All Things New

by Felicia Mires

  All Things New

  Felicia Mires

  COPYRIGHT

  First published in USA, October 2013

  Copyright © Felicia Mires

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor be circulated in writing of any publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  This book has been produced for the Amazon Kindle and is distributed by Amazon Direct Publishing

  To the Resistance fighters of WWII, Freedom Forever

  To Denise Block: Because I've caught you reading numerous novels from the WWII era. Your encouragement after reading drafts of my spy series spurred me on to publication. Thanks for always believing in me.

  CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Epilogue

  Though the main characters of Jacob and Chloe and the town of Cachet are fictitious, many other characters are gathered from historical reports. Geli Raubal was, in fact, Hitler's niece. Stewart Menzies worked in British Intelligence. Bertold Jacob studied Hitler's military movements. Ernest Mercier supplied the Resistance with information regarding the electrical layout for all of France. Which brings me to the Resistance...the members of the Resistance and their weapons of clandestine warfare were a critical element in the success of the Allies. After Georges Loustaunau-Lacau was captured, Marie Madeleine Fourcade led The Alliance, a group of Resistance fighters in WWII France. Termed Noah's Ark by the Nazis because of their animal code names, these men and women accomplished many daring feats, which Fourcade detailed in her memoirs, Noah's Ark, (English version).

  Prologue

  September 17, 1930, Germany

  The slim, dark-haired young man slipped behind the kitchen door, cradling a picnic basket in his arms. Within seconds, the bright red patch on a Nazi storm trooper flashed past the crack in the doorway.

  Jacob Cohen held his breath as he waited for the click of boots to diminish then swallowed hard. Before another soldier appeared, he had to reach the inside of the dumb-waiter. Scarcely breathing, he tiptoed across the kitchen and slid open the door of the dumb-waiter. The accompanying squeak sounded deafening in the still kitchen.

  He glanced once again at the doorway to the hall. Everything remained quiet so he lifted the basket through the opening then climbed through to perch on the inner shelf. After another quick appraisal of the empty kitchen, he let the door glide down. It closed more quietly than it had risen.

  Trapped inside the darkness of the dumbwaiter, he choked on musty smells from decades of food and dirty dishes. A wave of nausea hit him as the narrow walls closed in, but he shook his head. He couldn't fail now. All that he held precious depended on him.

  He slid on a pair of rough leather gloves to pull the ropes running through the sides of the dumb-waiter. At first, he moved rather quickly, but it didn't take long for his own weight to work against him. A few times he lost his grip and, if not for the gloves, would have burned his hands as the ropes ripped through his fingers.

  Take care, Jacob. That mustn't occur on the ride down with his precious cargo.

  As he neared the second floor of the house, he detected a faint light from the upstairs opening of the dumb-waiter. He paused. The panel had been left ajar. Anyone who happened by the landing gained an unobstructed view of the moving ropes and could hear their telltale rustle as he inched his way upward. The soldiers might already lie in wait. But he wouldn't turn back. He couldn't turn back. The threshold loomed above him. He slowed his ascent until he could peek over the edge of the ledge. Not a soul wandered the bare wooden floor.

  After securing the ropes, he grabbed his basket and gingerly stretched his legs to the floor. The instant both feet touched the ground, he moved to the door of Geli's room. They kept her locked inside, but the key was always kept in the lock. With a swift turn, he gained access then shut the door noiselessly behind him.

  It took several seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim light in the heavily draped room, and then his attention shifted to the skeletal figure lying in the wide double bed. Geli leaned against raised pillows, her head bent over a bundle she clutched tightly to her chest.

  Jacob's gasp at the astonishing changes in her physical appearance didn't draw her gaze. Her once lustrous, blond hair now hung in limp strands. The blue eyes once so vibrant with life had sunk deep in their sockets, and dark purple smudges highlighted the hollows underneath.

  He cleared his throat, but Geli continued to croon softly to the tiny infant cradled in her matchstick arms. For a moment, Jacob faltered. Was she mindless? If he spoke, she might scream. Then Jacob glimpsed the face of his tiny son. He stepped beside the bed and bent low.

  "Geli, darling," he whispered. "Your Jacob is here. We have to go now."

  Recognition lighted her eyes, and she whimpered softly.

  "Jacob?" She shook her head. "No, Jacob, why did you come? Now, they'll kill you, too."

  Tears welled in her eyes.

  "It's all right. They don't know I'm here. Frederic, one of the soldiers, is a friend. He helped me get in the house. Come now, we're leaving."

  "I haven't the strength." She nudged the baby toward him. "Look at your son."

  "He's beautiful. Just like you."

  As Jacob brushed his knuckles across her pallid cheek, sorrow mingled with longing.

  "He is." She smiled weakly at him. "Take him and go…before they come."

  "I can't leave you. I'll carry you to the dumb-waiter."

  "The baby and me? No, I can barely stand."

  Indecision clouded his thoughts as he opened the picnic hamper and placed the baby inside, cushioned by the lamb's wool his mother had lovingly provided.

