Immortal Ascendant

by Gary Jonas

  Santiago’s smile wavered. He looked left and right. “Yes.”

  “Where would the richest of them live?”

  “Richest?”

  “Those with the most money. Mucho dinero.” I rubbed my thumb against my fingertips in the universal money sign.

  “Why for would you want to know this?”

  “We have a friend who’s staying with a wealthy German man, but he doesn’t normally live here. He’s very well-connected, though. High society, you understand.”

  He slowly shook his head. “I do not know of any such individuals or families.”

  The waiter returned with our coffees.

  “Gracias,” Kelly said.

  “De nada,” the waiter said, then cast a glance at Santiago. Was that a signal of some sort?

  Santiago pulled a handkerchief from his back pocket and mopped his forehead. “Please for to try the coffee. It is delirious.”

  I sipped it. “Delicious,” I said.

  Santiago squinted, then nodded. “Delicious. Not delirious. I must recall to correct the word.”

  “How many languages do you speak, Santiago?” I asked.

  He held up four fingers.

  “You’re way ahead of us,” I said. “I didn’t mean it as a correction.”

  “I like for to be correction.”

  “Okay,” I said. “So you speak Spanish, English…” I left it hanging.

  “French.”

  “And German?”

  “Only a little.”

  I sipped more of my coffee. “Any chance you can show us the German neighborhoods? The wealthy neighborhoods?”

  “Geraldo did not speak of such things. I am for to take you sightseeing. Museums, chocolate shops, volcano, caverns, parks.”

  I shook my head. “We have an interest in the German families who relocated here after World War Two. Word on the street is there were a lot of Nazis.”

  He frowned as he held his hands palms down over the table. He brought his hands together, then apart. “I am not for to help you.”

  The waiter returned to the table and asked Santiago a question.

  Santiago smiled, but he blinked a few times too many, and looked like he might be coming down with something. When Santiago answered, his voice was a higher pitch.

  “We’re not getting anywhere,” Kelly said. She rose from the table, and clapped her hands. “Anyone in here speak English?”

  Everyone looked at her, but nobody said anything.

  “Can somebody tell us where to find some Nazis?” she asked.

  Santiago sank in his seat, and slid so low I thought he might end up on the floor beneath the table.

  The patrons looked at Kelly like she was crazy.

  The waiter slapped his hand on the table. He pointed to the exit. “Sal ahora,” he said. “Get out.”

  In his eyes, I saw more fear than anger.

  I stood and tossed some money on the table.

  “Gracias por el cafe,” I said.

  “Vete,” the waiter said.

  Esther floated behind me. She’d warn me of trouble, so I motioned for Kelly to go. We walked past the customers, who silently watched us leave. None of them gave us any expression at all.

  When we stepped outside, I said, “That went well.”

  Kelly laughed. “Follow me,” she said, and walked across the parking lot to a craft store next door.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  She entered the shop, which was filled with handmade baskets, candleholders, pitchers, plates, and bowls.

  An older woman sat in a chair behind the counter painting a design on a ceramic plate.

  Two other women were examining a rack of earrings toward the back of the store.

  “Can anyone here point us toward the Nazis?” Kelly asked.

  She was greeted with bemused stares.

  “Well, this is fun,” I said as we left the craft store.

  Esther shrugged and followed.

  Kelly pointed across the street to a grocery store, and headed that way.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “Someone will call somebody eventually. If we can’t find the Nazi bastards, let them find us.”

  “And if they show up with machine guns?”

  “We shove those machine guns right up their asses,” Kelly said.

  “Well, why didn’t I think of that?”

  “Because I’m the smart one,” she said.

  “I was being sarcastic.”

  “I wasn’t.”

  We waited for traffic to clear, then crossed the street. Kelly led the way into the grocery store, and as soon as she was inside, she yelled, “Any Nazis in here?”

  A man stacking bananas on a table looked over at us like we were crazy. There were only a few customers in the produce department.

