“I need you to add one more name, Tom.”
“Give it.”
“Robert Lehmann,” Olivia added. “He is a surviving scientist from Peenemunde laboratory. Peter says he lives out in Houston. I’m going to see him tomorrow.”
“You take care out there.”
“I will.”
—
Her first disappointment the next morning was the news from the FBI guys at the Pentagon.
She had woken up early, fought the urge to hit the bottle early, and did some calisthenics instead. Her lungs had burned with the fire of irregular exercise when Tom called with the news.
“So far, those guys have stayed off the grid. They don’t exist—”
Olivia was angry. “The FBI doesn’t think that’s strange?”
“If someone doesn’t want to be bothered, maybe it was because they got nothing to bother others about too. It’s good peace for all,” said Tom and Olivia could feel him chuckle.
“And Lehmann?”
“Blank mostly. Nothing on record ties him to Harald Kruger, or Peenemunde for that matter. Just a simple address in Houston where he lives with his children.”
Olivia sat down hard on the bed. She hated that she had to go to Houston with so little to go on. Old men who lived with their children were supposed to be nice, right? She sincerely hoped so.
“You can handle this?”
She reasoned that she could. “I’ll be fine, thank you Tom.”
She was glad though for how deep the investigation had gone. She was making progress. She thanked Tom and hung up. She eyed the bottle in the kitchen on her way out and decided against it.
—
The flight into Houston took almost three hours. It was enough time to look out the window, see what the world looked like when you aren’t in it in person. Short but quality enough to take stock of her life.
It’s been two years since the day her lover, John, died. In that time she had progressed a lot. She had become an alcoholic, had almost gotten fired from a job that brought her so much satisfaction. She sighed.
Bulbous clouds drifted below the wings of the airplane. The sky beyond the clouds was blue and very beautiful—everything that her life had been opposite of in the past two years. All because of a deal gone bad. She closed her eyes and tried not remember.
As a distraction she opened her personal computer and checked her mail. She glanced through old emails. There were those from the office, co-workers wishing her well. Two from her boss seeking information about the support group he recommended.
Olivia pouted at the emails. Resentment followed the feeling of anger she felt for Rob Cohen, her boss.
There was one from Professor Peter Williams.
“Olivia, I’m setting up a meeting with the faculty here. Harald’s box is Pandora and we are opening it. We should have an expedition up and running around Antarctica. What do you think?”
A shiver of excitement tingled the tips of her fingers.
Expedition? Antarctica? All of that crunchy ice under her feet, white all around?
Things were progressing fast.
If there was a secret lab under the ice there, then someone must want it to stay concealed. Underneath the elation, she felt apprehension.
—
The taxi drove her through Texas State Highway 249. The road stretched unknown in front of her, like most of her future.
Soon they came into the fairly large town of Willowbrook. Quaint houses set off the road, long and narrow streets with trees and liberal looking people on the streets. It was a perfect place for a German scientist to hide out.
The taxi stopped in from of a semi-urban house with a short driveway that ended at a garage beside it. Olivia steeled herself and wished she had a couple of drinks before coming here.
She gazed up and down the street. A man walked his dog down the road. He wore earbuds and sunglasses. He passed Olivia without so much as a glance.
Olivia walked up toward the house.
The house had what appeared to be an attic at the top. Flower pots hung from the ledge in front of the house. There were aloe plants in pots by the patio. The house had just been painted white recently, she could tell. There was no one about but she heard playful cries behind the house.
She decided to ring the bell instead of going around.
She rang twice before she heard the sound of flip-flops inside the house.
Olivia stepped back to let the screen door swing out a centimeter. A very pretty lady appeared. She wore almost a thousand hairpins in her auburn hair. Her face was bare of makeup. She wore a red shirt over blue denim. Slanting eyes questioned her.
“Hi?”
Olivia tried a smile on. “Is this where Mr. Robert Lehmann lives?”
Hesitation. She stepped back just an inch. “Who are you?”
“My name is Olivia Newton, I’m a journalist with the Miami Daily. I’d like to have a word with Mr. Robert Lehmann.”
The lady—she looked like a wife to Olivia—hesitated, took in Olivia’s appearance and then backed into the house like a cat. She reminded Olivia of Smokey. Only difference being, Smokey was a dude.
Olivia checked her appearance in the screen door glass. Her denim jacket had yellow paint stains on it from the last time she painted her apartment. And her hair, well, it was everywhere on her head. She breathed into her palm and grimaced.
Damn whiskey.
“Hello there.”
She turned around and there was a man, definitely in his nineties, but well used and looking younger, standing with one booted leg on the small steps.
“Mr. Lehmann?”
“Yes, I understand you are a reporter.”
“A journalist, actually.”
“Same difference,” he growled.
He had a full head of white hair, bushy black eyebrows, and a nose so thin it was almost invisible on his long face. His eyes were piercing grey. He had a mouth that looked ready to smile any second. Somehow, this man had learned to speak without a trace of his German accent.
Olivia liked him instantly.
“Welcome to Willowbrook.”
