Page 139
“I bet with my friend here that you love yourself too much to commit suicide,” said von der Haas. “That you’d try to fake it and escape. The plane made the most sense. Either you get away or you die in a fiery crash under heavy artillery fire. Your only real choices.”
“It helped that the only person in the kitchen you didn’t release happened to look just like you,” said Bauer. “And that you kept your personal pilot in the bunker with you. Besides, who announces a date and time for their suicide?”
For whatever reason, Hitler chose not to speak.
“Lars von der Haas,” Erich said, his voice shaking. “Annika von der Haas. Dahlia von der Haas. Verena von der Haas. Diederik von der Haas.”
Bauer kept his gun out, positioned himself closer to Heinz on the ground.
“My family!” von der Haas shouted. “My Jewish family! My beautiful family that you murdered!”
“I killed nobody,” said Hitler, remaining remarkably calm. “I cannot be responsible for the actions of rogue underlings purporting to act on my—”
“Shut up! Shut up!” Von der Haas, trembling, moved closer to Hitler. “It was you. You set all this in motion. You called for the genocide of millions of innocent people. Say it. Say it, goddamnit!”
Tears streamed down his face.
“I did no such thing,” said Hitler, “but I am deeply sorry—”
“No! No! Okay, you won’t say it? You won’t say it? Fine.” Von der Haas shook his head furiously. “Fine. I just want you to know, it was a Jew who killed you.”
He aimed his gun at Hitler’s face.
“Please,” said Hitler.
The gun shook as von der Haas continued to sob, but he couldn’t kill a defenseless person in cold blood.
A loud boom shook the ground, a bomb dropping somewhere close in the Tiergarten. Von der Haas’s head whipped around at the sound of the explosion.
Adolf Hitler reached into his right pocket, removed a Walther pistol, and aimed it—
—and Bauer dropped him with a gunshot to the right temple.
The Führer crumpled to the ground.
“No!” shouted Heinz. “No!”
Von der Haas walked over to Hitler, crouched down, felt for a pulse. The Führer was dead. Emotionally spent, he stood over the lifeless body, mumbling to himself, before he slowly shook his head and reholstered his weapon.
Bauer breathed out a sigh. “You didn’t disarm him, Erich?”
“Guess I forgot.” He shrugged. “I’m not a very good killer.”
Bauer squatted down by Heinz Linge, who was still upset. “Heinz, I’d like to untie you and let you be on your way, but something tells me you’d give me a fair amount of trouble. But it shouldn’t take more than five or ten minutes for you to get free. And then I’d suggest you get the hell out of Berlin. I wouldn’t waste one more second on that lowlife you called a boss.”
“You’re going to carry him back, aren’t you?” von der Haas said. “You’re going to carry him back to the bunker and put him next to Eva and say he killed himself just like he promised.”
Heinz didn’t answer. He was still sobbing quietly.
“Well, whatever you do, Heinz, leave Berlin,” said Bauer. “Good luck. And wish us luck, too. I’m just hoping my friend hasn’t forgotten everything he learned in aviation training twenty years ago.”
They jumped into the tiny plane, von der Haas the pilot, Bauer the passenger. The engine coughed to a start. The propellers wound into a frenzy. The plane taxied down the airstrip and lifted into the air.
Epilogue
Present Day
Washington, DC