  I figured Kelly might be onto something with her direct approach, so I walked over to the checkout counters. Telephones hung on the sides of the stands. I lifted the receiver, pressed the intercom button, and said, “We need all Nazis up front please. All Nazis up front.”

  A manager stepped out of an office behind the customer service booth. He pointed at me and yelled something in Spanish.

  “I’m an ugly American,” I said into the intercom. “And I’m here to hunt Nazis. All Nazis to the front for a buggy roundup. All Nazis to the front for a buggy roundup.”

  The manager pointed at me and walked my way, shaking a finger. I didn’t understand his words, but I knew the meaning.

  “Nazis, come out and play,” I said in a sing song voice like in the movie The Warriors.

  The manager turned and yelled to the customer service girl. He said something like, “Llama a la policia,” which had to be call the police.

  “Llama a los Nazis,” I said.

  A security guard raced across the floor, but Kelly caught him and flipped him to the ground. “Stay down,” she said.

  Her meaning was obvious and he obeyed.

  Kelly walked over to a cooler displaying a variety of packaged produce. She kicked at a metal strip at the bottom of the case, and it clattered to the floor on one end. She moved down and stepped on the end still attached to the cooler. It snapped off.

  She picked up the metal strip, and walked over to where I still stood at the check stand, twirling her improvised weapon.

  No Nazis came up from the aisles to gather carts.

  But three large white men with blond hair entered the store. They wore business suits that strained to hold in their bulging muscles. Each of them also wore silver death’s head rings like the one in my pocket.

  “Cancel the buggy round up,” I said into the intercom. “We have enough Nazis here now.”

  One of the big guys pointed at me. “American fool, you must have a death wish.”

  Kelly threw me a warning look. “Don’t say it.”

  But I couldn’t resist. “How many times do I have to tell you guys, American Fool is a John Cougar Mellencamp album, and Death Wish is a novel by Brian Garfield that was made into a movie starring Charles Bronson? Trivia note: Jeff Goldblum was one of the thugs in that film.”

  Kelly rolled her eyes.

  “American idiot,” one of the big guys said.

  “Switching to Green Day?” I asked.

  “Shut up and come with us.”

  I waved to the store manager. “Thanks for your help. Have a nice day.”

  Kelly smiled at me as we followed the three large men out of the store. “Told you it would work.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  We piled into a boxy Mercedes SUV. The Nazis had left it running in front of the store with the doors wide open. Kelly and I sat in the backseat with one Nazi.

  “You take the middle,” I said to Kelly. “You’re smallest.”

  I didn’t need to add “deadliest.” She didn’t object.

  “Leave the metal,” the main Nazi said.

  “Make me,” Kelly said.

  He sighed. “Fine. Keep it.�
�

  “Thank you.” She slid into the center, keeping the metal strip like a staff that went from her feet to her waist. She could take out all three men before they could say “Heil Hitler.” But she showed restraint.

  The driver stomped on the accelerator before I even closed the door, and we bolted out of the parking lot onto the road.

  “How about some music?” I asked.

  “Shut up, American.”

  “I’m cool with some Scorpions,” I said. “Or maybe some Rammstein. You guys are probably into that ‘Du Hast’ song, right? It rocks.”

  “Shut up.”

  “Oh, come on, Fritz. The song might be based on wedding vows, but I’m not looking to get hitched to you. I don’t swing that way. It’s totally cool if you do, though.”

  “My name is Otto.”

  “Funny,” I said. “You don’t look like an Otto. Maybe a Hans.”

  He cocked a thumb at himself. “Otto.” He pointed to the driver. “Stefan.” He pointed to the man in the front passenger seat. “Helmut.”

  “Does he have a hard head?”

  “American idiot.”

  “And we’re back to Green Day. ‘American Idiot’ is a good album, though. Feel free to play it.”

  “Will music shut you up?”

  “It might.”

  “Stefan, put on some music.”

