair next to the tugboat captain.
Swan picked up his chair, walked around his desk, and placed it facing his client; a trait that he had adopted from his days as Head of A Section at MI5. He found it gave him a friendly awe around anyone they had to interview.
He looked over at his colleague to check that he was ready. Gable gave a cursory nod and Swan turned to his client. ‘Okay, Mr Stevenson…,’
Stevenson politely interrupted with a request. ‘Please feel free to call me Eddie, Mr Swan.’
Swan corrected himself. ‘Righto, Eddie. Please fire away. If you can start with how you happened to be in the vicinity of the incident, that would be useful.’
Stevenson took a few breaths then told the two SID men the account of the incident. After mentioning the gunshots and describing in detail the two men fleeing the scene, he paused for a few moments, to think about what had happened next, then continued.
‘When I got to him, he was in a bad way, with blood coming out of his mouth and from under him. Then, he looked at me and said that I must go to you and tell you that ‘the eagle will fall’.’
Swan gave Gable a quizzical look. He looked Stevenson in the eyes. ‘That is what he said, those exact words? The eagle will fall?’
Stevenson gave an intimidated nod. ‘That’s exactly what he said to me — Tell him that the eagle will fall.’
Swan shrugged. ‘What eagle, I wonder? And did he say anything else to you?’
‘He said, they must be stopped, and that was it. He never spoke again. I found your address in his hand, covered him over, then got on to the radio in my boat and called the police. I stayed there until they arrived, then went with them to give my statement.’
Swan rose from his chair and moved to the big window. For a few moments he stood motionless with his back to the other men, and without turning, addressed the tug owner again.
‘These two men you saw. Can you describe them?’