Margie just smiled and looked at us, shaking her head.
Margie then led us to the IBM Pavilion, where Jack and I hoped we would find a clue to digital technology, something we could plug into our plane's Black Box. But this was a time before IBM became a colossus with computer systems. In 1940, it earned its name, International Business Machines.
We stopped in front of the electric typewriter exhibit. For more than 30 years, IBM would be famous for its electric typewriters. I could see that Jack was amazed.
“These things became obsolete in the late 1970s, just around the time Ashley and I were born.”
“But they're amazing machines,” said Margie. “Ike bought me one last Christmas. It makes my writing so much faster I don't know how I did without it. What did they replace it with?”
“Computers,” said Jack, “especially a thing we call a personal computer. Ashley, why don't you show Margie your iPad.”
We sat in the pavilion's cafeteria and Jack got us coffee. I reached into my shoulder bag and pulled out my iPad. I couldn't show Margie the Internet or email, of course, but I did have a Microsoft Word app installed. I started typing, cutting and pasting, and going through all of the familiar word processing tricks that are second nature to us in 2016. Margie just sat, sipped her coffee and stared at the iPad, wide eyed.
“My God,” Margie said. “I can imagine writing a book with this thing.”
“And I can’t imagine writing a book without it,” said Jack.
Jack and I then had some fun, describing the Internet to our friend from 1940. We talked about Google, Wikipedia, Facebook, Twitter, and the various other sites that make the Internet the amazing thing it is (will be?).
“So does this little device replace going to the library?” asked Margie.
“Pretty much,” said Jack, pointing to the iPad. “The library, in 2016, is right here.”
“When did these things, these computers, first come into use?”
“If my memory serves me,” said Jack, “the first real electronic digital computer, which basically means it can be ‘programmed’ to perform functions, came into use about three years from now in 1943. It was called Colossus and took up a room larger than the one we're sitting in. This iPad has thousands of times the computing power as that machine. The United States used Colossus to break German codes during the war.”
I kicked Jack under the table and put my hand over his mouth.
“Honey,” I whispered, “what you just said is Top Secret, I'm sure.”
“Oh my God, you're right,” said Jack. “I forgot that the war hasn't happened yet.”
“So where does all this leave you folks?” Margie asked. “If a real computer will be operational three years from now, wouldn't that be able to tap into that Flight Data Recorder you've talked about, that Black Box thing?”
“It's possible,” said Jack. “We may get to pal around with you and Ike for a few years, maybe until 1947.”
“What will happen in 1947?” asked Margie.
“In 1947,” said Jack, “some brilliant physicists developed a thing called a transistor. That was the historic breakthrough in electronics. It's a device that takes electric impulses and amplifies them. Think of it as a switch. I don't understand all the science, but the transistor enabled electronic devices of all sorts to become smaller and more powerful. This iPad wouldn't be possible without the transistor, nor would our plane's Black Box. When our parents were growing up in the 1950s they carried around little transistor radios. The transistor was their link to entertainment.”
“All that said,” I interjected, “Jack and I would prefer to find our way home as soon as possible. 1947 is seven years from now, a long time. We have families, responsibilities, and hey, we just don't belong here, even though we've met some wonderful people in 1940.” I squeezed Margie's hand as I said that.
“So,” said Margie, “has our trip to the Fair made a difference for you both?”
“Yes, it has Margie,” said Jack. “At least it's focused our thinking on computer power. I think that 1947 may be our ticket home. It may be a long time from now, but not as long as ‘never.’ ”
***
As we walked toward the exit of the Fair, we noticed a crowd in front of us. A man was yelling into a megaphone, but we couldn't understand his words. The crowd parted, apparently to let somebody or something through. A dozen Nazi “Storm Troopers,” in full brown-shirted regalia, marched to the sounds of the Horst Wessel song, the theme of the Nazi Party, played by a small band that marched behind them.
