Improbable Nazi (Parallel Nazi Book 2)

by Ward Wagher

  “Of course, Admiral,” Nagumo said.

  “You will, of course, meet later with Admiral Yamamoto to fill out the details of the operation,” Tojo said.

  “Of course, Prime Minister,” Nagumo said.

  “And now, we are scheduled for your audience with the emperor.”

  § § §

  March 14, 1942; 10AM

  Western Atlantic Ocean off the South Carolina Coast

  Hirochi Namaguchi proceeded along deck doing his daily inspection of the ammunition ship, the U.S.S. Wrangell. The newly commissioned ship had just left the Naval Ammunition Depot in Earle, New Jersey and was headed for the Panama Canal and then to the Pacific. He glanced out across the water at the destroyer that escorted the ship.

  Namaguchi was a loyal Japanese citizen and was under orders. The other crewman on the ship knew him as Seaman First Class Hiram Gorn. Namaguchi had been born to American missionaries in China in 1920. His parents were murdered by bandits and he was adopted by a Japanese officer. He had been raised as Japanese. It was relatively easy to insert Namaguchi / Gorn into the United States in the late 1930’s and have him join the Navy. Careful Japanese research had produced the name, Hiram Gorn, from death records. The real Hiram had been killed as an infant when his parents were in a horrific train crash.

  So Hiram was a competent sailor and worked hard not to draw attention to himself. When it became necessary, he would do whatever he needed to advance the Japanese cause. He had little use for Americans, even though he was a round-eye himself.

  Since the Wrangell was a new ship, there were little in the way of necessary maintenance and repairs to keep the crew occupied. There were the usual teething problems, but those were mostly in the engineering spaces. Captain Terrel Smythe firmly believed the old adage about idle hands, however, and kept the crew busy on routine items, mostly related to cleaning. He had other crew members, notably Hiram himself, inspecting the cargo along with the mechanisms for securing it. Everyone was well aware they were crewing a floating bomb, although most professed not to worry about it. Still the skipper enforced a high degree of caution, and the crew was motivated to follow.

  “Hey Gorn!” came a shout as Hiram walked the deck.

  “Yes, Chief?” he responded to the CPO.

  “Report to the Exec. On the double.”

  “Aye, aye, Chief. Did the Exec say what he wanted?”

  “If he had wanted you to know already, he would have asked me to tell you. So, get a move on. All I want to see of you right now is two cheeks and two elbows.”

  “Right Chief. On my way.”

  Hiram Gorn had no idea what the ship’s executive office wanted. He was nervous, of course, but thought that if his cover had been blown, the first thing that would have happened was the Master at Arms slamming him against the wall and cuffing him.

  He trotted to the bridge and slipped in one of the side hatches and walked quickly down a passageway to where the Exec worked. The chief, sitting at a desk outside the Exec’s office, nodded.

  “Go on in, Sailor. The Exec is waiting for you.”

  “Thanks, Chief.”

  He knocked on the door and stepped in. “Sir, Seaman First Class Hiram Gorn reporting as ordered, Sir.”

  “At ease, Sailor,” The Exec said.

  Jack McColloch was a twenty-year veteran of the Navy. He had been passed over for command on several occasions, and if it weren’t for the war, he would probably have been retired. But, he was comfortable in the role of Executive Officer and had no real desire to command. And he had been told by several previous skippers that he was an outstanding exec. He viewed himself as a manager, not a leader, and he worked hard to keep his ships running smoothly.

  He saw, standing before him, the perfect example of a navy sailor. He had a reputation as a hard, smart worker, but was always well turned out.

  “Your FitReps are uniformly four-oh, Sailor,” he said. “The chiefs not only like you, but think highly of you.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  McColloch nodded. “Have you ever thought about being an officer, Gorn?”

  Gorn looked shocked. “No, Sir, I have never thought about that. I’m just trying to do my job, Sir.”

  “You do your job very well.”

  Gorn looked confused.

  “To address your confusion, Gorn,” the Exec said, “Atlantic Fleet has issued a levy for people to send to OCS. With a war on, it seems the navy is going to expand faster than we have officers to lead, unless we start doing something about it.”

  “You want me to go to OCS?” Gorn asked.

  “Yes, I do. And I think you will do well. The navy needs people like you as officers. This war looks like it will go on for a while, and we are already scraping the barrel for officers.”

  “If you think I can do something like that, Sir, I will just have to do my best.”

  “Fine, Gorn. I’ll cause the paperwork to be put together. You will probably receive new orders when we hit the Canal Zone. Is something wrong, Sailor?”

  Gorn realized he had given himself away. If he were pulled off the ship when they got to the Canal Zone, he wouldn’t be able to fulfill his mission. He thought frantically.

  “Sorry, Sir. It’s just that the Skipper is depending on us, and I don’t want to leave him in the lurch by jumping ship like that in the middle of a voyage.”

  McColloch smiled. “That attitude does you credit, Son. We got levied for four people, and to be honest, the Skipper is mad as hell about it. He is demanding the admiral let us keep all of you until we get to Diego. Because this is a brand-new ship, I think they’ll let him do that, too. Plus, I don’t plan to submit the paperwork until we get to the zone. I think we’re golden.”

