North Reich (18 page)

      
"Christ."

      
"The synagogue is empty and the Torahs and anything else of value’s been removed.
 
It's pretty much the same all over the area.
 
The Jews are lying low.
 
They worship in homes now, and not in synagogues."
 
Maple handed Tom a couple of typewritten pages of paper and a small flashlight.
 
"Here, read this."

      
Tom ducked down so the light couldn’t be seen.
 
He sagged as he quickly read what happened to Mary Bradford.
 
"You related to her?"

      
"I'm a friend of her father's and I've known Mary since she was an infant and I’ve just decided to trust you.
 
My name is Sam Lambert and I'm a detective on the Toronto police force.
 
I asked for your army to send someone down here to show them what is happening in the shadows and why we need help.
 
There are a number of us who, regardless of what we feel about Jews, are beginning to get very scared about the Canadian Legion’s Black Shirts, the Gestapo, the SS, and the whole German problem.
 
Word is, they're going to take over the police forces and all government agencies."

      
Police sirens began to sound in the distance.
 
The men in the synagogue ran out and climbed into their trucks, driving away without a care in the world.
 
From inside the synagogue, lights flickered.
 
They had set the place on fire.

      
Tom had a horrible thought.
 
"Did you set this up for my benefit?"

"I didn't have to.
 
The Black Shirts do something like this every few days.
 
Ransacking a synagogue is something they don't do very often, however.
 
It shows they're getting bolder and that is scary."

      
"But you knew about it?"

      
"Yes.
 
Of course we have informers in their little club along with some of their members having big mouths.
 
We were also told to let it happen but not let it go too far.
 
The idiots were given ten minutes to have their fun breaking things and now the police will arrive, find nothing, and the fire trucks will be right behind and put out the little fire that was set."

      
There was no more to be seen.
 
Police and fire arrived almost as if they'd been waiting a few blocks away.
 
Firemen rushed in and extinguished the fire in a few minutes.
 
Cops looked around for witnesses, but no one noted the two of them sitting in a car in plain sight.
 

Lambert drove away and back towards the Royal York.
 
"Our numbers are small but growing.
 
There are about fifty of us and we're organized into squads, or cells, if you prefer.
 
We all believe that it's just a matter of time before the U.S. and Germany go to war and then we can start taking on the Black Shirts and maybe even the Gestapo."

      
"So what do you want me to do?"

"Get us some weapons.
 
Pretty much all we have is our service revolvers and that won't cut it.
 
We want rifles and automatic weapons.
 
Grenades and some other stuff that will help us blow things up would be nice as well."

      
They drove past a large building with a bold sign that said it housed the German mission.
 
Lambert explained that it was the nerve center for German operations in Ontario and housed the Gestapo along with other German agencies.
 
Tom stared hard at a man in civilian clothes who was leaving with another, smaller man.
 
Finally, it dawned on Tom.

      
"My God, Lambert, that's Heinz Guderian."

      
"Yep, and the little shit beside him is Oskar Neumann, the man in charge of the Gestapo in Toronto as well as the Black Shirts.
 
He's responsible for tonight's synagogue attack and for the death of Mary Bradford.
 
I understand he also planned to steal some secret material by attacking a courier outside Washington.
 
It was a shame when one of his precious Black Shirts got his ass killed, although I understand an American soldier was killed as well."

      
"What are they doing here at two in the morning?"

      
Lambert chuckled, "Probably inside drinking human blood."

      
Tom stared at Neumann, trying to memorize his face.
 
Even though it was far more important to get news of Guderian's presence to Washington, he could not take his eyes off the Gestapo chief.
 
Neumann was the man who had orchestrated the attack on Alicia, and he felt a strong urge to strike back at the man.
 
What impressed him the most about Neumann’s appearance was that the man looked so ordinary, perhaps even less than ordinary. How could such a little man be the face of evil?

"Lambert, I will do everything I can to get you your weapons."

To her surprise, Alicia found herself back as a courier, again running pouches between Camp Washington and the Pentagon.
 
Now, however, her sedan was bracketed by two others and each contained at least three MPs.
 
Her driver and the soldier who rode shotgun were constantly changed and, even though the new guys were nice enough, she missed the camaraderie of her earlier rides with Wilkins and Henry.
 
She had managed to attend a memorial service for Henry before his body had been sent out west where his family lived and mourned.

      
Wilkins was a different case.
 
All external wounds had healed but when she'd visited him he told her he still had trouble remembering things and bright lights caused excruciating headaches.
 
He said that he'd be medically discharged and probably given a pension.
 
He'd told her that he'd rather have his mind back than a discharge.
 
Alicia sadly concurred.

      
Also gone were little joyrides around Washington before dropping off the pouch.
 
Everyone was just too grim and again she concurred.
 
Even though they weren't quite at war with Germany, the U.S. was almost at war with them.