  "Geli, we'll wait for you at grandfather's farm. Surely Adolph will let you go now."

  "No, no, leave Europe immediately. Tell your family Adolph is insane." Terror clouded her eyes. "He's going to kill the Jews, every last one."

  "But, why, Geli? Only I wounded his pride."

  She struggled to sit up. "It's not you, Jacob. He already hated the Jews. There is nowhere in Europe you'll be safe." She fell back, exhausted. "Adolph plans to exterminate every Jew in the world."

  "Except himself," Jacob added bitterly. "How will you find us, Geli?"

  "Go to your family in London. Wait for me."

  When he didn't move, Geli urged him. "Go, Jacob, before it's too late."

  Jacob was beside himself with anguish. His eyes raced from the baby to the door and back to Geli. "But I love you, Geli."

  "And I love you, Jacob. Now save our son." A tear glistened on her cheek as she pointed toward a copy of Mein Kampf lying on her bedside table. "Take it. It will convince you of his plans."

  Jacob grabbed the book and placed it in the basket with the sleeping baby then clamped the lid tight. He padded to the door and opened it a crack to see if the way was clear.

  With one more agonizing glance at Geli, he held the basket firmly to his chest and made his way to the dumb-waiter. In a matter of moments, they sat safely inside.

  Descending the sh
aft came much more quickly. They attained the bottom, and Jacob sat rigidly in place, straining his ears for the presence of anyone in the kitchen. A pot clanged against the sink, and he heard the unmistakable sound of running water. He lingered. Perhaps the person would leave.

  He glanced at the picnic basket held against his chest. If the baby should awaken and cry out, all would be lost.

  Minutes passed like hours until Jacob felt he must risk raising the door of the dumb-waiter. If the air felt close inside the dumbwaiter, it must be much worse for the baby inside the basket.

  The clanging flatware and gurgling water gave him the location of the person in the kitchen. The sink didn't face him. Perhaps he could sneak out without being seen. He slowly raised the door, attempting to avoid the horrible screeching of before but couldn't prevent a slight rasp every few inches.

  With the door raised halfway, he recognized Nelda, the family cook, an elderly woman married to a Jew. He had no choice but to chance her good favor. He climbed noiselessly out, careful not to jostle the basket.

  As he crept toward the root cellar, the cook turned and gasped, nearly dropping the brimming kettle of water. Jacob froze where he stood, as if all thought and time were suspended as they stared at one another. The wizened old lady looked from Jacob to the basket with a question in her eyes.

  He mouthed the word…baby.

  She gasped, and her hand came to her mouth.

  Jacob pointed at the root cellar. It was his only means of escaping the house without encountering a storm trooper.

  After a frightened look toward the hall door, Nelda rushed forward to help Jacob open the root cellar then held the basket while Jacob stepped down.

  After she handed the basket off, her arms flailed as she motioned Jacob to wait. She glanced wildly about the room before whisking away. When she returned, her round and wrinkled face wreathed in smiles, she held two baby bottles of milk. Jacob grasped them with a nod and a smile then the cellar doors closed over his head.

  When he had stumbled across the barren stone floor to the outside door, he rapped against the frame. Frederic's uniform moved across a crack in the door before it lifted out of the way.

  He hauled Jacob up. "Geli?"

  Jacob shook his head.

  "I…I'm sorry, my friend. Get far away before stopping."

  "I will."

  Jacob turned and fled to the mountainous woods of the Obersalzberg ridge. He looked back only once. Not even Frederic remained beside the house.

  A short time later, a soldier knocked on Geli's door then entered. Geli held the bundle of baby blankets to her breast.

  "Get out!" She shrieked. "How dare you invade my privacy when I nurse my baby? Get out!"

  The soldier backed out the door, stuttering his apology.

  Geli continued to cradle the baby blanket to her chest as tears cascaded down her cheeks to drip off the tip of her chin. This was all she had left. Her uncle, Adolph Hitler, would never release her, consumed as he was by his passion for her.

  Hours later, Geli opened the baby blanket and grasped the pistol tightly in her hand. No one remembered her pistol, a gift from her father in happier days before he died.

  She ensured the gun was properly loaded, something else her father had taught her.

  "Be safe, my darlings," she murmured.

  With the pistol pointed to her heart, she pulled the trigger.

  Chapter 1

  London, 1934

  On the day Jacob went seeking his revenge, he left his family safely ensconced with relatives outside London. His four-year old son lay asleep on a cot. Watching him was the only thing that softened Jacob's heart. Though he hated the thought of being separated from his son, he hated Hitler more. Now that Hitler had declared himself supreme ruler of Germany, Jacob could afford to wait no longer. Hitler's atrocities cried out for justice.

  When Jacob stepped off the bus, he scarcely noticed the frigid rain in London. Only one thing occupied his mind. How could he hurt Hitler the way he'd been hurt? With grim determination, he entered the offices of the British Intelligence Service, SIS. Two men sat behind a counter, discussing the weather. A young woman seated at a desk nearby, refreshed the ink on her typewriter ribbon and began to type without looking up. Against the entrance wall, a few empty chairs bespoke the futility of Jacob's venture. No one wanted to be out in weather such as this. No one held intelligence for the SIS. And no one paid much attention to the soft-spoken, dark-haired man as he entered the room.

