The Indigo Brothers Trilogy Boxed Set

by Vickie McKeehan

  “People often betray others with good intentions.” Mitch paced the room, searching out faces. “What do you think? Do we risk it?”

  “Do we have a choice?” Jackson tossed back. “We need his expertise and, it seems, his software programs.”

  Mitch spun back toward the professor. “I’ll tell you what. You make sure you honor the contract and when all this is over, I mean, all of it, you can use the material on this table to write that book you want.” He stretched out his hand. “Deal?”

  Hollings didn’t have to think about it for long. “Absolutely. Deal.” He pumped Mitch’s hand, the enthusiasm still written on his face, like that captivated six-year-old boy who had just been handed a new plaything.

  Mitch watched as the professor took out his laptop. With a few clicks, he opened up a new document. “I won’t try to kid you. This process takes patience. I’ll have to go line by line to write the translation on my legal pad and then when I’m certain that I have it written out correctly, I’ll transfer it into my document on the computer. That way, if I find an anomaly in the code, it’ll show up immediately.”

  Raine leaned over to Mitch, whispered in his ear. “This could take forever.”

  Hollings overheard the comment and looked up, annoyance written on his face. “There’s a method to my madness. If I’m thorough with each written line, I should be able to go back to 1945 Germany and unravel the entire mystery, where it all started, who had the original idea, where the sub was headed, and why, instead of providing you with a piecemeal picture.”

  “I’d prefer the whole story,” Mitch declared. “I think we all would.”

  The professor spent the next hour going over the pay book. The ledger contained distinctive handwriting, itemized entries that showed care in each detail it revealed. Hollings was a slow reader and took his time studying the records written down more than seventy years before. When he had questions, he quizzed them on each item found in the briefcase.

  The brothers did their best to go into the backstory, taking turns laying out what they knew from the story Dietrich had given them.

  Hollings took lengthy notes until it was time to open the diary. His eyes grew wide at what he read. “A lot of these summaries are nothing more than nautical notations. But there’s no doubt in my mind they came directly from a German submarine firsthand. U-boat 492 to be specific,” Hollings confirmed. “Officials did some dancing to make sure the Allies thought it had been scrubbed. But, of course, it hadn’t been. Instead, they created a clever ruse to try and fool all the interested parties involved with phony paperwork.”

  Mitch gave out a half-laugh. “So we’ve heard. Who’s the author though? Who wrote the thing? We’ve been told it was a young lieutenant.”

  Hollings frowned. “Not a lieutenant by the time this was written, more like a seasoned officer, Captain Klaus Mühlhauser. Klaus writes that he had a brother in the SS by the name of Walter. Klaus’s account is very proud of that. His records cover the latter days of the war and goes into great detail about which officers were slated to make the trips down to South America. But that’s just part of what’s in here.”

  The professor looked up from the book. “There’s always been speculation that 492 was earmarked for a special mission, one that was so highly secretive that only a few high-ranking officers knew about its real intent. That’s why they claimed it never made it out of the construction phase.”

  “And what do you think that mission was?” Mitch asked. “Care to speculate?”

  “I don’t have to. What I’ve been able to ascertain so far is that Klaus mentions a plot to assassinate President Roosevelt in Warm Springs, Georgia.”

  The room grew silent. Everyone’s mouth dropped open.

  It was Garret who found his voice first. “Warm Springs, Georgia, known as Roosevelt’s Little White House during his presidency. The natural spring there was good for the President’s health problems left over from his polio. But we all know that assassination in Warm Springs never took place. The only one I remember anything about is the one we learned in school, the attempt in 1933 in Miami.”

  Anniston nodded. “The mayor of Chicago died as a result of getting shot in the hail of bullets. The assassin was an Italian immigrant, a bricklayer, who was tried for murder and put to death in the electric chair some months later.”

  Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. “There was speculation about one more. The Russians claimed they uncovered a plot to kill FDR during a summit between the big three—Stalin, Churchill, and FDR—held in Tehran, Iran, in 1943. Nothing came of it, though. I’ve never heard about a third attempt on his life.”

  “So what happened to this attempt in Georgia?” Mitch asked. “What went wrong? Did the sub fail to launch the assassin? Did the man reach his destination, but couldn’t get to the intended target? Or did something else happen to U-boat 492 before this could all take place?”

  Raine grabbed Mitch’s arm in a death grip. “If it’s true that something happened to the sub, then why would Dietrich’s men be looking for it so far south? The Keys aren’t exactly next door to Warm Springs.”

  He eyed the look on Raine’s face. “Warm Springs is roughly seven hundred miles from here. Which might mean the sub is located off the southern tip of Georgia and the northern corner of Florida rather than anywhere near the Keys.”

  Jackson let out a laugh. “If the sub went down at all in these parts. Remember, we’re speculating about Dietrich’s claims this U-boat had gold on board. If it turns out to be true, that means the Patagonia Pike is looking in the wrong place, and way, way off course.”

  Mitch grinned. “Wouldn’t that be a kick in the butt?”

  “We may never know what went wrong,” the professor muttered, deeply engrossed in what he found in the diary. Mired in his own thoughts, he seemed bent on figuring out the rest. “The people who hatched the plot knew they had to get close enough to the coastline to drop off the assassin, the person who would actually carry out the plan. This is all so very fascinating. There are a number of things that could’ve gone wrong. Why isn’t that in here?”

  Mitch watched as Hollings began to flip furiously through the pages for the answer. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder in sympathy. “I’m sure you’ll stay with it until you find out why. Thanks to you we know now that U-492 wasn’t just sailing down to South America to unload a bunch of SS officers intending to start a new life.”

  “According to the entries that’s the way it started out,” Hollings reiterated. “Apparently the crew had made several runs already to do that during the fall of 1944. Klaus clearly states the sub specifically carried enough gold on those trips to buy government officials in Argentina, to bribe them in order to set up safe havens in case the war effort turned out badly. Which of course it did. After they’d accomplished their initial goal, however, the crew of 492 set their sights on a different objective entirely. Whether the idea came from the top or someone on board acting out of desperation, Captain Mühlhauser decided on a bolder strategy. It may take breaking these codes to find out the actual story and the author of the plot.”

  Hollings adjusted his wire rims. “I can tell you this much. The Berlin Document Center or BDC, would loved to have had this account of 492 on file. Officially.”

  “I thought they moved all that info to the National Archives in D.C.,” Garret proffered, surprising the professor with his knowledge on the subject.

  “In the ’90s, they did put everything they had on microfiche and shipped it off to Washington, but the actual papers were left in Berlin. To this day, the BDC remains an excellent source for tracking down the actions of those in the Nazi party, those who tried to deny their involvement in the war. Curious relatives still go there to scour the records for the truth.”

  Garret moved around the room, thinking, considering. “But a lot of the information slipped through the cracks. From last count the archive is still missing about forty percent of the records. That’s a lot of documentation
, especially when you consider there were officers in the Sicherheitsdienst intelligence agency who burned their files just so they could hide any participation and renounce their association. Only after checking pay books and other types of documents did their roles become very public, and very specific as to what they’d actually done.”

  “You know your German history,” Hollings said with approval.

  “More now than before,” Garret stated.

  With each page of the diary, Hollings became more enamored with its contents. “Apparently there were Nazi sympathizers living in the Florida area during 1945 who promised they would help the crew carry out their cunning plot.”

  “Another jaw-dropping moment for our side,” Garret quipped. “Nothing like finding out your neighbors were old-fashioned traitors to the cause. Does it say in there who these guys were?”

  “It uses several code names for the people onshore who were willing to help.”

  “Code names? Jeez, how will we be able to break a code this long after the fact?”