      
She'd gotten word confirming that she would get a Purple Heart for the injuries she'd suffered, and would receive it in a quiet ceremony in the very near future.
 
The army had toyed with the idea of letting her wear the Combat Infantry Badge, but a careful look at the rules of eligibility showed she didn't qualify, and she'd whole-heartedly concurred.

      
At least Tom was back in the states.
 
She hadn't had a chance to see him since his return from Canada.
 
He'd been closeted with a number of high ranking generals and a few civilians, who, she was informed, were with the OSS.

      
She smiled to herself as she walked down the familiar corridors of the Pentagon.
 
Her blond hair had grown back and she was keeping it an inch or so longer than regulations, but nobody seemed to care and she no longer minded the attention.
 

Alicia passed a newspaper stand.
 
Headlines shouted that the liberation of the Philippines was well under way and that Manila would soon fall to MacArthur.
 
Good, she thought.
 
There were thousands of prisoners of war and interned civilians who needed to be freed.
 
It was a blessing for them that America was not at war with Germany as well as Japan.
 
It might have delayed the defeat of Japan.

      
She asked Sergeant Major Farnum if he'd enjoyed his trip to Canada and the burly noncom smiled and said he had and that Tom had asked him to deliver a message.
 
He hoped she'd stick around so they could go to dinner.
 
No problem she thought. It was already late and she could authorize the MPs to stay overnight in D.C., which, she was confident, they wouldn't mind for one minute.

The Willard Hotel was only a block from the White House and, over time, had been the home for many famous and infamous guests.
 
The four story structure of Civil War fame had followed the original hotel that had opened in 1816, and had given way to the current twelve story edifice that opened in 1901.
 
The present Willard retained the grace and elegance of the Victorian age and Alicia thought she could visualize Teddy Roosevelt striding confidently across the room and grinning hugely.
 
Alicia wondered just how Tom managed to get reservations for dinner, but didn't ask

      
They dined on clams and scallops and each had a glass of the house’s white wine.
 
Tom jokingly told her he'd tried to get them a room, but the hotel was full.
 
She laughed and told him it was just as well since she had no plans to go to bed with him at this time.
 
Damn, he thought.

      
They were just about finished when the waiter brought them another two glasses of wine.
 
"Courtesy of the gentleman who is leaving, sir."

      
They turned to the doorway where they saw a grinning General Eisenhower and his wife Mamie on their way out.
 
Ike waved and they returned the informal salute.

      
"Wow," said Tom, "I had no idea he remembered me."

      
"Well, you are unforgettable, you know."

      
Later, they walked outside.
 
She hooked her arm in his and they walked down l4th Street, turned right and strolled past the White House.
 
There was a cold mist in the air, but they didn't mind.
 
Tom thought they'd have to get a cab pretty soon or they'd catch pneumonia.
 
Again, who cared?

      
"Alicia, when I was in Canada I saw evil and I'm afraid it's going to come this way unless we do something about it."
 

He took a deep breath and laughed at himself.
 
What he'd just said was just too dramatic.
 
He told her about the vandalism of the synagogue and the terrible death of Mary Bradford.
 
He added that he'd seen the man who'd set those three men on her and her two companions.

      
"Neumann looked so ordinary.
 
He could have been a teacher, or an accountant, or a shoe salesman, but not a murderer, and that's what makes the Nazis so terrible.
 
Normal looking people have been subverted into monsters.
 
Even the Black Shirts were just thugs in dress-up.
 
If they didn't have the power of the Reich behind them, they'd all be day laborers spending their time in and out of jail.
 
Now, if the Nazis have their way, those goons are the face of the future."

      
She rested her head on his shoulder.
 
The White House was barely visible in the mist.
 
Lights were on.
 
Somewhere inside, Franklin Delano Roosevelt was doubtless pondering the future of the country.

      
"Are you saying that war with Germany is inevitable?"
 
      
"Only if we want to have a country,” he said.
 
“We're almost isolated now.
 
Yes, we're going to whip the Japs, but then what? Germany is getting stronger and stronger and other countries in our hemisphere are wondering which side's going to emerge on top. And, yes, it should be sooner rather than later."

      
She buried her head in his shoulder and took a deep breath.
 
Maybe she should have let him get that hotel room.
 
It didn't have to be the Willard.
 
No, she thought, not yet.
 
She stood tall and kissed him on the lips.
 
He grinned and held her tightly.
 
They kissed again and didn't care if it was still raining.

FDR expertly wheeled his chair around the map room located on the ground floor in the White House.
 
The walls were covered with maps of all types, including a few that clearly came from
National Geographic
magazines.
 
Notes and arrows had been pinned or taped to indicate the latest that was known about the military situation throughout the world.
 
Manila had just fallen to MacArthur and several thousand prisoners of war and internees had been freed, although several hundred more had been butchered by the retreating Japanese.
 
Tens of thousands of civilians had been murdered by vengeful Japanese.
 
They would pay, Roosevelt thought grimly.