  “Yes, Sir. Thank you, Sir.”

  “That’s it, then, Gorn. Get back to work.”

  “Aye, aye, Sir.”

  Gorn returned to inspecting the deck, and he was deep in thought. He wished he could talk to his control. Getting a Japanese agent into navy officer candidate school was a major achievement. However, his current task was important, too. And once he completed his task on the Wrangell, he needed to disappear.

  The importance of duty had been hammered into him since he was old enough to understand and obey. He could not make himself violate his orders unless his control instructed him to do so. And he would not meet with his controller again until after he completed the mission. And the more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of being an officer. This was confusing.

  As the Wrangell ploughed its way into the Gulf of Mexico, Hiram Gorn pondered his choices. Eventually he came to the conclusion that a guaranteed conclusion of the current mission outweighed any possible benefits of getting into OCS. Having reached that decision, he rededicated himself to his task.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  March 11, 1942; 8PM

  Hotel Vier Jahrezeiten

  Munich Germany

  Misty Simpson carefully dressed for the evening. In addition to the requisite little black dress, she wore a diamond necklace and earrings in silver settings. The black pumps were thin and elegant. She was at once striking and conservative looking. Although she originally had no plans for the evening beyond dinner in the hotel restaurant, she now held an invitation to the Reichschancellor’s reception later in the evening. But, she also hoped for another meeting with the Nazi splinter group that would add information to the report she planned to send to Washington.

  Knowing that some very important government officials were in the hotel, she had called for reservations early in the afternoon. The maître d' assured her a table would be ready. There was a certain snobbish attitude in hoteliers around the world. Their venues were a place for attractive people to see and be seen patronizing. So, with a lady as attractive as Misty Simpson in the house, a reserved table was automatic.

  She arrived a few minutes before eight and the maître d' looked up at her.

  “Ah, Fraulein Simpson. Your table is ready;
however, you have a message at the Bell Captain. If you would prefer to take care of that first, we will hold your table.”

  She nodded. This might be the opportunity she hoped for. “Of course. I have been expecting the message and need to see to it. Thank you for holding the table.”

  She walked across the lobby, heals clicking on the marble flooring. Out of habit she ignored the attention that followed her. She was used to being watched. Ironically it was part of her cover. Nobody expected her to be a spy.

  “Ah, yes, Fraulein Simpson,” the Bell Captain said. “Your dinner guest is waiting at the side entrance to the lobby. Do you require an escort?”

  “Thank you for your consideration,” she said, “however I will be fine.”

  She gave the Bell Captain a glowing smile and turned to walk to the side entrance. As she walked past, one of the men in the lobby stepped over to the house phone. Waiting at the side entrance was Herr Schmidt.

  “Herr Schmidt, what a surprise,” she said.

  He clicked his heals together and gave a short bow. “Frau Simpson, the honor is mine. Come, the car is waiting.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “I have arranged a meeting with some friends, that you indicated would be very useful.”

  “I think I would prefer to meet at the hotel,” she said.

  He took her arm. “That would not be possible, Fraulein. Come now.”

  A BMW 335 waited at the curb. Schmidt opened the back door and pushed her into the car. After closing the door, he trotted around to the other side. After he climbed in, the driver merged the car into the Munich traffic.

  “I would very much prefer to do this on my terms,” Misty said.

  “I am afraid that is not possible.”

  She looked down at her purse, and when she looked up, he was holding a pistol on her. “You will hand me your purse, please.”

  He eased the clutch bag out her grasp and opened it. He raised an eyebrow as he pulled out a snub-nosed 38 revolver. “Carrying this could get you in a lot of trouble, Fraulein.”

  She shook her head. “If you look further you will see my diplomatic carnet. That’s my get out of jail free card.”

  He shook his head with a sad smile. “You Americans are so naive. This is Germany. The law is whatever we say it is. Now, sit back and enjoy the ride.”

  This was Misty’s first trip to Munich and she was thoroughly turned around by the time the car wound through the city streets and halted in front of a large house in an obviously upscale neighborhood. The warm spring night seemed out of character for the evening’s events. She thought it should have been rainy, wind-swept and cold. Schmidt helped her out of the car and walked her up the short walk to the house. Someone had been keeping watch and opened the door as they approached.

  It occurred to her that they had not blindfolded her before bringing her to what was probably a safe-house for the splinter group, and wondered if that meant she would not leave the place alive. She began watching for an opportunity to break away and escape. On the other hand, any information she gathered might be very important to the United States government.

  After they entered through the front door, she followed Schmidt up the stairs to the second floor. The driver followed behind. She walked into a large suite on the second floor. Schmidt pointed her to a chair in the corner. It was an easy-chair, rather than something she could be easily tied to. These people seemed like amateurs to her. As she sat down, she toed off her shoes. If she needed them, she could put them on again.

  “What is it you want to know about us, Fraulein Simpson?”

  She looked at the source of the voice. The man was sitting in the opposite corner in the shadows of the dimly lit room. She could not see his face.