The “parade” passed before us, the marchers goose-stepping with arms extended forward in the “fuehrer salute.” What I found most upsetting about this little display of hate was the reaction of the audience along the route. Some observers actually applauded the Nazis, and a few returned the salute.
We waited for the marchers to pass at a safe distance, and were happy to climb into Margie’s shiny hot wheels. My only experience of Nazis was from movies, and it freaked me out to see where the world was headed.
“I hope Ike took us seriously about getting his mom out of Germany,” I said.
Chapter 24
“General Mumford, Admiral Patterson's escort planes have requested permission to land. They're on approach now, sir.”
“Are there only two of them?” asked Mumford.
“Yes, sir. Admiral Patterson's plane is not with them.”
Colonel Wesley Johansson, Deputy Public Affairs Officer for the Department of Defense, stood next to Mumford in the tower.
“A word with you, sir?” said Johansson.
The two men walked over to an unoccupied space in the control room.
“Dom, you look like hell. Don't take this out on yourself. Your idea for this publicity tour was brilliant. You're not the first officer to send someone on a mission who never returned.”
“I know, Wes, and thanks for your words. I can't control what happens to a plane once it's launched. I know that. I've lost people before in the Persian Gulf and other places, but I still feel like shit. Ashley and Jack were good friends and I can't help feeling the way I do. It looks like I'll never see them again.”
“Dom, we're not out of hope yet. The search operation has just begun. Who knows? Any minute we may hear that a raft has been spotted.”
“Wes, you've been flying planes as long as I have. An F-18 just doesn't just disappear. The escorts reported that they didn't see parachutes.”
“Yes, they didn't see parachutes, but more importantly, they didn't see or hear anything. At this point, Dom, I'd say we have a mystery on our hands. Let's not give up hope...yet.”
“Wesley, you're a good man. I think I'll take your advice and remain positive, until I run out of things to think positive about.”
Admiral Patterson's plane has been missing for 20 minutes.
Chapter 25
“May I see your papers, madam?” said the young lieutenant, a swastika prominently displayed on his uniform.
Sylvia Tanner (Mary Murphy) handed him her passport. He looked at the passport, then at Sylvia, and repeated the maneuver five times. She had been coached to speak only when absolutely necessary.
“Dublin,” said the lieutenant. “My cousin lives on O'Donnell Street. Are you familiar with it?
“Oh, yes,” said Sylvia, “such a lovely street.”
“But there is no O'Donnell Street in Dublin,” said the lieutenant as he crossed his arms across his chest.
Phil Townsend, Deputy Charge’ d’Affaires, had been standing against a nearby wall. He walked to the check-in counter.
“Fritz, my old friend, good to see you,” said Townsend as he extended his hand. “I hope my Aunt Mary isn't giving you a hard time.”
“Philip, your aunt claims that she's from Dublin, but doesn't seem to know the names of streets there.”
Townsend circled his index finger next to his temple and winked at Lieutenant Fritz.
“Fritz,” Townsend whispered as he leaned
over to the lieutenant, “if you really want to have some fun, ask Aunt Mary what she had for breakfast this morning.”
The lieutenant laughed and handed the passport to Sylvia.
The many bottles of Scotch and cartons of American cigarettes that he had given to the lieutenant over the years were excellent tools of diplomacy, thought Townsend.
“Meshugena!” they heard Aunt Mary say loudly as she walked through the gate. Lieutenant Fritz looked at her through squinted eyelids.
“Gesundheit, Aunt Mary. Make sure you take care of that cold.”
Oy vey, thought Townsend.
Chapter 26
Admiral Isoroku Yamamoto invited his old friend and close confidant Admiral Matome Ugaki to his office.
“Please have a seat, my friend.”
Yamamoto clapped his hands twice, signaling his geisha assistant to bring tea.
“Sake?” asked Yamamoto.
“No, but thank you, sir. Things are too busy. I must keep my mind straight.”