  Stefan opened the center console, took out a CD and shoved it into the deck.

  Birds chirped, instruments swelled, and Julie Andrews sang about the hills being alive.

  “Really?” I asked. “Three tough guys like you, and ‘The Sound of Music’ is your go-to theme?”

  Stefan cranked the volume and Julie Andrews drowned out my voice. Well, at least my knack for getting on people’s nerves was intact.

  A little while later, we pulled into a nice villa with a large main house, a guest cottage, and a caretaker’s apartment on the immaculately landscaped lot. Julie Andrews was singing about her favorite things, and I suspected that song would be stuck in my head for the rest of the day.

  I sang along with the song, but I changed the lyrics even though nobody else could hear me over Julie.

  “Crazy old Nazis and magical Himmler, marching in lockstep and shouting ‘Heil Hitler,’ dumb SS soldiers who wear death-head rings, these are a few of my least favorite things.”

  Stefan shut off the engine before I finished the chorus, so everyone turned to look at me.

  “What?” I said.

  Kelly rolled her eyes and shook her head.

  “Get out of the vehicle,” Otto said.

  Stefan slid out the driver’s door, and opened my door for me.

  “Thanks, Stefan,” I said.

  He responded by shoving me toward the back of the car.

  Kelly got out of the Mercedes, but Stefan didn’t try to shove her. I guess I got the special treatment. Then again, the way Kelly twirled the metal strip like a sword might have deterred him.

  Esther floated ahead of me, and glided through the front door of the main house.

  Helmut remained by the car, while Otto and Stefan escorted us up the steps to the porch, and then into the building.

  The aroma of baking bread filled the house. It smelled divine, and I wished I’d had more than coffee for breakfast. My stomach growled at me.

  A middle-aged woman in a black dress and white apron stepped out of the kitchen as we moved into the house. She wiped her hands on her apron and said something in German.

  Otto responded with a few sentences in German, then said, “But we will speak English for the benefit of our guests.”

  “As well we should,” the woman said. “My name is Charlotte. We are preparing for Mittagessen. What you would call lunch. You will join us. Stefan, if you would serve the beer?”

  Stefan nodded.

  Charlotte looked at Kelly. “We will be in the dining room, and if you care to lean your weapon against the wall, that would be polite. You can keep it within arm’s reach, but I would prefer not to have strips of metal at my table.”

  “So you kidnap us to feed us bratwurst?” I asked.

  Charlotte laughed. “First, we did not kidnap you.”

  “Sure seems like it to me,” I said.

  “We saved you.”

  “Right.”

  “Second, we are having sauerbraten with potato dumplings.”

  “And some kind of bread,” I said.

  “That is for our supper.”

  “Dining room is over here,” Otto said, and led us to a room with a large table covered by a dark red tablecloth. Plates were already arranged with silverware. Heavy wooden chairs surrounded the table. Each held a thick seat cushion checked with black and red squares. Each square had a small white star inside.

  Esther entered the room. “I checked the house. No guns. No Maria. No Himmler. I’ll check the other houses.”

  She disappeared.

  “Please be seated,” Otto said.

  “You’re awfully polite now,” I said.

  “Charlotte frowns on rudeness.”

  “Charlotte is smart,” Kelly said, and leaned her metal strip against the wall.

  She sat at the table. I sat in the chair next to her.

  “I’ll help serve,” Otto said, and went back to the kitchen.

  “What the hell is going on here?” I whispered.

  “I don’t think they’re Nazis,” Kelly said.

  “Death-head rings suggest otherwise.”

  “They like The Sound of Music.”

  “So?”

  “Not exactly a pro-Nazi movie.”

  Otto returned with dishes of vegetables, which he placed in the center of the table.

  Stefan entered the room with a tray full of beer mugs. “Wheat beer,” he said and placed mugs to the right of our plates.

  Charlotte entered with a large serving dish, which she placed next to the veggies.

