From the back seat of the Mercedes, LJ instructed Roberts to drive straight to the British Museum.
“Well this does leave us in a bit of a quandary, doesn’t it?” Oliver Asquith said, he was wearing a white disposable overall and peering into a large metallic looking urn from some ancient period of long ago.
“What concerns me, Oliver, is that it would seem, that this wasn’t an accident. The eyewitness who telephoned for the ambulance, gave a statement to the Police, and she is in no doubt whatsoever. That the car came out of a nearby junction, and apparently started to slow down as it approached the crossing. But at the last minute accelerated instead. According to her, Nathan was half way across the road when the driver of the car hit him square in the middle of the bonnet. Anyway, whether it was an accident or a deliberate attempt on Nathan’s life, it’s still a hell of a shock. I sincerely hope that he pulls through quickly. But needless to say, it leaves us in a bit of predicament all the same.” “In what way?”
“The location of U-683. We still haven’t a clue where it is.” LJ said.
“But what about his daughter. Do you think she might know?”
“What? Oh Annabelle. She might, but I wouldn’t hold out much hope there, old son. Nathan had had a lifetime of keeping secrets. And this was probably the biggest. No, at best he would only have sketched out where he’d found the sub. But I’ll ask her this afternoon when she arrives.”
“Well let’s hope she has the answer to the problem,” Asquith said.
“And if she hasn’t?”
“Then you will have to think of something else.”
“I wonder what Sir Lucius will make of all this?” LJ paced up and down the office, a look of despair on his face. “I’d better bring him up to date. Keep the old chap happy,” and turning, he left.
Oliver Asquith made a brief telephone call; locked the door to his office and immediately drove his Porsche Cayenne 4x4, in record time, from London to his country house on the outskirts of Sherborne in North Dorset. He was through the front door and mounting the wide sweeping staircase that led all the way up to the third floor. Opening a small door at the end of the long landing, he took the rickety wooden stairs two steps at a time all the way to the top. On the landing, he stood for a moment leaning against the old timber door while he got his breath back. Hinges protested noisily under his weight, at having their slumber interrupted, but gave in and allowed access to an enormous attic space.
The frail old man who was kneeling in front of a large travelling trunk, stood up on hearing Asquith enter. “Lord Asquith. I wasn’t expecting you for another forty minutes sir.”
“Is that so, Jenkins. Well thankfully, there was only light traffic coming out of London, and I had a clear run down the motorway. Have you found any of my father’s diaries yet?” He lit a cigarette, and walked over to a small skylight window, and peered out of the dirty glass.
“I’m afraid not, sir. It would seem that the late Lord Asquith was fastidious about not keeping records of any kind.”
“Damn and blast him. Well, can you tell me about the war years, Jenkins?”
“What would you like to know, sir?”
“Well, weren’t there whisperings in certain Whitehall circles that my father had Nazi sympathies. That he actually thought about going over to the Germans before the war started. You were with him throughout, Jenkins. Tell me, was this true?”
“Yes, the rumours were true my Lord. But then there were many of the aristocracy who had the same feelings. Adolf Hitler had charisma, and believe me that was like a breath of fresh air. Not only to the people of Germany, but to many Englishmen as well. Your father met with him, you know? Just before England entered the war properly.”
“No, I didn’t know that, Jenkins, but go on I’m intrigued.”
“Well, sir, he went to Germany at the personal request of Hitler. The British Government knew of course, and asked him to find out as much as he could while he was there. This was an extremely unusual situation that he found himself in. You see, he was asked to go to Berlin because of his immense knowledge of Middle Eastern religious antiquities, and of course because of the standing your father had within English Society.”
“Do you remember what it was that Hitler wanted my father to look at, Jenkins?”
“To tell you the truth, sir. I wasn’t there at the private meeting they had. But, I did on one occasion overhear part of a conversation that his Lordship was having at breakfast one morning. I believe it was with one of senior party members. I do recall that this chap spoke fluent English, and was saying something about a religious artefact that Hitler had a particular obsession with. Apparently he always kept it securely hidden in a vault, and had it guarded day and night. It had come into his possession when he annexed Austria. Hitler wanted your father to authenticate it, sir.” His voice faded, and he went and sat on one of the other wooden trunks. The old retained servant looked tired and exhausted as he sat there in the gloomy light of the attic.
“Austria, Jenkins?” Asquith came over to where the old man was sitting, and crouched down in front of him.
“I’m very sorry, my Lord, but I really can’t remember much more about that time, it was such a long time ago, and my memory isn’t as good as it used to be.”
“It’s okay, Jenkins, please take your time. I know that you have a memory like an elephant. So, you’re going to have to do a lot better than that. Tell me, did my father ever have any dealings with the Nazis at any other time during the war?”
“My Lord, there are certain things that should be left well alone.”
Asquith pressed the old butler harder for more information. “Did he, Jenkins? It’s vital that I know.”
“Your father was, like you are my Lord, passionate about archaeology, and in particular, myths and legends that surround certain artefacts. There was a period during those dark years of the war when he would disappear for weeks on end. Your mother never really knew where he was, she simply assumed that he was on a dig somewhere. And, at the risk of sounding impertinent, sir, I was sworn to secrecy by your father.”
“That as may be, Jenkins. But that was a long time ago, and something has now cropped up that makes it imperative that I know whether or not my father was at any time during the last months of the war involved with Heinrich Himmler?”
“Heinrich Himmler, my Lord?” The old man looked pale, and was physically rocked by the mention of Himmler’s name. He averted Asquith’s piercing blue eyes by looking down at the dusty wooden floorboards of the attic. After a brief moment he composed himself, looking up and continuing, his voice had taken on a renewed vigour.
“Alright my Lord, I’ll tell you what I know. The conversation, which I overheard that morning in Berlin, was between your father and Heinrich Himmler. That was when his lordship swore me to secrecy. Apparently, the two men had met a few years before at a political rally that Hitler was holding. Your father had just graduated from Eton and was on holiday with a group of acquaintances. As I understand it, they met afterwards in a bar and instantly became firm friends…” His thoughts were wandering a little.
“Carry on, Jenkins, I’m listening.”
“Those were such difficult times, sir. Before the war, Himmler used to often spend time here. He was such a gentleman then. Your mother and father spent hours listening to his tales about how Germany was going to be saved by Adolf Hitler.” The old man’s voice trailed off again, as he became lost in his own thoughts and memories.
“Did Himmler ever contact my father during the war, Jenkins?”