Olivia took his hand and shook it. It was soft, and warm with health. He climbed the steps and joined Olivia on the porch.
“What is this about?”
“Harald Kruger,” she said. “That name ring a bell?”
“Should it?”
Olivia considered her next words, but the old man was smiling already. “Now that you mention it, it does ring a bell. I saw a small report about it in the papers.”
He opened the door. “Come in, please. Have some coffee.”
10
The house was bare except for two paintings on opposite walls, and a set of chairs that matched the married colored walls. A small hall led off to what must be a kitchen and left it broke into what should be rooms.
The pictures on empty shelves showed that the lady that answered the door was Lehmann's daughter-in-law. The husband had Lehmann’s nose and full hair. His eyes were colder, almost sinister.
The lady, her name according to Lehmann, was Kendall, from Mississippi, brought a proper coffee. Olivia gave her a thumbs-up. She smiled shyly and quickly herded two snooping boys out the back door.
“Now, can I call you Olivia?”
“Yes.”
“And if you don’t mind, I have some vodka too.”
Olivia beamed at him. “You are my kind of granddaddy, Mr. Lehmann.”
Lehmann leaned in, lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I have a full bottle of vodka stashed somewhere in my room. My son, Gary, forbids me.”
“Then you should listen to him, sir.”
Lehmann grinned; his face radiated with it.
“Now, tell me what you want to hear,” he said.
Olivia let the confusing sentence pass. “I have here some documents from a box left by the deceased, Harald Kruger. He was a scientist in Peenemunde back when you worked there during the war. Do you by any chance kno
w him?”
“No, I didn’t.”
Olivia checked the eyes. Basic psychology, the pupils remained dilated. She lingered on Lehmann’s face. No change.
She gave the man the documents.
“Please, I need your opinion of those documents.” She handed them over.
Lehmann riffled through them. His forehead creased in concentration, his face colored. He sighed.
“Such a long time. The past is one son of a bitch that doesn’t stay dead.” He looked at Olivia. “These are authentic German documents. I feel nostalgic right now.”
Olivia nodded in sympathy. Another day, she would grill this pops about life as a scientist in embattled Germany. But not today.
Finally, Lehmann said, “They are most definitely authentic.”
He handed the documents back. Olivia removed the box from her bag. She watched Lehmann’s reaction as she did. There was only mellow curiosity.
She spread the contents on the table. Curiosity was replaced on Lehmann’s face with indifference.
“Any of these look familiar, Mr. Lehmann?”
He came closer. He picked each object one after the other and put it back. He examined the object—that was the size of a fist—longer.
“This could be a part of a machine, you know.”
“What sort of machine, do you suppose?”
“Could be part of a wheel, or a rocket…” said Lehmann. “Did you know we made the first rockets? We made the first moon landing possible.”
Olivia said she was aware. Lehman put the object down and shook his thick head. “I’m sorry, I can’t help with these objects. When we left the laboratories in '45, many just picked stuff for keepsakes.”
“Do you have anything from that time?”
Lehmann pointed to a painting on the wall behind Olivia. She turned to look at it. It was framed in glass but the painting was obviously very old. It was the picture of a girl on a bombed street. There was a crumbling church behind her, the spires of which still stood, pointing at a blue sky. The girl wore a black bodice and a white scarf.
Lehmann was lost in thought when she turned back. His eyes had misted.
“I took that off the wall in Von Braun’s office. I had been there to make a report. Then he had gotten a call from Berlin and he practically stumbled over me as he left in a hurry. I heard the siren then. The Allied forces were coming. The planes were dropping bombs in the East and soon, Peenemunde would be flattened. I ripped the painting off the wall and folded it into the pocket of my overalls.”
A film of sweat was on his forehead when he finished talking.
Olivia’s cellphone started ringing.
“Hello.” She listened and as she did her countenance fell. “Shit. H…h…how the hell did that happen!?” she stammered.
She concluded the call by saying, “I’ll be on my way back as soon as I can.”
Olivia was sweating even though the house was rather cool. She gathered the objects into the box and stowed it. She finished her coffee, mostly out of respect for the hospitality.
“The offer of the vodka is still open,” Lehmann said, rising when Olivia did.
“Oh I’ll pass.” Olivia smiled. “I appreciate your time.”
“I’m glad I could help. And I hope that call bodes well,” Lehmann probed but Olivia ignored him.
The aroma of barbecue wafted through the back door when Lehmann’s daughter-in-law came in. The laughter of the kids followed her too.
Olivia waved her goodbye. Her bright eyes looked from Lehmann to Olivia.
Olivia wanted to ask about her husband, Lehmann’s son, but she only looked at the picture of the couple on the desk.
“You have a beautiful home,” she said.
The lady smiled genuinely. “I thank you very much.”
Olivia left shortly after.
—
A curtain moved up in the attic. A face appeared there. It was Gary Lehmann and attached to the side of his face was a telephone. He watched as Olivia flagged a taxi.
“She’s with the box, yes…and the documents…yes.”
