The Heritage Paper

by Derek Ciccone

  “Hello … hello.”

  No reply.

  She was about to hang up when she heard the voice on the other end. It was muffled, but she recognized the voice.

  It was Eddie!

  Strangely, he wouldn’t answer her, but was talking to someone.

  “Do you have them?” she heard Eddie ask.

  Who had who? Was he talking to the kidnappers? Had he called her on a backup phone to put her fears to rest?

  “I better not see a scratch on them,” he demanded. “I’m sure they are scared—tell them to be calm and their Uncle Eddie will be there soon.”

  Thank God for Eddie—the protector. Her fears momentarily calmed, but then things changed.

  “Maggie can be such a baby!”

  “Listen, make something up. Tell her that Veronica is on her way. I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

  Veronica couldn’t breathe. She felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. There had to be a mistake.

  She drove as fast as she could to Underhill School. Eddie obviously didn’t know she was listening. Someone else must be helping her.

  She skidded to a stop in the back of the school’s parking lot. In front of her was a man curled up in a puddle of blood.

  It was Youkelstein.

  She spotted Jamie and Maggie in the back of Eddie’s car. Their faces were pressed up against the window. They saw her—Maggie was screaming “Mommy!” at the top of her lungs. She was scared.

  I’m coming!

  “Eddie, stop!” she shouted.

  He rolled down the window of the police car. “Get out of here, Veronica—you don’t understand.”

  He was right—she didn’t.

  “What’s going on!?” she desperately called out.

  “One day you’ll understand. The children will be safe. I promise you I will keep them safe,” he said, as he drove away.

  Chapter 53

  It all happened so fast that Veronica wasn’t even sure what just occurred. But she knew someone who did.

  Youkelstein was alive, but badly hurt. She touched his midsection and his face contorted in pain. She wasn’t a doctor, but was fairly certain he had broken ribs. She feared potential internal injuries.

  This beating would have tested the limits of a healthy person in their prime, but at Youkelstein’s age, and with his frailty, she knew it could prove fatal. He needed medical treatment ASAP.

  She thought to call the police. But where would she even start? And could she trust them? Eddie was a well-connected NYPD cop who’d been given the plum assignment of providing protection for a presidential nominee on election night—a candidate who’s safety might now be in question, based on these developments.

  Her one ray of hope was Eddie’s final words to her—that he would keep the children safe. She could only hope that Eddie knew the kids were in danger and forcefully took them so he could safely hide them, knowing she’d never allow it. Her gut mocked that theory.

  She helped Youkelstein into the car. One minute he was lying to them about his knowledge of the letters and his meeting with Carsten, and now he was risking his life trying to save her children. He was a mystery wrapped in a riddle. And she had a sudden interest in that “new information” he wanted to discuss earlier … but first things first.

  She couldn’t risk taking him to the hospital, so they returned to Veronica’s house. Zach and TJ were still there, along with her mother. When she hugged her, Veronica broke down, and began sobbing in her mother’s arms. Not even after Carsten died did she let it out like this. She tried to be so strong then—for the kids—but now they were gone, and so was her strength.

  Veronica didn’t have time to explain the situation, Eddie’s involvement, or anything Nazi related. Her mother read her thoughts—that she needed to be alone—so she took Youkelstein to her house, to give him some basic medical attention.

  That left Zach and TJ.

  “I hope you know I had nothing to do with this, Veronica. That stuff he was saying was completely false,” Zach said.

  “I believe you,” she replied.

  What she really needed was for Zach to play the role of Carsten. Patiently holding her steady until she could get herself together. She knew that to find Maggie and Jamie she would need a calm, clear mind.

  After a couple deep breaths, she said, “It’s Eddie—he took the kids.”

  Zach took a step back, shocked. “Eddie? What are you talking about?”

  She told him the whole story—beginning with the mysterious one-way call, and ending where Eddie told her she didn’t understand.

  She still didn’t.

  Veronica walked to her closet and took out a heavy jacket. She put the coat on and headed toward the door.

  “Where are you going?” Zach asked.

  “I don’t know—but I have to find them.”

  “Listen, going on a wild goose chase isn’t going to help anything. And it might hurt your chances. We need to take a step back and take a logical approach.”

  His voice was calm. And even though his words were in conflict with her motherly instincts, she knew he was right. “What do you suggest?”

  “I think we need to keep following Ellen’s clues.”

  “But the next clue was on her Facebook page, and only Maggie had the password.”

  TJ was standing quietly nearby. His terrified look had vanished, and he was now smiling like the cat that got the canary.

  “You got something to add?” his father asked.

  “Yeah—I know the password.”

  Chapter 54

  With all the Peterson computers smashed and/or stolen, Zach made a quick trip home to get his laptop. Once he returned, TJ went to work—signing on Facebook and filling in Ellen’s user name and password.

  The page was very bare. No profile picture, and the only information she listed was Current City as New York, NY, and From New York, NY. She could never bring herself to admit she lived in Chappaqua. But as they’d learned, she was really not from either place. She came from somewhere much darker.

