The Heritage Paper

by Derek Ciccone

  Youkelstein braced for the but. Authors never seemed to lose their insecurities.

  “But you didn’t answer the question of why, or at least project a hypothetical of what you believe became of them. So you left me hanging. All of these men you mentioned, like Himmler and Hess, were the types who believe they were put on the planet to do grandiose things. If they escaped, as you made a strong case for, I find it hard to believe they spent the remainder of their lives selling insurance in Santa Fe. You didn’t complete the thought.”

  Veronica was stuck on something she mentioned. “You said you never thought about dead Nazis before—what suddenly sparked your interest?”

  “Let’s just say that the painting you brought me today wasn’t the first of its kind to come into my possession.”

  Flavia turned back to Youkelstein. “So do you believe what you witnessed today represents the final chapter of your book? Maybe that’s why you got the invite.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Another issue I had was that the book didn’t cover the one missing Nazi I was most interested in—Heinrich Müller,” Flavia continued.

  Veronica summoned the notes in her head from Nazi-101 class this morning. Müller was the Gestapo Chief.

  Who had a child with Ellen!

  The child who was the Chosen One.

  The aliens are cleared for landing.

  “Despite claims of my grandstanding, or those who say I’ve never met a conspiracy theory I didn’t believe, I have always based my findings on facts … which is why I didn’t satisfy your need for an ‘ending.’ I have never come across any evidence that Müller survived the war. He was last seen in Berlin on April 30, 1945 with his communications director, Christian Scholz. There have been rumors, such as the Russians had captured him and he worked for the KGB, and similar ones about the US and the CIA. But good money was always on Müller being killed in the Battle of Berlin.”

  “What would you say if I told you I know for a fact that Müller survived the war?”

  “After my experiences this morning, I wouldn’t doubt you for a moment.”

  Flavia took another sip of wine. “What do you say we go pay him a visit?”

  Chapter 22

  Zach was convinced that Maggie Peterson was the key to unlocking this mystery. She would be his inside source, even if she didn’t know it. And it wasn’t a coincidence that he agreed to accompany her outside.

  He took a seat beside Maggie at a patio table. It had a view of the grounds, which reminded him of a country club he worked at while growing up in Michigan. He watched as Eddie and Jamie trudged toward the WWI plane exhibit. Then Eddie turned around like he’d forgotten something.

  “C’mon, Maggot,” he shouted.

  She didn’t move a muscle.

  Zach had the opportunity to observe Maggie during the numerous times she’d come over his house to play nerd with TJ. They didn’t have many conversations, since he was the adult—the enemy! But he’d learned enough to be familiar with her world-class stubborn streak.

  Eddie began marching back toward their table. Jamie was right on his heels. The little guy could smell trouble like a shark could sense blood. And he seemed to thrive on it.

  Zach was struggling to get a read on Eddie. At first he wanted no part of leaving the restaurant, acting like he was being demoted to the kiddie table. Then in his next breath, he turned into Maggie and Jamie’s personal Secret Service team.

  “Let’s go, Maggot,” he barked. “It’s for your own protection.”

  Not even a twitch.

  Jamie decided to toss some gasoline on the fire, “C’mon, Maggot—let’s go see the airplanes before they fly away!”

  This brought the statue to life. “I told you not to ever call me that!”

  “Call you what?” Jamie replied with the most innocent of looks.

  “Maggot,” she informed him with an earsplitting screech.

  Jamie laughed as he pointed at her. “You called yourself Maggot.”

  Maggie’s face turned bright red. “Only Uncle Eddie calls me that!”

  Eddie flicked Jamie’s ear. “Ouch,” the boy said, baffled by the response.

  “Only I call her that,” he re-asserted his authority and returned his attention to the girl. “C’mon, Maggie—stop being such a wuss.”

  “I’m going to stay here,” she stated. The terms didn’t sound negotiable.

