The Heritage Paper

Chapter 16



Zach didn’t need his journalism degree to figure out that Veronica was tense. She was gripping the steering wheel so hard he thought she would break it. The trip to Rhinebeck would be just over an hour, but he got the feeling that it would seem much longer than that.

Her children were in the back seat, along with a ninety-something Nazi hunter. And behind them, in the hatchback, was a priceless stolen painting. Just your typical road-trip upstate.

Zach focused on Youkelstein, thinking back to the story he did on him and Sterling a few years ago, titled Shh It’s Nazi Season.

The Nazi hunters weaved an interesting story, although they were vague on certain details, and danced around Zach’s questions about their rumored vigilante style of justice. On the record, they claimed that whenever they’d tracked down war criminals, they’d always handed them over to the proper authorities. Zach wasn’t buying it, but still marveled at their passion, and it’s not like he could evoke sympathy for the butchers who may have ended up on the wrong side of their sword.

As Zach peered out at the monotonous row of barren trees that lined the Taconic Parkway, he felt a certain twinge of excitement. He’d had too many days lately where he knew how the next twenty-four hours were going to turn out before they ever happened. Raising TJ was all about schedules and pickups, which he worked around to write his bland stories for the small paper that was currently employing him.

So perhaps him “tagging along” on this journey was another chance to chase the big story, which led to the question: Is it a big story? Zach wasn’t sure, but saw two possibilities—one was that it was a hoax of crop circle proportions. He doubted that one. TJ was good with altering photos, but not that good. The more likely scenario was that Ellen was telling the truth as she saw it. Of course, her cognitive abilities were very much up for debate. Like a good reporter, he would observe, seeking the truth without pride or prejudice, and remain open-minded until facts were validated.

He thought of Sara, who always told him he was afraid to take a side. She said he used journalism as an excuse to avoid life—observing, but never living it. Sometimes he wished she’d done a little less living, and then perhaps she might still be there for their son.

Veronica turned to him. “Do you really think Aligor Sterling could have given Ellen those cyanide tablets?”

“I don’t know, but the guy does have a lot to lose in this election. And if he thought Ellen’s connection to the Nazis was a threat to Kingston winning, who knows.”

Youkelstein cleared his throat and spoke up from the backseat, “I’ve known Aligor since 1944. We’ve had our differences over the past few years, but he saved my life. He saves lives, not takes them.”

“Except for when you two played judge, jury, and executioner. My mother always told me that if you stoop to someone’s level, then you turn into that person,” Zach challenged.

“Those Nazis weren’t human lives. They were rabid animals that laughed when they shot Esther right in front of me. She was my soul—and when your soul is ripped from you, Mr. Chester, then you can talk.”

They had more in common than Youkelstein would ever know. Only Zach’s soul wasn’t ripped away by soldiers wearing swastikas, but by a drug that proved just as crippling.

He looked back at Youkelstein. “Okay, Mr. Nazi Hunter, how about cluing us in on what’s going on here?”

“I’m as much in the dark as everyone else.”

“You just happened to have written books that claimed Himmler, Hess, and other members of this so-called Apostles group had survived the war, and then you received an invite to the Ellen Peterson ‘Nazi coming out party’? That doesn’t sound like a coincidence to me.”

“The only connection I can make is from when Aligor and I interrogated Bormann in South America, many years ago.”

“And this would be Martin Bormann, who according to the official record was declared dead when his remains were discovered buried at the Lehrter Bahnhof railway station in West Berlin, and later confirmed in DNA evidence and dental records?”

`“Ah, the official record. It sounds plausible to me that these skeletal remains just suddenly showed up there in 1972, twenty-seven years after his disappearance.”

The coy smile told Zach that Youkelstein knew exactly how Bormann’s body wound up there.

“Official record aside, when Aligor and I tracked him down, he told us he had correspondence that proved Himmler was both alive and part of this Apostles group.”

“If you believed he could track down Himmler, it might have made him useful to you. I’m guessing that he would have told you whatever you wanted to hear at that point, hoping to buy himself some time.”

“That was our belief, which was why we didn’t pursue his alleged correspondence.”

“And it’s interesting that you never mentioned any of this in your books.”

“The books you speak of were forensic investigations, which detailed how numerous Nazi criminals, including Himmler, used doppelgangers to survive the war and conspired with Western powers to do so. I had evidence to prove that Himmler survived the war, but I could never confirm his whereabouts, or determine exactly what happened to him. As a journalist, I’m sure you understand this standard.”

