Meyer-Hofmann AG

5

Even the late autumn sleet showers could not diminish the inherent beauty of the city. Munich’s frozen streets glistened in a demonstrative show of its power and potential. Its buildings’ noble architecture was nowhere better illustrated than in the Odeonsplatz, home to the Bavarian Government’s Ministry of the Interior and just a short walk from the city’s University. The Odeonsplatz sits at the centre of a small and exclusive district, which is home to many foreign Consulates, as well as theatres, high-end shops, and bars. It was not by coincidence that Meyer-Hofmann had premises there, and not the usual mundane offices but a private club, where management could relax and entertain the company’s guests and shareholders. Set just off the Odeonsplatz, on Gallery Street, a bronze plaque was all that announced the club’s existence. Its polished black door, led to a sumptuous interior of lavish wallpaper, and hallways covered with deep dead pile carpeting. Modelled on an English Gentlemen’s Club, no expense had been spared. The antique furniture transported its guests back to the nineteenth century, where just being a member of such a club bestowed prestige and recognition. Meyer-Hofmann’s guests could indulge themselves in a level of service lost in the modern, hectic world. The experience was designed to be one that left them feeling good about themselves, and, of course, about the Company. It was in the third-floor stateroom that the board of Meyer-Hofmann assembled.

A long oak table dominated the room, set for twelve; a leather-bound folder marked each place, together with a gold pen and a letter opener. A cut glass tumbler and wine chalice gave the impression that the table had been set for dinner, and the deep red glow of Châteauneuf-du-Pape decanted in the middle of the table. The men gathered around a large open fire in the centre of the room, as stewards in white jackets fussed about them, serving single malt whisky and cigars. The fire crackled and spat around beech wood logs, pulsing red and orange tones onto the men’s faces, lending colour to their mostly pale complexions. All but one were in their late sixties or early seventies, but the conversation was not of grandchildren and family gatherings. They eagerly exchanged business news, with talk of corporate strategies and takeover plans. The discussion was of the Company’s holdings, current share prices, and business performance. Each man was an expert in his field, each with an identical agenda at heart: the well-being of Meyer-Hofmann AG.

Without the need for instruction, the stewards withdrew, and the ten men took their seats. Sitting opposite one another, the two end seats at the table remained unoccupied. A tall, distinguished man took his place at the middle of the table and held up his whisky glass, motioning for the others to follow. He was the tallest in the room, but it was his posture that demanded respect. Standing to attention, his neatly cut grey hair reflected the firelight as he started the meeting.

“Heil Hitler!” he said the words quietly. The men responded in unison.

“Heil Hitler.”

There was a brief moment of discussion before all but the toastmaster took their seats, and the room returned to silence. Herman Reichard was CEO of Meyer-Hofmann, and after taking a moment to correct the lapel of his grey tailored suit, he looked up and slowly made eye contact with each and every member of his board. Reichard was a born leader, and he knew that he had their complete respect.

“Gentlemen, welcome. I am sure you all know why we are here. I have some good news for you.” He smiled. “Herr Von Klitzing has acquired the whereabouts of one of our missing members. A direct descendent of Heinz Hofmann will be arriving here tomorrow morning for an interview.”

Reichard nodded his head in the direction of the man opposite him. The man who had been in the Leeds bar stood up briefly to receive the acknowledgment of his achievement, before bowing his head slightly and returning to his seat.

“I know many of you had misgivings about the effectiveness of the recollection process on a second-generation candidate, but Fredrik has shown us there is nothing to be worried about.”

This time, Reichard motioned towards the younger man at the end of the table. He too stood and took a small bow before Reichard continued.

“Heinz Hofmann was the co-founder of Meyer-Hofmann; we all knew and respected him. It was his vision that gave birth to this company, and he is essential to the future success of the mission. I thank God that he can finally take his rightful place at the helm of Meyer-Hofmann. Dr Ecker, would you like to say a few words?”

Ecker, who had been sitting opposite Fredrik at the end of the table, now took to his feet. He was a gaunt-looking man wearing a poorly fitted suit that hung from his small frame without shape or definition. He had a chronic heavy cough, and despite a vegan diet, his general health had always been a problem. But despite his physical ailing, he was a proud man, and he too stood tall and straight. His manner could easily have been mistaken for arrogance outside this room, but it was nothing other than a complete and utter belief in his ability and the magnitude of his discovery, the recollection process. Hours spent behind a microscope rigorously testing and questioning his findings had only served to confirm them, revealing new and exciting possibilities for the future. He was a brilliant molecular biologist, as his father before him had been, and no man had ever been as intimately connected to his father as he was.

