Star Water Superstorm

by David Cline

  They closed the car doors softly and crossed the bridge. Wood thought he heard amiable voices in the breeze. Instead of heading toward the front door, they followed the sounds around back and saw Amara laughing with another woman. They sat facing the breathtaking view of the cove that was laid out below them, their backs toward Wood and Wilkins. The serene vista looked almost too beautiful to be real.

  Wood crept up behind Amara and screamed in the angriest German impersonation he could muster. “Verdammt Ausländer!” He pounced on her and covered both eyes with an iron grip. Amara let out a blood curdling scream and struggled in his arms. Wilkins fell on the ground, laughing. The other woman jumped up, frightened, but relaxed after a dawning comprehension appeared across her face.

  Wood relaxed his grip. Amara jumped forward and spun around with her fists up and murder in her eyes. Wood raised both arms in surrender. “I give up.”

  Amara blinked a few times. She looked over his shoulder toward Wilkins who was rolling around like he was on fire, holding his sides. Then she looked back in his eyes. “Nick?”

  She closed the distance and hurtled herself into his arms wrapping her legs around him. Wood staggered backward and tripped over a leg of one of the chairs. Wood tumbled onto his back with Amara sitting on top of his chest.

  Wilkins laughter only grew. He held a hand up as though to beg for mercy.

  After a moment, Amara drew back and slapped Wood lightly across the cheek. “You just took five years from my life. I hope you are happy. My heart stopped when I heard those words.” She stood up and brushed herself off. “I almost killed you.”

  Wood stood and helped Wilkins to his feet while he wiped tears from his eyes. “I don’t doubt it,” he said with a childish grin.

  Amara embraced Wilkins. “And you did nothing to stop him! Equally guilty in my book.” She punched him in his enormous arm.

  Wilkins raised his hands, feigning innocence.

  “I can’t tell you how happy I am to see the two of you.” Her eyes narrowed. “Just wait until I speak to Danville again. That joker purposefully kept your travel plans secret from me.”

  “We wanted it to be a surprise,” Wood said. He looked up and saw an old man accompanied by another young woman standing at the backdoor, grinning at the unfolding scene.

  Amara took both of their arms and guided them back toward the house. “Let’s all get properly acquainted.”

  Later that evening, Amara, Wilkins, and Wood found themselves sitting in the backyard, talking. It was a cloudless night and the cool ocean breeze rustled their hair.

  Frogs croaked in the distance and a chorus of insects sung without inhibition.

  Mateo and his daughters had been incredibly gracious hosts. Everyone had lent a hand when it was time to cook dinner. On the menu for the evening was gnocchi served in a delicious sauce, with mandioca and fresh fruit on the side. Wood could not recall a better dinner in all his life.

  Afterwards, Mateo had regaled an awestruck Wood and Wilkins with his first-hand account of the night in July of 1945. When he had finished his tale, they had asked questions for over an hour until Camila had told them her grandfather needed to get some sleep.

  “What I want to know,” Amara said, “is how on earth you guys were able to escape Saudi Arabia with no passports, no money and the local authorities hot on your trail.”

  “Not to mention the Nazi hit squad,” Wilkins said. He lifted a glass full of chilled Sprite to his lips.

  Wood sat back and looked up toward the starry sky. “It was an adventure straight out of Pirates of the Caribbean. After the incident at the resort, we made our way south to the nearest harbor. The next morning, we met a gregarious worker who spoke proficient English. He showed us the manifest of all the ships docked, with their estimated date of departure. The list also revealed the location of their next stop. Wilkins asked about a sleek looking sailing boat flying the Union Jack. The man told us it was being piloted by an inexperienced couple who had sold all their belongings to sail around the world.”

  “Sounds familiar,” Amara said, poking Wilkins in the ribs.

  “Somehow in a country that had outlawed all alcohol, Wilkins managed to find some rum.”

  “I love Canadians,” Wilkins said, in a reverend tone. “They brewed it themselves.”