  This set Eddie off again. He was the jolly mall Santa Claus until someone disagreed with him. “I wasn’t asking, Maggie—now come on!”

  “You’re not my father.”

  Zach winced; she was bringing out the heavy artillery. Eddie’s anger began to overflow … but this time it was directed at Zach.

  “If you think you’re going to walk into their lives and then leave when you feel like it, you’re going to have to answer to me.”

  “I don’t know what you’re getting at—I’m just trying to help out.”

  Eddie got up in his face. “I did some checking up on you. Seems like you have a reputation for not protecting those close to you, and leaving when it’s convenient.”

  Zach kept his cool. The guy obviously was trying to bait him and he wasn’t going there. Eddie wasn’t the one who had to endure those painful visits to Bedford every weekend. He never left.

  “Like I said, I’m just trying to help out. I didn’t mean to step on your toes.”

  “I’m here for the long run to protect this family. It’s how my brother would want it.”

  “Did he tell you that?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Nothing—I’m just not a big fan of speaking for the dead. I think they can speak for themselves.”

  With a sharp jab of the hand, Eddie struck like a cobra, grabbing Zach’s tie and pulling him close enough to smell lunch. Zach realized if he didn’t take the bait, then Eddie was intent on starting the confrontation, regardless.

  “Don’t mess with this family!”

  He whipped out his gun and jammed it against Zach’s temple.

  As Maggie and TJ might say, or rather, type—OMG! The patrons at the neighboring tables began wildly scattering.

  Maggie looked horrified, but Jamie seemed enthralled by what might happen. The kid was a little scary.

  Then Eddie surprised Zach again.

  He lowered the gun and handed it to him. He read Zach’s confused look and barked, “If someone comes after her, what are you going to do—stab them with your pen?”

  Zach forced a nervous smile. “I once had an editor who said I could bore someone to death.”

  Eddie turned his back and headed off with Jamie.

  Chapter 23

  A scared looking waitress took their order. Zach got the traditional club sandwich, while Maggie ordered the vegetarian lasagna.

  “I didn’t know you were a vegetarian,” Zach tried to make conversation, acting like the whole gun incident never happened.

  Maggie didn’t seem as affected—maybe it was just a typical day out with Uncle Eddie—but what he thought was a mundane comment raised her ire. “How would you? You don’t know me.”

  She had a point.

  A long awkward pause hovered, before Maggie said out of the blue, “My mom likes you.”

  Zach tried to mask his surprise. “She said that?”

  “No—it’s just that she gets all weird when you’re around. Gets all forgetful and stuff.”

  He forgot the basic rules of a twelve-year-old—never let your guard down, and never underestimate their powers of perception. And sadly, eliciting memory loss from Maggie’s mom was the best response he’d gotten from a female in a while. Maggie seemed to be gauging his potential response, and he felt he needed to clear things up, whatever those things were.

  “We just have a lot in common. Kind of like you and TJ.”

  “What could you possibly have in common with my mom?”

  “Well, we’re both raising twelve-year-olds. And as much of a special treat you m
ight think that is, you aren’t always a picnic.”

  “What happened to TJ’s mom? He never talks about it.”

  “She got sick.”

  “Is she in the hospital?”

  “Something like that.”

  Another awkward silence filled the air until the waitress returned with their meals. She dropped off their food and scurried away before Wyatt Earp and Doc Holliday made a reappearance.

  “So you’re a big Jim Kingston fan?” Zach asked, pointing at the T-shirt that Maggie broke school rules to wear. Using the old baggy-sweater trick to fool her mother.

  “I’m a supporter, not a fan. A fan is someone who paints their face when they go to hockey games.”

  “Okay, what do you support about him?”

  “For starters, he’s the only candidate who’s backing our friends in their time of need.”

  Wow, twelve years old, Zach thought, when he was her age all he wanted was a BMX bike.

  “But I remember you mentioning that you volunteered for his campaign last summer, and there wasn’t any potential conflict then.”

