Mitch and Nick found a table and sat down with their beers.
“I have to talk to you about something and I could say it diplomatically, but I’m just going to lay it on the line,” Mitch started.
Nick held up his hand for Mitch to stop. He removed his jacket, loosened his tie, had a huge swallow of beer and then nodded for him to proceed.
Mitch laughed. “It’s not that bad. Dan is worried that because you’re disconnected from the world at the moment that if I send you in undercover, you could be swayed by the group and become a Nazi. So will you promise me you won’t?”
Nick’s jaw dropped open. He thought for a moment and then he laughed. “For fuck’s sake! Well there’s no guarantees; I don’t agree with anything they stand for and I’ll be working hard at not punching any of them out, but since I’m such a loose cannon … is that really his opinion of my head space at the moment?”
Mitch nodded. “Yeah, clearly you’re screwed.”
“Shut up,” Nick said with a grin. “So you’re sending Ellie in with me to keep an eye on me?”
“No, I need Ellie to be a set of eyes and ears and a confidante amongst the women. I told Dan I was going to share his concerns with you. I’m telling you so that you go in with your head in the right place. I’ll be pissed if you leave my family to go to the other side. Even more so because a psychologist will have been right.”
Nick leaned forward and sighed. “Dan’s wrong. Just trust me on that.”
They drank and thought in silence. Eventually Mitch asked, “So what did you say to him that made him think that?”
“What did you say to him?” Nick asked.
“Me? About you?” Mitch shrugged. “Nothing.”
“He said he had reports that said I was too willing to rush in and put myself in the line of fire.”
Mitch finished his beer and frowned. “Nuh, can’t remember putting any comments like that in your file, mainly because I don’t think you are. Samantha yes, but you, no. It might have been during your training.”
“Yeah he mentioned there were a few reports from then.”
“He’s probably embellished a bit to get a reaction.” Mitch’s phone beeped with a text message and he quickly checked it.
“My round, another light?” Nick rose. “Or have we been summoned?”
“No we’re good, just an extra beer, Adam’s on his way. He’s got a crash course for you in Mein Kampf.”
“Oh terrific, just what I need. I’m changing from beer to scotch.”
Dirk Schmid closed the book he was reading and watched as his wife disrobed. In her small white satin slip she paused in front of the mirror, picked up the brush from the antique set he had bought her and ran it through her shoulder-length blond hair. She placed it on the dresser and rubbed moisturizer into her hands. She saw him watching, turned and smiled. Even after fifteen years of marriage, he never tired of watching her prepare for bed. She was as glamorous at thirty-five as she was when he met her at eighteen and married her at twenty. Allie was born one year after.
“Marry me, Steph?” he asked.
Stephanie laughed. She flashed the large diamond ring on her left hand and walked towards the bed.
“I’m already married.” She lowered herself into bed beside him. “You see when I was young and wild I met this dashing man. He was tall, blond and handsome and he took my breath away.” She leaned in to kiss him. “I couldn’t say no and to this day, I only have eyes for him.”
He returned her kiss and pulled her towards him. Slowly he slid his hand under her slip and he heard her groan with expectation. When they had finished making love, she sighed with contentment and rolled over to lean on his chest.
“Darling, when can I stop the program?”
Dirk inhaled.
“You know I will do anything you want me to do and you know how loyal I am to our vision and country, but …” she chose her words carefully, “I’m physically, emotionally and mentally yours. I always have been and being partnered with other men in the program, well … ”
He smiled and stroked her hair as he looked down into her blue eyes.
She cleared her throat and continued. “Could you not take my eggs and transfer them, rather than me having to do the act?”
Dirk moved her gently off his chest and pulled himself up to lean against the bed head. He crossed his arms across his chest.
“You know I would love to do that, but that would be more painful for you and…” he held up his hand to continue as she began to protest, “I’m the leader. How would it look if all the other wives did their duty and mine received special dispensation?”
She nodded and gave him a feeble smile.
“But when you are with the other women …”
“No.” He stopped her. “Don’t go there, Steph. It’s not love and it’s not attraction. I am focused purely on creating the Fountain of Life 2 program. While I am in the act, I am thinking of our vision, values, our strengths. Sometimes I can’t distinguish one woman from another. It will never be what we have.”
She nodded, content with his words and needing to hear them.
“You are the love of my life, Steph, all I’ve ever wanted and as beautiful as ever. There is no one who can fill your shoes. As for doing your duty, you can retire at forty; it’s only five more years and look at the beautiful offspring we have both produced.”
“But they’ll never know who are their real mothers or their real fathers,” she said.
“The foster parents are their real parents as far as they are concerned and they are being brought up with the right values and beliefs. That’s all they need, Steph. You need to be strong.”
