Authors: Chuck Barrett
S
cott Katzer
almost missed his connecting flight to Germany because of a weather reroute around thunderstorms in the D.C. area. His flight from Nashville left on time, but with the last minute booking, his layover time at JFK was short. The en route weather delay left him with only twenty minutes to change planes. And at JFK, that meant changing concourses as well.
He arrived in Munich on time, but his luggage didn't. The airline informed him it would be the next day before his checked bag would arrive. Fortunately, Katzer carried the bare essentials in his carry-on. Enough to get him by until the airline delivered his bag to him in Garmisch-Partenkirchen. What he didn't have, he would buy.
Garmisch, in the west, and Partenkirchen, in the east, were separate towns for centuries until 1935 when Adolph Hitler forced the two respective mayors to combine the two towns in anticipation of the 1936 Winter Olympic Games. Even though the two towns maintain separate identities, the twin townships are generally lumped together and referred to simply as Garmisch.
Katzer didn't want to spend the time required for the long train ride from Munich to Garmisch, so he paid too much to rent an automobile to make the 120-kilometer drive. At least this gave him some mobility after he arrived at his destination. Upon arriving in Munich, Katzer received a text message from his mother; she had booked him for three nights at the Hotel Bavaria in Garmisch.
His fluent German paid off after he arrived at the Garmisch Polizeistation—police station—since the only English-speaking officers had gone home for the day. He inquired about the man recovered from the glacier and was informed the body was being kept frozen at the Klinikum Garmisch-Partenkirchen, the clinical center in Garmisch. Further query revealed the officer in charge of the case was the only person that could approve a viewing and even then only when accompanied by him.
Katzer arrived at the police station early the next morning and was met by Gerhardt Zeilnhofer, officer in charge of the investigation of the man found inside the Höllentalferner glacier. Zeilnhofer was a short man, maybe 5'6" with an athletic build, close-cropped blond hair, and a defined swagger when he walked.
"Mr. Katzer, how may I be of assistance?" Zeilnhofer asked.
"The man you found inside the glacier last week, have you identified him yet?"
"No, his identity remains a mystery to us, but we are still in the infancy of our investigation. The only thing we have determined is he appears to have fallen into the glacier sometime in the mid-1940s. Probably around the end of the war."
"Did he have any belongings on him, perhaps a book of some sort?" Katzer knew his lack of tact would draw suspicion, but he already had a cover story—the truth—with some selective omissions.
Zeilnhofer was silent for a few seconds. "A rather pointed…and somewhat odd question wouldn't you say, Mr. Katzer? Perhaps you have something you would like to share."
"So he did have something on him," Katzer said.
"No, Mr. Katzer, he did not." Zeilnhofer pointed to a chair. "Have a seat. Please, explain yourself and your questions. I insist."
Katzer spent the next ten minutes explaining that his mother, who was from the small Austrian village of Ehrwald, fell in love with a United States soldier who went AWOL while serving his post at Zugspitze in 1946. She met the man after his father died in the war. The only thing missing other than the man was her diary. If the man they found had the diary, then that would provide positive identification.
Zeilnhofer rubbed his chin. "And you think this Major Don Adams could be this man?"
"I don't know," Katzer said, "but my aging mother does. Enough to send me here to find out so she can have closure. She could never accept the thought that he abandoned her. She was convinced their love was eternal. To know he died in that glacier might lift the burden of the painful memories she's carried with her nearly 70 years."
Zeilnhofer didn't speak at first. He reached into his desk drawer and pulled out a file folder. Using his finger as a guide, he scanned down a handwritten list of names stopping halfway. "Major Don Adams is on the list of possible identities…but so are 30 other names. I can assure you this man's body had nothing on it but an old watch, which we could not trace back to anyone, and a Schweizer Offiziersmesser."
"A what?" Katzer asked.
"Swiss Army Knife, I believe you Americans call it."
"And that was it?"
"I assure you, Mr. Katzer, there was nothing else on him."
"Did you search the cave?"
"I had my men conduct an exhaustive search of the ice cave. There was nothing else in there but ice."
