by Tim Wheat
Both welcomed the scheduled stop in Iceland, where Poppen and Alexei convinced their dedicated pilot to rest. He had been flying for eighteen hours, and had no less than eleven hours of the trip left to complete. It didn’t make sense to die because the pilot fell asleep at the stick, so the two men found a pub and had some local cuisine.
Six hours later, a very intoxicated Alexei Chase, and a slightly intoxicated Robert Poppen stumbled back onto the plane, finding a rested pilot prepared to leave. Both men fell asleep before the aircraft had even left the runway, and as they made their final descent into London, they both woke up with headaches. A fog covered the land below them, and Bobby Poppen peered through the window.
“Hey, why can’t I see the London Bridge, or Big Ben? All I see are green fields.”
“Beats me” said Alexei. “My head is pounding. Do you have any water?”
“What’s the name of the airport we’re flying into?” Poppen handed Alexei a canteen they had brought. “I can’t remember its name.”
“Neither can I,” Alexei gulped water from the canteen. “Heathrow? Maybe?”
“Well, it looks to me like we’re landing in a field. I see some sheep right over there.”
Both men looked out the windows, then a runway appeared out of nowhere and they were on the ground. The touchdown was light as a feather. Neither man realized the skill it had taken to set down with such apparent ease in limited visibility with a twenty mile an hour crosswind. They taxied to a small hangar south of the runway, and came to a stop.
“Thank you for flying Morris Airlines boys” the pilot shouted from the cockpit. “I believe a chariot awaits you outside.”
“What about you? What are you going to do?” Poppen asked.
“Well, I have to shut this plane down, make sure it isn’t too screwed up from flying all this way, service what needs to be serviced, and then await instructions. I figure a beer or two with a local young lady should be in order as well.”
“It was a pleasure flying in your aircraft,” Poppen said.
“Yes, it was a pleasure,” added Alexei.
“The pleasure was all mine, gentlemen. I’ll see you again soon.”
With that, Alexei and Poppen departed the aircraft to where a Bentley 4.25 liter Van Den plas tourer awaited. The body of the vehicle was a deep red, while the long sloping front wheel covers were a glossy black. Two seats were available in the sleek convertible and Poppen wondered aloud.
“How are we supposed to know where we are going? The steering wheel isn’t even on the correct side.”
The two men walked toward the gorgeous car, stuffing their two bags behind the seats, and sat down. Alexei took the driver’s seat, and Poppen the passenger’s. A full minute passed and then Alexei spoke.
“Ok, now what?”
“We must have instructions somewhere,” insisted Poppen. Just then an Englishman came out of the hangar and passed close to the vehicle. “Excuse me, sir. Could you tell us how to get to Oxford?”
“Get a map, and drive there your bloody self” replied the man in a thick English accent.
“You heard the man,” Alexei roared the engine to life, put the car in gear, and left a streak of rubber in his wake. “We’ll drive there our bloody selves.”
***
“Do you have any idea where you are going?” Poppen asked Alexei as they passed a large old building. “It seems like we should be there by now.”
“We are going right there, the Radcliffe Science Library, Jackson Wing.” Alexei pointed out the right side of the vehicle. The two had stopped at a small store just outside the airport and purchased a map. Their drive across the countryside had proved uneventful, if not breezy, since the top was down on their Bentley. Neither had ridden in a convertible before, and both found the experience to be exhilarating. Alexei could not keep the smile from his face as they pulled to a stop. “I love England. I say we drive for a while longer. Who is it we are meeting here again?”
“Charles Gorney. I’m told he works in a corner office on the third floor of the library” Poppen responded while shaking a chill. “I think we should put the top up on this thing if it doesn’t get any warmer out. I’m freezing.”
Alexei’s smile grew as they approached the Radcliffe Library. When he had been a professor in Germany he had visited Oxford a number of times, and it felt good to be living that life again. Students crowded the campus, and the building bustled with activity.