  “Code is something I’m an expert in. This is why I need to use my software programs. Not to brag but I am considered somewhat of an expert by my peers. Now that I know what we’re up against, I have some materials back in Tallahassee that contain many of the codes the Germans used from that era.”

  “The diary and all of the documents have to stay put,” Mitch insisted. “We can’t allow you to take them back to your house for study. I wish that were possible, but it’s not. We’re keeping them under lock and key for a reason.”

  “I understand. How about if I get my wife to send the rest of what I need overnight to the hotel?”

  Mitch had a better idea. “Have her overnight them here to this address.”

  “Okay. In the meantime, if I could use a workstation. I can’t continue to take up space in your dining room.”

  “No, you’re fine where you are,” Tanner assured him. “Since this thing started we’ve been eating a lot outside. You can work from right here. Or if there’s another spot you prefer, just make yourself at home. You don’t even have to go to the hotel if you don’t want to.”

  “I sometimes work straight through the night until the crack of dawn. I have a feeling this will be one of those times.”

  Tanner slapped the man on the back. “You’ll be fine right here then. There’s a couch over there that’s fairly comfortable. My boys have slept on it a time or two since they’ve been back. Bathroom’s down the hall, kitchen’s through there. Anything else you need, just ask. We’ll act like the Indigo Hilton if that’s what it takes to get some answers.”

  Chapter Eleven - Justice

  While the others watched Hollings work, Mitch and Raine snuck out of the house like kids, daring anyone to stop them. He led her to the backyard, to a thicket of lilac trees and magic dogwood. His mother had stuck a bench underneath, the one his dad had built for her out of driftwood.

  With its long shadowy Florida afternoons and sea breezes wafting off the ocean, the spot was perfect to sit with a book and read for hours under the fragrant canopy of blossoms.

  Mitch plopped Raine down and gathered her close.

  After being cooped up inside, with so many people, Raine welcomed the peaceful spot. “So this is where your mother disappears to whenever she picks up one of the classics to reread for the umpteenth time?”

  “Mom does love her Cannery Row and Steinbeck.”

  “So I’ve noticed.” She rested her head on his shoulder. “What do you think of the translator?”

  “Seems to know his stuff well enough. I’m a little concerned with how long he intends to take. He doesn’t strike me as a man who does his work without plodding through it.”

  “If you put one of those outlandish golf hats on Professor Bishop’s head and stick him in a pair of wild Bermuda shorts, a metal detector in one hand, and a glass of vodka in the other, he could pass for my uncle Sid, the noted treasure hunter on my side of the family.”

  Mitch hooted with laughter. “Did Sid ever find anything with his metal detector?”

  “As of last Christmas, Sid proudly claims he’s uncovered a grand total of ten dollars and fifty-nine cents in change and that’s directly from the beach. He’s also amassed a collection of dime-store jewelry, mostly one earring, a tray of colorful toe rings, and several bottle caps he’s added to his collection. But my aunt says the only reason he really makes the trip to the beach is to ogle the women in bikinis.”

  He pressed his lips to the top of her blond hair. “I remember Sid, strange getups, strange guy.”

  She elbowed him in the ribs. “My whole family is strange.” She reached up, framed his face. “So much deceit floating around here lately. To think we had Nazi sympathizers living among us.”

  “Have,” Mitch amended. “Their relatives are probably still living here…somewhere. Think about it. Not many families have moved off the island over the years.”

  “That’s true. Even more reason we don’t trust anyone outside the group. Talking about all that history in there, reminds me I should’ve found a way to tell you sooner. You know about—”

  He put two fingers up to her lips. “Stop beating yourself up about that. I’m sorry your mother gave you a tough time this morning. But I think moving forward we should agree to leave the past in the past where it belongs.”

  “I know, but after all this time, all that anger. Once I finally let it go, the possibilities were right there in front of me. If I’d held onto the mad, just kept clutching it to my chest like it was worth a fortune, where would that have gotten me? Nowhere. So many years wasted between us, such a mistake. I’m really sorry.”

