by Guy Rosmarin
Yesterday’s Tomorrow - Part One Just a Dream
Guy Rosmarin
ISBN (Print Edition): 978-1-54394-327-6
ISBN (eBook Edition): 978-1-54394-328-3
© 2018. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Table of Contents
Part 1 - Just A Dream
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Part 1
Just A Dream
Chapter 1
Professor Andy Spencer turned away from a continental map of Europe that stretched across the blackboard to face his students in the open auditorium. He noticed many impatient faces staring at him as he scratched his two-day stubble and then pulled the left elbow-patched sleeve of his corduroy jacket to get a glance at his wristwatch. It was three minutes past the hour.
“Oh,” Andy said with a smile intact, realizing the lecture has already taken a huge chunk out of spring break.
But just as he was about to wrap things up, the grand lecture hall turned completely dark. He felt like his eyelids shut and remained glued to the skin under the sockets. He heard a faint thud, and then nothing, not even his own breath. Floating in darkness, paralyzed, as if locked in limbo between consciousness and dream, completely detached from his senses, all he had left was his thoughts, which began to pour in relentlessly. Am I having a seizure? Is this what it feels like to be in a coma? He pictured his students panicking at the sight of his body lying motionless on the floor next to the podium. If only one of them could reach out and wake him. Help me, he desperately tried to force the words out, but his will fell silent, his lips would not respond. Desperation turned to hopelessness as the moment stretched in darkness into minutes, hours…he could not tell. He felt weightless, massless, like a lost spirit trying to find its way back to the body. Then suddenly he felt motion. He wasn’t sure whether he was moving down, up, forward, backwards, or sideways, there was no sense of direction, just a feeling of rapidly picking up speed. Blurry white noise buzzed through his ears. Shades of gray appeared in the distance, expending like water stains on black canvas. Is this the light at the end of the tunnel? Am I dying?
The gray turned into bright white, and just as suddenly, he was back, staring at his Seiko wristwatch. It read 3:03:03, the exact time before he blinked into darkness.
“What just happened?” He mumbled.
“Looks like a brownout.”
The answer startled him. The voice was Jason Levine’s, the front row smartass. Surprisingly, there were no awkward stares pointed at the podium. Most eyes were directed upwards. Andy followed the gazes and noticed the flickering fluorescent lights in the ceiling.
“Yeah, must be,” he swallowed what little saliva was left in his mouth and wondered whether that brownout had anything to do with his personal blackout.
He cleared his throat, trying to impose a seamless transition back to professor mode. “Since this is a graduate-level class in a very prestigious institution, I expect your papers to go beyond mere collections of facts. Please….” He raised his voice above the murmuring laughter. “Please allow me to remind you that the sole purpose of this course is to exploit the skilled minds of its participants in order to generate applicable diagnostics and critiques for contemporary and general social theories from events that occurred in that very crucial period of our recent history…”
“Professor Spencer,” the all-too-familiar squeal cut him in mid-sentence.
Not again, not now. Andy pulled his glasses down. “Yes, Seymour.”
“Would you recommend raising a philosophical argument on Victors’ Ethics?”
Andy took a deep breath and slowly let the air out. “In that case, you will have to compare the immoral society we live in today to a hypothetical socio-moral system that would have emerged as a consequence of the other side winning the war.”
“That’s exactly what I had in mind,” the slightly oversized student lowered his hand, revealing a self-congratulatory smirk that accentuated his baby dimples.
“Then I’ll have to say no. I would not recommend that as a topic…that is, unless you’re willing to sacrifice your youth.” Andy managed to keep a straight face without breaking his eye contact with the reddening student. Only his lower lip momentarily twitched when the lecture hall erupted with laughter.
The late dismissal sent the mass rushing to the doors. “Remember—papers are due on the first day of class when you come back,” Andy raised his voice in a failed attempt to cut through the noise.
When the last of his students cleared the hall, he packed his old brown leather briefcase and followed her out. He loosened the top button of his shirt and tried to revisit the mysterious blackout as he walked to his office. Halfway down the hallway, a sturdy baritone pulled him out of his thoughts. He turned back to see two men in dark suits quickly closing in.
“Dr. Anderson Spencer,” one of them said, flashing a badge in the air, “I am special agent Jackson, and this is special agent Navarro. We are with the Federal Bureau of Investigation. Can we have a word in private?”
Andy raised his brow. “Ehh…sure,” he took a quick look around. “My office is…this way.”
Andy pulled a chair next to the one in front of the desk. “Please have a seat. Can I get you anything? Coffee, tea, soda...”
“No thank you,” Jackson answered for both. “I suggest we get straight to the point.”
“So, how can I help you?” Andy forced a grin as his right thumb fluttered against his thigh.