  “My government wishes to better understand the political forces in Germany. We have concerns about the stability and long-term viability of the Schloss government. We have made some very big bets recently.”

  “The Schloss government took power through murder and force majeur. It is assuredly not legitimate. The only remaining senior member of the original government is Goering and he is a broken reed.”

  She tried to focus on the man in the corner, but still could not see him clearly. “Sometimes, Sir, a bullet is all the legitimacy you need.”

  “Ha!” he said. “You would quote Stalin?”

  “Some of the people in our State Department are very approving of him.”

  “And they are fools,” he spat. “He seduces the workers with promises that no one can ever fulfill. Communism is a cancer that will rot the rest of the world if it is allowed to spread.”

  “And you propose to do something about that?” she asked.

  “Of course. Our Fuhrer wrote a plan and was well on his way towards fulfilling it before his life was cut short.”

  “I have read Mein Kampf.”

  “Then you know of his plans. We wish to restore his ideals. We need to stamp out the foreign and domestic vermin and create a true Aryan nation.”

  A true believer, she thought. A very dangerous man.

  “I have two questions, Mein Herr,” she said.

  “And what would those be, Fraulein?”

  “What message do you want me to take to the American government, and how may we contact you in the future?”

  The man in the corner pondered the question for a while, then stood up. As he stepped into the light she saw Reinhard Heydrich clearly.

  “We do not need the United States of America. It is a nation of untermenschen and mongrels. Its time will come when the Reich rules the Earth. I have no desire for further contact.”

  Things were moving quickly, now. Misty unobtrusively took several deep breaths and schooled herself to relax. When the opportunity arose, she would have only one chance.

  Heydrich turned to Schmidt, who stood against the door. “But, I do wish to send the Americans a message. Kill the girl and dump her body in front of the hotel.”

  Misty exploded out of the chair and took a running dive through the window, turning so her back went first through the glass. She expected to fall to the ground from the second story, which might well kill her, but might was better than certain death in the upstairs room.

  She was surprised at the two-foot drop to a section of roof. The lower story of the house extended further than the upper. She rolled down to the edge and managed to catch the gutter as she swung around and dropped to the ground. The shrubs around the back of the house lashed at her feet and legs as she landed, but the ground itself was soft. She sprinted around the house to the gate at the side. It was locked, and she was able to jump high enough to catch the top of the gate with her hands. She vaulted over the gate and landed on the front side, then sprinted again around the front of the neighboring house and headed down the street. She heard a door open behind her, so she opened up her run. She was comfortable that, running barefoot, there were few people who could catch her, particularly with the heavy shoes and boots the Germans habitually wore.

  Her concern was first to lose her immediate pursuers. Following that she needed to determine how to get back to the hotel and who she could trust in Munich. She quickly covered a block and then jogged down a side street. Her thought was to climb over another wall, and hide in someone’s back yard until the chase died down.

  A car came up the street towards her, and she heard the driver cob the throttle. She stopped and reversed direction, but another car was coming from the other way. She looked both ways and decided to sprint across the street and scale another wall. She was well trained and the darkness was her friend.

  The first car screeched to a stop and the doors opened.

  “Halt!”

  She was not going to make it. The other car swerved to the right and blocked her way across the yard. The occupants quickly got out, and held her. They then turned her and walked her over to the other car.

  “You are very fortunate to be alive, Fraulein Simpson,” Karl Rainer said. “One of my men spotted y
ou leaving the hotel with Konrad Mussen. You are talking to some very dangerous individuals.”

  “Are you taking me to jail?” she asked. “I have diplomatic immunity, you know.”

  “You are bleeding,” Rainer said. “We will take you for medical attention and then we will take you back to the hotel.”

  “And then what?”

  Rainer raised an eyebrow. “I believe you accomplished what you set out to do here in Munich. Tomorrow my men will see to it that you are safely aboard the train to Berlin. We have no desire to embarrass the United States at this time.”

  “At this time?”

  Rainer laughed. “Ever the suspicious one. I work for Heinrich Schloss. One of his directives to the government is to avoid war with the Americans at all costs. I do not know if we will ever be friends with the Americans, but we most assuredly do not want to be enemies. Come, Fraulein. The evening is cooling off and you are not dressed for cross country running.”

  Without another word, she walked to the car and climbed in.

  § § §

  March 11, 1942; 11PM

  Hotel Vier Jahrezeiten

  Munich Germany

  Schloss kept the reception short and had returned to his suite intending to wrestle some more with the never-ending mountain of paper that consumed his working days. The hotel kitchen had sent up a rolling buffet table with light snacks and sandwiches. Schloss limited himself to a cup of coffee. Rainer eased into the suite and walked over to the table where Schloss worked.

  “We had some excitement this evening,” Karl Rainer said.

  “How so?” Heinrich Schloss asked.

  “Herr Reichschancellor,” Rainer said, “the American girl succeeded in making contact with the Heydrich group.”

  “And what happened?”

  “She would not say much about her adventure. One of my men saw her leave the hotel with Konrad Mussen, and had the initiative to call me. I had people watching her. She apparently dove out of a window of their safe house to escape. We were quartering the neighborhood and discovered her running along the street.”