"Tell me about the watch."
"The watch?" Zelinhofer asked.
Katzer nodded.
"The watch was an old 1917 Waterbury, the kind the U. S. Government issued to soldiers in World War I, which is why we originally thought the remains were much older…the knife changed that. It was crafted in 1945."
Katzer stood and pointed to Zeilnhofer's file. "How many names are on that list?"
"Originally, thirty-three."
"Have you ruled any of them out at all?" Katzer asked.
"Actually we have," Zeilnhofer continued, "we have ruled out thirteen. Either confirmed dead or alive and living elsewhere."
"Which still leaves twenty unaccounted for," Katzer said.
"Precisely," Zeilnhofer said, "and Major Don Adams is one of them. As a matter of fact, all of the remaining names on the list are U. S. soldiers who disappeared during World War II."
Katzer walked around the room then turned to the police officer. "This might seem an odd request, but I'd like to have something definitive to tell my mother. Is there any chance I could see the body and maybe even take a look at that file?"
Zeilnhofer was silent. He seemed to be studying the taller, older Katzer. "I guess I don't see the harm." Zeilnhofer walked to his office door and pulled it open. "Meet me at the clinic in thirty minutes."
E
xactly thirty minutes later
, Katzer and Zeilnhofer walked into the basement morgue of the Klinikum Garmisch-Partenkirchen. The room was cold—both in temperature and appearance—a stainless steel personality. Stainless tables, chairs, stools, and freezer compartments for the cadavers.
Zeilnhofer walked to one compartment, opened the door, and slid out a smaller table with a corpse covered with a sheet. The police officer pulled back the sheet revealing the torso and arms of the naked man.
"What happened to his clothes?" Katzer asked.
"Removed for autopsy." Zeilnhofer pointed to a bag on the floor. "I can assure you we have searched them diligently looking for any indication as to his identity. Because of the length of time in the ice, there was nothing we could use."
The man's skin was dark brown and stretched tight around his skull, limbs, and torso, yet remarkably preserved for a man dead nearly 70 years. Katzer noticed the twist in the man's arm. "Looks like he must have fallen into the glacier."
The police officer stared at Katzer. "What makes you say that?"
"I'm a mortician by trade." Katzer pointed to the man's arm. "The way the arm snapped, typical when someone tries to break a fall. And here." Katzer pointed to the man's abdomen. "Is that a gunshot wound?"
"The medical examiner said it appeared to be by the nature of the wound, but he indicated the bullet must have been traveling at a relatively slow speed when it hit him. Perhaps a long distance shot." The officer handed Katzer the file. "Is there anything else you can see from a mortician's point of view?"
"Too long in the ice to detect bruising or lacerations, however, it looks like his clavicle fractured when he fell." Katzer rifled through the police file until he found what he was looking for. The police officer took good notes but didn't seem to follow up on any leads. Or, at least what Katzer viewed as leads, anyway. "I guess this was a wasted trip. My mother will go to her grave still wondering what happened to her American soldier."
Katzer closed the file and handed it back to Zeilnhofer.
"Will you be leaving now?" Zeilnhofer asked.
"Not immediately, no. I have relatives in nearby villages that I haven't seen in many years. I planned on paying them a visit." Katzer reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a business card. "If you discover this man's identity, I would appreciate a call or an email. Regardless of whether it is Adams or not, I'd like to be able to put my mother's mind to rest."
The police officer took the card. "Enjoy the rest of your stay, Mr. Katzer."
"Thank you. I will." Katzer turned and walked out of the morgue. Not only did he have what he wanted but he'd confirmed the man's identity as well. The body on the slab in the morgue was indeed that of Major Don Adams. The watch and the knife were good evidence…but the gunshot wound in the abdomen cinched it. Now, time to return to the United States and track down the person listed in the police file as the one who reported finding the body.
Ashley Regan of Charleston, South Carolina.
M
aldive Islands
Indian Ocean
T
he 21-meter luxury yacht
—a two-masted schooner—sliced quietly through the water toward the resort's pier, still an easy kilometer away. The long pier was lined with tiki lanterns pointing toward the shoreline. From this distance, Jake thought, it looked like the schooner was lining up with a runway.