“We have a few questions regarding your association with Karl Heime.”
“Karl? Hope he didn’t get himself in trouble,” Andy said.
“Not as of yet, but we’ve been monitoring some suspicious activities in the organization he’s in.” Jackson let a moment of silence pass and then cleared his throat. “Can you tell us about your relationship with Mr. Heime?”
“Karl is my contact man,” Andy said, and watched the two stare at him in silence. “He covers all my European sources. That’s a good chunk of business…you know…for my research.”
Navarro pulled a small black notepad from the inner pocket of his jacket and began to take notes. “What does he charge for his services?” he asked, without looking up.
“We exchange information. He takes as much as he gives, if not more,” Andy smiled. Navarro exchanged baffled looks with his partner. “Look,” Andy rolled his eyes. “The area of my expertise covers the development of the National Socialist party and the Third Reich…”
“Yes, we are aware of that,” Navarro cut him short, still looking at the no
tepad. “It just seems a little strange that someone like Heime needs an American history teacher to tell him about his personal idols.” He finally made eye contact.
“We don’t ask too many personal questions. That’s the nature of this relationship.” Andy felt his heartbeat surging. “Although, I honestly don’t see how any of the information I share with Karl can pose a threat to national security. I don’t have that kind of information. Like you said, I’m just a history teacher.”
“It’s not our concern Doctor Spencer. We didn’t come here to grill you,” Jackson said with a light chuckle. “We are very familiar with your remarkable work, and quite frankly, we can’t undermine Mr. Heime’s valuable contribution to your research.”
“My relationship with Karl is…”
“We are not here to tell you to discontinue your relationship with Mr. Heime, either. At least not at the moment.” Jackson exchanged glances with his partner. “Think of this as a courtesy visit. We’re here to make sure that you’re aware of the danger associated with this man and his organization and ask for your cooperation.”
“My cooperation?”
“If you see or hear anything suspicious, well…” Jackson pulled a card out of his wallet and handed it to Andy. “I trust you will know what to do.” He tapped on Navarro’s shoulder and pointed his chin in the direction of the door.
Andy followed the two out and continued to watch them until they disappeared down the hall, and then slowly closed the door behind him and walked back to his desk.
What am I supposed to do with this? He stared at the card still in his hand, and then turned to the phone on his desk and dialed Berlin. After the fourth ring, he slowly pulled the receiver away from his ear. “Of-course you’re not there. You should be crossing the Atlantic by now,” he whispered, and hung up, knowing he would have to wait another day to hear about this matter in person. He looked back at the card. There was no point keeping it. Compromising Karl’s trust was not an option he could afford. He looked at the trash bin at the foot of his desk to dispose of the card, but a fraction of a second before letting it slip into oblivion, he drew his arm back and placed the card in the pencil jar on the corner of the desk. The swift motion of his hand granted him a quick glance at his wristwatch. It was five after five. Hard to believe two hours just flew by. He grabbed his jacket and briefcase and walked out.
Chapter 2
The barkeeper greeted Andy with a wink. “The usual?” He poured two pints from the Guinness tap without waiting for an answer.
“Thanks, Pat. Just what the doctor ordered.” Andy grabbed the glasses and squeezed his way through the crowd to a vacant corner table away from the bar. He placed his briefcase on the chair next to him and pulled out a green binder. The name Victor Callo marked the cover in thick black Sharpie ink.
Andy was halfway through his pint and deep into the Callo file, unaware that his friend was standing next to him. The tidy gentleman waited for half a minute and then slapped the back of Andy’s head with a folded copy of the Boston Globe.
“What the…Nate!”
“Sorry Spence, I couldn’t help it.”
“For fuck’s sake, you scared the shit out of me!”
“Whadda you know, Professor Spencer speaks the language of the people.”
“Well, I have to communicate with you somehow, don’t I?”
“Put your books away, wiseass!” Nate pulled out a chair and placed his neatly folded jacket on it along with the newspaper and his briefcase, and then sat down on the chair next to it. “Precious time was put to waste, and I deserve your full attention.”
“With all due respect, you are the one who is late!”
“Are we in a bad mood today?”
“Ah…getting there, and you’re not helping.”
“Whatever it is, it can’t be that bad.”
“Well, a little frustration is only natural after seven years, especially when I have no clue how I’m going to finish the damn thing.”
“Are we talking about your unfinished book again?”
“Have I been working on anything else worth mentioning in the last seven years?”
“You know, I actually gave it some thoughts, now that you’ve brought it up. Why not use your theory about winners writing the history books. What do you call it—Winners’ Ethics?”
Andy shook his head and rolled his eyes.
“What?” Nate asked.
“Victors’ Ethics did not bring down the Third Reich, pal!”
