With that he got up, and walked over to the conference table, and then all the way around it, before going back to his desk. He picked up the telephone, hesitating briefly before pushing the button, Guy Roberts answered almost immediately. “Roberts get me Dan Parker over at the FBI, if you can’t get him on the mobile number, try the other one, he’s sure to answer that.
Oliver Asquith had never liked small aircraft, they bounced around far to much in turbulent weather to really be safe. So he always had a double gin and tonic before getting aboard, what was on this occasion, a twin engine Cessna. The pilot taxied the small plane to the far end of the grass runway before turning its nose into the wind, and applying the brakes. A moment later permission to take off was granted. Asquith gazed out of the small window, thinking about Hugo Malakoff. French, from a long line of nobility, he knew that much. His family had fled France at the outbreak of war with Germany, and had come to live in England. His father had seen the way the wind was turning with the Nazis, and had fled in the dead of night, taking his family, and whatever valuable assets they could safely travel with.
The previous day, old Malakoff had transferred his considerable wealth into a numbered Swiss bank account. That is where it had stayed safely hidden until after the war. That Hugo Malakoff had money was obvious, there were the houses in Kensington and the villa in Monaco. Not to mention his properties on the islands of Antigua and Martinique in the Caribbean.
The pilot banked the Cessna over to the left for his final approach and Malakoff’s magnificent fifteenth century residence came clearly into view far below. Asquith had stayed in the four hundred and forty-room château before. But it never ceased to amaze him that this splendid display of French aristocratic architecture was as fine today, as it had been when it was built. The estate covered thousands of acres that included one of the most coveted hunting reserves in the whole of France. Wealthy individuals from all over the world paid highly for a weekend stay at the château, and the opportunity of a full day’s sport. Malakoff had built his own private airfield, which the pilot was now instructed to land on, and then directed to the apron in front of a large solitary hanger where a black Range Rover was waiting to take Asquith up to the Château.
Malakoff was standing in front of a majestic double spiral staircase, severely reprimanding one of his staff, who was obviously feeling highly embarrassed at being dealt such a public humiliation. He was an impressively tall man, dressed in khaki coloured tropical linen suit, white shirt and tie. His greying hair, neatly groomed, framed his bony angular face, and the dark eyes always remained watchful. In fact, Asquith thought how he had always had the look and confidence of a man who was used to getting his own way, all of the time. He could hear him bellowing at the young man as he was shown through the main entrance doors. On seeing Asquith he dismissed the red-faced servant with a wave of his hand, and greeted his guest with customary charm, and an effervescent smile that could slice diamonds.
“My dear Oliver, what an absolute pleasure it is to see you.” He kissed Asquith on both cheeks, patted him on the back, and guided him through one of the day rooms, and out onto a terrace overlooking the moat that surrounded the château. A butler was already in attendance, and immediately handed Asquith a glass of Champagne. “I thought that you could probably use a drink.” His English was faultless. “Hugo you must be a mind reader, thank you,”
Asquith said, accepting the tall elegant crystal glass. “Now Oliver, why don’t we take a stroll through the gardens, and you can tell me all about this dilemma that is causing you so much concern?”
As the two men walked, Asquith said, “I really don’t know where to start.”
“Why my dear chap, simply start at the beginning.” So Asquith told him the story. When he had finished, Malakoff continued to look out across the lake for a an indefinable amount of time without saying a word. Asquith stood beside him, finally breaking the silence by saying;
“It’s all a bloody mess, isn’t it?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I would call it inconvenient, Oliver.”
“Inconvenient. Hugo, from where I’m standing that’s an understatement. Have you any idea what would happen if any of this ever got out. We have a particularly vicious gutter press in England, who would completely humiliate and destroy my family name, as well as trashing the memory of my father. Traitors who have been discovered to come from aristocratic backgrounds are particularly fair game, as history has shown many times before. There is also the establishment of which I am a prominent member. Hugo, you really can’t imagine what would happen to me. I’d be finished, cast out, of that I have no doubt whatsoever.” “Let me tell you, Oliver. Your father was a fascist all of his life.”
“Fascist? What do you mean, a fascist?” “Come now, we both know the history, Oliver. Your father, and mine were both at university together. They went on to become admirers, and close acquaintances of Adolf
Hitler before and after he rose to power. How shall I put it, they were extremely useful to him because they were so well connected, and influential within certain areas of the French and English elitist societies. Your father went on to establish close ties with a number of Hitler’s inner circle of friends.
But then many members of the English establishment agreed with fascism, and loathed the Bolsheviks. After all what was the alternative during those uncertain times, communism? I really don’t think that educated and intelligent people would have wanted any part of that. The Communists would have swept through our lands like locusts, destroying everything as they went.”
“So, what are you saying, that your father and mine collaborated with the Nazis before the war had started?” “Of course, because every man has to follow their true course in life, and support a cause that they unswervingly believe in. Why do you think my father fled
France, Oliver? Well, let me tell you, it wasn’t because of the Nazis. It was on their instructions. They knew that he was a Nazi sympathiser, and that a man in his position would have no problem integrating with the establishment in England because of his aristocratic background. It’s the very reason why I still own this vast estate. Hitler ordered it to be used as a retreat and protected the place all the way through the war years. Some of my father’s staff were even allowed to stay on and maintain service at the château. The stories they tell after all of this time are outrageous, about how the Nazi top brass turned it into a brothel for high-ranking officers. They apparently used to come here at weekends, screw themselves stupid, and then leave again on the Sunday evening to return to their units.” Malakoff took a deep breath of air, before setting off back up the path towards the château.
Asquith, lost deep in thought, hadn’t noticed that he was standing by the side of the lake alone. After a moment he chased after the Frenchman, saying. “I find this all very distasteful, Hugo.”
“Get over it, Oliver. How do you think this magnificent building remained standing, and survived the war. How everything was left securely locked up, and unblemished afterwards. Even the collection of priceless paintings by famous artists were still hanging in the same positions as they had done for many years. Open your eyes
Oliver, how do you think your father managed to maintain that large mansion, that you now live in. Not to mention the London properties that both our fathers purchased during the war years. All paid for my friend, with monies they received from the Third Reich.”
Malakoff stopped suddenly and turning said, “When my family returned to the château after the liberation of
France, these funds were made available to us via numerous numbered Swiss bank accounts. This enabled my father to build up a successful international import and export business. It was soon after his death, when I’d taken over, and discovered that I could indulge in various other forms of illegal but highly lucrative forms of trafficking. But you must have had your suspicions, after all, we’ve known each other for such a very long time, Oliver. Ask yourself why should I lie about this, especially to you of all people?” Asquith admitted to himself that he had always had his suspicions about Malakoff’s business dealings. But he kept his opinions to himself, instead saying. “I’m not interested in all of that Hugo. All that I’m saying is, that it seems so incredible that they collaborated with the Nazis, and were never found out.”