by David Cline
Everyone they ran into along the way had been warm and friendly. Wood and Amara talked to a couple from Canada and a group of French businessmen on holiday smoking large cigars. Wood thought about buying a box for Stalbridge. A penance to pacify his wrath due to their radio silence over the last few weeks.
Wood noticed most of the employees were younger, teens and twenty-somethings. He had a hard time distinguishing the locals from the nomadic tourists who seemed to float around the planet like leaves in a southern breeze. They moved around following the sun and summer.
The colors of dusk faded into a blue darkness. The temperature dropped, and the air turned crisp. Wood found it a welcome change from the burning sands of the desert. It reminded him of home in Salt Lake City. He licked his lips and felt the smooth new skin that had replaced the sunburned scabs on the Saudi coast. He shivered.
“Let’s find something warm to drink before we head back to the plaza,” he said.
They walked into a quaint store with eloquent chocolate figurines advertised in its bright windows. Every kind of fudge and chocolate imaginable sat behind glass in eye catching, symmetrical displays. They both purchased brown mugs filled to the brim with hot chocolate. A tower of whip cream dotted with sprinkles leaned dangerously over the brim of the mugs.
“Drinking hot drinks is always a gamble,” Amara said, as they stepped back onto the crowded sidewalk. “If you’re not careful, your tongue is going to be rubber for the next few hours.”
Wood had already taken a generous sip and had a euphoric expression on his face.
“That good?” Amara asked. She looked at him and laughed. “It looks like you’re trying to shave.” She wiped the whip cream off his face with a napkin.
“I could literally bathe myself in this,” Wood said. “We should go back and ask him how much he would charge to fill a tub.”
They began their casual descent back toward the plaza. “It would be worth it just to see the guy’s face when you ask.”
“This has been an amazing evening.” Wood sighed. “I just wish we could have found some sort of clue.”
Amara squeezed his hand. “We are just a couple of tourists getting to know the town. It’s our first night here.” She paused. “Plus, that feeling in the air is palpable.”
Wood took another careful sip and looked sideways at her. “What feeling?”
She smiled. “Romance.”
Wood rolled his eyes but could not hide the smile behind the mug.
They found Wilkins in the plaza passing a soccer ball with a group of local kids. He might have been capable of single handedly stopping the forward progress of an advancing army, but the kids looked to have the upper hand in this situation. The game looked more like keep away with Wilkins in the middle jolting erratically in all directions.
“How long you been waiting?” Wood asked when they drew close.
Like a flock of birds in perfect synchronization, the kids sprinted across the plaza and across the street. The last one picked up the ball and gave Wilkins a high five. “Nos Vemos.”
“Nos vemos,” Wilkins called after him. He turned to face Amara and Wood with a smile stretching from ear to ear. He closed his eyes and breathed in deep through his nose. He spread his arms wide and turned in a semi-circle as though he had just escaped Shawshank.
“I think Wilkins here is picking up the same vibes as me,” Amara whispered with a wry smirk.
Wilkins let out a long breath and collapsed onto a nearby bench. “I can’t remember the last time I have felt this good,” he said. His head began to nod in deep concentration, as though desperate to recall such a fond memory. Then he lowered his voice. “Nazi or no Nazi, this is one hell of a location.” Wood and Amara sat down on either side of him. He looked back and forth between them. “How was your evening?”
They both hesitated. “Beautiful,” Amara whispered. She paused. “Although this guy,” she pointed around to Wood, “had some pretty wild ideas.”
Wilkin’s eyebrows raised as he looked Wood’s direction. “Oh yeah?”
“Like bathing in a bathtub full of hot chocolate.”
Wilkins gave Wood a sly grin. “Don’t tease me Nick. I know we have known each other for a long time now. If you believe our relationship is ready for the chocolate bath, I will be ready.”