  She had one “friend” named Mags P, who also had no profile picture or other friends. For Maggie, this wasn’t that far from the real thing. Neither Ellen or Mags P “liked” any pages that might draw attention, and the only communications on their Wall or Direct Messages was about the Heritage Paper project, communicated directly to each other.

  Ellen did list her favorite book as her memoir called The Last Leaves of Evil, with the notation that it was “coming soon.” But as far as they could tell, there were no clues as where to locate it. And there was no electronic copy hidden on the Facebook page, as they’d hoped. Veronica wondered if there was a hidden message that Maggie might have been able to decipher. But just the thought of her daughter almost brought Veronica to her knees. She fought it off, needing to remain strong.

  The one fertile area of their search was the Photos section. Ellen had posted a life’s worth of pictures that spanned almost a century. TJ stated defensively that he didn’t alter them in any way, but did help to scan the old photos. This time they believed him.

  TJ clicked on an icon titled Family Photo Album. A picture might be worth a thousand words, but these pictures rendered Veronica speechless.

  Zach was less affected—he’d already seen a few of them during Maggie’s presentation, lessening the shock value—and he took over the wheel from TJ. The first photos were of Ellen and her mother, Etta. The photos were black and white with the typical quality of a 1920s photo. They chronicled a journey from a beautiful young woman to a gauntly sick one who was knocking on death’s door.

  Next up were shots of a young Ellen with Adolf Hitler, who was dressed in his military uniform. A comment under the photo read: The Alps: 1936. The mountainous scenery behind them was breathtaking, as she stood with Hitler’s arm draped around her. Veronica tried to shake the cobwebs out. It was too far beyond her realm of comprehension to even grasp.

  Zach continued to click through the phot
os. Many of Ellen with Heinrich Müller during their time in Germany. It looked to be at the same location in the Alps, again providing the postcard-esque scenery. There were a few more of her and the head of the Gestapo being lovey-dovey—holding hands and kissing. A few when Ellen was pregnant with Chosen Joe.

  “Ellen mentioned in the presentation that she and Müller had fallen in love when he was assigned by Hitler to head up her security. She said she regretted that he was married, but not enough to stop the affair,” Zach said.

  Next came the photos of the newborn. Like any new mother, there was no shortage of baby photos. Most were of Ellen holding the infant in her arms, wrapped in blankets. Others featured Müller, the proud papa, holding the child. And not to be outdone, there were a couple of Hitler awkwardly cradling the child to his chest. Seeing the mass-murderer holding an innocent child was both strange and chilling.

  The next album centered on Ellen’s time in the United States. Zach found particular interest in a picture of Josef at his wedding in 1959. According to Veronica’s calculations, he would be about twenty at the time. She remembered Ellen stating in the letters that she hoped the marriage would help him get his life together. The ceremony looked to be lavish, and his wife was a Nordic beauty.

  Like many of the clues that Ellen had left for them, the pictures were both fascinating and shocking, yet didn’t seem to help them get any closer to the answers they needed. They didn’t even know the aliases of these people in the pictures, so how could they track them down? Veronica thought Ellen could have at least had the courtesy to tag the names.

  The photos that followed were the polar opposite of the happy wedding photos—they were from Josef’s funeral. His wife was still beautiful and svelte, but appeared to be about fifteen to twenty years older than at the wedding.

  Ellen was dressed in black from veil to shoes. She displayed the same despondent, sad expression that Veronica remembered from Carsten’s memorial service. It was hard to find sympathy for her at this moment, but as a mother, Veronica felt her pain. The thought of losing a child was indescribable—she again fought to block thoughts of her own missing children.

  After passing through the sea of sadness, they arrived at happier times. Ellen’s marriage to Harold Peterson, and holding Harry Jr. as a baby, just as she held Josef. No Hitler this time.

  The photos kept coming—Harry Jr. and Greta’s wedding, with Greta in a dress that would make Hugh Hefner blush. Veronica studied the happy couple, and wondered again what caused Harry Jr., her children’s grandfather, to change so dramatically, so quickly.

  Others included a proud-looking Ellen with her arm around Harry Jr. in his police uniform, upon graduation from the academy. Another of Ellen with her guys, Carsten and Eddie, at a Yankees game—they were maybe ten, eating cotton candy and flashing youthful smiles. The final picture was of Ellen and Maggie together at her room at Sunshine Village, which could have been taken in the last few days or weeks. Circumstances aside, it was a really good photo of the two of them. Getting Maggie in front of a camera, and then to smile, was quite a challenge.

  As night drifted toward morning, Zach continued to beat a dead horse, searching every inch of Ellen’s account. He didn’t have any quit in him, she’d give him that.

  Veronica got TJ set up in Jamie’s bed. He was acting unaffected, but she could tell he missed his mother. Maggie and Jamie struggled without Carsten, and not to pat herself on the back, but the mother was the comfort—the one who gave the feeling everything would be all right. The hug from her own mother was what was keeping Veronica going tonight.

  Tucking the boy in felt right. She needed to feel like a mother again. She was supposed to protect them, but now they were God-knows-where with Eddie and whoever he was working for. Her heart broke once more.