He put the telephone in its cradle gently and looked out the window again. He stood there and stared at the taxi as it rolled down the lane, his eyes the color of metal.
—
She had purchased a return ticket so she was back in the air again within the hour. But Olivia was annoyed.
All the ways that the investigation could be dangerous was now becoming clearer to her. The fact that her life could be in jeopardy made her shiver. And she was so vulnerable. On the plane Olivia checked the faces for someone that might strike her as sinister.
Professor Peter Williams had called to tell her the copies of documents he had made had been stolen from his office.
People got blown out of the sky sometimes. She supposed that this investigation was going to hurt someone somewhere. If they could kill an old scientist, who seemed harmless, then they could do more to her.
Olivia was a threat. This thought both comforted and frightened her.
She kept her bag close to her body. She checked to see that the box was still inside it every time. The guy who sat beside her looked frayed. He wore earbuds and read from a paperback novel. The skin of his fingers looked tight and pulled over his knuckles. He wore what looked like army clothes. Wispy brown hair covered much of his face.
On the other side there sat a passive-faced man, clean-shaven, and too neat. He wore a white t-shirt and dark chinos trousers. He stayed very still.
He looks like an assassin, thought Olivia.
She started praying.
—
Tom Garcia was waiting at the airport by her car. He had been dropped off by Betty who had gone to the gyno again.
“Are you two trying to have a baby?” she asked in irritation.
“Yes, I need progeny,” Tom replied as he got behind the wheel. “Peter Williams is waiting in my office.”
She glanced at him.
“You met the professor.”
They joined the moving traffic of holiday people. Almost all the vehicles in front of them had a boat or a surfboard strapped to its top.
“What do you think of him?” Olivia asked.
“You wanna know if he would make a good mate—?”
“No, Tom, come off it,” she interrupted. “Do you think he could be trusted?”
Tom laughed. He made a left turn onto Kent Street. It was a longer cut, but better than being in the traffic in front of them. Olivia agreed.
“He was worked up about something, wouldn’t say when I asked.”
Olivia sat deeper in her seat. “He lost the documents.”
Tom glanced at her sideways, open-mouthed. Perhaps he realized too what the enormity of the whole thing was. She told him what she had found in Texas. They drove the rest of the way in silence.
11
Peter Williams was waiting when they arrived at Tom’s office.
His coffee was left untouched on Tom’s desk. He stood up when he saw Olivia. There was determination on his face, not fear. Olivia tried to imagine how this discovery should make her feel better.
“Please, sit, Professor.” Tom went around his desk.
Nothing had changed in the office. It had been a while since Olivia entered it. The nameplate that announced his title was still there on the black leather, his cache of files beside it. A black shelf on his right, the trashcan by his chair, and the flag by the window. The walls needed painting, though.
Olivia pushed a stack of papers on the table away so she could perch there. Tom looked at her disapprovingly. There was a chair against the wall. Olivia always complained of how it hurt her back.
Peter stared from Tom to Olivia.
“What’s up?” he asked.
Olivia shrugged. “Lehmann is in support; the documents are old German papers, authentic. He had never seen the objects before, though.”
Olivia recounted her discussion with Lehmann to the men. She left out the part about t
he painting on Lehmann’s wall though. Besides, it was his son's place, not Lehmann’s.
Peter nodded and reached for his cup of coffee. He tasted it, wrinkled his mouth, and put it back.
“Sorry, Tom makes the most horrible coffee.”
Tom raised his hand. “Not me, it’s what the city can afford.”
Peter ignored him.
“I’m convening a meeting with the faculty biggies tomorrow to get an approval for funds. I’d like for you to be on the expedition team, Olivia. We are on to something. I want to know what it is.”
Tom tapped the table. “Er, let’s not forget this is still a murder case.”
“Shush, Tom.” Olivia smiled. To Peter she said, “It's going to cost a fortune to get an expedition team into Antarctica. How are you going to convince them? We have just the documents and the words of two old men to go on—”
“Yes, but one of the old men you speak of was a scientist in Peenemunde, and he says the documents are not bogus,” Peter countered.
Silence followed.
There was a certain fear as well, felt mostly by Olivia and Peter Williams. The danger seemed to flow over Tom. Peter rose to go.
“I just wanted to make sure you had a safe trip. I have to go now, to prepare for the hearing tomorrow. Be ready to move when the time comes,” Peter said with so much certainty.
Olivia saw him out.
When she came back in, Tom offered to take her home but she declined.
Ten minutes after, Olivia drove home, bothered very much about the future of her career.
—
The Miami Daily was on the topmost floor of a six-story building in the busiest part of Fulham Street, downtown. Fulham Street wasn’t anything like Wall Street, but it had the wide lanes, traffic lights, and the civility that made the city bearable.
Olivia did three years in New York City before getting transferred out here on merited promotion. It had been a breath of fresh air. She had been in the International News section of the New York Times. It had been fun, but it cost her two loves and almost one of her kidneys. Caffeine isn’t as good as the health promoters would want the public to believe.
Hunt for the Holy Grail Page 5
