Odessa Strikes

by Bobby Akart

  Ghost laughed. “Now you got my attention.”

  Sammy took a deep breath, finished his beer, and then poured another one.

  “Okay, this whole thing was really no big deal. Me and the boys used to go to this strip club called Headlights near Naval Station Norfolk. I mean, actually we became regulars. We didn’t have a lot of money to pay the girls to dance and stuff, so we had to find other ways to compensate them.”

  “They were hookers?” asked Ghost.

  “No, not really. They were strippers. There’s a difference. These girls were really hot, and they took their clothes off to make money. A few of them were married with kids or working their way through college.”

  Ghost was intrigued. “You guys went there to party, but you couldn’t afford the table dances or whatever.”

  “Right.”

  “So you paid them some other way?” Ghost asked.

  Gunner started laughing again. He couldn’t even look at Sammy as his old friend told the story.

  “Yeah. We didn’t have much to offer, so we gave them something nobody else could do. A ride. Well, actually several rides.”

  Ghost was genuinely confused as his eyes darted between Sammy’s serious storyteller face and Gunner’s childlike giggling.

  “Rides on what?”

  “At the time, the Russians were running their subs up and down the Atlantic Seaboard, roaming around the Caribbean and then back up the coast. The Navy redeployed several Cyclone-class patrol ships as a show of force. They stayed docked most of the time, but our crew was responsible for taking them through the paces. You know, to knock the barnacles off the props and all that.

  “So, anyway, we had a really good time with the girls one night, and we were pretty drunk, so we came up with an idea to trade with ’em.”

  “Tell him,” said Gunner as he continued to laugh.

  “At one in the morning, after Headlights closed, we took eight or ten of the strippers for a ride on the USS Tornado, which had just been recommissioned after a few years with the Philippine Navy.”

  “No, you didn’t,” said Ghost as he shook his head side to side.

  Sammy laughed. “Yeah, actually we did. In fact, it became a regular thing. The girls were really into it, too. We’d pull out of Norfolk and head south along the coast past Kill Devil Hills and Nags Head. We’d barely pull out when the girls got naked, dancing all over the ship and taking selfies. It was one helluva party.”

  “No doubt,” said Ghost, still amazed at Sammy’s antics.

  “Tell him how many times you did it,” said Gunner.

  “Five. The party got bigger and bigger. Soon, dancers from the other clubs joined in. Then we got busted because we were so loud the base police heard us returning early one morning.”

  “Why didn’t they court-martial you?” asked Ghost.

  A sly smile came across Sammy’s face. “They couldn’t do that. Can you imagine the scandal? The Navy had just been rocked with that sex-trafficking business in Bahrain. Something like this down the coast from DC would’ve sunk a lot of ships, if you know what I mean.”

  “So they busted you back to E-1?” asked Ghost.

  “Yup. And we learned then that we could have a great time while we served if rank and rate were immaterial. Call us what you will, but we did our duty and had fun at the same time.”

  Suddenly, one of Sammy’s cooks appeared at the spiral ladder leading to the Crow’s Nest. “Hey, Sammy. We got the first batch done. Y’all wanna come down and try it?”

  “Yeah,” replied Sammy. “Come, gentlemen, we’re working on something special to sell in the gift shop.”

  “Gift shop?” asked Gunner.

  “Yeah, man. I’m killin’ it here. We’re gonna expand to sell gifts to the tourists.”

  Gunner laughed. “Does Dowling know how much money you’re making? He’s gonna cut back on your allowance.”

  Ghost pretended to be surprised at Gunner’s statement. He looked the other way to hide his facial expression.

  So Gunner busted him. “I know all about the arrangement Dr. Dowling made to keep an eye on me. I’m sure you know the details, too.”

  “Maybe,” mumbled Ghost.

  “Doesn’t matter,” said Gunner. “It worked out for everybody.”

  They arrived at the bottom of the spiral staircase to a crowd lined up at the bar, craning their necks to see what the bartenders had displayed. Sammy walked around the end and motioned for Gunner and the Gray Fox team to join him behind the bar.

  Lined up on the teak bar top were a dozen plates of fruit cake sliced into bite-sized portions. They were neatly arranged for everyone in the restaurant to get a look.

  “My mom, God rest her soul, was an incredible baker, especially around the holidays. I know we’re a ways off, but I wanted to recreate one of her favorite recipes. Presenting Doris Hart’s Dark Fruit Cake. Grab you a slice.”

  The feeding frenzy began as everyone jumped at the opportunity to taste Sammy’s mom’s recipe. He explained some of the differences between her recipe and others.

  “If you’re a fruitcake connoisseur, you’ll notice a few ingredients that many others don’t include in their fruitcake, like chocolate, a touch of cinnamon, and lots of nuts. We Harts were a nutty family.”

  Everyone laughed as they heaped praise on Sammy, his kitchen staff, and his mom for creating a fruitcake recipe that was unique, moist, and definitely tasty. While the Broken Hart Raw Bar was turned into the equivalent of a massive family gathering, Gunner wandered out the back door onto the fishing dock that extended through the marsh into the bay.

