THE HUNT NEVER ENDS.

           'You thought that we wouldn't find out, didn't you?' the note read.          

           The man had shivered when he had read those ominous words, as perspiration began to drip down from his temple. The salty liquid seeping into his eyes and temporarily blinding him.      

           "This is the end", the man had said to himself, in an agitated, trembling whisper, as he looked down at the sheet of notepaper which had been left on his office desk. He glanced around at the other employees, to see if anyone was looking his way; giving him some indication on who had left the message. But, all of them were engaged in their own little world of toting up the facts and figures which were constantly coming through on their computer terminals.

           What had caused this man to turn deathly white and feel so nauseous? How had those nine little words on the page, that had now turned his world completely upside down, come to cause him so much anguish and despair?                                                              

           That unhappy event had happened a week before; so let us now find out what had caused this man, Henry Miller, to end up in this now distressing location where he now found himself.

           At this moment he was looking between the slats of a venetian blind, observing the street outside...and trying as best as he could to remain unseen from the road in front of the building where he now cringed, frightened out of his wits. 'How had it come to this?' he thought?'    Last week he didn't have a care in the world; all was going well at work, and then came that note; and he found himself involved in something that had instantly changed his life. And now he was on the run, constantly looking over his shoulder, and, at this moment hiding in this abandoned building...a structure that had a large sign outside stating that it was condemned and would shortly be torn down.    So, how long could he remain here, before he had to find another place of sanctuary?

           The year is 1948, the war is over, after six years of bloodshed and butchery by a psychopath and his evil, willing collaborators; during which an estimated eighty to one hundred million people had died or been murdered. The Nuremberg Trials had finished, and many, many hundreds of German Nazi war criminals had found justice on the end of a rope; for crimes against humanity. Then, there were some who had decided that a cyanide pill was a much quicker way to escape the noose of retribution.  Others, seeing that the end was near, had made their getaway before the Russians entered Berlin and tortured them, finding their way to South America. Where many of them lived for a while, trying to evade the men from The Simon Wiesenthal Organisation...people dedicated to finding every last Nazi and bringing them to justice. Headed by their leader, a man known as 'The Nazi Hunter', who was a Holocaust survivor.

           Even though many years have passed, the hunt still goes on, still finding those vile and depraved monsters...a sub species of the human race.

           Although some are well into their dotage, justice is still being served. A particular case in point is the case of Adolph Eichmann, who, along with Heinrich Himmler, was the architect of The Final Solution, where six million Jews were sent to the death camps. Only to be gassed, their bodies cremated, and the remains crushed. Eichmann was finally located in Argentina in 1961, thinking that, after sixteen years, he was safe. But justice caught up with him, and he met The Grim Reaper on the end of a rope a year later.

           But, returning to Henry Miller...a man who had changed his name from Henrik Mengele, and who had managed to escape from his home in Germany to live in Spain (a neutral country during the war), just after the conflict had begun. The surname he was born with (Mengele), was the same name as the man who was once revered by the Nazi Party for his inhumane and horrific experiments on unwilling participants...the infamous doctor Josef Mengele, a man given the name of 'The Angel Of Death'. A 'man' (if indeed he could even be called that), who performed appalling and unspeakable experimentation on live inmates of the concentration camp at Auschwitz. Most of those subjects dying a lingering, painful and agonising death.

           All in the cause of making the so-called German 'Master Race' into a nation of blue-eyed, blond, Aryan supermen.  

           But, what had caused Henry to be reduced to his present situation? It was all due to that one page letter that he had found on his desk just over a week before, which caused him a great deal of torment. He had read the words, his trembling hands trying to stop the shaking that was coursing through his body. The words that read:

           'You thought that we wouldn't find out, didn't you?'

           For many years he had feared that maybe someone, somewhere, at some time, might find out about his namesake, and make his life a living hell.  Maybe even murder him, with the idea that he was in some way engaged in the work carried out by that misguided and psychotic mass murderer, and had, somehow, missed out on receiving the same fate that had befallen the other members of The Nazi Death Squads.  But, he had been so careful, and had never told anyone of his former name, or his possible relationship to The Angel Of Death at Auschwitz. So, how could someone have found out where he lived or worked?   The only way out that he could think of, was to go on the run, getting well away from anyone he had worked with, and from where he had lived. He had no plan. Just a crazed idea that he must stay out of sight in this empty building before he made his next move. All sorts of wild ideas coursing through his brain. Thoughts that he had never even dreamt about...up until now, came into his mind.

           It was a few weeks later in the office where Henry had formerly been employed. A place from which he had mysteriously disappeared some time previously, without explanation. One of the other employees who had worked with him, had just read an article in the newspaper that had shocked him.  It mentioned that his former workmate had been found dead in an abandoned building...having seemingly committed suicide by ingesting a cyanide pill.

           As tears welled up in his eyes, he murmured words that he found extremely difficult to say:

           "Henry, what happened? Why did you do it? Just as your friends here were organising a surprise party for your birthday. You tried so hard to keep it a secret, and you thought that we wouldn't find out, didn't you?'