“Matome, I'm concerned as usual about Tojo and the other idiots who run our Army. The Tripartite Pact between Germany, Italy, and us is pure stupidity. There may be a war between the United States and Japan in any event, but this crazy pact only makes it more likely. Why should we want to fight such a powerful enemy?”
“If I may, sir, your apology to the Americans after we accidently sank their gunboat the Panay in 1937 was nothing less than brilliant diplomacy. We made a mistake and you apologized. That is leadership.”
“Thank you, Matome, but it has also caused the stupid militarists in the Army to hate me. I have received more death threats than I wish to remember.”
“Admiral Yamamoto, sir. Do you think that war with the United States is inevitable?”
“Yes, my friend, I do. If it comes to that, we must be ready to strike with courage, speed, and stealth. As my Chief of Staff I want you and your assistants to bring me alternative plans on how to fight the Americans. I have spent a great amount of time in America. If there is one thing I can tell you about the Americans, it's this: they're not stupid, unlike Tojo and his lot.
Chapter 27
“You two must have dinner with us again tonight,” said Margie as she pulled the car in front of our house.
“Margie, thank you so much,” I said, “but we have a saying in 2016. Never overstay a welcome. We had dinner with you folks two nights ago.”
“I’m bursting for you two to tell Ike about today. He'll be home in an hour or so. Why don't you freshen up and come over around six. Oh, and fatigues are the uniform of the day. That's Ike's order.”
***
The evening weather was as beautiful as our day at the fair. The temperature was 64 degrees and a gentle wind washed over us as we walked to the commandant's house.
Ike wasn't home yet, so Margie led us into the den and asked Shiri to take our drink orders.
I sipped wine, while both Jack and Margie enjoyed Cognac. At 6:20 the front door opened and there was Ike, smiling like a cat that just found a bird. He dropped his bag to the floor with a thud and walked into the den.
“God bless you two,” Ike shouted. He actually shouted.
“God bless you,” both Jack and I said. I thought this was a different but pleasant way to be greeted.
“I got a telegram from Berlin just before I left Washington. Mom got out of Berlin and she’s in Paris, about to board a flight to Idlewild.”
Idlewild? Both Jack and I had to think. Oh right, Kennedy Airport used to be known as Idlewild before Jack and I were born.
“If it weren't for you two,” said Tanner, “I would have ignored the censored news reports from Berlin. Ashley and Jack, you saved my mother's life.”
“Ike,” I said, “all Jack and I did was tell you the truth, the truth that we know. We're going to keep telling you the truth. The war is coming this way.”
Chapter 28
“This is Shepard Smith reporting for Fox News. I'm sorry to inform our viewers that I have some startling news this morning. An F-18 Hornet fighter jet, flown by Admiral Ashley Patterson, the Navy's newest admiral, has been reported missing. Admiral Patterson, along with her well-known husband, journalist and author Jack Thurber, took off from the flight deck of the USS Abraham Lincoln this morning on a goodwill publicity flight to LaGuardia Airport in New York City. The flight last appeared on radar at 9:35 AM a few miles off the coast of New Jersey. Admiral Patterson is the youngest admiral in the fleet at the age of 39. Her husband Jack, a lieutenant in the Naval Reserve, is soon to be the Editor in Chief of the Washington Times. Patterson and Thurber hit the headlines three years ago with their involvement in the amazing Gray Ship incident, where an American warship, commanded by then Captain Patterson, is alleged to have passed through a time portal and found itself in the Civil War.
The aircraft has been missing for ten minutes. Two escort jets have landed at LaGuardia. The pilots of those planes did not report seeing parachutes, only that they lost contact with Admiral Patterson's aircraft. We will be reporting updates on this story as the facts unfold.
“In other news...”
Chapter 29
“How were the crops this year, Dave?” asked Mike Burton, whose farm is next to Dave Johnson's in Yaphank, Long Island.