Professor Armin Furtner began their work in the late 1930s, as one of the Third Reich’s many research scientists. He took advantage of the Nazis’ deep pockets to fund his research into the human genome. It was not until 1940, when he discovered the structure of DNA, that the Nazis took any real interest in him. Keen to promote the German propaganda machine, Furtner was invited to Berlin, where he would present his findings in the Technical University’s theatre. The Party’s elite were all there; even Hitler should have attended. Hitler was not amongst the guests, but judging by the number of high-ranking uniforms in the audience, anyone attending the presentation could have gotten the impression that the German Army had taken the day off. Standing on the small stage in the middle of the auditorium, he looked up at the steep semicircle of chairs, doing his best not to be intimidated. Hitler’s commanders in chief sat on the front row, weighed down by the countless medals that adorned their tunics. Behind them sat the gentlemen of the press, followed by VIPs and, finally, Party members. The speech had begun much as any other as Furtner greeted the dignitaries and honoured guests. It was his statement about discovering the code of life that got everyone’s attention. He had decided to try to make a splash from the start, and his speech aimed to get their attention as soon as possible. He saw this speech as an opportunity to get his research funded and start clinical tests. In short, this speech could change his life. He spoke with fervour.

“You may think your life’s path is influenced by God or destiny, but in fact, this is your guide.”

The projector had thrown an image of a helix onto the white screen behind him.

“This, Ladies and Gentlemen, this is a DNA double helix. You find it in every human cell, and it is life’s code. When a cell multiplies, it is the DNA that governs and controls it—a blueprint, if you will. DNA governs your strengths and weaknesses, both physical and mental. We all have them; they are all unique; they make us the individuals we are. Strong, weak, fast, slow, intelligent, stupid, tall, short, blonde, brunette, black, or white.”

He gave them a little time to digest the information before continuing.

“We will soon be able to change these strands, improve them. We will be able to do this with adult subjects, the unborn foetus, a woman’s unfertilised eggs. We will be able to improve our citizens genetically, optimise our children, mould the next generation, and engineer the master race.”

The applause took Furtner by surprise.

“Man can be the master of his destiny. Germany can be the master of its destiny; we no longer have to accept the decisions of a malevolent God. We will eradicate disease and suffering in the Fatherland; we will produce stronger, faster, more intelligent citizens. We will fulfil our destiny and become all that we can be.”

The audience enthused.

“If this is true…”

“He has discovered the answer we seek!”

“It is an alternative route to Hitler’s vision!”

“Maybe Germany’s military must not forge the new future?”

“This could be even more effective!”

Had the war ended differently, Furtner would have become famous, known for the massive medical and forensic advances for which his work and work like it would be responsible. As it was, the Nazis had a different plan for his talents. In early 1944, he met Heinz Hofmann for the first time.

“Professor, the war is not going well, and the German Army is in retreat. There is no time to wait for you to perfect these techniques, let alone wait for the next generation to be born, grow up, and save us from our enemies. You must find another way, a way for us to continue, even if we lose the war, even if our leaders are killed. Is that possible?” Hofmann had asked.

Ecker addressed the table.

“Gentlemen, we have all been through the process, and the results have been beyond our wildest dreams. When my father started his work in 1930, even he could never have imagined what we have achieved today. Now, I can look you all in the eyes and say, I surprised myself.”

The room laughed at the irony, and there was a smattering of applause before the doctor began again.

“The recollection process has come a long way in recent years. Our research continues to make daily advances. The process is now far more effective. With the help of new virus strains, we can reach dormant DNA memory and replace that of the present day, even in a second-generation candidate. Herr Von Klitzing assures me that Jarvis is a perfect DNA match, and I am convinced that we can return him to his former self.”

Von Klitzing smiled at the pen as he rolled it between his fingers. He had gone unrecognised for his work long enough; this praise was overdue. The fact that most of the men at the table didn’t have the faintest idea what he did for the company agitated him. For them, he was just a bloodhound, tracking down their old colleagues. He was much more than that, his rank had been that of an Obergruppenführer, a rank the Nazi Party Paramilitary first created in 1932 as a rank of the SA, or storm troopers. Until 1942, it was the highest SS rank, inferior only to the Reichsführer-SS, one Heinrich Himmler. Von Klitzing’s new role was as the head of security for the Meyer-Hofmann group, and in his opinion, reanimating Hofmann was a security threat. Jarvis would undoubtedly become the new CEO, and therefore held the fate of all of them in his hands. As in the past, Von Klitzing considered it his duty to protect the Company against all threats. Should this man fail to recognise his responsibilities, he would deal with him.