  “Rum?” Amara laughed. “Hardly the time to begin drinking.”

  “Au contraire,” Wilkins retorted. “It was the perfect time to start drinking.”

  “Dazzle me,” Amara said, with a skeptical grin.

  “After we were positive that there was no one on board the vessel belonging to the Brits,” Wood said, “we hid deep in the galley as stowaways. The next morning, we appeared on deck and acted surprised to be at sea, our clothes smelling like rum.”

  “Their boat had an uncanny resemblance to our boat,” Wilkins added. “We must have had a little too much to drink the night before.”

  Amara’s eyes widened. “Surely their wrath was something to behold the following morning.”

  Wilkins shrugged. “Actually, they are planning to visit us early next year. We are going to spend a long weekend in St. George and Zions National Park.”

  Wood slapped Wilkins on the back. “Thanks to Adam’s stellar sailing knowledge, they agreed to take us as far as Dubai where Danville had passports waiting for us. Adam taught them everything they would ever want to know about sailing, and I got to spend a few days fishing.”

  “We had a little scare in the Gulf of Aden,” Wilkins added. “The coast of Somalia is no place for the faint of heart. Nothing to worry about in the end.”

  Amara laughed. “Only you two could pull something like that off.”

  Wood gave her a devious smirk. “Anyways, we boarded a plane in Dubai and made our way back to South America to see what kind of trouble we could find.”

  “You two should have a book written about all your exploits,” she said.

  Wilkins made a haughty expression with his nose high in the air. “As long as we remain anonymous. I don’t want too many women to pursue me. It’s exhausting.”

  Amara rolled her eyes. “That is one problem I’m positive you won’t have to worry about anytime soon.”

  Everyone laughed. Wood leaned forward and rubbed his hands together. “So, what is the plan?” He looked at Amara. “This is your show. We are just here to ensure you are surrounded by the absolute best of society.”

  Amara paused as though searching for the right words. “Gather intel,” she said. She gestured over her shoulder toward the house. “I think after everything we have discovered here, it’s safe to assume Hitler did in fact escape to Argentina.” She looked out over the starlit bay far below them. The surf crashed onto the sandy beach and echoed off the steep cliff walls. “Most people who would be willing to concede to such a drastic alteration to common history would say that if he did escape, he lived the remainder of his life in quiet exile.”

  “What do you believe?” Wilkins asked. He polished off his drink and put the glass on the ground beside him.

  “If everything Danville has discovered is true, Hitler and his top leaders were anything but idle when they made it to The Land of Fire. We believe our previous speculations may have some merit after all.”

  Wood sighed. “I grow weary of being right all the time.”

  “Through well-established secret routes dotted with safe houses,” Amara continued, “all leading out of war-torn Europe, the Nazi leadership smuggled out their top scientists and engineers. Martin Boorman, who we have established was the mastermind and power behind the throne in the Nazi hierarchy saw as early as 1943 that Germany would eventually lose the war. He immediately began to transfer the entire wealth of the Third Reich out of Germany and across the Atlantic.”

  “Martin Boorman was the economic and administrative genius, right?” Wilkins asked.

  Amara nodded. “All capital, artifacts, patents and art were sent overseas. If the wealth could not be wire transferred over, they s
muggled it out by other means.”

  “U-boats full of gold,” Wood whispered.

  “Still haven’t found one of those yet,” Wilkins said, disappointment on his face. “God knows we’ve looked.”

  “With enough wealth to purchase a country, and with the large population of German immigrants already living in Argentina who were sympathetic to the cause, Hitler and Boorman had positioned themselves perfectly.”

  “Perfectly for what?” Wilkins asked.

  “To form Odessa.” Amara scooped up a rock and threw it over the edge. “Stalbridge has commissioned us to locate Odessa’s headquarters and gather as much intelligence as we can.” She reached into her pocket and withdrew a rectangular shape. It looked like an upgraded thumb drive. “Danville mailed this a while back and Camila picked it up in town yesterday. If they have a server room, we just need to plug this in, and Danville can do the rest. Work his magic as they say. We can learn more in three minutes with this, then sending you two all over the world trying to chase them down.”