“Midterms” Poppen said.
“Yes. I believe you might be missing a few of yours. Has The General explained how you would be making those up?”
“Nope, but three of my courses are in upper level and theoretical math. I think solving the E8 problem and writing an equation that changes our understanding of the universe should garner A’s.”
“I would assume so,” Alexei said. “When we return to the States you should do some things to protect yourself from thieves. Others will be falling over themselves to get credit for your work.”
“What do you suggest?”
“One thing Nicholas and I often did was to send each other two copies of our work through the mail. We would open one copy and leave the other for safe keeping. If anyone ever tried to steal our ideas, we would have proof, stamped by the U.S. postal service, that we had done the work first.”
“I was thinking I would get a few copies of my proofs notarized. I’ll put one in a safe deposit box, another in the library, and the third with The General,” Poppen said. “Triple coverage, if you will.”
“I believe that would be quite prudent. Until then, we’ll have to take good care of this head of yours.” Alexei pat the younger man on the back of the head as they approached the office of Dr. Gorney. “Here we are.”
Bobby knocked on the large wooden door and the sound echoed across the library. He listened to the hushed buzzing of students working and smiled to himself. Library sounds in England were the exact same as in Boston. A shrill voice interrupted his thoughts.
“Come in.”
Alexei opened the door and entered, Poppen just behind. The office was devoid of decorations and a very old, thin man sat behind the lone piece of furniture. His hair was bright white, and matched his massive beard. He wore thick bifocal glasses, and his large desk overflowed with books and papers. Without taking his gaze from the work in front of him, he spoke again.
“What can I do for you?”
“My name is Alexei Chase, and this is Robert Poppen,” Alexei said. “General Reagan believes you may be able to help us in a matter we have been investigating.”
“Of course.” The old man said with enthusiasm, as he struggled to his feet, rounded the large desk and extended his hand. “Dr. Charles Gorney, at your service.”
Alexei and Poppen took turns shaking his hand, and Bobby spoke next in a loud voice.
“This is quite an office you have here. I’d expect more books since you’re in the library.”
“You don’t have to yell, son. I’m old, my legs hurt, my back is stiff, and I can’t see, but the good Lord built my ears to last,” said Gorney as he returned to his chair. “Enough books line the walls of this library. If I need them I go out there.”
“Of course,” Poppen said as Alexei donned a large smile.
“Have you been able to find out anything of interest on our friend?” Dr. Chase asked.
“Yes, yes. Have a seat and I’ll get started.”
Both men took notice again of their surroundings, and seeing no chairs, continued to stand.
“In most cases the tracking of criminals or persons of interest in Great Britain is a job for MI5 or MI6. Our man Dietrich Hoff, however, never seemed to be in any violation of our laws. We began investigating him years ago, when I was a much younger man, but he always came up squeaky clean. When the General first lodged an inquiry, the boys over at MI6 sent him straight to me.”
“Excuse me,” Alexei interrupted. “Are you a former intelligence agent?”
“No, no
, nothing like that.” Gorney smiled as he finished packing a pipe and struck a match, taking a few moments to light the sweet smelling tobacco. “I’m a doctor of cryptography. Therefore, her majesty’s services often find my skills useful, and it seems you yanks do as well.”
“Are we dealing with coded messages or something else I don’t remember hearing about?” Poppen asked in a confused tone.
“No, but the way your man Dietrich Hoff has gone about his business through the years has been cryptic. My specialty is the recognition of patterns within a very broad construct. It seems the reason we could never find anything dirty on Hoff was because we cast the net too tight. After speaking with The General on the tele, I had an idea, and began researching on a large scale. You see, my talent is in this old brain of mine.” Gorney tapped the butt of his pipe against his head. “Once something goes in here, I never let it out. The only reason I’m good at this job is because I remember small details about everything forever.”
“I know someone like that,” Poppen nodded his head, and Alexei agreed.
“Yes, my son has a picture memory as well.”
