Goering's Gold: A Ructions O'Hare Novel - Softcover

O'Rawe, Richard

 
9781612199658: Goering's Gold: A Ructions O'Hare Novel
Softcover
ISBN 10: 1612199658 ISBN 13: 9781612199658
Verlag: Melville House, 2022

Inhaltsangabe

"I clamor for the next installment of Richard O’Rawe’s rollicking series of heist novels featuring James 'Ructions' O’Hare." — Sarah Weinman, The New York Times Book Review
"Mr. O’Rawe ... has written the most riotous caper novel since his own 'Northern Heist,' and with luck, there will be more adventures ahead. "—Tom Nolan, The Wall Street Journal

Ructions O'Hare returns in a thriller — based on one of history's greatest unsolved heists — pitting him against the IRA, Interpol, and neo-Nazis . . .

When WWII ended, the allies discovered that a huge amount of gold bullion plundered by Nazi Reichsmarschall Hermann Goering had gone missing. Some believed the gold had been hidden in a train box car in Poland. Others that it was secreted in Lake Toplitz in the Austrian Alps. And a few thought it was buried in the Republic of Ireland, which was neutral during the war.

When ex-IRA soldier Ructions O'Hare stumbles on a piece of Nazi memorabilia once owned by Goering, he begins to think that those who suspect the gold was in Ireland just might be on to something.

But for Ructions to return to Ireland is easier said than done. For a start, the IRA is after him for not paying them a cut from a huge bank robbery he carried out in Belfast. And then there's the Neo-Nazis, who believe that Goering's gold rightfully belongs to them, and who are happy to kill anyone who gets in their way.

And as Ructions gathers clues to the gold's location and, as his many adversaries realize he's getting closer, it's as if a noose is tightening around his neck...

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Richard O’Rawe is a former IRA operative who was imprisoned for bank robbery in the Long Kesh penitentiary during the 1981 hunger strike by prisoners, which resulted in the death of ten prisoners. O’Rawe was the IRA’s press officer for the prisoners. He would later go on to write a bestselling book about the experience, Blanketmen: An Untold Story of the H-Block Hunger Strike, as well as several other books inspired by his experiences in the IRA. Goering's Gold is joined by Northern Heist in the "Ructions O'Hare" series.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

September 1944. Herman Goering's private home, Carinhall, in the Schorfheide forest outside Berlin…

Hermann Goering, Reichsmarschall of Greater Germany, pops a morphine tablet into his mouth and washes it down with a swig of red wine. His eye catches a speck of fluff on his white uniform. He flicks it off with his fingernail. Yellow-blue sparks explode from the wooden logs in the granite fireplace of the Jagdhalle, his medieval-style reception room and council chamber. As he sits back in his easy chair, his enormous frame flattens the cushions. He reaches for his Cuban cigar and takes a draw, careful not to inhale. Looking into the fire, he is reminded of the flames from the twenty-two allied planes he had shot down during World War I. It’s a time for introspection, mostly about his life and the war, that accursed garotte coiling around his neck, strangling his life force…

His mind flicks back to happier times, to sun-kissed memories filled with deer and pheasant shoots, and shotgun-toting diplomats binging on Beluga caviar and lobster thermidor in Schorfheide Forest in east Germany; of despots and crackpots and sexpots guzzling magnums of Dom Perignon champagne, and laughter and bonhomie and abandon in the Jagdhalle. Now there is only greyness, with the thudding of anti-aircraft batteries and the boom of Allied bombs exploding in obliterated streets, of firing squads, of the gallows – and of the Führer, staring at him, his hypnotic eyes apportioning blame, but never accepting it. Goering has come to the realisation that the war is lost. The Soviet armies are pushing German forces out of Poland and the Allies are almost at the Rhine. Soon they will be at the gates of Berlin – and they will be unforgiving.

He hears the anti-aircraft fire and the heavy drone of Allied night bombers. Two SS soldiers march into the hall and stand on either side of Goering. ‘Herr Reichsmarschall, may we escort you to the bunker?’

Goering opens a glass door, sticks out his head, and listens. He reckons that it’s a one-thousand-bomber raid on Berlin, the city of rubble. He proceeds to his underground bunker, thirty-six feet below ground and lined with eight-foot concrete walls. His wife, Emmy, and their six-year-old daughter, Edda, are already there. Edda runs to her father, who whirls her up into his arms.

When the bombing ceases, Hitler’s deputy goes back to the Jagdhalle and once again plants himself in his front of the fire. His hand reaches for his Reichsmarschall’s ceremonial baton, presented to him by Adolf Hitler in June 1941. Arm straight, he holds it out in front of him, then brings it closer and rubs the gold Luftwaffe eagle on the end cap.

