The Shadow Project. Scott Mariani

with a smile. ‘She was once a concert pianist, before Herr Steiner and she were married.’

      ‘What does she do now?’

      Dorenkamp shrugged. ‘She has her music, and he has his work. They spend each day largely in their separate worlds, and they dine together in the evenings when he is not working late or away on business. It is a simple and unobtrusive life they lead, despite their wealth. There isn’t much to say. Frau Steiner tends to remain here on the estate. She has everything she needs.’

      It seemed like a lonely life, Ben thought as they walked on and left the sound of the piano behind them. He followed Dorenkamp up two sweeping flights of stairs to the second floor. The PA stopped outside a grand double doorway. ‘Here we are,’ he said and twisted the ornate bronze knob to push open one of the huge doors.

      Ben followed him inside, and found himself gazing around him at the enormous conference room. Sunlight streamed in through French windows overlooking the estate and the mountainscape in the distance. A massive oak table was surrounded by some thirty buttoned leather chairs. The ceiling was high and ornate, and the walls were lined with arrangements of shields and old swords, from cavalry sabres to fifteenth-century claymores. In between the weaponry displays hung more gilt-framed paintings. Around the edges of the room were display cabinets. Ben wandered over to one of them and bent down to peer through the glass at the old letter inside. The paper was yellowed, the quill-penned handwriting flamboyant. Ben read the signature at the bottom and turned to Dorenkamp. ‘Is this an original Napoleon Bonaparte letter?’

      ‘One of several in Herr Steiner’s possession,’ Dorenkamp said.

      ‘I gather he’s something of a collector.’

      ‘It’s quite a passion of his, in fact.’ Dorenkamp motioned towards the table. ‘Please take a seat, gentlemen. Herr Steiner will be joining us shortly.’

      Ben and the team pulled up chairs and settled around the table. Nobody spoke to Ben, and he in turn ignored everyone. Dorenkamp pulled up a chair near the top of the table, to Ben’s left. The PA checked his watch again, and turned expectantly towards the door.

      Ben heard footsteps outside in the corridor and, a moment later, the door swung open and Maximilian Steiner walked into the room.

       Chapter Fourteen

      Ben and Dorenkamp got up from their seats as Steiner entered, and the rest of the team followed their example.

      Steiner might have been approaching his mid-sixties, but he looked several years younger. He was about Ben’s height, a shade under six feet tall, though heavier in build. He exuded an air of seriousness and absolute self-confidence as he scanned each face in the room in turn intently, as though he could read their thoughts. His reddish-brown hair was still thick, turning just a little grey above the ears. He was wearing an elegant light grey suit and a formal navy tie.

      His cool gaze settled on Ben, and his eyes narrowed. ‘You must be Captain Shannon’s replacement.’ He spoke with even less accent than his PA. ‘Mr Benjamin Hope.’

      Ben groaned inwardly. Benjamin again. This was Shannon’s doing. ‘Please call me Ben,’ he said, avoiding the issue.

      Steiner raised an eyebrow. ‘I prefer a more formal address, Mr Hope.’

      Ben smiled. Fine, have it your way. ‘Then you can call me Major Hope,’ he said. Pulling rank wasn’t something he normally liked to do, but he was damned if he was going to stand in Shannon’s shadow.

      Steiner shot a glance at Dorenkamp. ‘We were not informed of this.’

      ‘Must be a glitch in your communications,’ Ben said. ‘I served with the British Army, Special Air Service. Rank of Major, retired.’ He felt like adding ‘and it’s Benedict Hope, not Benjamin’ – but he didn’t want to make Shannon look too foolish. Just a little bit.

      Steiner gave a curt little nod. ‘Now to business,’ he said, moving on briskly. Clearly not a man to dally over small talk, Ben thought.

      ‘You know why you are here,’ Steiner continued. ‘I have no doubt that the recent attempt to kidnap me will not be the last. While the perimeter of the estate offers full protection from intruders, I cannot remain a hermit. I have businesses to run, places to go and people to meet. Your team’s assignment is to protect me whenever I leave home.’

      ‘Have you left the estate since the attack?’ Ben asked.

      Steiner shook his head. ‘I have not. An intolerable situation that cannot be allowed to continue.’

      ‘Is there anything you can tell us about the kidnappers?’ Ben said, thinking of what Dorenkamp had told him. ‘The more we know, the more we can anticipate their moves. It might be worth liaising with the police, as the investigation is ongoing.’

      ‘The police are useless,’ Steiner answered harshly. ‘There will be no need for that. But I do have an idea who is behind this, and am happy to share the information with you.’ He cleared his throat.

      Happy to share. Ben felt like saying something about that, but instead he kept his mouth shut and waited for more. Across the table, Dorenkamp looked uneasy.

      ‘It is my belief that the kidnappers have a political motive,’ Steiner went on. ‘Of a very particular sort. You may have noticed my interest in collecting objects of historical value.’ He waved a hand at the mounted swords and the display cabinets. ‘One of the items in my collection, which I do not keep on display but securely under lock and key, for reasons that will become apparent, is a certain set of documents – design notes to be exact – dating back to 1944. Not especially old, then, but of enormous historical interest. The author of these extremely rare papers is one Hans Kammler, a wartime design engineer as well as an Obergruppenführer of Adolf Hitler’s Schutzstaffel.’

      In plain language, an SS general, Ben thought.

      ‘It is my belief,’ Steiner went on, ‘that the kidnappers are interested in obtaining the Kammler papers from me, by force or coercion.’

      ‘Why?’ Ben’s question cut through the silence. It was perhaps a little more direct than Steiner liked, judging by the glint of disapproval in the man’s eye.

      ‘Because, Major Hope, Hans Kammler was the engineer in charge of Hitler’s SS Buildings and Works Division in the closing years of World War Two, and the mastermind and designer of the death camps. And because I further believe the kidnappers to be neo-Nazi activists who have falsely persuaded themselves that within these documents is proof that the historical records of the Nazi Final Solution have been grossly exaggerated, possibly even made up.’

      ‘Holocaust deniers,’ Ben said.

      Steiner nodded. ‘Correct, Major. As you obviously know, ever since the war, a growing number of twisted neo-fascists have been intent on demonstrating that the Allied forces simply fabricated much of the evidence of the Holocaust as a means of vilifying Hitler and justifying their own atrocities. Kammler’s papers are quite certainly the most detailed plans in existence of what the Nazis really did at Auschwitz and the other death camps.’

      ‘One question. How do you know that the kidnappers are neo-Nazis? Were they chanting “Sieg Heil,” wearing armbands and leather boots?’

      Steiner clearly didn’t appreciate the humour. He stared icily at Ben. ‘Because one of them had a swastika tattoo on his hand.’

      ‘So do a lot of British football hooligans,’ Ben replied. ‘It doesn’t necessarily prove anything.’

      ‘Though I don’t believe that the typical football hooligan would be interested in the Kammler papers. Herr Dorenkamp has described the kidnap incident to you?’

      ‘He has.’

      ‘When the police