“Picture memory? I suppose that’s what they call it in Boston. Over here we refer to it as a photographic memory. It’s not true, though, as I don’t see pictures of things. I just remember them.”
Over the course of the next two hours, Charles walked the two men through everything he had discovered while they had been traveling. Dietrich Hoff had begun infiltrating the German government after World War I. It seemed he had been a munitions supplier during the Great War, but had managed to elude reparations in the postwar Weimar Republic. He had spread his wealth throughout the world in preparation of the German defeat, and his businesses emerged intact. Estates owned by Hoff littered the globe. He had no less than one per continent, but spent much of his time in either the Rhineland estate, or the Moroccan estate. None of these things were criminal, though. Gorney had to dig deep to uncover the truth behind Hoff’s massive organization. Finding his holdings in Boeing, White Star, De Beers, Mitsubishi, and Mercedes just proved he was rich, and a shrewd businessman.
“I don’t see where this gets us anywhere,” Poppen rubbed his eyes and straightened his back, as he had been leaning over the old man’s shoulder to read some papers. “We already knew he was rich. We want to prove he’s insane.”
“The proof is there, and to correct you, very few people know of Dietrich’s wealth. They know he is wealthy, but they do not know it comes from corruption and death. I, too, felt like you, until I recalled an eight millimeter film I saw in June of 1928. It was sent to MI6 as a person of interest in connection to the Fuhrer, but dismissed as the ravings of a drunken lunatic. Do either of you speak German?”
“I speak it fluently,” Alexei said.
“Then let us watch a movie.”
Dr. Gorney pulled a small super eight millimeter projector from next to his feet, and set it up on the desk.
“I’ve never seen one of those before,” Poppen observed.
“That’s because nobody’s invented it yet, son” Gorney said as a slight smile curled over his lips.
The filmstrip was grainy, the picture shaky, and the sound tinny, but approaching the podium was an intoxicated Dietrich Hoff. He addressed his audience in boisterous German, and Alexei began translating.
“My fellow Germans. The time has come for our oppressors to be cast off. Our country will no longer be made to suffer because of the ineptitudes of others.” The audience of one hundred clapped and cheered. “In a year’s time I will collapse the English and American economies, pushing them into depression, but Germany will rise above.” More cheering interrupted his speech for a minute. “Upon their collapse I will enact my plan of conquest. Germany will rule the world, with me as its leader.” Murmurs echoed through the crowd and the camera panned to the left catching a glimpse of the Fuhrer himself, before returning to Hoff.
“In less than ten years I will develop a weapon like the world has never seen. Soon my scientists will understand it well enough for me to kill everyone in this room by pointing at them, and sending a focused beam of energy through their body. I will hold the ultimate power in the universe and my agenda will be the world’s agenda. I’ll be able to travel through time, destroy entire cities, visit outer space, and install invisible barriers barring anyone from harming me. I will be invincible.” Hoff paused to wipe the sweat from his brow, and laughter could be heard on the film, along with calls he take it easy on the liquor. His response was loud and unyielding.
“I’m not drunk. All of these things I say, I WILL DO, and if you’re not with me I’ll lay you to waste.” A beautiful woman and two large men approached Hoff from the left, and she whispered in his ear. “What, that little plebe right there?” Hoff pointed at the Fuhrer. “He is nothing but my pawn, used to consolidate power. The drivel he spouts is ridiculous. He has black hair, brown eyes, and his grandfather was a Jew for Christ’s sake.” The two large men began removing Hoff from the room via force as the crowd clapped and jeered. “I will kill all of you, you, you unappreciative sheep. I’ll kill you all.” Just before the video ended it panned to the face of the Fuhrer. Both men assumed he would be enraged, but the expression was unmistakable. It was fear. Gorney flipped off the projector and spoke.
