'We are…' Frick said, after a long pause, well over half a minute, until he was certain he had everyone's fullest attention. '…at the beginning of history. All we have waited for is now possible. Germany is divided. Reunification has resurrected the class structure, not based on background, but on wealth. The haves and have-nots. That is the clay we work with. It is our duty, as National Socialists, to unite Germany. To give those who have, the security to keep what they have earned. And to give those less fortunate, the ability to lift themselves into the prosperity that is the right of all Germans.'
He looked round the room slowly at the other eleven council members. Karl Schiller sat on his immediate left. He was the newest member of the Council, hurriedly elected to replace Mitzer in a series of anxious and hushed telephone calls. He was an investment banker and financier, in his early fifties, with contacts and influence into all reaches of industry and government. A new German, with a formidable international reputation in the United States and Japan, having developed, through his investments, a wide array of associates in the upper echelons of those countries.
Frick knew that Schiller was also greedy. His family had owned considerable estates in the east, lost after the First World War when raging inflation destroyed his grandfather's estate. Lost to a rich Jewish family who were eventually to die in the concentration camps after Hitler had promised to return the estate to his father for duties performed. But the end of World War Two and the separation of Germany brought that agreement to an abrupt end. As soon as reunification came about, Schiller applied for the return of his family's estates. He was horrified to find that a British grocery family, close relatives of the Jews who had taken over his lands, had title to the property. The will that gave them title had been written on a torn out page of a 1938 diary, the only paper available when the family learnt of their imminent fate in the gas chamber. The estate had been willed to another prisoner, a distant cousin, on the clear understanding that should it ever be returned to Jewish hands, the monies and profits taken from it would be devoted to the creation of a Zionist state. The estate itself was to be used for the well being of those Jews who had also suffered at the hands of the Nazis and other oppressors of the faith.
Schiller now found himself fighting those who his father had always taught him were responsible for the break up of Germany and all she had stood for. They were thieves, and once again they would be stealing the land that was not theirs, the land and estates that were Karl Schiller's by right of inheritance.
He had been a keen and willing convert to the cause, his hatred fuelled by Grob Mitzer whom he knew and trusted as a friend and corporate colleague. Mitzer's death had stunned him, but not for too long. Within half an hour he had contacted those on the Council he trusted and given a good account as to why he should fill the vacant seat. His last call had been to Frick, the man he knew he must convince.
'I hadn't considered you ready for the council yet,' said Frick, when Schiller had finished. He lied, for the financier was the obvious choice. He knew Schiller's history, knew his greed for what he felt was rightfully his, knew of his birthright hatred of the Jews. They had known each other for some considerable time and Frick trusted Schiller as much as he could trust any man.
Schiller had pleaded, once again going through the many reasons why it was right for him to gain a seat on the Council. Then he pledged loyalty to Frick and to his leadership. When he had begged enough, when there was nothing else to repeat, Frick had agreed to surrender to Schiller's inheritance request.
'When we come to power, my dear Schiller,' Frick had concluded, 'we shall return what is rightfully theirs to those who have supported us. That is the least we can do.'
From that moment on Schiller was his man.
'But,' Frick went on, 'if we are to take our rightful place in history, then it's time we came out of the woodwork.' He paused, sensed their uneasiness. They were used to working in the dark; they had become a secret society. They had sat with their friends and heard the vilification of Hitler and the Third Reich at dinner parties, in the cinemas, on television and in books and newspapers. Nazi hating had become big business. And they had kept their counsel, never spoken out about their own beliefs.
And now they were being asked to come out in the open.
He felt them shudder; they were in the tunnel and the thunder of the oncoming express train was rattling the rails.
'We have nothing to be ashamed of,' he stated clearly. 'We can't always apologise for the past.'
He stood up, aware of them all watching him. They were frightened men, even Schiller was ram rod straight in his seat. What the hell had they expected, after all these years?
'It's easy to be frightened,' Frick said as he walked round the table, behind them, their eyes following him. 'I, also, am frightened. But we mustn't let our fear overcome our purpose, our duty. There have been far greater forces of darkness in our land than the Third Reich. The Americans, the British, the French. Even the poodle French. They told us how to live our lives, occupied us until we lived our life their way. Whatever nice things they said to our face, they always had their troops in the background, on our soil, waiting to beat us if we suddenly changed our minds. And we had the Russians. They hid their dark deeds behind the Wall. But they still raped our country, disgraced us, pissed all over us for the crimes of fifty years ago. And however bad their crimes against us were, they always justified them by saying ours were worse. We became two countries. Two countries, until the will of the people decided we'd had enough and they went out in their hundred of thousands and pulled the wall down. With their hands. Like I did. On that great night, I stood with them and chipped away with my bare hands, until my fingers were bleeding, to bring down that iniquitous wall. But, like Nietsche said, no herdsman and one herd. They have earned their freedom and don't know what to do next. Our people need direction. And while they're looking for that direction, they are vulnerable. Vulnerable to the rabble-rousers, to the communists, to the fascists, even to the Zionists. You've seen the riots in Berlin, the destruction of the synagogues, even the bomb that killed Grob Mitzer. Surely his death must show you that we can't stay hidden any longer. That it is time for us to take our rightful place. Time for us to be the herdsman. We have the means. We even have our own secret police. The Stasi, Hoenicker's secret police, have been good Stermabeitalung for us. An army of men with nowhere to go.'
As he looked round, he saw that his words were starting to have some effect. One or two of the older members were nodding in agreement. They had waited for so long that some of them had forgotten what they were waiting for.
'Do you know how many Stasi members there were?' he asked suddenly. 'Do you?'
'More than twenty thousand, mein Fuhrer,' said Buhle, the newspaper proprietor.
'More than that, my dear Klaus. That's how many full time staff there were. There were another ninety thousand part timers. Members of the reserves, the army, informers and part time officials. Imagine. We have an army of more than one hundred thousand trained soldiers to choose from. That is bigger than the whole British Army. Not all will come with us. But even if only one in four follows us, we will have nearly thirty thousand people under our command.'
'A unique position,' commented Buhle.
'Unique indeed. To have that and also face a Germany which is being torn apart. It must have been the same in the early days of the Reich.' He appealed to their greed for power. 'Imagine. The day he came to power.' They all knew who 'he' was. 'Imagine. After all the turmoil, after the years of shame, to be in a position where power is absolute, where the future of Germany is in your hands. Can't you see him? Standing there, in Berlin, being sworn in as Chancellor in 1933. What a momentous time, what a magnificent occasion. Surrounded by his lieutenants, his architects of government. Believe, and it can happen again.' He urged them into his vision. 'Believe. Believe. All this can be ours. But it won't jump into our laps. It's a prize we have to take. And to take it, we have to show ourselves. Otherwise, all we've believed in, all that we and those before us have suffered for, will be wasted. Our time will not come again.'