The sun has set in Munich, by the time I reach my grandfather's apartment, on Schellingstraße. The street is still wet with the day's rain, and the nearest motor car sounds halfway across town. The late Yosef Bernz, my mother's father, was found dead at his home. The executor of his Will notified me of his death, but was unable to explain the cause. As Grandfather was very old, I can accept that he passed naturally, but given the nature of his work, one cannot help but wonder.

My grandfather, aside from being an occultist and folklorist, was a brilliant biologist and ethnologist. His discoveries in the qualities of blood and its inherent racial properties have received much attention in the last two decades. Not to say that it hasn't met with some criticism.

Grandfather's apartment is just as I remember it. Cluttered, dusty, smelling of an old, antique shop. A small lamp from the opposite corner of the room is the only light source. At his desk sits a young, clean-cut gentleman, organizing a set of documents. Perhaps this is Grandfather's secretary? He appears to have not heard me enter.

"Guten abend," I say in a neutral tone, trying to not alarm him.

The young man looks up slowly and smiles. "Ah, Fraulein Bernz?" Though he appears to be about my age, the wrinkles in the corners of his eyes and at the centre of his brow lead me to believe that this young man has seen some trying times. Even as we stand here in my grandfather's dark study, Germany, like much of Europe, is going through a trying time. Colonies lost, monarchs fallen, the shift of power to the working classes, desperate for an alternative way of life. Some are prepared to do anything. This is what I see in the young man's eyes. Ambition, determination, hope. "Miriam Bernz?" he repeats.

"Yes, granddaughter of Professor Bernz," I answer, shaking his hand. "I received your telegram in Cairo. Did you receive mine?"

"I did. Both of them, actually. The second arrived this morning. You are here sooner than we expected."

"We?"

"Ach, forgive me. I am Adolf Hitler, Werbeleiter of the Nationalsozialistische Deutsche Arbeiterpartei, and executor of your grandfather's Will. He and I became fast friends last year when I took this office. I have found that Prof Bernz's discoveries will be crucial for the salvation of the German People."

I cannot help but laugh. "Grandfather? The Messiah?"

The Werbeleiter echoes my laugh. "Well, not quite. But he's done more good than you will ever fully realise, Fraulein. As you are his sole heir and beneficiary, the National Socialist German Workers Party is offering to pay you handsomely for his work."

"If Germany is to be a Socialist government, wouldn't my grandfather's work belong to everyone?" I tease.

This time, the Werbeleiter's laugh is out of courtesy. "Please don't misunderstand. We are not Socialists...as such. We are Nationalists first and foremost, with the sanctity of Germany at the centre of our work."

There he goes again. Salvation. Sanctity.

The Werbeleiter folds his arms behind his back and begins to circle the desk. "Perhaps I should give you some background to your grandfather's findings. Let us go back to...say...the 6th century B.C. Odin, legendary father of the Norsemen, Vandals, Goths, Alans, Saxons and countless other Germanic tribes, was a great king of the ancient Aryans of Airyanem Vaejah, in Persia. He was called King of Asia by Herodotus. When Darius I became Emperor, Odin took his people, from Persia, to a secret sanctuary in the Himalayas, called Shambhala. There, he discovered Kvasir's Blood, the soma-mead at Mimir's Well, the mead that would bless him with Infinite Wisdom and Understanding. The well was in the courtyard of the Autumn Palace, a secluded residence of the Gautama Clan, the family of Siddhartha, The Buddha. Of course, such a gift as Infinite Wisdom and Understanding came at a price; it cost Odin an eye.

"The Kapalika mystics believe that Siddhartha, the Buddha, received his Awakening through Mimir's Well. This wonderful palace not only possesses the wellspring of All Wisdom, but it is also a major landmark of the origins of the Aryan Race. Discovering the location of Shambhala and the Autumn Palace means finding Mimir's Well and the soma-mead. Of course this is only the first step. Ultimately, we mean to discover the exact whereabouts of Airyanem Vaejah, the cradle of the Aryan People. These people are identical to the modern Germanic Race, which I mean to prove with Prof Bernz's findings."

I am a little overwhelmed, to say the least. "I see." I wonder how best to explain to the passionate young man. "You do realise, Herr Werbeleiter, that the focus of my grandfather's work was to discover biological evidence to individualise God's Chosen People."

"And perhaps something down that road may be pursued in the future," the Werbeleiter quickly interjects. "Right now, my mission is to save Germany. It is my belief that what we discover about the Aryan Race will reignite the flame of pride in the German People." Tears well up in the young man's eyes.

Which German people? I wonder.

The Werbeleiter then reveals an old, stone seal, embossed with a crooked cross. "This is the Wheel of Mitra, Fraulein. The Hakenkreuz. It is a symbol of power and brilliance, excavated in Persia, dating around the 6th century B.C. The Wheel of Mitra is the most ancient symbol of the civilised world. One day it will become a banner over Germany. As we speak, we have an archaeologist in Persia, Herr Goddard, who has retrieved another vital clue to finding Airyanem Vaejah. It is a stone inscription from Darius the Great, with details regarding its location."

"It sounds like you're people have already found the root of their race. Now why exactly do you still need Grandfather's books?"

"Once we've found Shambhala and Airyanem Vaejah, Prof Bernz's books will tell our scientists how to compare the remains of the ancient Aryans to the modern Germans. Your grandfather's studies in the properties of blood and the implications of racial superiority I find most intriguing, Fraulein. The books belong to you, and I understand that you are the only living person who knows their whereabouts." A smile crosses the Werbeleiter's face as he hands me a generous cheque. "I am much too busy with affairs here in Munich, but if you would consider joining the National Socialist German Workers Party, and accompany a research team I am sending to the Himalayas, I will guarantee you a safe and special place of honour in what will be the greatest Regime this world has ever known."