“The man who filmed this left Germany the next day, but we dismissed it as the ravings of a drunken lunatic. After having done some research over the last twenty-four hours, though, I have found that just six people from that room lived beyond the week of the film: Dietrich and Anelie Hoff, his two body guards, the man who made the film, and the Fuhrer.” The tension in the office was thick as Gorney continued. “That room was full of upper level Nazi party officials; loyal men to the Fuhrer. Hoff said he would kill them all, and that is what happened. I’d say there are two certified madmen on the loose in Germany, and the one everybody knows about is the puppet of the other.”
“I’d say it’s time to call The General.” Alexei said.
“He has my equation. Who else would have use for it? I’ve ended the world,” Poppen lamented.
“Not yet you haven’t, son,” Gorney said. “I think there are a few people out there with a say.”
“I hope so,” Poppen breathed deep and nodded his head. “I hope so.”
*******************
53.
Except for the small amount of light emanating from the hallway, the two girls sat surrounded in darkness. Moments after Dietrich Hoff had left the women confined in the master suite, guards had brought them a supply of food and water. Since then, they had not seen or heard from anyone.
Sounds echoed throughout the boat and the sisters knew Hoff hadn’t left them to die, but the passage of time had become irrelevant. When they got tired, they slept, and when they got hungry, they ate, but night and day soon blended together. Each woman was happy the other was there, because without companionship the solitude would have been intolerable.
It had been more than a decade since the twins had seen each other, and they used the first hours spent in the room to catch up. First, they cried over the passing of their mother. Angela had blamed her sister for Julie Sarff’s death, thinking for years Tricia had facilitated the murder, but Dietrich Hoff’s chilling account showed otherwise. Both women felt betrayed and unified in the newfound hatred for their host.
After mourning together for the first time, they discussed the rest of their years. Angela told of her life in San Francisco. She had never married, and had become involved with their father’s work. To Angela’s surprise, though, Tricia seemed to know many of the details of her life.
Angela Sarff was the younger of the twins by two minutes, and listened intently while Tricia Hoff detailed her years in Germany. She felt enthralled as her sister told of worldwide travel, extravagant parties, and untold wealth. While Angela lived in abject poverty, Tricia had been very well off.
As Tricia explained her husband’s long term goals, though, Angela became morti
fied. How had her sister become so numbed to death, killing, and destruction? When they were children she had been the kinder of the two, always putting other’s needs ahead of her own. Now, she seemed almost detached from it all. Still, Tricia Hoff showed a strength Angela did not believe she herself possessed.
Finding a way out of the room had become their main concern after becoming reacquainted. They inspected every vent, duct, and crevice, with no luck. Next they tested the door, but no matter what combination of movements they used, the invisible energy field remained impenetrable. Last, they attempted the removal of their bracelets, but just succeeded in chaffing themselves.
Over the course of the next few days the women’s resolve got tested. After sleeping, they stuck to a schedule of inspecting the room’s possible vulnerabilities, followed by testing the door, and resorting to removing their bracelets. What had been three days felt like a week, and on the fourth day Angela Hoff woke up with a start.
“Tricia” she spoke, while shaking her twin’s shoulder. “I think its morning.”
“OK” the still groggy woman replied. They had been sleeping four hours at a time, and her body protested. “I don’t know if we’ve been sleeping long enough. How many days do you think we’ve been here now?”
“That was the seventh time we’ve slept, so I’m assuming a week.” Angela hushed her voice, though she had no reason to do so. “I was thinking. Perhaps we could sleep a while longer today. I’m exhausted still.”
“More sleep,” said Tricia, her enthusiasm for escape drained. “More sleep sounds fantastic.”
***
Dietrich Hoff stood watching his sleeping wife and her twin sister. The similarities between the two were uncanny, and Hoff resisted the temptation to rape the younger twin. His wife had betrayed him, of that he was certain now. Her previous lies had proven inconsistent with a trusted confidant’s quick investigation, and now he had to set another plan in action. Leaning in close to Tricia Hoff, he whispered,
