by Unknown
Mantz nodded. “Plastic that is weighted so that it can’t come up and won’t sink. We have to change the pulleys and the cable about once every two years or so,” he yelled back.
Dresner quickly descended and looked at Mantz. “Not much to see up there. Let’s keep going,” he said.
The tours and interviews continued all afternoon. By the time he left for the day Dresner knew there was something wrong. The answers were too easy and he had seen some physical evidence that indicated someone was lying through his teeth.
It had taken a few nights to get the valves lined up and changed to look closed when they were actually open. Working in darkness except for a small pencil flashlight, Stadt had finally gotten things going. While people were working feverishly loading and unloading tanker trucks in the fueling part of the yard, Stadt was actually behind a small hill and had attached a hose to his truck from the waste oil platform. He worked alone and when anyone came by it looked exactly like he was draining the waste oil from a sludge tank for hauling away. Instead, he had tapped into a line leading directly from the RP-1 storage tanks on the other side of the berm.
Stadt was tired. It meant a double shift since he still had to make sure the waste oil was taken to the centrifuge for recycling. But the first trip was always with the prime fuel. He was passed through the gate with hardly a notice and quickly drove the twenty miles to the mountain where the fueling lines were hidden. Once drained, he made it back and came out with the sludge to deliver. People didn’t care about the sludge tank or what he was doing. They were more concerned with the trucks with fuel in them.
He had made five runs so far. Three more and he would be done. As he began offloading the sludge into the recycling center tanks he thought about his son, Fredrich. He was very proud of his son. Fredrich was an honor student in school and was a very good football player. He also loved skiing and skating. Most of the time Stadt remembered a happy child, without a care, who was very willing to try anything. He was particularly happy when it pleased his father.
But recently things had changed. Fredrich had become more serious and more secluded. He spent most of his time in his room. It had begun when he had insisted Fredrich begin going to the Party meetings. Stadt had been free to share his ideals with his son and this was the natural step for him to take. Unfortunately, the schools had some other ideas of what should happen in the world and he was sure this had caused a small conflict with Fredrich. Nevertheless, his son would quickly learn the benefits of the Party and how it was a strong influence on a man. Fredrich would come to accept what he had accepted long ago – strict obedience and true loyalty. The Party would make his son and Germany proud again.
The tanker emptied and Stadt used the flushing system to clean out the residual waste oil. His tank would have to be clean for the next run. When everything was finally disconnected, he left to get four hours of sleep at home before starting again in the morning.
Al Anderson had a passion for automobiles. He had already restored the now lone Rolls in his garage, but there was room for more and he knew exactly what would go in it. Now he was at the train station as they offloaded the car he wanted to “cruise” in.
There was a crowd gathering as they rolled a 1962 Pontiac Bonneville convertible off the rail car and onto the siding. The country inspections had already been performed and the tag placed on the car in Hamburg, where the car entered Germany. Some time was taken as a small group of men removed the protective sheets of plastic and paper from the interior and exterior of the car. Once removed, they revealed a very sleek grenadier red car with a white top and a white custom leather interior. The chrome shined brilliantly in the late afternoon sun as the crew gave it a quick wash, attached the battery cables and fueled it from a large can.
Anderson inspected the car and finally signed off on the receipt. Then he climbed into the front seat, started the big 389 cubic inch V-8, let the top down and drove it through the gates and onto the street. Pulling into the first petrol station he saw, Anderson filled the tank and then drove the wide-trac Pontiac through Innsbruck. As expected, heads turned as the long, sleek car noiselessly moved through traffic. For many it was the first time they had seen such an American car. Al loved it.
The trip through the countryside to get to his new home was just as exhilarating. Giving the car some gas, the engine responded effortlessly and the Hydra-Matic transmission had no troubles with the hills and curves. Where most European cars had to work the roads, this car had muscle and Anderson wanted to show it off. He sat back and savored the ride. As it got cooler, he simply turned on the heater and kept the top down.
Pulling through the tunnel, Anderson made his way along the now graveled and manicured road and entered the courtyard of the house. The weeds and grasses were gone and he had returned the courtyard to its original look, with white pea gravel everywhere. The house was now a pure white and the few blemishes that had been in the walls were nowhere to be seen. The front doors had been replaced but two gas fed lanterns framed the doorway and gave light to the surrounding area.
Anderson stopped the car at the doors and blew the horn. In a moment, Mary and his daughter Kate came bounding out. Mary placed her hands in her face, “It’s gorgeous,” she said as she looked over the car.
“You should have seen the people staring,” he said.
“I bet!” said Mary as she walked around the car and sat in the passenger seat. “Oh, these seats feel nice,” she said as she rubbed her hand along the back of the seat.
“It rides good too,” Al said. He was pushed aside as Kate opened the driver side door and climbed in behind the wheel.