  “I’m big on environmental issues—I think it’s our job to leave the earth a better place than we found it, and Jim Kingston believes that. I think Theodore Baer’s policies are selfish and shortsighted.”

  “You’re deeper than most kids your age.”

  “My mom says kids who grow up in the city are like five years older than the average kid.” She shrugged. “So who are you voting for?”

  “To be honest, I’m not a fan of either guy. But I still have twenty-four hours to figure it out. I usually work better when I’m up against a deadline.”

  She didn’t seem thrilled by the response, but moved on. “Do you believe what my Oma said?”

  “I think she believed what she said. And I’m convinced that Sterling believed her, or he wouldn’t have shown up.”

  She sighed. “Get off the fence. Did you believe her or not?”

  “I’m a reporter. My job is to observe and report the facts.”

  “Are you sure you don’t want to change your order to waffles?”

  Good one—underrated sense of humor. Like her mother.

  “Okay, I believe the part about your Oma being taken in by the Nazis. And I trust your mom’s analysis of the painting. That is important, because it’s physical evidence that links Ellen’s relationship with Hitler, and gives credence to her claim that she had a child with Müller.”

  “But?” she read his doubts.

  “I’m not sure I believe the whole Apostles thing. If there ever was such a group, I doubt it ever materialized into anything significant. I think your Oma was looking to validate the importance of her existence as she neared the end, so when she read Youkelstein’s book about some of these Nazis possibly being alive, her imagination began to run and she created a history that never existed.”

  “She was telling the truth,” Maggie remained steadfast, and irritably dug into her lasagna.

  Zach shrugged. “Her timing is a little suspicious, to say the least.”

  “The timing makes perfect sense. If Theodore Baer gets into power tomorrow, then our freedoms will slowly be taken away, allowing the Nazis to move in.”

  Zach’s face creased in skepticism. “She told you that?”

  “No, I figured it out on my own. But there’s still one part that doesn’t make sense.”

  “And that would be?”

  “The part about her son Josef being the one chosen to lead them back to power. It makes no sense. It would be like Kingston or Baer naming Jamie as their running mate.”

  Zach looked out at the grounds where Eddie was giving Jamie a piggyback ride. Zach was pretty sure that Jamie would make a more capable vice president than Officer Eddie.

  “So you don’t believe he was chosen?”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t chosen, I said it didn’t make sense,” she replied with a frustrated sigh—the grownup just wasn’t getting it. “I think to get to the bottom of this we have to answer the question why he was chosen.”

  For most kids, losing their father at such a tender age would have knocked the passion out of them. But Maggie was still oozing with idealism and an overactive imagination that only a novelist could love. Zach got the idea that Ellen took advantage of these qualities, and part of him felt bad for the girl.

  “Listen, Maggie, parents often glorify their children. And when children die at a young age they practically saint them. In the video, Ellen alleged that Josef died before he was able to fulfill his promise. I think she made him out to be this Chosen One because it raised him to heights his short life was never able to reach.”

  Zach thought of his stillborn daughter, Abigail, who would have been TJ’s twin sister. Like most parents, Sara assumed that Abigail would’ve gone on to do great things if she had lived. Maybe. But nobody truly knows where life will take you. Maybe Abigail would have acquired the same sickness of addiction as her mother and ended up a junkie. The scenario was just as likely. Klara Hitler probably thought that her little Adolf would achieve great things. Or at least not become a mass murderer.

  “But she didn’t glorify him. She knew he wasted his life, and she blamed herself.”

  “Maybe she used the burden of being ‘chosen’ as an excuse for his demise?”

  Maggie looked out at Eddie and Jamie rolling around in the grass, despite Eddie wearing an expensive suit. At that point, she decided to talk to herself because she seemed to be the only person who understood Maggie Peterson.

  “Why was he chosen?” she asked.

  Chapter 24

  Otto sat beside the Candidate in the back of the stretch limo as they moved through the thick Manhattan traffic.