An SS officer approaches, carrying some files to his breast. ‘Herr Reichsmarschall…’

‘Yes?’

‘Those files you asked for…’

Goering wags his baton, and the SS officer places the files on the ivory coffee table in front of Adolf Hitler’s deputy leader. ‘Herr Hans Winkler has arrived, Herr Reichsmarschall,’ the SS officer says.

Goering lifts the top file and peruses it. The SS officer steps back and stands rigidly to attention. The fire crackles. Goering sets down the file on the coffee table, lifts a poker and rams it into a log, sending a salvo of yellow and red sparklers up the chimney. He lifts the file again, turns a page, scans its contents. Then he looks blankly at the SS officer and says, ‘Send him in.’

‘Very good, Herr Reichsmarschall.’

Outside the entrance to the room, Hans Winkler stands, wringing his hands. He is worried. He cannot fathom why the Reichsmarschall of Germany would want to see him. He examines his conscience again but cannot find one sin.

The SS officer escorts Winkler into the reception chamber. ‘Herr Hans Winkler, Herr Reichsmarschall,’ the SS officer announces before clicking his heels and leaving.

Winkler stands rigidly to attention while Goering continues reading his file. A bead of sweat trickles down Winkler’s forehead. Eventually, Goering turns around and looks at him. Bald, bespectacled, nondescript: the Nazi leader’s ideal image of an archaeologist. ‘Sit down, Herr Winkler,’ he says softly, indicating that he wants Winkler to sit across from him. ‘Would you like some refreshments? Coffee? Tea, perhaps?’

‘No, thank you, Herr Reichsmarschall.’

Goering lifts his glass of wine. ‘A glass of wine?’

‘No, thank you, sir.’

‘I see you worked with Adolf Mahr in Ireland.’

‘Yes, Herr Reichsmarschall. Herr Mahr was the first Keeper of Irish Antiquities and director of the National Museum of Ireland from 1934 to the start of the war, and it was my privilege to be one of his assistants.’

‘I’ve always wanted to visit Ireland. Is it as beautiful as they say it is?’

‘It is quite spectacular, Herr Reichsmarschall.’

‘And the Irish…what are they like?’

Winkler hesitates. ‘They’re an eccentric people, sir. Fiercely independent, wonderfully traditional; they appreciate music…they like their Guinness and having a good time.’

‘They like their Guinness…but they don’t like the British.’

‘No, Herr Reichsmarschall. Historically, British imperialism has resulted in great suffering in Ireland, and the Irish have long memories.’

‘And are they hostile to the Reich?’

‘The Irish Republican Army are sympathetic to the Reich, Herr Reichsmarschall, but only because it suits their own ends; they strenuously oppose our system of governance every bit as much as the British.’

Goering has read about this. ‘What’s the maxim they hold – “England’s difficulty is Ireland’s opportunity”?’

‘That sums it up exactly, Herr Reichsmarschall. It is my view that the general population are neither pro-German nor pro-British.’

Goering swirls the wine in his glass. ‘An assistant to the Keeper of Irish Antiquities…must have been an interesting job?’

‘It was, Herr Reichsmarschall.’

‘And you met the Irish prime minister, Herr de Valera?’

‘Yes, Herr Reichsmarschall, I did meet the Taoiseach.’

‘Taoiseach? Is that Irish for prime minister?’

‘It means chieftain, or leader, Herr Reichsmarschall.’

‘Like Führer?’

‘Yes, Herr Reichsmarschall.’

Goering chuckles. ‘Ha! Two Führers. I don’t think our beloved Führer would like that.’

Winkler detects a seam of sarcasm in Goering’s voice, but he remains stoic in the knowledge that to join in the Reichsmarschall’s merriment could be deemed a capital offence.

‘Hmm… What type of man is this Irish Führer?’

‘I found him dour, Herr Reichsmarschall.’

‘Dour,’ Goering repeats, smiling. Grim-faced images of Hitler and Field Marshal Keitel and Admiral Karl Dönitz flash before him. ‘I know people like that. Sullen, unimaginative people: students of stupidity.’ He stands up, his baton in his hand. ‘How would you like to go back to Ireland on a very important mission, Herr Winkler?’

Winkler looks mystified. Me? Going back to Ireland? What’s there for me? ‘Whatever you say, Herr Reichsmarschall. It would be an honour to serve the Reich and yourself in any way I can.’

‘Good. That settles...

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Verlag
Melville House
Erscheinungsdatum
2022
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 10 
1612199658
ISBN 13 
9781612199658
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
400
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