“What car are you two going to drive?” she asked running her hands around the steering wheel.
“Not yet little girl. I want to break it in first, but it won’t take too long. Are you sure you wouldn’t rather use a Volkswagen?” he asked with a smirk.
“Oh Daddy! I would rather have one of those BMWs,” she said.
“You’ll be lucky if I don’t get you one of those Messerschmitts,” he said to her giving her his stern look. Messerschmitt was producing a small two seat cigar shaped car with bug eyes. The roof hinged at one side for the occupants to get in. It was definitely not what Kate was looking for.
Kate poked out her lower lip but returned to admiring the car. Back home for her 16th birthday her father had given her a Pontiac Tempest. It was plain to see her taste in cars was going up.
“Come on in. Helga has supper ready,” Mary said. “We can take a ride tomorrow.”
Al moved the car to an empty place in the garage and closed the door. Crossing the courtyard he entered the house along with his wife and daughter.
The transformation of the house had just been completed. Entering the great hall the walls had been scrubbed clean and looked much the same, but the floors had been ground smooth and polished till the shine was deep and rich. The old leather Tyrolean furniture had been replaced by a four-piece sectional sofa, soft leather easy chairs and pillows. There was a Persian rug on the floor in front of the couch and chairs. On it was a glass coffee table. The pillows were arrayed around the area for additional seating as needed. On one side was a console stereo system. The sconces, which once were a hand holding a torch, had been replaced with shiny brass twin candle fixtures on dimmers so that the mood of the room could be changed. In the dining room, the long table was still there, but the chairs had been replaced with something more modern and definitely more comfortable. Behind the dining room, walls had been knocked out to expand the entire space. Now the kitchen was visible and the smells for the meal filled the rooms.
Helga Huffham had been hired a month before to prepare the meals and do light housework. A widow of the war, the job had been the first meaningful full-time employment she had been able to get. Helga was middle aged and always wore traditional Tyrolean dress with an apron. She was a happy soul, always smiling and ready for a small joke. Her presence brightened the place wherever she went.
> Mary had hired Helga. They became friends immediately. More often than not Mary was in the kitchen with her preparing a meal, sharing a recipe or making some of the little decorations that spruced up the house for the coming season. Helga was given a small set of rooms in the house as a part of her employment. On occasion, her family would come to the house and visit. They would immediately become a part of the Anderson family.
Hans Kemper was the exact opposite. He had come to them from an agency and had proved himself an efficient butler and gardener. But where Helga joked with Mary, Hans never cracked a smile. He was always serious and almost mechanical about his work. The only time he showed any emotion was when a particular job was completed to his satisfaction. He also had a set of rooms and both he and Helga could come and go as they pleased. They had the weekends off and one additional night off where they could go out.
Hans had the places set when the family arrived and Helga brought in the last of the food. The family sat down to eat and invited the two to dine with them. As usual both declined. Hans took his meal with Helga in the kitchen.
The meal itself was tremendous. Helga loved cooking and always had plenty. Tonight they had roast pork, her special recipe for peas in an onion sauce and carrots cooked in orange juice. The bread was always fresh and dessert was an apple pie Mary had baked.
After the meal, the Andersons went to the kitchen to praise Helga on the meal and to help with the dishes. This was the first time Helga had gotten to know Americans other than the soldiers after the war. The soldiers had been a happy and considerate group. Often she saw them pitching in to help or being courteous to someone. There had been some problems with a few, but by in large they were good people. The Andersons were unlike anyone she had ever met. Where most people treated servants with distant courtesy, the Andersons welcomed her as a part of the family. They didn’t just sit back and let her do all the work. On the contrary, they pitched in to make the big house a home. Even their daughter would come in and help around the kitchen or get some things from her garden.
One day her sole surviving brother and his children came for a visit. Mary made a special trip to town to get things to spruce up their rooms and Helga found she had no work to do. Mr. Anderson had set up the grill on the back patio and they grilled steaks for everyone. Her brother was the last of three boys. The others had been killed in the war. He had served in the Luftwaffe and flew fighters. He and Al had spent the entire evening sharing war stories and becoming good friends. Her brother later told her he had been a little hesitant to come, but now he was looking forward to visiting again and again. It was the first time Helga had felt like she had a family since before the war. If Americans were all like the Andersons, she was sorry for any bad feelings about losing her family.
Hans always kept to himself in his rooms. He seemed to always be somewhere nearby waiting for a call or just watching what was going on. He could usually be found in his room reading and listening to the radio. When everyone was having a good time, he was sitting alone or watching from a distance. Al could never seem to crack his demeanor.
After dinner, the Andersons moved to the great hall. A gas fire was lit and someone put some music on the stereo. Al sat back in an easy chair while Mary relaxed on one end of the couch with a book. Kate sat reading a magazine by the fire and Helga pulled up her sewing table and began working on a dress she was making for one of her grandchildren. The warmth of the fire spread slowly through the room and there was occasional conversation. But in all it was a simple, peaceful night.