  It had been a long time since he’d had this much fun. Sure, after the Gray Fox team came together that night on Dog Island, he, Cam and Bear had been in great spirits. However, there was also uncertainty about what the future would hold for the trio.

  Their unit had evolved since then, and their capabilities were proven with a successful mission that saved a lot of lives. On a personal level, a change had come over Gunner. It was more than the news that Colonel Robinson was dead. That lifted a burden off his shoulders and gave him some closure.

  In Rome, after he’d kissed the socialite Bianca Morosini as part of his undercover mission, an overwhelming sense of guilt had come over him. Then, in Salzburg, he’d had to kiss Cam not once, but several times. She was like his sister, and it meant nothing except to create a ruse to fool the security personnel.

  The thought of dating another woman, much less sleeping with one, had never crossed his mind since Heather’s death. He was fiercely loyal and loved his wife as much now as the day she died. Yet, twice, in a matter of days, he’d done the previously unthinkable. He’d kissed two women, one of whom had introduced him to Heather.

  Gunner stood at the railing, looking off to a trawler slowly passing in the night. The outdoor string lights that wrapped the deck railing provided just enough illumination to prevent a wayward fishing boat from crashing into it. He enjoyed the moment of solitude despite the rambunctious crowd partying in Sammy’s bar invading his thoughts.

  “Maybe I’ll take a little trip down to Eglin and see Dr. Dowling,” Gunner said aloud. “He has a way of unpacking all of this shit in my head.”

  Gunner leaned on the rail and watched the trawler disappear from sight. He looked down into the dark waters of the bay, and something caught his eye. The string lights reflected off the slow waves lapping against the piers, but there was something else.

  He dropped onto his belly and pushed his body under the bottom rail until he was half on and half off the decking. Gunner stretched his arm down and blindly felt in the water. Then it struck the back of his hand. He splashed through the water until he was able to grab the object that had floated up to the dock.

  It was a glass bottle. With a cork stopper. Similar to the one he’d found on Dog Island that night years ago.

  Epilogue

  Two Months Later

  Boldt Castle

  Thousand Islands, New York />
  Over a hundred years ago, hotel owner George C. Boldt began building his Rhineland-inspired castle on tiny Heart Island in the Thousand Islands’ region of upstate New York. Just months before completion, his wife, Louise, died tragically, leaving Boldt devastated. He couldn’t bring himself to finish the castle, and it sat unoccupied for seventy years.

  Eventually, the Thousand Islands Bridge Authority purchased the property and finished construction, restoring the Boldt Castle to the glory intended by its original owner. The beautiful island estate included the one-hundred-twenty-room castle, its own drawbridge, numerous outbuildings, and the magnificent Alster Tower.

  The tower was modeled after one built in the Alster River Basin in Hamburg, Germany, for Kaiser Wilhelm, the German emperor who led the nation into World War I. The tower rose high above the shoreline and displayed the American flag atop the granite parapet walls.

  However, inside the tower and the rest of Boldt Castle, the present owners had sworn allegiance to a different flag. One that hearkened back to the dark days following Kaiser Wilhelm’s reign. One that was born out of love of country but later became associated with hate—the flag of the German Reich.

  A decade ago, after America went through a serious economic downturn as it battled a deadly pandemic, many governmental agencies and partners were forced to shut down or sell off assets to survive. Boldt Castle had been a tourist destination that generated just enough revenues to pay the upkeep and staff. However, when the state of New York shut down all nonessential businesses and forbade public gatherings, Boldt Castle became a significant burden on the Thousand Islands Bridge Authority.

  They sold Heart Island together with all of the structures on it to a real estate investment trust whose owners were undisclosed. After the sale, nobody set foot on the island or into Boldt Castle except for grounds personnel and the security guards.

  Today, it was seeing a flurry of activity for the first time since the sale. Boats came from all directions to ferry passengers to the castle. A solemn gathering was taking place inside, hidden from the public and guarded in secrecy. It was a meeting not unlike the one held several months prior near the tiny hamlet of Bariloche in Argentina.

  On this occasion, like before, the group in attendance paid their respects for the loss of one of their own. Henry Gruber, son of Brit Jorgensen, and grandson of Heinrich Himmler, had died a hero in the eyes of those in attendance. He would be remembered for his leadership and vision.

  The men and women hadn’t seen one another in one place in many, many months. Ordinarily, during a transition such as this one, a deceased member of their inner circle would be buried, mourned, and then promptly replaced. However, under the circumstances, it was necessary for this close-knit group to remain apart until the proverbial dust had settled.

  America and the world had recovered from the terrorist attacks of the prior summer and early fall. Winter was coming. New geopolitical matters had consumed the media and American politicians. Those in attendance would continue to operate in the shadows as they always had, but protocol required a meeting of die Zwölf to welcome a new member to fill the seat of Henry Gruber.