  "I would like to speak to someone about Germany."

  The rapid rat-a-tat of the typewriter continued unabated.

  The older man finished what he was saying before turning to face Jacob, even then, his tone didn't encourage confidences. "What's that, chap?"

  "Germany. I have evidence about Hitler."

  Jacob entertained little doubt that he'd located the right place to offer his concerns. He'd done extensive research. But how to reach the correct official, he didn't know.

  The clerk gave his companion a sidelong glance and chuckled a bit before answering. "And what might that be?"

  They indulged him, and not very politely, but he wasn't giving up at the first sign of resistance. "Hitler intends to conquer all of Europe. This country is at risk. Whom should I tell?"

  The man laughed, head thrown back and crooked, yellow teeth bared. Jacob could imagine his thoughts. To the rest of the world, Hitler was an untried commodity. No one cared what happened in Germany as long as they made their reparations from the First World War. Besides, in an office of spies, they wouldn't dare to reveal their interest in Hitler to a total stranger, especially one with a German accent.

  "Thanks, mate. I'll be sure the proper authorities are notified."

  A slight movement to the right drew Jacob's gaze. A third man stood from behind the counter, gave Jacob a hard look then departed through a nearby glass door.

  Jacob returned his attention to the man who had so carelessly dismissed him. The clerk's attitude didn't anger him. He felt only pity. The English were fools, who thought their impressive navy and worldwide conquests made them immune to conquerors. It would be a shame if they learned the hard way.

  "Thank you, but I'll wait to speak to someone myself."

  The man's eyes narrowed in an attempt to stare Jacob down. He crossed his arms over his chest. Obviously, he had no intention of relaying the message. Jacob returned his gaze with unwavering calm.

  The man rolled his eyes then waved him at a chair. "Take a seat, but you'll be waiting until you're grey-headed, mate."

  The side door opened. The man who had just departed gestured at Jacob. "If you could accompany me, sir."

  Jacob was ushered into a small corner office, little more than a closet. The man seated behind the desk showed scant interest when Jacob walked in, continuing to make tally marks against the list on his legal pad.

  Jacob remained standing, noting the severe part on the man's thinning scalp, the clean-shaven face, the pressed gray suit and navy tie, the neat arrangement of each item on the desk. A man of method.

  A keen gaze settled on Jacob as the gentleman stood and held out a hand. "How do you do?"

  "Very well. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me. My name is Jacob Cohen. I'm a German…but also a Jew." Jacob's thick accent gave credence to his words, and the man nodded. "My family has relatives in England with whom we have been living for the past four years…since we were forced to flee Germany." Jacob laid a piece of paper on the desk. "This is the address and names. You will see…we are legitimate."

  "Won't you sit down?" The older gentleman returned to his seat, steepling his fingers as he stared at Jacob. "What is it you want from me?"

  "An opportunity to stop Adolph Hitler from destroying your home as he destroyed mine. I have contacts in Germany, and I have a diary of illegal acts that Hitler has perpetrated against our country. He will not stop with Germany." He held out an English copy of Mein Kampf. "This proves the validity of my claims."


  "I've read it. Can you tell me something I don't know?"

  Jacob's eyes narrowed. "Before I answer, I'd like your name."

  The man seated opposite had taken Jacob's mettle while he listened to the boy. He saw before him a youngster of average height and build, dark hair, and dark brown eyes alight with a zealous gleam. The open, honest face lacked the ability for subterfuge, but obviously, something momentous had occurred in his life that brought him to the secret services. He decided to encourage the boy…to a point.

  "That's fair. Stewart Graham Menzies."

  "Thank you, Mr. Menzies. My story is quite lengthy, but easily confirmed. In 1928, Adolph Hitler invited his widowed half- sister, Frau Angela Raubin, to leave Vienna and keep house for him. His father, a half-Jewish German, was married many times, three that I know of. Frau Raubin is six years older than Adolph. She arrived with two daughters, Friedl and Geli. At the time, Geli was twenty and Adolph thirty-nine, but he became obsessed with her."

  Jacob's face and voice tightened as he struggled to relate the events of Adolph's life. It was clearly a personal topic to him, which seemed odd to Menzies. He nodded from time to time, but he really expected to hear nothing new.

  "Adolph rented a villa on the Obersalzberg. It's a mountain ridge over the town of Berchtesgaden in the Bavarian Alps. It's only three hours by car or train to Munich, the headquarters of the Nazi party. Whenever he could get away from his duties, he came to the villa to see Geli.

  "At first, she felt flattered by the attention of such an important person. The more time she spent with him, the more he revealed the insanity of his soul. She was repulsed and invented ways to avoid his company."

  Jacob paused and took a deep breath. Menzies waited impatiently for the young man to continue. He'd never met an actual witness to the goings-on in Hitler's personal world.