Wood laughed. “A more loyal, talented, adventurous…” he paused. Amara silently worded something with her lips. “…handsome friend, I could not ask for,” he finished. “However, I think it wise to keep our relationship strictly platonic.”
Wilkins let out an exaggerated sigh. “Well, it’s just as well. I met someone.”
Amara laughed and squeezed his shoulder. “I knew it.” She looked at Wood. “Didn’t I tell you romance was in the air. What’s her name?”
“Magi,” Wilkins said. “Unlike you two lovebirds, I actually left with the intention of getting the information we need. I headed down to the docks where I met a father and daughter hauling fish off their boat and up to the road.” He pointed. “I don’t speak Spanish very well, but the father was grateful for another back to help transport their cargo.” He looked over at Wood. “Those fish weigh a ton by the way.” He waved his hands impatiently. “Anyway, after we finished, Magi and I talked for a couple hours. She speaks excellent English. Her family has been here since before the railroad.”
Amara’s eyes widened. “Did you find out what we needed?”
Wilkins beamed at them. “And more.”
The crowds in the plaza were thinning but there was still enough activity all around them, Wood didn’t think the three of them talking on the bench would raise any suspicion.
“It took a while before I brought it up,” Wilkins began. “Magi’s father didn’t understand English, so she had to translate throughout. When I finally asked about an old Nazi mansion somewhere on the lake, built in the 1940’s, she immediately knew the place. The locals call it The Inalco House. It is located about six miles east of here in a remote and barely accessible spot at the northwest end of Lake Nahuel Huapi. The only way to arrive is by water. There are two little islands just off the beach that together block a direct line of site from the lake making the estate invisible from all directions. I could not imagine a better spot in the entire world. Especially back in the 1940’s.”
“If Hitler did live in exile there,” Wood said, “they must have been exceptionally self-sufficient. There would have been spies and informants keeping an eye out for Hitler in every corner of the world, no matter how remote.”
“I don’t know how much we can believe at face value,” Wilkins said, “but, according to Magi, they were completely off the grid. Independent power source even. There have been a lot of rumors and mystery over the years. Legends about Nazi meetings, secret underground tunnels, the typical whisperings whenever Nazi’s abound. When Magi asked her father about it, he spoke rapidly, as though in a hurry to change the subject. They do not fish anywhere near there. Too many stories and bad energy.”
“Does anyone live there now?” Amara asked.
Wilkins shook his head. “People say there is a groundskeeper. Someone to prevent conspiracy theorists from poking around or teenagers from breaking windows with rocks. But no one occupies the estate full time.”
Wood felt a little disappointed. If the mansion had housed any high-ranking Nazis at any point in time, it sounded like they were a few decades too late. “At least it will be easy to have a quick look around.”
“I don’t know,” Wilkins said. He rubbed the thick scruff on his chin. “The old man was pretty adamant about keeping a safe distance. People have disappeared over the years. A lot of superstitions flourish. From what Magi translated, it almost sounded like the area used to have intense security measures. Fortified fighting positions, sniper nests, though they’re probably all long abandoned.”
“We’ll be careful,” Wood said. “Anything else?”
Wilkins pointed out toward the dark lake. The reflection of the moon re
flected off the gentle surface. “The mansion isn’t the only interesting piece of verifiable historical trivia about this town. It turns out that in 1948, an Austrian Scientist named Ronald Richter talked Juan Domingo Perón the President of Argentina at the time into giving him an island out on this lake. It was called the Huemul Project, named after the island. President Perón tried to have the world's first fusion reactor built in secret. The project cost about $300 million modern US dollars, and it was never finished, due to the lack of the highly advanced technology that was needed.”
Wood gestured up toward the tall mountains surrounding them. “I’m sure the inaccessible location didn’t help either, especially back then, even with the railroad. It would have been a logistical nightmare.”
Wilkins nodded. “Anyways, after Perón lost power in 1955, the facilities were destroyed. Magi says they are still there though. A bunch of bombed out brick ruins. We could probably go check them out tomorrow if we wanted.”