Chance had found Hofmann’s descendent. Von Klitzing had required that all Meyer-Hofmann personnel be given a blood test when entering employment. These tests went beyond the mandatory health checks and included a full DNA profile. Jarvis had been tested while working for a paper mill that the company owned in Canada, despite him being a consultant. The results had triggered an automatic alarm, which brought Jarvis to Von Klitzing’s attention. The rest should have been straightforward. Tracking the man’s history back to his father and then to his father’s father, Heinz Hofmann. But then again, had it been simple, they would never have lost him in the first place. Hofmann’s baby had been smuggled into a safe house in London, England, to be precise. This had obviously been a mistake, because something catastrophic must have befallen the family. The records showed that shortly after the child’s arrival, the family disappeared. They were part of the sleeper network and must have moved without informing their superiors. Whether they were captured, killed, or both nobody knew, but somehow, the child survived. That child was jailed in 1973 for the brutal rape of a fifteen-year-old girl in Brighton. He never left prison, killed two years later in a fight with three inmates. He was thirty years of age. The girl he had raped decided to keep the child. Her Catholic family forbade an abortion, but promptly threw her out after the birth, when she refused to have the child adopted. Her circumstances must have changed because, five years later, she put him into care. For the last three decades Von Klitzing had been tracking the children of the original Meyer-Hofmann board, and with the capture of Heinz Hofmann, they were only one man away from a full house.

In 1944, Hofmann had persuaded Furtner to join the board of a new company. A company set up by Franz Meyer and Heinz Hofmann to continue Hitler’s work after the war. Both had been industrialists and close advisors to Hitler before the war, and were replaced by men with a different skill set once it began. They were ruthless businessmen, who had recognised Hitler’s gift as an orator when he first joined the German Workers Party. Hitler was able to motivate huge crowds, and win massive support for the newly formed Party, which would soon fight for power against the ruling government of the Weimar republic. Constantly encouraging him to gain greater influence within the Party, they manipulated him away from his more socialist views. Their support of Hitler during his early years in power allowed them to become members of his inner circle and closest advisors. Once the war began, although they had little say in military matters, they managed the country’s economic future. They propagated a strong nationalist stance, which strove towards full employment and the redistribution of wealth. When the newly named National Socialist German Workers Party made Hitler their leader (Führer), Hofmann and Meyer encouraged the privatisation of core businesses, and the confiscation of others held by undesirables. This policy allowed them to acquire many profitable businesses from the German Jews, for a fraction of their real worth. Both men made fortunes, which they then channelled back into the Party to help Hitler and the Nazi cause. Their vision, and Hitler’s, were one and the same; they believed in strength through the motivation of the people, the creation of a master Arian race, and the future of the Fatherland. The new Meyer-Hofmann company had access to vast financial resources. It would shape the future of Germany and the world, whatever the war’s outcome. With Furtner’s help, they would reach their goals, with or without a war. They could use more surreptitious means. Their priority, however, was to keep the new board members alive. Germany’s future was in jeopardy, and any one of them could be dead in the morning. They needed time, and that was the one thing they didn’t have. Furtner’s solution was incredible; his research gave them the perfect panacea. Although it was unlikely that all of them would survive the war, their offspring could.

The plan was as simple as it was unimaginable. During his research, Furtner had discovered that DNA not only transferred the parents’ physical characteristics to the child, but much of their personalities, and even their experiences. Many of a parent’s traits would become noticeable in a child, but would be attributed to the child learning from and watching its parents. But the same characteristics had been found in the war’s many orphans, including children who had never met their parents. Furtner surmised that these traits were recorded in the child’s DNA, and he might be able to release them. By doing so, he could enhance the positive traits in the children. It was during one such experiment that he noticed a side effect. The children acquired not only the traits, but also many of the parents’ actual memories. They were able to remember and recount actual events and people from their parents’ lives. Many became sure they had experienced the events first-hand. They would experience déjà vu when visiting places from their parents’ childhood. They were often able to describe the places in great detail before the visit. One of the children in the study had become so confused by the experience that he could not recognise his own name, answering only to the name of his father. Further experiments would allow Furtner to tap into those memories, enhance them, and encourage the children to find and use their parents’ memories as the templates of their lives. In time, the parents’ memories became the child’s memories. Their brains’ synapses changed their regular pathways to information in preference for new routes. He found that the children started to act and interact more and more as their parents would the more they remembered of their parents’ lives. When the parents’ memories became exclusive, the child became, in essence, the parent. Although the technique was far from perfected at the time the decision was made, it was decided that this was their best hope.