  She looked at Stefan. “Is Helmut not joining us?”

  Stefan responded in German.

  Charlotte shook a finger at him. “Do not be rude. Our guests do not speak German.”

  “Our guests don’t need to know our business.”

  “We have nothing to hide from them.”

  Stefan sighed. “Helmut is going to take the car back to town so he can meet Amelie.”

  “Now you see, that wasn’t too difficult, was it? Take the tray to the kitchen, then get back here. Tell Otto to put out the cigarette.”

  “Yes, Mother.”

  When he left the room, Charlotte sat at the head of the table and spread a cloth napkin in her lap. “They’re good boys, but they can be a handful. I apologize for their behavior.”

  “Uh, okay.”

  “Also, we weren’t expecting company, so there may not be enough food.”

  There was plenty of food on the table.

  Esther walked through the wall. “No surprises,” she said. “Except that there aren’t any surprises. Just an old man in the guest house reading a book.”

  Otto and Stefan returned. They sat at the table, and there was one extra setting, presumably for Helmut who didn’t join us.

  “Please, feel free to serve yourselves,” Charlotte said.

  I scooped some food onto my plate, and passed the dish to Kelly.

  I opened my mouth to speak, but Charlotte held up a hand. “I know you have questions,” she said. “But before you ask, let’s make sure everyone has some food.”

  The dishes made their way around the table to Charlotte, and once everyone had a full plate, she nodded to Otto and Stefan.

  “Let the dining commence,” Stefan said, and dug in like he’d been starving for weeks.

  The food smelled good, so I gave up on trying to figure things out, and just ate. Kelly waited a moment longer, then she tasted the dumplings.

  Stefan, Otto, and Charlotte each had seconds, and cleaned out the dishes of all the sauerbraten, all the dumplings, and all the vegetables.

  I guess it was a good thing H
elmut was going to eat with his girlfriend.

  “Thank you for dining with us,” Charlotte said. “Stefan will bring more beer.”

  Stefan wiped his mouth with his napkin, set it on his empty plate, and got up.

  “And Otto will clear the table.”

  Otto also wiped his mouth, placed his napkin on his empty plate, and rose. He collected the plates and dishes, and headed off toward the kitchen.

  “And that leaves us alone to talk,” Charlotte said. “You’re wondering why we brought you here.”

  “That’s one thing,” I said.

  “Otto received a phone call that you were going into various establishments asking about Nazis.”

  “And?” I asked.

  “And my boys saved your lives.”

  “Come on,” I said.

  “You do not understand. There is a very dangerous man in town right now. People here can be suspicious of strangers asking about Nazis. It makes them nervous. But when this high-ranking official is in town, things tend to escalate quickly.”

  I decided to cut to the chase. “Himmler kidnapped a friend of ours.”

  She didn’t react to Himmler’s name.

  “He does that,” she said.

  “Her name is Maria,” I said.

  Charlotte nodded. “I’m well aware of Ms. Orsic’s arrival.”

  “What the hell is going on?” I asked.

  Stefan returned and filled our beer mugs from a pitcher. He said something in German.

  “English!” Charlotte said.

  Stefan flinched, nearly spilling the beer. “Sorry. I said Grandfather shouldn’t talk to them.”

  “I’m lost,” I said. “Your boys have Nazi rings, but there isn’t any other Nazi paraphernalia here.”

  “My boys are strong.”

  “I can tell they work out.”

  “They were recruited. My late husband’s father lives in the guest house.”

  “So?”

  “He is ninety-eight years old. When he was eighteen, he studied at the Research and Teaching Community of the Ancestral Heritage.”

  It was starting to make sense. “The Ahnenerbe,” I said.

  Charlotte nodded. “He did some bad things, and he has tried to atone for them. My boys are how you say, grandfathered in. When we got the call about two people brazenly asking about Nazis, my grandfather called Otto.”

  “I don’t want Grandfather to die,” Stefan said.