  “Everyone, it’s time,” announced Derek Gruber to the attendees. Those who weren’t part of die Zwölf remained behind. Only Derek and eleven others made their way through the all-stone passageway leading beneath Boldt Castle and underground until they arrived at a spiral stairwell leading upward into Alster Tower.

  Odessa leadership had removed the two-lane bowling alley, the billiard room, and the theater. Alster Tower would be a place of reverence. Not an arcade or a pool hall.

  The windows had been replaced with completely opaque glass to prevent prying eyes from peering inside. Artisans from Germany, those with pedigree and discretion, were brought in to renovate Alster Tower. When they were done, the magnificence of the north tower at Castle Bariloche and Wewelsburg was recreated, including the Black Sun symbol embedded in the entry hall floor.

  Covering the walls were the customary ceiling-to-floor crimson-red banners with the black swastika symbol in the center of a white circle. As the group entered, all but two for the first time, they marveled at the resemblance to Himmler’s north tower.

  “Everyone, please take a seat,” said Derek. “Welcome to our new Obergruppenführersaal, the new Hall of Generals.”

  He made eye contact with the other eleven in attendance. Sophia Weber and her husband, Remy, the American president’s chief of staff. U.S. General Holzcraft. Friedrich Bauer, the banker. Henry’s son, Jorge. The man who orchestrated the bioterror attacks, Daniel Wagner. A few others as well as the new addition, the man who would take the seat once occupied by Henry Jorgensen Gruber.

  Derek continued. “Many might consider our efforts a failure. I disagree. We have proven that we can use the combined assets of our business and political interests to force our will on others. With the discovery of my grandfather’s weapon, we struck fear into the hearts of Americans.

  “Through my brother’s bravery, not only did we mislead the Americans by destroying a largely obsolete weapons arsenal and two hundred empty canisters, we also led them to believe that we were severely weakened. Now that is certainly not the case, as your appearance here proves.

  “I am honored to take his seat at the head of this glorious round table, one that was created in the likeness of my grandfather’s. I am honored to have earned your trust to take the reins of Odessa as we plot our course for the future.

  “I am also pleased to fill the seat of my brave brother with Mr. Herbert Brittain. His ancestors played an important role, spying on England during the war on behalf of the Reich. The success of their effort courses through his blood, and he will be a valuable addition to die Zwölf.

  “Before we discuss our future in detail, let me remind us all, Odessa will never cease to exist. We will never die. We will simply pass the torch on to others. We will make new allies. It may require us to embrace those who thrive on hate and whose methods don’t comport with ours. However, they will stand with us nonetheless. Just like before, we will rise from the ashes to strike again.”

  Then Derek Gruber snapped his right arm upward toward the Nazi banner hanging in front of him. The other twelve members of die Zwölf stood and saluted also.

  Then they shouted, “Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil! Sieg Heil!”

  THANK YOU FOR READING ODESSA STRIKES!

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  Prologue

  Sunday, December 16

  National Earthquake Conference

  University of Missouri’s Jesse Auditorium

  Columbia, Missouri

  Dr. Charlotte Lansing stretched her legs under the speakers’ table and shifted her weight on the chair. A seismic hazard and insurance risk specialist droned on about the potential losses to the insurance industry in the event of a catastrophic earthquake along the San Andreas fault. She tried not to allow her inner thoughts to manifest themselves in her f
acial expressions. Too often, the impact of catastrophic events was measured in terms of damage to structures or economic costs. Dr. Lansing understood there was much more at stake. Namely, loss of life.

  When she’d been invited to speak at this year’s National Earthquake Conference held at her alma mater, the University of Missouri, she readily accepted. The final day of the conference happened to fall on the anniversary of the first New Madrid earthquake of 1811.

  Her research into the timing of large earthquakes based upon mathematical patterns had finally received some recognition by her peers. While it was still a work in progress, especially as it related to the New Madrid Seismic Zone, or NMSZ, her speech at the conference not only gave her an opportunity to discuss the threat this underestimated fault presented, but she was also able to introduce her mathematical pattern theory to the audience.

  She looked around the Jesse Auditorium, where she’d spent many days as a graduate student at Mizzou. The doctoral program within the Department of Geological Sciences had enjoyed a reputation as one of the top ten in the nation. While many in her class focused on the environmental issues of the day, she’d sunk her teeth into rocks. She was a science nerd and proud of it.

  Unlike most of her classmates, Dr. Lansing was a traditionalist who looked at geology as the study of the Earth—its origin and developmental history together with its structure and composition. The planet was a living, breathing thing in a constant state of flux and evolution. The data derived from firsthand field observations and laboratory analyses of minerals, sediments, rocks and landforms fascinated her.

  Growing up in Cape Girardeau, Missouri, Dr. Lansing naturally learned about geology close to home. The small city located on the Mississippi River was an hour north of New Madrid and located within the New Madrid Seismic Zone, or NMSZ. Her high school science and history classes had delved into the subject regularly. Whenever there were extracurricular activities involving exploring caves or studying sediment, Dr. Lansing was the first to volunteer.