“The yield could have been better,” said Johnson, “but it isn't the crops that have me worried.”
“What do you mean?” asked Burton, as he motioned to the diner waitress for another cup of coffee.
“It's those goddam Nazis. This used to be a quiet farming community. Now we look like a local outpost for that maniac Hitler.”
“I've noticed it too,” said Burton. “When the hell did they set up shop here?”
“It started back in '33 when Jim Coombs sold a big piece of property to an outfit called The German American Settlement League. You know Jim. He’s as patriotic an American as you can find, but they've turned his property into a Nazi propaganda school. It even has a name, Camp Siegfried.”
“Do you think these people are a big problem?” asked Burton.
“Well, I look at it this way. My wife's aunt and uncle, Abe and Myrna Cohen, are Jewish. They're from Queens and used to come out to visit us all the time. I can't remember the last time I saw them. It seems that the Camp Siegfried thugs’ big focus in life is hating Jews. If you read the crap they distribute, you'd think that Jews are responsible for anything bad in the world, including fires and floods. The last time they visited us, Abe and Myrna refused to go into town for fear that they'd run into another goddam Nazi parade. Mike, there's a war going on in Europe. I don't know how long we'll be able to stay out of it. But what scares the shit out of me is that we have an outpost of Nazis right next to us. If we get involved in the war, the Germans have a spy network all set up and ready to go, right here in Yaphank.”
“You thinking of selling, Dave?”
“Not on your life. I'd sooner blow the goddam place up than risk my farm becoming part of the Bund. My two boys are 18 and 19, prime draft age. I hate to think that if they have to go serve their country their hometown will be in enemy hands.”
“So to get back to your original question, Mike. My crops are okay. It's that crop of Nazi bastards that I'm worried about.”
Chapter 30
My name is Kurt Schweitzer and I've been the head of German Intelligence in the United States since 1938. That part of my identity, of course, is Top Secret. I am known as a simple accountant. My office and apartment are in Whitestone, in the borough of Queens in New York City. I picked Whitestone because it is perched on the East River, and is convenient to both LaGuardia and Idlewild Airports.
I served five years with the Gestapo since it was organized in 1933. My training was excellent, more than sufficient to prepare me for my current assignment
Although I'm a spy, I think of myself as an orchestra leader, a man who harnesses the skills of talented people and makes beautiful music. Beautiful music in the service of the Fatherland and our great lea
der, the Fuehrer.
Handpicked operatives serve me and the Fatherland all over the United States. I mainly concentrate on the New York City area, the major source of transportation and commerce for America.
I have friends and colleagues in Yaphank, a rural farming community on Long Island. Camp Siegfried, a part of the German American Bund, is located there. From that location my colleagues educate the public on the wonders and the righteousness of National Socialism. Part of their educational and propaganda efforts aim at educating the public on the menace of world Jewry. It is evident that the Jews intend to take over the world. They already control the international banking system. God bless Adolf Hitler for seeing the menace for what it is, and for harnessing our patriotic fervor to put an end to Jewish domination.
My agents are spread throughout the country. Here in New York, I concentrate on airports, train stations, shipping terminals, and other transportation facilities. I’ve assigned dedicated agents to Idlewild and LaGuardia Airports. My men are in various occupations, from baggage handlers (an important function), to ticket agents, and even security guards. Yes, I placed handpicked security guards at American airports who are sworn to uphold the Fuehrer and the ideals of National Socialism. I never think of Americans as dumb, but often overlook things.
It's hard to contain my excitement over the news that I heard just five days ago. A strange aircraft landed at LaGuardia on October 20. As soon as I heard the report, I took a cab to the airport to see for myself. I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw the plane. It wasn't just strange; it looked like the cover of a science fiction novel. It appeared to be a jet aircraft, with its sleek shape and wing configuration. I had never seen an airplane like it.
Box Set - The Time Magnet Series Page 61