Each of the board members would father a male child, whose DNA would be augmented. The children would be sent to safe houses spread out across the world, to be collected after the war was over. They would then be helped by the DNA manipulation process to recall their fathers’ lives and experiences and continue their fathers’ work. The board would, in essence, be reborn, with a complete memory of its past, a clear vision of its mission, and more importantly, the tools to carry it out. There was also a bonus: if they were careful, nobody would ever make the connection between the new board and any known members of the Third Reich. The children, who would all be adopted by new parents, with new names, would come from countries with no connection to Germany’s past.

Ecker returned to his seat. The board members muttered between one another before becoming quiet as Reichard took to his feet yet again.

“I would now like to address the matter of purification. Herr Von Klitzing, can you give us a summary before our area chiefs give their reports, please?”

Von Klitzing took to his feet and let his gaze slide around the table. As he collected his thoughts, his right hand went to his chin, pinching it between forefinger and thumb. He stroked it knowingly, letting them sweat. All looked at Von Klitzing with some trepidation. Despite little contact, they all had the greatest respect for him, although most of it was born out of fear. He had been a ruthless man during the war, and none doubted that the man before them was none other than Obergruppenführer Anton Brandt. The man’s incessant rubbing and scratching reminded them all of his grandfather’s habit.

“Gentlemen, this has been a difficult and dangerous procedure for our organisation. I cannot impress on you enough the severity of the problem. The infiltration of our holdings has become an epidemic. Although I understand that the purity of management structures in emerging markets is a challenge, the unbelievable indifference to our goals I have found in the leadership of some companies, is unacceptable!”

Many of the men at the table shuffled in their seats, aware that the admonishment was directed at them. Each was responsible for a group of holdings, their job to steer and manipulate them in a direction that served Meyer-Hofmann’s interests.

“We singled out one hundred and twenty-two employees for immediate redeployment. Of those, fifty-two were convinced by their department heads to seek employment elsewhere by means of a financial incentive. A further twenty-nine were headhunted by a friendly resources company, who redirected them to our competitors. This left us with forty-one difficult cases. Twenty-three of these were responsive to blackmail, the rest were liquidated. In all but one case, we were able to keep the liquidation clean, hitting only the targeted member of staff. In one case, however, we had to make it look like an appliance failure, which cost the entire family their lives. There are, at this time, no signs that any law enforcement agency has made links between the deaths or redundancies. This operation has been difficult to camouflage, and we need you all to be vigilant should any organisation take an unhealthy interest in our work.”

There was a general muttering around the table before Von Klitzing finished.

“This leaves us with one hundred and fifty undesirables in middle and lower management—you know who they are. I expect you to remove them from our holding companies by whatever means necessary. This process should be concluded by the end of the coming year.”

Von Klitzing sat down to a chorus of shuffled chairs and coughs. Reichard, standing again, addressed the man sitting to the right of Dr Ecker.

“Herr Ducker, would you give us your report, please.”

Ducker was the head of North American operations, and as such, the target of most of the accusations. He was not a weak man, and weighing sixteen stones, he was also not a small man. He had removed his jacket, revealing a sweat-sodden blue shirt, his double chin straining against the collar. As all eyes turned in his direction, his complexion became visibly redder. The veins pulsed on both sides of his forehead as water ran freely from his brow. Dabbing the sweat with a handkerchief, he got to his feet, his mind desperately confirming his strategy.

“It is not that easy, Von Klitzing,” he said, finding his composure. “North America, by its very nature, is multicultural, and our assets there are all large corporations. Their human resource departments are enormous; it is impossible to keep track of all their recruitments.”

Ducker had delivered the statement with more force than most at the table had expected. Von Klitzing was back on his feet, stung by the rebuke.

“Your father controlled the majority of the eastern front without forgetting policy. You are a pale imitation!”

Now Ducker was angry. The ultimate insult in this company was to be compared negatively to your father, and it infuriated him.

“Don’t you dare!” Ducker growled the words out. “You are the embodiment of your father, a sewer rat. I can tell you about the eastern front, if you want, Von Klitzing. I remember every day of it; what do you remember? All you have ever been concerned with is not soiling your suit when you torture your victims. I was a soldier, a leader of men—nothing has changed! We are no longer at war. We cannot do as we wish; we must use diplomacy and caution. Managing a company is no different than managing a battle. You must play to your strengths, whilst being aware of your opponent’s strengths and utilising their weaknesses. That is the only way to prevail.”

With both men standing, squaring off against one another across the room, Reichard interrupted.