Amara frowned. “I doubt we would discover anything useful there. Although they would be pretty cool to explore.”
“I agree,” Wood said. “It wouldn’t make sense for a modern Nazi branch to have any affiliation or interest with a tiny island known around the world as the Argentinian's failed attempt at nuclear fusion.”
Silence softly seized the conversation while they all mulled through their own thoughts. One of the tall lamps flickered as the lightbulb inside began to fail. A young couple laughed as they passed in front of them. A sudden stiff breeze from the lake caused goosebumps to spread across the exposed skin on Wood’s arms.
“I can’t explain why,” Wood said, “but there is something about that mansion calling to me. Maybe it is the mystique and local rumors. I doubt we will find more than some creaky floorboards and a grumpy old caretaker, but we’ve driven all this way. Might as well find a boat and check it out.”
Wilkins remained silent. His head bobbed like a buoy in the water, far away in his own thoughts.
“When do you want to go?” Amara asked.
Wood looked around the beautiful city as the fresh scent of pine rolled across them in the breeze. “It would be smart to spend tomorrow planning our little operation. We need to find a boat to rent, gear and supplies we think we may need. Maybe learn a little more about the geography surrounding the estate. Ensure we have an escape route planned if things get messy.”
Amara shivered. Her usual happy countenance turned somber. “For some reason, the very idea of this little excursion doesn’t feel good,” she finally said. “In layman’s terms, I have a bad feeling about this one. You really think Hitler lived the remainder of his life there?”
Wood shrugged. “I guess we will find out tomorrow.”
There was another gap in the conversation as they absently watched a man with a faded green uniform begin to sweep the daily litter around the plaza.
“The real question is, where should we sleep tonight?” Amara asked.
Wood smiled. “We have a couple hammocks in the car. I bet with a short hike we could wake up to world class views.” He rubbed his arms. “Could be a little chilly though.”
“Magi invited us to stay at their place,” Wilkins said. “I gave her ample warning there was three of us.” He pointed to Amara. “The beauty.” He pointed to himself, “the brains.” Then he gestured to Wood. “And the famous Nick Wood in the flesh, who legend has it, once performed CPR and brought the practice dummy to life. He can start fires by rubbing two pieces of ice together. His living room is adorned with a grizzly bear. The bear is not dead though, just afraid to move. He once unscrambled eggs and has donated a record amount of blood to the Red Cross. Just never his own. He--”
“All right all right,” Wood said, wiping tears from his eyes and lifting his hands in surrender. “You win. We can stay with your bonnie lass. It’s probably better than a hotel anyway where I assume most of the informants would lurk. That’s where I would be.”
They drove across town and got lost up in the foothills. If street signs existed, they were impossible to see. An hour later, they finally pulled up to a humble home that looked more traditionally south American than the rest of the town. It was surrounded by a brick wall with glass shards cemented on top. The only way in was through a rusty iron gate that stretched across a cracked cobblestone driveway.
They didn’t have to wait more than a moment before a woman opened the gate and greeted them with a warm smile.
“I hope we aren't intruding because of the late hour,” Wilkins said.
“Not at all.” Even in the dark, Wood noticed how beautiful Magi was. She had dark hair falling below her shoulders, accompanied by matching dark eyes. Her black baggy pajamas could not hide an hourglass figure.
Wood gave Wilkins a knowing nod while introductions were made. “You do good work my boy,” he whispered as they shut the gate behind them and entered the house.
Magi’s father had already retired a few hours earlier. It had been an exhausting day and they wasted no time getting settled, Amara collapsing on the living room couch and Wood on the floor beside her. The soft voices of Magi and Wilkins drifting in from outside were the last things they heard before they both fell into a deep sleep.
