The Everglades - Chapter Ten

10

1954. Hochstühl and Von Unterscheisse occupied offices above the warehouse floor. The day was typical. Children were growing and under the care of mothers. Unknown was whether offspring would organically embrace requisite disdain for humanity. Not leaving their development to chance, satanic rituals were performed regularly with Argentinian spawned twins. What the Nazis failed to realize was souls were gifts from God. Ritualistic behavior merely conditioned the boys’ minds. Repetitive behavior defined how they conceived life’s purpose. Not until they were old enough to conceive strategies would offspring become integral to everyday operations.

Johnson Billie’s corpse rotted in a similarly prepared shallow grave to that of his brother Franklin, and girlfriend Sarah.

Von Unterscheisse stood from the General’s sofa and walked to the bank of windows that looked down upon the warehouse floor. He watched a worker operate a small forklift; removing pallets from shelves and placing them on flatbed trailers; expediting delivery to local construction sites.

Most men would’ve been proud to captain a successful company; offering employment to many while turning a profit. Within warehouse walls there was always an undercurrent of the grander plan. A project whose culmination would only be witnessed by the General and Colonel from whatever hereafter awaited.

Isolated from the world, and die spinne, a web created to execute a global takeover; the men’s only charge was to stick to their part of the plan. They were never to embrace the miraculous beauty of life; like every good German. Control over local apparatuses had yet to be woven into a global system. Communication between Nazi cells was forbidden. Each must trust their part of the plan. Processes must work flawlessly with all others; without the benefit of established connections. Plausible deniability was only possible among fragmented and seemingly independent groups.

It wasn’t enough they could afford to raise families, live in bayside homes, and educate children in the finest private schools. Suppliers of boat and plumbing equipment was the front.

Suddenly, Von Unterscheisse’s attention was drawn away from the happenings on the warehouse floor, and toward a man who breached its doorway from the parking lot.

The man wore a light gray flannel suit and Fedora. The visitor strode confidently across the bare and dusty concrete floor. Owners of construction companies visited from time-to-time; but nothing about the man was familiar.

The Colonel watched as he traversed the width of the warehouse, approached the bare metal stairwell, and took steps two-by-two toward executive offices.

“It appears as though we have a visitor, General.”

“Yes. And who would that be?”

Von Unterscheisse shook his head slowly. “I have no idea.”

The General sat up in his high-back leather chair and leaned his forearms against the edge of his desk.

The two men looked curiously at one another. Both waited for the secretary to announce whoever might possess the audacity to request a meeting.

Silence dissipated when the door flung open abruptly. In the gap stood the same man the Colonel watched move confidently through their place of business.

“You must make an appointment to request a meeting,” the General barked from behind his desk.

The rim of the man’s Fedora was purposefully pulled over his brow. He spoke in the native tongue of all three in the room. “Erkennen Sie einen alten Freund nicht wieder?”

The General smiled as he stood. Hearing the guttural and primitive language warmed his jaded soul. For the briefest moment he became dubious. Could this be a law enforcement agent attempting to expose the two as war criminals. The language of the Holocaust could have been used as a ploy. He chose to respond in English; for whatever slight defense it offered. “I might be able to recognize an old friend if he removed his hat.”

The man obliged.

“Herr Vetter.” The General moved quickly from behind his desk. “1944? Berlin? Was that the last time we saw each other?”

The two men embraced.

“I believe you are correct.”

“Why have you come to town?”

“The overlords have adjusted the plan. I needed…wanted to communicate it in person.”

Gleefully the General grabbed the man’s arm and directed him toward his underling. “This is Colonel Von Unterscheisse. He is my Vice President of Operations.”

Out of habit the visitor clicked his heels together as any good Nazi would. A sharp, quick bow of the head was followed by, “It’s nice to meet you, herr Colonel.”

“Likewise.”

“Come in and sit down,” the General invited.

All three men moved to the comfortable lounge area. General Hochstühl and Colonel Von Unterscheisse sat in large leather club chairs situated at each end of a coffee table. Major Vetter sat on the sofa between the two men.

“So where has our little web taken you, my friend?”

“I have only recently been transferred into the United States,” Vetter answered. He shifted his head between a nod and a shake, and admitted, “it was seen best, that I wait. All of our compatriots who immigrated through Operation Paperclip were scientists. It was felt that my medical background might be questioned.”

“Very smart,” the Colonel jealously interjected. He wished to not feel isolated from the men. It was the basis of what moved Naziism forward; fear of not belonging to something greater.

Uncomfortable silence between the three was broken by the General. “So, I take it now we have a medical component to the plan?”

“Precisely,” the major added as he sat forward on the edge of the sofa.

“Are we allowed to know the details.”

“Yes. You will be an integral part in completing this phase of the plan.”

“Has our timeline been compressed?”

The Major shook his head. “No. Not at all. It’s simply adding the results of our research at Auschwitz to the overall plan.”

“What sort of research did you do?” The General asked.

“It’s not only my research, but that taken in its entirety by the company I worked for during those days. I.G. Farben. The western allies have broken our company, initially into three companies, and then another six. This created a shell-game of sorts. All of the other companies like Prescott Pharma and SAGA are free to pursue legitimate business purposes.” The Major pointed toward the warehouse. “Not unlike the admirable job you’ve done here.”

“Thank you, Major.”

Vetter bowed his head graciously. “My company has now established a business purpose in the United States. That is where we transferred all of the research developed at Auschwitz. We will now begin introducing maladies into Americans through diet, direct injection, and even the quality of their air.”

The Colonel asked, unsure how it’d be accomplished. “You’re going to pump fowl air into their homes?”

The Major laughed. “No. You must think grander. You’re a Nazi after all.” He smiled and glanced between the Colonel and General. “We’re going to crop-dust the entire population. High altitude planes,” pride emanated from his voice, “developed by the Nazis will change the atmosphere.”

The General nodded his understanding. “Weakening the population.”

The Major continued. “We will weaken them physically, psychologically, and we have also developed childhood vaccines that will destroy testosterone in boys and estrogen in girls. Birth rates will plummet.”

The General smiled. “I love bing a Nazi more-and-more each day.”

It was the first time they’d interacted with another prominent player involved in Die Ursache; the cause for which all dedicated lives. Skewed perspectives conceived destruction as creation. Like ticks, they’d imbedded themselves into an unsuspecting society wholly unprepared to defend itself.

Vetter spent hours detailing plans that’d come into focus. They involved not only physical destruction of the American population, but psychological as well. Possessing control of a massive population offered God-like satisfaction to all three.