Zach did. He also understood how to dig for the answers he needed. “Sterling mentioned that he believed your books put ideas in Ellen’s head, which was already spinning with alien theories.”

“Aligor is the delusional one. Not Ellen.”

“Regardless of the mental state of those involved, I think you wanted to validate these ideas of Apostles and the rising of the Reich, and you found Ellen as a willing partner. By her publicly telling this tale, she is helping to reinforce your theories.”

“Blast my tactics, but don’t ever attack my sincerity. I’ve dedicated my life to justice, not publicity!”

“But justice isn’t cheap, and keeping alive the myth that a Darth Vader figure like Himmler is alive can bring publicity, along with funding from your fellow conspiracy theorists.”

Zach used his phone to pull up the Internet. He googled Himmler, which took him to the archived front-page headline Death of Himmler that ran on May 25, 1945 in the Daily Mirror. He held up the photo for Youkelstein to see. “I’m no expert, but he sure looks dead to me. Do you really think this guy is still alive?”

“First of all, Himmler was born in 1900, so I truly doubt he’d still be alive. But since you brought up the newspaper article, does it mention that the corpse’s legs were muscular, contrasting with Himmler’s frail physique, which was backed up by testimony of those closest to him? Or that many of Himmler’s closest friends didn’t recognize the photo in the paper? In fact, the British wouldn’t allow his mistress, Hedwig Potthast, or his brother Gebhard, to view the body. And anyone who’s had a mustache as long as Himmler would have a pale area of skin when it’s shaved off, which wasn’t present on the corpse.”

“All things that can be explained away by the context of the time. It was twenty days after the war had ended. The whole place was chaos. Does it really surprise you the examination wasn’t done in optimal fashion?”

“That’s the thing, Mr. Chester, the examination of Himmler ranked as one of the most meticulous postmortem examinations of any historical figure. They noted every lesion, scar, and needle prick on the body. Now please click on the photo from the Mirror.”

Zach followed his orders, and the photo of the dead man enlarged to fit the entire screen.

“As you can see, the eyes are level and bridge of the nose is straight. The tissue of the lower third of the nose deviates to the right. Much different from the real Himmler.”

“Maybe the structure of his face was altered when he entered the camp.”

“There is overwhelming evidence that no torture took place at the camp, but if it did, I was still able to get my hands on Himmler’s dental records. His last visit was November 1944, six months prior, and his teeth were in perfect shape. When I compared them to the postmortem X-rays, it would seem that either Himmler had a case of the fastest spreading gum disease in history, or more likely, it wasn’t Himmler who committed suicide in that camp.”

Zach realized he wasn’t going to win this debate, so he got back on track, “Okay, I’ll concede the point that Himmler survived the war, and that he might be a member of the this group called the Apostles. But what does it all mean … and where do we go from here?”

“It means that they were acting in concert. And I believe we’re going to Rhinebeck.”

“Any idea what this symbol might represent?”

Zach held up a piece of paper that he’d scribbled the symbol on during Maggie’s presentation. v^988v^ .

“I wish I knew. The images around the number look like horizontal lightning bolts—as you know, the SS symbol was double lightning bolts, so there might be a connection there. As far as the number, I’ve run numerous scenarios in my head, but have hit nothing but dead ends. Thanks to Ellen’s confession, we know that Bormann, Himmler, Hess, Müller, and Ellen were five of the twelve. I think we must figure out who the other seven were, and decipher what aliases they used, or are using, since the war—only then will the symbol be clear.”

That seemed like a pretty tall order to Zach, and one that was unlikely to be successful.

Veronica must have been thinking the same thing. “All these men must be dead by now. So even if they survived the war, what’s the difference?”

Youkelstein answered, “Think about what the original Apostles did. At the time of their deaths, Christianity still wasn’t a dominant religion by any means. But they had planted the seeds. And Constantine, the Roman Emperor, years later took the fruit of that tree and declared Christianity the law of the land. By learning the identity of the Apostles who planted the Nazi seeds, it will lead us to the modern-day Constantine. He or she will be the one who will execute their takeover plan … and is the one we must stop.”

“And where would we even start?” Zach wondered aloud. He looked back at Youkelstein, who answered Zach’s question with a sideways glance.

He looked at Maggie.