“I hate being away for the months in hiding.” She sensed his anger and looked up quickly. “But don’t doubt for a minute my conviction, darling. I am completely behind you and the vision. I am the first lady after all.” She smiled.
“That you are.” He stroked her hair. “And no one could do it with as much style and sophistication. Has Allie started her period yet?”
Stephanie bristled. “No.”
“As soon as she has, we need to prepare her for the program.”
“Yes,” Stephanie agreed, feeling fear gripping her heart like a vice.
Mitch glanced at his watch. It was nearing ten p.m. He had dropped Nick home earlier and was now at the Holocaust Memorial Museum with Adam. He walked around the small, enclosed space, shining his torch along every surface. Adam did the same, but crawling along feeling the crevices of the floor in the small projector room. Adam turned around and collapsed back against the wall.
“Nothing?” Mitch asked.
“No loose panels, no wires, no cameras, no idea how that movie shows every night.”
Mitch frowned. “Could there be another area it is projected from, like back projection, and we’re looking in the wrong area?”
Adam raised his eyebrows in thought. “Could be. I’ll go look around the wall the film is screened on.” He opened the door, letting in the hallway light for a moment before it went to black again.
Mitch stood, waiting for his eyes to readjust to the dim room. “C’mon, there must be a way,” he said out loud. He rocked back and forth on his heels and that’s when he heard it—a slight creaking noise. He stopped and dropped to the floor. Feeling around the black carpeted floor, he found no obvious gap or break. He pushed until he heard the creaking noise again and found the area it came from. He ran his fingers along the area. Nothing. Then he had a thought. What if it is some kind of trapdoor that is opened from underneath and my weight is bearing down on it, preventing it from opening? So the ghost projectionist has not been able to start the film until we’ve gone and gotten off the floor?
Mitch rose. He had to get off the floor but be able to reach it to see if it was sprung. He started with the desk. If he could lie along the desk and press along the floor at certain points, it might just work. He moved to the end of the desk and crouched on what was left of the surface area, getting completely off the floor. This is when I need someone small like Ellie here. He leaned down, and pressed hard along the floor, hoping it would spring open. Nothing. He got off the desk, moved it along a few feet, lay on it again and repeated the pattern. This time it worked.
Mitch gasped with surprise and delight. A panel of the floor completely covered in black felt suddenly sprang up an inch at one end. Mitch dropped to the floor on the opposite side of the square panel and lifted it up. It was hinged. Running from the edge of the trapdoor was an iron ladder, the rungs padded with black felt to reduce noise, Mitch guessed. He shone his torch into the area; it was a small tunnel wide enough for him to fit in. The tunnel diverted sharply showing only a few feet in front of him.
Mitch pushed the desk and projector back in place. He stepped down onto the ladder and from the top rung could easily reach to push the film on. He started the film, knowing Adam would race to join him. In minutes, Adam came through the door. He looked at the projector and then to Mitch halfway into a hole in the floor.
“Damn, so it’s not a ghost,” he said, disappointed.
Mitch grinned. “Want to stay here and keep watch?”
“I’d rather come with you.” Adam looked past Mitch into the tunnel. “Security’s on its way.”
“Okay, let’s go.” Mitch dropped down the ladder into the tunnel and Adam followed, leaving the trapdoor open. The security officer ran into the room to see if they had caught the projectionist only to see them disappearing into the tunnel.
Mitch led the way down the narrow tunnel. It was paved with bricks on the floor, walls and ceiling.
“I bet there are a hundred of these little tunnels in old buildings like this,” he said.
“Let’s see where it comes out, although if it was a bomb shelter or an escape, there should be somewhere wide enough to huddle,” Adam said.
“Here it is,” Mitch saw a small entrance to the right. He pushed open a door and stood, his eyes wide and mouth open.
Adam arrived next to him. “What on earth?” He took in the small room.
It was a shrine to the Nazis; wall-to-wall photos of Hitler, the Nazi party, Nazi youth and swastikas, a mannequin featuring a full Nazi dress uniform and flags.
“Well we can safely assume we have the den of our protestor.” Mitch moved into the room and looked around. “Let’s bag something, see if we can lift prints and find him or her.”
Adam moved his torch along the wall. “Man, this is creepy.”
“You said it,” Mitch agreed. He took piece of paper from the desk, wrapped it around a couple of photos and a pen and pocketed them. “That might do it. Let’s see where the tunnel comes out.”
Adam led the way and the two men walked another fifteen yards before coming to a heavy iron door. There were no cobwebs and it had been opened recently. Adam put his shoulder into it but it swung easily. They came out in the garden on 14th Street at the side of the museum. The door was obscured by two trees.
“Well, that solves that riddle.” Mitch looked around the exit.
“Still disappointed there wasn’t a ghost,” Adam said.