Chapter 24
Professor Goodwill hit the whiteboard with a closed fist. “Tell Bill there isn’t a prayer’s chance in hell that I am boarding a plane,” he said. “If these numbers are anywhere close to accurate, the entire world is about to go dark. Tell that to the prodigies on the top floor at NASA.” He threw the cell phone across his cluttered office and poured himself a cup of coffee. He grimaced. It tasted like stale tar. He swore under his breath and looked in the cracked mirror that was suspended behind the small sink. Both eyes were red from stress and lack of sleep. His hair stood up in erratic patterns like he had fallen asleep after a week of not showering.
Professor Goodwill had carried a certain contempt for NASA ever since he had been denied employment a few decades before. Something to do with office politics, he was told later. Now they wanted him to risk his life boarding a plane and flying down there. The present status of the ionosphere was that there wasn’t one. If any significant solar activity reached earth while he cruised near the speed of sound, 30,000 feet in the air-- he shuddered and collapsed into a black office chair. One of the wheels had bent and he rocked back and forth, lost in thought.
The door opened and his assistant entered with a paper bag. He took out a bagel and handed it to Goodwill. “Might as well enjoy the pleasantries of civilized society before the world ends,” he said. When Goodwill didn’t smile, he added, “only joking boss. You been here all night?”
Goodwill used his pointer finger to slather strawberry cream cheese across the bagel. The sudden sweet taste made him shudder. “Is it morning?”
“7:30 local time,” his assistant said. “You discover anything new?”
Goodwill stood and swiveled a whiteboard around to face them. The bottom legs knocked into a mobile filing cabinet. The jostle caused an avalanche of documents and articles to rain across the floor. Goodwill didn’t notice. “Do you remember what year the biggest solar storm ever recorded took place?” he asked.
His assistant leaned against the wall. “The Carrington Event in 1859?”
Goodwill nodded and stared at the whiteboard muddled with tiny marker scrawls. “Imagine the world in 1859. This is before automobiles were invented. Before the lightbulb was invented.” He shook his head with exasperation. “This was before the Civil War had even begun. The only technology on any sort of grid was the telegraph. When the solar flare hit Earth, reports abounded of telegraph machines emitting sparks and starting fires.” He glanced at his assistant. “Can you imagine in today’s world what would happen if the sun got cute? While our invisible shield is down?”
His assistant shook his head. “It would be ugly. I know that.”
Goodwill took an impatient bite of the bagel. “What specifically do you think would happen?”
“Anything connected to a satellite would stop working. I imagine a lot of electronic devices would go haywire.”
Goodwill nodded. For the last couple weeks, he had religiously watched the news reports, hoping for any sign of concern. When the news anchors had covered the northern lights in California there had been big smiles and excited faces as people lifted their phones toward the heavens to capture such majestic beauty. He could not believe how casually everyone had reacted. No one discussed the danger lurking behind such grandeur. When scientific experts had been invited to discuss it on the various news stations, they had simply explained how the northern lights occur, with no conjecture of what seeing them that far south could possibly mean. All the cable news channels followed routine, and besides a brief mention, focused on petty political matters.
After the second day, everyone seemed to forget what had happened and had moved on to celebrity gossip. The electromagnetic phenomenon was old news. Goodwill had spent every waking hour since then trying to warn the public. Besides a 30 second blip on the local news, which made him look more like a conspiracy theorist than a bona fide atmospheric scientist, the only platform he had was his website where he had posted feverishly over the last two weeks.
“I am afraid it’s much worse,” Goodwill finally said. “You need to remember-”
The phone on his desk rang. He stared at it for a moment before slowly walking over. No one ever called the phone on his desk. The number was not listed in any public or private directory. The phone was so neglected, a thin layer of dust fell away from the blinking red light as he scooped it up.
“Hello, this is Professor Goodwill.” He looked back at his assistant with a raised eyebrow.
Through the receiver he heard jumbled voices and then a rustling of papers. “Professor Goodwill,” came a man’s voice. “My name is Chris Danville with the Science and Technology Research Agency. You are a hard man to get a hold of.”
