a pleasant high. He had not had many pleasant
things happen to him recently.
“I should also warn you,” added the celebrity,
“that even at this hour the groupies crawl out of the
walls, and the airline PR people manage to roust out
the usual newspaper photographers, but none of it
takes too long.”
Converse was grateful for the warning. “I’ve got
some phone calls to make,” he said casually, “but if
I finish them on time, I’d like very much to join
you.”
“Phone calls? At this hour?”
“Back to the States. It’s not this hour back in . . .
Chicago.”
“Make them from the lounge they keep it open for
me.”
“It may sound crazy,” said Joel, reaching for
words, “but I think better alone. There are some
complicated things I have to explain. After customs
I’ll find a phone booth.”
“Nothing sounds crazy to me, son. I work in Holl
132 ROBERT LUDLUM
Bee-wood.” Suddenly, the actor’s amused
exuberance faded. “In the States,” he said softly, his
words floating again, eyes distant again. “You
remember that crap in Skokie, Illinois? They did a
television show on it…. l was in the study learning
lines when I heard the screams and the sound of a
door crashing open. I ran out and saw my wife
racing down to the beach. I had to drag her out of
the water. Sixty-seven years old, and she was a little
girl again, back in that goddamn camp, seeing the
lines of hollow-eyed prisoners, knowing which lines
were which . . . seeing her mother and father, her
three kid brothers. When you think about it, you
can understand why those people say over and over,
‘Never again.’ It can’t ever happen again. I wanted
to sell that tucking house; I won’t leave her alone in
it.”
“Is she alone now?”
“Nope,” said Dowling, his smile returning. “That’s
the good part. After that night we faced it; we both
knew she couldn’t be. Got her a sister, that’s what
we did. Bubbly little thing with more funny stories
about Cuckooburg than ever got into print. But
she’s tough as they come; she’s been bouncing
around the studios for forty years.”
“An actress?”
“Not so’s anyone could tell, but she’s a great face
in the crowd. She’s a good lady, too, good for my
wife.”
“I’m glad to hear it,” said Joel, as the aircraft’s
wheels made bouncing contact with the runway and
the jet engines screeched into reverse thrust. The
plane rolled forward, then started a left turn toward
its dock.
Dowling turned to Converse. “If you finish your
calls, ask someone for the VIP lounge. Tell them
you’re a friend of mine.”
“I’ll try to get there.”
“If you don’t,” added the actor in his Santa Fe
dialect “see y’awl back in the steel corral. We got us
another leg on this here cattle drive, pardner. Glad
you’re ridin’ shotgun.”
“On a cattle drive?”
“What the hell do I know? I hate horses.”
The plane came to a stop, and the forward door
opened in less than thirty seconds as a number of
excited passengers rapidly jammed the aisle. It was
obvious from the whispers and the stares and the
few who stood up on their toes to get clearer views
that the reason for the swift exodus of this initial
crowd was the presence of Caleb Dowling. And the
actor was
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 133
playing his part, dispensing Pa Ratchet benedictions
with warm smiles, broad infectious winks, and
deep-throated laughter, all with good-old-wrangler
humility. As Joel watched he felt a rush of
compassion for this strange man, this actor, this
risk-taker with a private hell he shared with the
woman he loved.
Never again. It can ‘t ever happen again. Words.
Converse looked down at the attache case he
held with both hands on his lap. inside was another
story, one that held a time bomb ready to detonate.
I am back, l am well, and l am at yourservice.
Also words from another time but full of menace
for the present, for they were part of the story of a
living man’s silent return. A spoke in the wheel of
Aquitaine.
The first rush of curious passengers filed through
the exit door after the television star, and Joel
slipped into the less harried line. He would go
through customs as rapidly and as unobtrusively as
possible, then find a dark corner of the airport and
wait in the deepest shadows until the loudspeakers
announced the plane for Cologne-Bonn.