“Of course not,” Nate said. “Hitler did, when he attacked the Russians. Everyone knows that. They teach that in grade school.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere.”
“Are you implying my grade school teacher was full of shit?” Nate asked.
“Absolutely not. Invading the Soviet Union was without a doubt Germany’s most detrimental self-inflicting blow. You can certainly say it was the most pivotal event in determining the fate of the war, but did you ever ask yourself why Hitler chose to do something so preposterous?”
“Well, let’s see.” Nate took a long swig and put his glass down. “He really hated the Bolsheviks?”
“Nice try, pal. I know you’ve read Mein Kampf, but that’s not the reason. Hitler may have been the biggest asshole to ever walk the face of the earth, but he was not dumb. Put aside his evil, twisted megalomaniac aspirations, he was one of the most brilliant tacticians the world has ever seen. We’re talking about a man who against all odds single-handedly took over Germany, pulled it out of depression, built the strongest army on the planet, and then went on to conquer Europe. On summer solstice 1941, everything he had predicted, envisioned, and wished for came true. He had the entire world in the palm of his hand, and the next day…poof, he pulls the worst strategic maneuver in the history of warfare. Now you’re telling me he threw it all away because of his sheer hatred for Bolsheviks?”
“It’s possible. He was a madman after all.”
“That he was, but that’s not the answer.”
“Something tells me you have a better one.”
Andy smiled. “If I did, I wouldn’t be sitting here venting about it, would I? What I do have is a theory. That’s what this damn book boils down to.” He slowly sipped his beer and glanced at the big TV screen above the bar. “Was that a home run?”
“Hey!” Nate snapped his fingers at Andy’s face. “We’re not talking about the Red Sox. Now that you’ve sucked me into your theory, you can’t keep me hanging.”
Andy laughed. “I’m surprised I never mentioned anything about this before.”
“Nope. We don’t usually talk about your work.”
“But that’s just because yours is a hell lot more interesting. I’m just a history teacher.”
“Cut the foreplay, Spence.”
“Okay, okay, but don’t expect your mind to be blown. It just ah…all I’m trying to prove is that Hitler didn’t pull the trigger on Barbarossa. Don’t get me wrong, it was his baby, he brought it to the table and gave the invasion plan his final stamp of approval as early as December 1940, but then he locked the blue prints in the drawer with no intention of ever pulling them out. He thought of it as a last-resort thing, in case Stalin was thinking of turning on him first.”
“So, what happened? Someone stole the plans?”
“Na-ah. The plans remained locked in the drawer until the following spring, when a good number of his advisors simultaneously began to push for execution. They were his party cronies, top generals, and other ranks from the high command, including some of the best military strategists who were well aware of the consequences an eastern front would entail.”
“Wait, wait… I’m not sure I’m following you. What exactly are you saying?”
“I’m saying that some of the most trusted members in Hitler’s inner circle deliberately lied to and misled their Führer becau
se they suspected his delirious aspiration was growing out of control. They knew that turning Stalin from friend to foe was the only way to prevent a global doom.”
“Why not just kill him?”
“Who said they didn’t try?”
Nate let out a long sigh. “And you expect my mind not to be blown away by this? I mean, you’re telling me the only reason we don’t speak German now is because there were some good Nazis who cared about the future of the world?”
Andy nodded. “There’s evidence of a meeting. A secret meeting that took place sometime in early spring of 1941. I call it the mother of all conspiracies,” Andy turned his straying eyes back to Nate. “I’m not sure who attended or where it took place, but I have my suspicions it involved a good number of party higher-ups. Something happened at that meeting, something that drove some of the most influential individuals in the regime to take action against their supreme leader. I believe some of the known conspirators were among the participants, but there were others, who seemingly remained loyal to Hitler till his last days.”
“And…you have any proof?”
“Unfortunately, all the parties involved were so secretive about this mysterious gathering, documenting it was the last thing on anyone’s mind. So, to answer your question, I don’t have solid proof. Not yet, anyway.” Andy rubbed his eye and slowly dragged his fingers down the skin of his face. “All I can do is go after first-hand testimonies…but I’m running out of time and sources.” He shot another mindless gaze at the TV screen. “If only I could get an hour with someone who was there.”
“I take it that’s not an option?”
Andy shook his head. “Hitler executed all the known conspirators. The rest were hung in Nuremberg, if they didn’t kill themselves before they went to trial. Oh yes, there was one exception, Rudolf Hess, Hitler’s deputy. I have a strong suspicion he took part in that meeting. He was the only top Nazi to get a life sentence after the war. Unfortunately, he managed to hang himself in prison at the tender age of ninety-two.”
“Is he the one who deserted in the middle of the war?”