  “They have been chasing us down recently,” Wood said. “It would be nice to turn the tables. Do we have any idea where to start looking? You think we need to return to Ciudad del Este?” The very thought sent shivers down his spine. Maybe the temperature had dropped a few more degrees. There was a malevolence to that city Wood could not quite articulate into words.

  Amara shook her head. “I have a gut feeling if we find out where Hitler decided to spend his remaining days, we find the HQ of Odessa.”

  “Any leads?” Wilkins asked.

  Amara smiled. “All signs point to San Carlos de Bariloche.”

  Seventeen hours later their compact sedan summited the final switchback and they got their first view of their ultimate destination. The panorama was majestic. Snowcapped mountains loomed high above spectacular lakes that were bluer than the afternoon sky. Tall pine trees with every shade of green carpeted the landscape. If it weren’t for the few distant buildings scattered around the water, it would almost look like untouched wilderness.

  “Patagonia,” Wood whispered. He slowed to enjoy the view before beginning the descent. “First it was the Berghof high in the alps, now deep inside Patagonia. Hitler may have been one of the most evil men in history, but he sure knew how to pick good real estate.”

  “I have visited Berghof,” Amara said with a tired smile. They had driven all night. Wilkins had taken the first shift and then fell asleep in the back, his snores and the sounds of the highway blending into their soundtrack for the past 12 hours. Through the rearview mirror, Wood saw Wilkins’ bulk hunched unnaturally in the tiny space. There was no doubt he was going to wake up stiff as a fence post.

  “The Berghof was Hitler's home in the Bavarian Alps near Berchtesgaden, Bavaria, Germany,” Amara continued. “Other than the Wolf's Lair, Hitler spent more time at the Berghof than anywhere else during World War II. It was also one of the most widely known of his headquarters.” Amara sighed. “There isn’t much left of it now. But the history supports my theory of Odessa’s HQ being directly linked to Hitler’s retirement home.”

  “You think such a residence exists somewhere near here?”

  Amara looked out the passenger side window. An expanse of white and yellow wildflowers extended someway into the distance. “I doubt it would be located anywhere near town. Even amongst his own people back in the 1940’s, the Americans, British, and Soviets were all actively following reports of sightings down here. Based on the terrain we see now, I would bet we are looking for a mansion that is inaccessible except by boat. Extremely isolated and easily defendable.”

  “That profile makes a lot of sense,” Wood said. “There has to be only a handful of estates in this entire province that meet such a description. All we have to do is talk to a couple locals who have lived here forever.”

  “I agree,” Amara said. Worry appeared on her face. Despite the grueling car ride and the sweat matted hair, she was beautiful. The intensity in her eyes softened as she caught him staring. Wood quickly turned to focus back on the road.

  “Anyway,” she said. “If we are on the right track, we should exercise extreme caution. All these years later I am sure a quiet loyalty remains.” She touched her head, where a bruise still throbbed. “Some maybe not so quiet.”

  “You think members of the Nazi party continue to live in these parts?” Wood asked, “even after so much time.”

  “I doubt swastika flags hang from any houses, but I do believe there are eyes and ears ready to inform interested parties. If three strangers show up in the main plaza and begin to ask questions,” she looked at him, “especially you two, who have risen to the top of their hit list, we could land in some hot water fast.”

  Wood nodded slowly while he thought about the best course of action. More details of the town ahead revealed themselves as they drew nearer. He was surprised how different it looked from other South American cities he had visited. It was as though they had been transported to Switzerland. They crested a hill and Wood clearly saw the town laid out before him. The city was nestled into the side of a mountain bordering the most beautiful lake he had ever seen.

  Behind him, Wilkins began to stir. Soon his head poked between the two seats like a toddler. He groaned while he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes. “My back is killing me,” he said. “I need to get out and stretch. Are we there yet?”

  “Welcome to the land of the living.” Amara said. “Sounded like you slept well.”