Chapter 6
Problems
Fredrich Stadt sat down with his friend Otto in the school cafeteria. They had been friends since they were five and both were a part of the secret organization their fathers were making them attend. As he sat down, Otto got a worried look on his face. He glanced around the room and whispered to his friend, “We are not supposed to be sitting together,” he said.
Fredrich saw the fear on his friend’s face. It was the same with all but a few of the young men he had met. The Nazi organization was doing that to them. All of them seemed to be in a state of fear. Otto constantly looked around to see if they were being watched. Even when someone dropped a set of books, Otto jumped. Fredrich smiled at his friend. “We have known each other since we were children. No one will notice anything strange,” he said.
Otto seemed to relax a little. “I know, but Johann always seems to be looking at me. He can cause a great deal of trouble.”
Johann was the school bully. He was constantly pushing around underclassmen and classmates who were not his size. When both Otto and Fredrich had first started going to meetings they found Johann had been there for several years before. He was a Nazi through and through and too dumb to understand anything but brute force. There were no other members in the school.
“Johann is not so stupid as to cause a scene at school. I think we can handle him when the time comes,” Fredrich said quietly.
“I hope so,” Otto said with a sigh. It was clear the young man was concerned and afraid. He looked back at his friend and leaned closer. “I may get in trouble for this,” he said while glancing around, “but what do you think of what we are learning?” he asked.
Fredrich also looked around. The subject of their Nazi meetings was verboten. If overheard there would be real trouble, but Fredrich felt safe with his friend. “I have concerns,” he said. “I understand why people want their country to be great, but the methods to get there are pretty extreme. I’m not sure about how things are being done. It’s against everything we learn in school,” he said.
Otto nodded. “I think so too. This just isn’t right. I wish I could get out of this,” he said sadly.
Fredrich saw the look in his eyes and smiled at his friend. “I know, but maybe this will all just blow away. I don’t know what the overall plan is yet, but it can’t be anything serious. I mean, we’re just a few people,” he said.
Otto nodded. “Well, at least we can still be friends and talk,” he said warmly looking up from the table.
There was a scraping sound as a chair was pulled up and Johann sat down with a thump. He looked angry. “You two know not to sit together. What are you doing?” he demanded in a hushed voice.
Fredrich wasn’t going to take anything from the guy. He sat back and glared at Johann. “Don’t take that tone with me Johann,” he said loudly enough to be heard across the room. “You can’t pick on my friend and you do not want to take me on,” he said hotly. “Now go on and pick on someone else,” he demanded.
Johann turned beet red. His anger built until Fredrich thought he would explode. Then suddenly he calmed, got up from the table and left the room. Fredrich leaned forward again to calm Otto, who looked like he would almost pass out. “Es ist in Ordnung, Otto,” Fredrich said to calm his friend. “At tonight’s meeting let’s talk to Colonel Müller. I think I can clear things up,” he said firmly. Otto nodded and quickly drank the last of his boxed milk. Then he left for his next class. Fredrich watched him go. Otto didn’t need anything like this. He was a good friend but not someone to assert himself. Fredrich would have to watch out for him.
Rolf Dresner climbed to the top of the tank again after nearly everyone at the plant had gone. He took a couple of photographs of the tube and the indicator wire from the nitric acid tank. Pulling out a couple different tools, he tried to see what had been used to make the marks on the tube. The third one tried were a pair of American vice grips. The teeth of the grip exactly matched the marks on the tube. More photos were taken and Dresner put away his gear. Climbing down the ladder, he wondered why no one had come by to check on him. He climbed into his golf cart and drove to the terminal where the guard should have been watching. When he got to the room no one was there. He was about to leave when an older gentleman walked around the corner with a soft drink in his hand. “Who are you?” the old man asked.
Dresner showed him his credentials. “I came by to see how the equipment works at night.”
The old man smiled and welcomed him onto the room. “You can see the television cameras here. I can control lights, gates, switches, just about anything in the yard from here. I sit here and watch these things all night long. You might as well have me watch rocks move,” the man said. Below the monitors was a panel with switches and buttons and a phone system to get out an alarm.
“Where were you just now,” Dresner asked.
“We get a 30 minute break for our meal along with ten minute breaks each two hours. There’s usually nothing going on anyway,” the old man said. “There’s only been one time this month we had night operations in the yard. The train came in late,” he said.
Dresner nodded. “Ever notice anything unusual?” he asked.
The old man scratched his chin. “Not really. Most of the time the lights are out and we can’t see a thing. These cameras are great during the day, but at night nothing is seen unless someone is carrying a torch. If I do see anything, I can turn on more lighting and call out the other security guards.”