  “Stop it. I’m glad we’re here now, glad we were both able to let it go. That’s what’s important.”

  “How did you—let it go?”

  “Garret and Jackson had a big hand in that. They made me realize I needed to make peace with you, somehow, some way. Otherwise we might never have gotten together like we did last night.”

  “And this morning. Twice. Want to do it again as soon as possible?” she added, poking him in the ribs. “You do, don’t you?”

  “You know the answer to that already.” He slid a finger along her jaw. “I know you’re deeply-rooted here, Raine. The thing is I love you. I’ve always loved you. Surely you knew that even when you were pissed off at me.”

  “It’s hard to think of love when one part of the equation spends all his time on the other side of the globe.”

  “You’ve really built a wall around your heart, haven’t you? It’s strange but even after all the time we’ve spent apart, I still kept hoping every time I made it back home, that one day I’d walk into the restaurant and you’d talk to me, that we’d get back together. All those visits back home, I just didn’t act on how I felt. It’s time I did.”

  She stroked a hand down his cheek. “And you want to know…what exactly? If it’s too late? If I’d be okay with sending you off on an adventure, treasure hunting whenever you decide the dive is worth it? Watch you go somewhere else, some place where I’m not, and then leave me back here alone again?”

  He chewed his lip. “I guess so.”

  “Do you have to have an answer right this minute?”

  He laughed and tugged her hair. “I’ll give you a few hours to think it over. Come on, there’s something I want to show you.”

  Mitch took her hand, led her into the carport where an old arcade game stood next to the wall. Covered in dust, the Alien Storm game, about an extraterrestrial species invading Earth, sat in the corner.

  “You bought this thing?”

  “Yeah. Wanna play?”

  “Does it work?”

  “After a little tinkering it does.” He went over, dropped several quarters in the slot. “I bought it from Mac Perkell’s son when he decided to close the game center four years back.”

  “A staple of our youth and now it’s a relic. Makes me feel old.”

  “Nah, we’re still young kids at
heart.”

  “Then scoot over and watch the master beat the pants off you…again.”

  Everyone stayed for supper. Even the professor gathered around the picnic table in the backyard with the family. They waited for Tanner to pull the burgers off the grill that sizzled over the open flame.

  Raine stayed despite Charlotte’s pleas to come save her at the restaurant.

  “Want us to help you out?” Mitch offered.

  She met his eyes and realized she had only to ask and all of them would get up from the table right there, pile into different cars and head over to The Blue Taco to help with the dinner rush if necessary. That kind of support hadn’t been available to her in a long time, if ever.

  “That’s okay. Charlotte’s swamped is all. I’ve been there plenty of times by myself and had the same panicked feeling. I should probably hire more staff.”

  “We’ll eat supper and head over there,” Tessa told her. “I don’t know how you do it. This is my first night off in ten days. I was really looking forward to a break.”

  “And you shall have it,” Raine said, patting Tessa’s hand. “Don’t worry. I’ll make it over there after inhaling one of Tanner’s infamous burgers.”

  “You’ll eat meat?” Mitch asked with a shake of his head. “I can’t keep up.”

  She gave him a half-smile. “Your father’s burgers are too good to pass up. Besides, I’ll also scarf down plenty of carbs from Lenore’s macaroni salad. Once I get some home-cooking in me, I’ll be fine.”

  Anniston came up to them, handed both women a glass of tea. “Then I guess I’d better bring this to a discussion and go over some business now while I’ve got all of you here.”

  She turned to Mitch. “I received a photo from Chuck of the unidentified older man’s body found near Sugarloaf Key just as you requested,” Anniston began, slapping down the image from the medical examiner’s office. She pulled out the one they’d taken of Dietrich on The Black Rum for comparison. “Chuck said they cleaned John Doe up in order to do the autopsy. As you can see, eyeballing the two, their eyes are very similar, same nose, a similar mouth. So what do you think? Before you answer, I already put both images through facial recognition software.”