  Wilkins unbuckled and twisted his back until there was a loud pop. He scooted over and looked out the window. “How long have I been out? How did we get to Europe?”

  Amara gestured ahead. “San Carlos de Bariloche is famous for its Swiss alpine-style architecture. It’s nestled into the foothills of the Andes and was officially established in the 1930’s and 40’s.”

  “It’s gorgeous,” Wilkins said. “Think that date is just another coincidence of the 20th century?”

  Amara shook her head. “The timeline and architecture are the only hints you need to speculate who originally settled here. If I remember the history correctly, the modern settlement of Bariloche developed from an outpost established by a German immigrant named Carlos Wiederhold. He crossed the Andes from Chile and established a little shop called La Alemana or “The German.” Soon a small settlement developed around the location, and its former site is now the city center. By 1895 the settlement was primarily made up of German-speaking immigrants from Austria and Germany. In the 1930s the center of the city was redesigned to have the appearance of a traditional European alpine town. Even now, the town’s nickname is "Little Switzerland." In the early days, commerce depended on Chile. The border is literally just over those mountains. Back in the early 1900’s there were approximately 1,250 inhabitants but the boom came when the railroad arrived in 1934.”

  “That is how Hitler most likely traveled here in late 1945,” Wilkins said.

  “Why do you say that?” Amara asked.

  “That’s how I would have done it,” he said. “I doubt there were any airfields near here at the time. Disguise him and send him west with his entourage. Geographically, it is one of the farthest places on the globe from Europe. How many people live here now?”

  “The most recent census counted just over 100 thousand people. So even after all these years, I would still consider it a tight knit town.” She pointed out the passenger side window. “Nahuel Huapi is the glacial lake bordering the city. It has a surface area of just over 200 square miles. It’s one of many glacial lakes in this region making up northern Patagonia.”

  Wood looked at her impressed. “You have definitely done your homework. Do you think our mansion is located somewhere on the lake?”

  Amara nodded. “It would make sense to me. Back then, this was the only real settlement in the region. They would need easy access to food and supplies that they couldn’t produce themselves.”

  “So, we are looking for a mansion with European architecture, located in
a remote section somewhere on this lake and was built in the 1940’s. Case solved,” Wilkins said. “If such a place exists, there can’t be more than one fitting that description. Where do you want to start?”

  “I’ve been thinking about it,” Amara said. “They are looking for you two together and me alone. If we split up and I go with Nick, it should give us a head start.” She pointed into the distance. “Let’s park at the plaza near the center of town.”

  “You don’t have to convince me,” Wilkins said. He rested his hands on each of their shoulders. “17 hours cramped in a car with you two fools is enough to saddle a horse and spank a willow.”

  Wood smiled and shook his head. “Adam, the literary wordsmith of our generation.”

  They parked the car and crossed the street. The plaza was paved with beautiful smooth cobblestone. A few bystanders took photos in front of a statue at the center. A bronze man astride his horse had been immortalized for eternity. Tall wooden posts with four paneled lamps were placed strategically throughout the plaza. A six-story clocktower rose high above the square.

  Wood was surprised again how alpine the architecture looked. Most of the buildings had been constructed with stones. Beautiful arches glowed with fluorescent orange lights along the walkways. Pinewood had been used for all paneling, supports and balconies. Steep shingled roofs hung over the sides at acute angles. They looked more like cabins at a ski resort than Argentinean civic offices.

  Wilkins gave them an encouraging nod and headed toward the lake. A long dock ran parallel to the shore where small boats bobbed up and down.

  Wood took Amara’s hand and together they headed the opposite direction farther into town. It was late in the afternoon, and they joined the throngs of pedestrians enjoying a casual evening stroll.

  They spent the next few hours learning all they could about the town. There were a myriad of quaint little shops lining the streets selling everything from chocolate to ski bindings. Many of the tourists had come from around the world to enjoy the exquisite vistas and lively outdoor scene. Just outside of town was world-class skiing and rock climbing.