“Gentlemen, I think that is enough; you have both made your points. I agree with Herr Von Klitzing, there should be closure of this matter by the end of the year. It is, however, not Herr Ducker’s problem alone. We have all been negligent in this matter. We have all lost sight of our mission. I am also at fault. I was not born for the role that was forced upon me. Heinz Hofmann, on the other hand, was—this was his company, his idea. With him back in command, there will be no more mistakes. Now, please, Gentlemen, give your reports, and try to keep them objective.”

Von Klitzing returned to his seat feeling vindicated, whilst Ducker continued his report. Members of the board then took turns delivering similar excuses for neglecting company policy, before promising to comply with Reichard’s time scale. Von Klitzing listened carefully, taking notes where he thought it was necessary. Where, in his opinion, the board members had made poor excuses, he decided he would deal with them separately at a later date. His disappointment in his colleagues seemed to aggravate his skin, making the itching almost intolerable and leading to more vigorous scratching of his scalp and arms.

When all were finished, Reichard took to his feet for the last time.

“I suggest we meet again when Mr Jarvis has had some time to adjust. We will introduce Mr Jarvis and his wife to Munich, and with a little help from Dr Ecker, persuade him to join us here at the company that he founded.”

There was a smattering of laughter from the table. That, and a wave of relief that the subject had been changed.

“If there are no questions, I think we can adjourn.”

After a moment’s silence, the men began to rise and make their way back to the fire. The stewards returned, and the clink of glasses could again be heard against a background of conversation and subdued laughter.

Von Klitzing took a deep breath, inflating his chest fully. He stretched before taking the back of his neck in both hands and massaging it deeply. His psoriasis rumbled in the background, a physical indication of his emotional state. He had learnt to read it, and use it as a guide. For him, the night had just begun, and the idea did not enamour his body. Scanning the room quickly, he stood and made a beeline for Fredrik Petersen, ushering him to one side. Petersen was Von Klitzing’s most recent recovery. He had tracked him down five years earlier, in Sweden. As a baby, Petersen’s father had been hidden with a family in Denmark, the Tuxen family. They had, unfortunately, all been killed in a car crash. At least that is what the official documentation had said. Little Fredrik was not their only child, and for some reason, had not been in the car. The efficient Danish social system whisked him away to new adoptive parents in Aalborg, North Jutland’s biggest city and the fourth biggest in Denmark, where he was never traced. There, he became Fredrik Petersen and was to remain unaware that he had been adopted, right up to his death from pancreatic cancer aged only fifty-six. His life had been short but full. After marrying at the age of eighteen, he had become a lawyer, and together with his wife, Elke, had two children. A daughter called Alaine and a son, Fredrik Junior. Fredrik Junior had followed in his father’s footsteps, becoming a lawyer and joining his father’s practice. The practice grew, opening offices across Scandinavia, which sent Fredrik Junior to Sweden. There, he met and married a beautiful young lawyer named Britt. Von Klitzing became aware of him when he was hired to represent a chemical company Meyer-Hofmann owned in Sweden. Fredrik Senior would never fulfil his intended destiny. That destiny now waited for his son, a destiny that had begun with a visit from Herman Reichard, CEO of Meyer-Hofmann, with a job offer.

Von Klitzing had watched Petersen’s transformation with interest. He was the first second-generation candidate for the recovery process, and Von Klitzing had been sceptical. When Petersen had arrived in Munich, he was a very different man, mild-mannered, quiet, and he doted over his wife. That in itself was no surprise; she was the kind of woman any man would dote over: beautiful, sexy, and intelligent. But it was not only his wife he treated well; he treated all women with the greatest respect. Holding open doors, giving up his seat, standing when they entered the room. He was charming, warm, and very un-lawyer like. He started to change after his very first session with Dr. Ecker. He became distant and reserved, then loud and aggressive. His moods would swing wildly from one extreme to another, causing those closest to him great consternation. But by the end of his treatment, he had settled down and become the man he was today, a complete and utter bastard. Just like his grandfather.

Von Klitzing spoke quietly, avoiding eye contact with the other men in the room, especially Reichard. It was a matter of damage control, and he didn’t need everybody knowing and giving an opinion, or worse, an order. He needed to sort it out quickly, and with the least possible disruption to business.

“We have her,” he said.

“Thank God!” replied Petersen. “Where is she?”

“That is not important; what is important is how much she knows, and what she has done with the information she has.”

“Yes, yes,” agreed Petersen. “What can I do?”

“Nothing, just tell me what to do with her when I’m finished.” Von Klitzing was not expecting the answer nor its animosity.

“Do with her? Are you kidding? Just get rid of her!” Petersen spat out.