Whether he was fishing in a mountain stream or sitting on the deck of a boat, Jake loved the water and its calming appeal. He looked at Kyli, with her hair tucked behind her ears in an attempt to keep it out of her face as the warm ocean air washed across them, and smiled. The light from the full moon played across her face. Even in the moonlight, her eyes seemed to sparkle.
It felt like it was so long ago, but it had only been eighteen months since his life had changed so drastically. His psyche seemed tranquil now compared to the tumultuous feeling of the old days—before Wiley. Back then he thought he had it all with Beth, his then fiancée, and felt he could never live without her.
And then he had to.
Life
was
better now. His self-confidence rose to a higher level than ever before. He had perfected his tradecraft skills. His keen insight was sharpened and enhanced. He had become an effective emissary doing the bidding of Elmore Wiley and the Greenbrier Fellowship, a worldwide organization made up of some of the most influential persons the world had to offer. A group who met once a year at the Greenbrier Resort in West Virginia to discuss the world's greatest threats. Although never in an official capacity, the Fellowship made recommendations on how to deal with those threats. Recommendations that typically sent Wiley's emissaries into action.
That was where Jake came in.
He wasn't chosen by accident, he knew that now, he was chosen because of his innate ability to assess, analyze, and act quickly to resolve issues on a real-time basis. And as Wiley had repeated to him on numerous occasions, "meet the objective, the how doesn't matter." That maxim didn't mean to proceed with reckless abandon either, as all objectives, he learned, included discretion and secrecy. And, at his disposal to accomplish those tasks, were some of the greatest minds money could buy. Analysts like Fontaine, engineers like Matt, and scientists like Kyli, made up his support team including the master of radio frequency and microwave technology himself—Elmore Wiley—the Toymaker.
The cruise was relaxing and he could tell Kyli was pleased with her choice of vacation destinations. The schooner slowed as it neared the pier, Jake watched resort employees take their positions to catch the lines to secure the yacht. He also noticed the shadowy silhouette of a woman standing back from the edge of the dock several meters. And even though it was just a shadow he knew it belonged to Francesca Catanzaro. He also knew her presence signaled the end of his vacation with Kyli.
"This can't be good." He mumbled to himself.
J
ake and Francesca
sat on the edge of the infinity pool while Kyli was in the bedroom crying. Her big plans for a two-week romantic get away with Jake had just been dashed by Francesca's news that Jake had to leave and return to the United States immediately. Jake had never seen Kyli this upset, not even after the explosion in Paris that had injured her and her girlfriend.
He was disappointed too, but knew broken personal plans came with the job.
Kyli walked out and sat down next to Jake, dangling her feet in the water. Her eyes were red and puffy. Jake put his arm around her.
"I know I'm being selfish but this was our first real trip together." Kyli put her hand in her lap after wiping her eyes with a tissue. "I just wanted everything to be perfect."
"I know you did." Jake used as much of a consoling voice as he could. "And everything was perfect…it just got cut short this time."
"Will it always be like this? Never being able to make plans because my grandfather has some other secret mission where he whisks you away at a moment's notice."
"Absolutely not. We'll have plenty of time for more trips, uninterrupted ones too." Jake wished he could honestly say that were true, but he knew that wasn't the case. And never would be.
"Kyli," Francesca said, "your grandfather wouldn't have sent me after Jake if it weren't important. He knows how much effort you put into planning this trip and how much you were looking forward to it. If there was any other way, he would have found it."
"How long before we have to leave?" Kyli asked Francesca.
"Mr. Wiley wants all of us out of here tonight." Francesca explained. "I have a boat waiting to take us to the airport and I came in Wiley's personal jet."
"Kyli's going with us?" Jake asked.
"As far as Brussels. Then you and I are flying to D.C."
Jake looked at Kyli then back to Francesca. "Blowback from the last op?"
"I didn't get that impression from Wiley." Francesca stood. "I'll be waiting at the boat while you two pack your things. We leave in 30 minutes."