David Golemon - Legacy

“Sardines, tortilla chips, and cheddar cheese,” Everett answered, taking a bite of his own concoction.

Collins didn’t say anything. He gently lay the sandwich down as though it were in danger of exploding. He took a long drink from his bottled water, his eyes never leaving Carl’s.

“Hmm, look at this,” Everett said, laying his own sandwich down and pulling the television monitor around for Collins to see. On the screen, it looked as though several thousand people had gathered in what the caption was telling them was Rio de Janeiro. Bottles, rocks, and other objects were being hurled toward a police barricade surrounding government buildings. The scene switched to a view of Los Angeles where the same sort of rioting and unrest was taking place. Then there was another scene, this one in London. Everett reached over and turned up the sound on the television:

“… the unrest has been repeated in countries the world over as religious fundamentalist groups have organized to halt the missions to the Moon, where they feel their beliefs will be undermined by the significance of humanlike remains discovered there.” The scene again switched. This time the caption at the bottom was Los Angeles. “Clearly the leader of this discourse is the Reverend Samuel Rawlins. His Faith Ministries has been at the forefront of this movement that has spread so quickly that it caught most government law enforcement agencies totally unaware. Reverend Rawlins, the leader of the largest privately funded evangelical organization in the world, is calling for civil disobedience to halt the advancement of what he calls a declaration of war on organized religion. The Reverend Rawlins has been rebuked by the pope and the World Evangelical Council, which he has pulled away from in the past month, declaring his own…”

“Who is this nut?” Everett asked.

Jack sat silently and watched the scenes of rioting unfold across the screen. The BBC reporter signed off. The bumper for the next segment showed a picture of a tall man with silver hair pounding a golden pulpit and looking for all the world like someone who took lessons from Adolf Hitler himself.

“I don’t know, but someone better start taking him seriously, especially after the murder of the Jet Propulsion engineer this morning,” Jack said. He reached out and shut off the view of the Reverend Samuel Rawlins.

“Well, security will be tight from here on out,” said Everett.

“Colonel, we may have something,” Charlie Ellenshaw said, leaning over Jack’s seat. As the professor was getting ready to turn away, his nose wrinkled and he looked down at the tray in front of Collins and Everett. “What is that smell?” he asked.

“Lunch. You want some?” Everett asked.

“Not on a bet,” Ellenshaw said in disgust. Jack and Carl walked past him toward the communication shack. Charlie was about to turn away, but instead looked around to see if anyone was watching. Then he reached down and took the remains of Jack’s lunch. He took a bite. His eyes widened and he made a face, then he chewed and nodded. “Not bad,” he said to himself, turning to follow the two officers with his newly acquired lunch in hand.

Collins peered into the large communications area and saw Pete Golding sitting in front of a large monitor. He was examining an old document that Europa had brought up on the screen.

“What have you got, Pete?” Jack asked anxiously.

“Ah, Colonel. Please have a seat,” Pete said. He pulled one of the rolling chairs out for Jack. “This may be what you would call a long shot, but Europa believes the men here are definitely connected.”

Jack sat as Everett and Ellenshaw also took seats.

“As you see, we have General Heinz Goetz. I believe you said he was the antagonist of Senator Lee.”

“Yes, he was involved in Operation Columbus.”

“Well, I’m sure it will surprise no one that our dear general was a confidant of none other than Heinrich Himmler himself.”

“Oh, Mr. Wonderful,” Everett said, as Europa brought up a picture from the war years showing Goetz and Himmler standing together outside one of the smaller buildings at Wolf’s Lair, Hitler’s Eastern Front headquarters in Poland.

“Goetz was what you would call a special projects coordinator for Himmler.”

Jack looked at Pete. “Special? You mean beyond the horrible historical connotations that word brings to mind?”

“Yes, Goetz had nothing to do with the Final Solution. His talents were more appropriate for the protection of projects like the Vengeance rocket program at Peenemunde. It says nothing, however, about his participating in anything called Operation Columbus.”

Jack studied the picture of the small, heavyset general. He knew that it was his old boss, Garrison Lee, and Alice’s first husband, Ben, who had dispatched the man from the world of the living.

“But there’s this,” Pete said. He ordered Europa to bring up a series of pictures of General Goetz. The photos had been taken at various places around the Third Reich and Russia. “Are you seeing what we saw, Colonel?” Pete asked. He turned around and looked at Ellenshaw and what he was eating. He made a sour face and turned back to the screen.

“This man right here,” Jack said, pointing to a small, bookish-looking officer in an SS uniform. “He’s the common denominator in every photo.”

“Very observant, Colonel. His name is Joss Zinsser, a corporal. We suspected he might be an assistant to Goetz or possibly a secretary. We cross-referenced the corporal’s name against the report filed by the FBI field office from the site where they found the empty train. While the bodies of Goetz and several others were positively identified, there was no mention of our little corporal. It seems our friend Zinsser escaped into the night, you might say.”

“And?” Jack asked.

“He disappeared after the war. He was finally captured with false papers by the British in 1947. He was convicted of assisting in the war crimes of General Goetz and was sentenced to twenty years. He was sent to Spandau Prison and released in 1956 after serving eight years of his sentence. He was a low-priority prisoner and very much ignored by the Western media at the time.”

“Okay, anything else?” Collins asked. He nodded at Everett and gestured for him to get organized. Carl immediately turned and disappeared.

“Yes, there is,” Pete said. He turned and spoke to Europa. “Please bring up the cell allocations for Spandau Prison in the years 1948 thru 1956.”

As Jack watched, several frames flashed before his eyes. Cell assignments started scrolling down until Europa locked on cell number 117. There was the name Joss Zinsser. However, it was the second name that caught his attention, the name of the man’s neighbor for almost eight years.

“Albert Speer,” Jack said, nodding.

“Exactly, Colonel. Unless you believe in happenstance, I would say that these two men who shared breathing space were the only two left after the war who’d had anything to do with a top secret project known as Operation Columbus.”

“Tell me this man is still alive,” Collins said, standing and carefully avoiding Ellenshaw and his lunch.

“That he is. He’s a spry man of ninety-one years and the best part is that he never left Berlin. He lives with his daughter in a small apartment, 236 Rosa-Luxemburg-Strasse, part of a large apartment complex.” Pete handed Jack a slip of paper. “Here are the directions,” he said.

“It’s a start, Pete. Good job. You and the Doc stay put and we’ll be back as soon as we can.”

“You mean we don’t get to go?” Golding asked, removing his glasses.

“No, you two keep trying to get hold on any other links to Goetz in case this doesn’t pan out.”