  She turned out the lights and wandered into Maggie’s room. It felt so lonely. Maggie normally kept it so neat, but the burglary had left clothes strewn all over the floor and her beloved easel tipped over. Veronica sat on the bed for a moment, feeling an intense exhaustion take over her body. She tried to fight it—she had no time to sleep—but the Sandman proved too strong.

  It was still dark when she awoke. Her watch said it was almost four in the morning. She hoped for a dream, but the post-disaster look of Maggie’s room made her scramble to her feet. She didn’t know where to go, or what to do, but she knew she needed to keep moving.

  She checked on TJ, who was sound asleep, snoring away. She then went downstairs to find Zach still stubbornly staring at the computer screen.

  He turned around at the sound of her entering. But he wasn’t jumpy. And actually had a smile on his face.

  “What is it?” Veronica asked.

  “I found it—Ellen did leave us a clue.”

  Chapter 55

  Otto peered out over the great city, taking a rare moment to enjoy the heavenly sunrise over the Atlantic. There wouldn’t be many more moments of reflection until the job was complete. Today was a day he’d anticipated for as long as he could remember—the day America would succumb to the Achilles heel of any democracy … an election.

  His eyes moved from the ball of fire rising in the sky, to the endless ocean that acted as its footstool. The Americans always arrogantly believed the great ocean was their shield. Wars might take place in Europe, the Pacific, or the Middle East, but never would the Great Democracy be threatened on its own turf. But they should have studied the lessons that the Germans learned after Word War I—that the deadliest enemy was always within. Germany was stolen by the saboteurs within its borders, not by England or France.

  His eyes moved to the southern tip of the island, where the attacks took place. He still couldn’t believe those savages were able to pull it off, even with his help. It was all it took for the natives to trade two hundred years of freedom and ideals for security. They chased mythical enemies around the globe, opening America to the threat within its own borders, just as he thought they would.

  Otto flashed a rare smile. Today was the culmination of the struggle. But in the end, he knew they wouldn’t be able to complete their mission without the right leader—the Candidate.

  The Führer might have been presumptuous in his anointing of Josef, but he was correct in his selection of the proper bloodline. The minute that Otto met Josef’s son, he knew he was the one who would lead the revolution. He was a natural born leader, matching what the Führer had famously written: The spark of genius exists in the brain of the truly creative man from his hour of birth. True genius is always inborn and never cultivated, let alone learned.

  There was no more time to waste on sunrises, no matter how stunning. Otto took the elevator to the ground floor, where the limo was waiting for him. After informing the driver of his destination, they were off, beating the heavy morning traffic.

  They drove through the Brooklyn Battery Tunnel, before exiting at Hamilton Avenue. A few turns later they arrived at the entrance of Green-Wood Cemetery.

  It was made up of five park-like acres. It would be hard to find a more attractive place to be buried. Its inhabitants included Boss Tweed, Horace Greeley, and Charles Ebbets, of Brooklyn Dodgers fame. But the only people Otto cared about were John and Eleanor O’Neill, his parents.

  The limo pulled to a halt and Otto entered into a sun-drenched morning. His driver offered help, but this was a private time for him and his parents. He slowly maneuvered over the grounds by foot.

  They were not buried in an elaborate mausoleum like those responsible for their death, but under two crumbling stones.

  The term “murder-suicide” wasn’t en vogue in 1933, and technically, his father did shoot his mother and then put the gun in his own mouth. But Petey knew the real culprits were the Jews who oppressed his family, and sucked the will to live from them. He held them responsible for their murder, even if the enabling American law enforcement didn’t see it that way.

  With the memories lingering in the morning air, Otto told his parents how the Candidate would
get them justice, even if they weren’t around to witness it. He felt the strong sun beating on his face, and took it as a sign of their approval.

  Otto meandered back to the limo, before heading for the next order of business. As they maneuvered from the BQE to the Long Island Expressway, Otto made the call.

  “Today you take your place in history,” he began.

  “According to the polls, the size of my defeat will be the only thing that will be historical.”

  “Nonsense. Your candidacy is going to shape the ideals of the world for the next thousand years.”

  “Last I checked, the world wasn’t built on ideals—it was built on kingdoms of wealth.”

  “Subtlety has never been your strong suit. The money has been put into your account in Switzerland.”

  “All of it?”

  “One billion dollars.”

  He laughed shamelessly. “That should buy a lot of idealism.”

  With that, they hung up. It would be the last time Otto would talk with Theodore Baer until the election was over.

  Chapter 56

  Veronica’s mother always told her that everything would look better in the morning. And like most of her mother’s motivational clichés, they were usually on target, even if she’d never give her the satisfaction of admitting it. But Veronica did give her mother the ultimate compliment—she taught it to her own kids.

  But then one morning everything didn’t look better.

  Carsten was dead.

  It was a similar sun-filled morning to today. But what she would never forget was Maggie and Jamie’s faces. And as the words came out of her mouth, she felt an insidious numbness like she was the one who’d died. She had that same feeling this morning.

  Veronica had surprisingly kept it together last night. She knew it was her only chance to get them back safe and sound. One of Carsten’s favorite catchphrases popped into her mind—pressure either crushes you or turns you into diamonds.