Goebbels and Hess accepted Dr. Heinrich Leif-
helm’s offer with enthusiasm. One can easily imagine
the propaganda expert visualising the image of this
blond Aryan physician of ‘impeccable credentials”
spread across thousands of pamphlets confirming the
specious theories of Nazi genetics, as well as his all
too willing condemnation of the inferior, avaricious
Jew; he was heaven-sent. Whereas for Rudolf Hess,
who wanted more than his little boys to be accepted
by the Junkers and the monied class, the Herr Dok-
-tor was his answer; the physician was obviously a
true
aristocrat, and in time, quite possibly a lover.
The confluence of preparation, timing and ap-
pearance turned out to be more than young Stoes-
sel-Leifhelm could have imagined. Adolf Hitler re-
turned from Berlin for one of his Marienplatz rallies,
and the imposing Doktor, along with his intense,
well-mannered son, was invited to dinner with the
Fuhrer. Hitler heard everything he wanted to hear,
and Heinrich Leifhelm from that day until his death
in 1934 was Hitler’s personal physician.
There was nothing that the son could not have,
134 ROBERT LUDLUM
and in short order he had everything he
wanted. In June of 1931 a ceremony was held
at the National Socialists’ headquarters, where
Heinrich Leifhelm’s marriage to “a Jewess was
proclaimed invalid because of a “concealment
of Jewish blood” on the part of an
“opportunistic Hebrew family, ‘ and all rights,
claims and inheritances of the children of that
“insidious union” were deemed void. A civil
marriage was performed between LeifLelm and
Marta Stoessel, and the true inheritor, the only
child who could claim the name of LeifLelm,
was an eighteen-year-old called Erich.
Munich and thelewish community still
laughed, but not as loudly, at the absurd
announcement the Nazis inserted in the legal
columns of the newspapers. It was considered
nonsense; the Leifhelm name was a discredited
name, and certainly no paternal inheritance was
involved; finally it was all outside the law. What
they were only beginning to understand was
that the laws were changing in changing
Germany. In two short years there would be
only one law: Nazi determination.
Erich LeifLelm had arrived and his
ascendancy in the party was swift and assured.
At eighteen he was Jungfuhrer of the Hitler
Youth movement, photographs of his strong,
athletic face and body challenging the children
of the New Order to join the national crusade.
During his tenancy as a symbol, he was sent to
the University of Munich, where he completed
his courses of study in three years with high
academic honors. By this time, Adolf Hitler had
been swept into power; he controlled the
Reichstag, which gave him dictatorial powers.
The Thousand-Year Reich had begun and
Erich Leifhelm was sent to the Officers
Training Center in Magdeburg.
In 1935, a year after his father’s death,
Erich LeifLelm, now a youthful favorite of
Hitler’s inner circle, was promoted to the rank
of Oberstleutnant in the Gruppenkommando 1
in Berlin under Rundstedt. He was deeply
involved in the vast military expansion that was
taking place in Germany, and as the war drew
nearer he entered what we can term the third
phase of his complicated life, one that ulti
THE AQUITAINE PROGRESSION 135
mately brought him to the centers of Nazi power
and at the same time provided him with an
extraordinary means of separating himself from
the leadership of which he was an intrinsic and
influential part. This is briefly covered in the
following final pages, a prelude to the fourth
phase, which we know is his fanatic allegiance to
the theories of George Marcus Delavane.
But before we leave the young Erich Leifhelm
of Eichstatt, Munich, and Magdeburg, two events
should be recorded here that provide insights
into the man’s psychotic mentality. Mentioned
above was the robbery at the Luisenstrasse house
and the resulting profits of the theft. LeiLhelm to
this day does not deny the incident, taking
pleasure in the tale because of the despicable
images he paints of his father’s first wife and her
“overbearing” parents. What he does not speak
of, nor has anyone spoken of it in his presence,
is the original police report in Munich, which, as
near as can be determined, was destroyed
sometime in August 1934, a date corresponding
to Hindenburg’s death and Hitler’s rise to
absolute power as both president and chancellor
of Germany with the title of der Fuhrer raised to
official mandatory status.
All copies of the police report were removed