  The Candidate’s father, Josef, was originally chosen for this role, but greatness clearly had skipped a generation. His father never possessed his charisma and courageous vision. You’re either born with that or you’re not. Otto hadn’t seen such a combination since the Führer—a comparison that gave him chills.

  Otto viewed the landscape outside his window. He laughed to himself at the contradictions of this strange wasteland called America. A society that demonized the Führer’s racial philosophies, yet built their dynasty on the ethnic cleansing of the Native American and the slave labor of Africans stolen from their homelands. He wondered how their celebrated Manifest Destiny was any different from the Führer’s quest for territory called lebensraum.

  The Führer understood that certain races were genetically superior to others. And Otto had observed the appeasement of the lesser races divide the United States, weakened its core, and made its structure vulnerable. But he wasn’t complaining—it’s what they had been counting on all these years.

  There was a time when he doubted if this moment would ever be presented to them. As decades passed, and with his aging troops growing restless, he knew he’d have to spark their opportunity himself. And to do so, he re-created the spark that ignited Germany—the Reichstag Fire.

  The fire was purposely set by members of the Nazi Party, made to look like an attempt by the communists to overthrow the German government. It was an act that woke up the nation from its slumber and caused then-chancellor Paul von Hindenburg to put out a decree nullifying many of the key civil liberties of the German citizens. The country had remained in a malaise since WWI, too busy feeling sorry for itself to reclaim its birthright of world domination. But the Reichstag Fire on February 27, 1933 restored Germany’s fight, and led to the rise of the Führer.

  As the new century began, America had slipped into a similar malaise. But unlike Germany, it was based on a different emotion—overconfidence. The United States believed themselves to be an impenetrable fortress, and it was Otto’s challenge to alter their mindset.

  He’d heard of a group that resided within Germany, which had picked up their battle to fight off the attempts by the Zionists to seek world domination. But while this ragtag militia was based in Germany, they weren’t of German descent. T
he German people couldn’t even fight for their own causes anymore, Otto sadly thought. This was a group of Arabs—a race he believed to be far beneath the Germans. But when he traveled to Hamburg to meet with their leaders in an apartment the group rented at Marienstrasse-54, near the university in the Harburg section, Otto found what they lacked in genetics they made up for with fearless delusion. Just the men to deliver a modern day Reichstag Fire.

  The leader of these genetic mutants was a hypnotic brainwasher who hid in the caves of Pakistan. He had already done the legwork, setting a plan into motion where a cell based in Hamburg would hijack commercial airliners and crash them into symbolic US buildings and monuments. While Otto doubted their ability to pull off such a grandiose plan, he didn’t doubt their commitment to the cause.

  Otto had observed the US enough to know its greatest strength was also its biggest weakness. When attacked, it would predictably fire back with all its might. But in doing so, it would create an opening for its enemies. It reminded Otto of a celebrated boxing match he attended during his youth in New York, where the German, Max Schmeling, used a similar strategy in defeating the American negro Joe Louis, once again proving the superiority of the German race.

  On June 3, 2000, Otto used his many contacts around the world to assist top cell members in moving to Prague, and would later help their entry into the United States, where they’d enroll in an aviation school in Venice, Florida. Otto didn’t try to conceal the alias he’d used during his post-war years in the United States—he officially ceased being Otto in 1945—and even went out of his way to make sure his involvement was discovered if the mission was successful, which he did in very traceable emails. Only if they failed, as he expected, would he be forced to remove all links that could connect his alias to these savages. One way or another they were going to meet their maker that day.

  In the days and months following the attack, the response was as expected. First, the US began restricting rights of the people just as von Hindenburg had done in Germany. Then they threw a wild punch—a convoluted and vague plan termed the War on Terrorism—leaving themselves open for defeat. When this war turned into a protracted struggle it tore at the US’s resolve. Little did they know that it was just the appetizer.