The Everglades - Chapter Five

5

January 10, 1947. It was the year. Nazi sleeper cells had been given a deadline. Control must be wrested from local authorities. Inroads into politicians and police had been accomplished with help from mafia counterparts. Brown-Shirts of the nineteen-thirties had been replaced by men in silk suits. Proving most difficult was control of local media.

Miami existed secludedly; near the end of the world as conceived by continental Americans. Isolation compelled a frontier mentality. Quick and decisive justice quelled overt uprisings.

That which bridged the gap between authority and its citizens were passionate journalists; those who believed in truth.

General Hochstühl sat at his oversized mahogany desk. Paranoia was ever-present. The former officer’s army had been defeated by men with whom he mingled daily. Photographs of the Bavarian countryside, where he spent days as a boy, hung about the office. Arrogance prodded desires to hang photos of Zie Führer; but he resisted. Too many Americans worked at the warehouse. He couldn’t risk being connected to historical accounts of war atrocities.

Sitting across the desk was Colonel Von Unterscheisse. He sat in a heavy wood-framed chair. Maroon leather was secured by brass-tacks to its arms, back, and seat.

The two men executed their portion of the post-war plan diligently. There had been no communication with clandestine cells stationed throughout the world. The only energy moving the plan forward was Nazi-based faith that all aspects were being adhered to meticulously. They knew not who was located in what countries across the globe. That which they were certain was the overarching plan had been developed by the same global elite that created the Nazi war machine. Faith dictated no matter how many setbacks occurred, the ultimate goal of world domination would be secured.

Von Unterscheisse held the day’s broad-sheet Miami Herald in his lap. Newspapers were the only manner of communication between cells positioned throughout the world. Seemingly innocuous stories were perused for signs of Nazi influence. Codes were not developed for fear of being broken. Even their prized Enigma machine had fallen under the stress of judicious analysis during World War II.

Instructions were given to all cell leaders; seek out stories that spoke of especially heinous methods of death.

Murder, sans prosecution, proved protection apparatuses had been secured.

Occasional stories of politicians found in hotel rooms with dead prostitutes proved the elite’s middle management moved toward hegemony. Office-holders who refused corruption’s siren song were made rid-of by any means. Untouchable men and women must be removed from positions to make way for those who cherished wealth above God.

“Is there anything interesting in the paper?” Hochstühl inquired.

“Not today.”

“Vhat about our contribution to the global plan?”

Von Unterscheisse’s smile grew sinister. “I will only allow you to read the article when it appears in our local paper. You need plausible deniability; no connections to you can be risked.”

“But will it make it into papers across the world?”

The Colonel’s expression grew in intensity. “Oh yeah.”

The General’s expression matched that of his counterpart. “When can I expect this gift to arrive?”

“Within the week.”

The General nodded. “What about our business. How is it doing?”

“Well. We’ve purchased a marina in Fort Lauderdale with the proceeds from our heroin operation.”

“What about the warehouse downstairs?”

“What about it?”

“Do we have enough legitimate inventory to disguise drug operations in case some do-gooder cop comes sniffing around?”

“Yes. Mostly boat parts to service the marina’s mechanics. We need more, but as we buy additional businesses with our drug and prostitution gains, we’ll have the warehouse filled.”

The Colonel smiled at a recollection.

“What is it?” the General inquired.

“We have a shipment of boat propellers downstairs.”

“And?”

“I was just laughing at what the workers…rednecks…I think they call themselves. They refer to propellers as marine wheels.”

General Hochstühl laughed. “They are a quaint little people, aren’t they?”

The men sat juxtaposing existences in a tropical setting versus Berlin. There were no mountains. No Black Forest. The ideology of extermination continued to resonate within their souls. Each were left to their own devices to construct that which advanced stated agendas. The only outside assistance came in the form of the one hundred thousand dollars they’d brought ashore in the Everglades.

They’d contacted organized crime. Flow of funds had been secured. Politicians and law enforcement were paid to align careers with the Nazis. Most of their time together was spent managing newfound wealth. They hoped to maximize contributions to the global agenda.

Hochstühl looked across the desk at Von Unterscheisse. “There is a move in the Florida Legislature to outlaw discrimination in real estate and hotels.”

“And?”

“And, I think we need to spend some of our gains supporting this legislation.”

Von Unterscheisse thought for more than a moment. He shook his head. “Why should we get political? It seems to me our purpose would be better served operating in the shadows.”

The General smiled and shook his head. “Quite the contrary. We should be seen as benevolent. We should be seen as embracing the American ideal of a melting pot.”

“What is the ultimate goal?”

“You know what the ultimate goal is,” the General barked; refusing to give energy to their failed Final Solution.

“There’s a disconnect for me. I cannot see the bridge between benevolence and our plan.”

“And that is why I am your superior.” Hochstühl became irritated. “You see, once we make sure that Jews have equal access to all opportunities to own property, we replicate those skyscrapers they enjoy in New York down here. We place them on the beach and give them a glorious view of eternity beyond the horizon. They will populate those tiny slots on each floor like pigeons in a coup. When the time comes we can collapse those structures.”

The Colonel smiled and nodded his understanding. “Like concentration camps, only vertical.”

“Exactly.”

The General declared, “we are about to become developers.”

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January 16, 1947. The General and Colonel Von Unterscheisse occupied the same positions in the superior’s office as they did every day of the week. It was Thursday and the Colonel appeared especially pleased with the newspaper’s headline story.

The daily lay on his lap as he read from the top. Flipping over the periodical, he read below the fold. Finally, he held the paper up, allowing it to unfold and hang freely. The subordinate leafed through pages to that which contained the final portion of the story.

“You seem particularly enthralled, Colonel.”

Von Unterscheisse dropped the paper and smiled at his counterpart. Without a word he folded the paper; returning it to its delivered configuration. He handed it across the desk, to his boss.

General Hochstühl lay the paper unfolded, across his workspace’s surface.

Colonel Von Unterscheisse watched as a sinister smile grew on the Nazi leader’s face.

The General read every word of the story of a young Cuban woman, Esperanza Santos. Her nude body had been found in a vacant lot near Biscayne Boulevard. Especially heinous was the manner in which her corpse had been found; surgically bisected at the waist.

Once finished, the General looked across his desk at his especially satisfied counterpart. “You certainly know how to blast a subversive Nazi signal across the world, don’t you.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I’m so happy they assigned you to me.”

“Only the best will take down America.”

The General tapped his right index finger on the surface of the newspaper that lay in front of him. “This will definitely get written up in papers across the world.”