American Reich Read online

  “You’ll have to get somebody else.”

  “I really need your help, Wayne. Please?”

  “I’m sorry, Dr. Hoffmann.”

  Wayne got up and left her house without another word. Asking someone to lend you a few dollars till your next paycheck or to go to the market and pick up a quart of milk for you is one thing, but asking someone to commit murder? That’s too much.

  Wayne wandered down toward the main road. He turned the corner and looked back at Dr. Hoffman’s house. He shook his head and headed into the convenience store.

  Still stuck in his thoughts he headed to the back of the store and grabbed a can of beer out of the refrigerated display. He looked around and saw no one.

  “Hello,” he called out. Nothing. Wayne walked over to the counter and tugged his cash out of his wallet. As he dumped it on the counter, he saw a pool of blood. He leaned over and saw the Korean cashier sprawled out on the floor beaten to a pulp with a massive knife wound in his abdomen in the shape of a swastika.

  “Oh shit!” Wayne exclaimed. He knelt down and checked for a pulse - nothing. The blood around the man had begun to congeal.

  “I’m sorry, buddy.” Wayne swallowed hard against the rising bile in his throat and reached for the phone on the floor.

  The paramedics arrived on the scene within five minutes. The New York Police Department took an additional seven minutes to get there. The paramedics checked for a pulse and breathing before taking note of the bruises, contusions, and brutal stab wound on the victim.

  Officers Duncan and Hall threw the customary questions at Wayne (why was he there? Did he see anything? Did he live in the area? Etc.). He told them what he knew, which wasn’t much.

  As the paramedics wheeled out the stretcher with the body in a bag out of the market, Wayne asked, “Has anyone told his family?”

  The paramedic nodded his head no and said, “Not yet. That’s a social worker’s job. They’ll contact the family soon. Did you know him?” Wayne shook his head and the paramedics left without the sound of a siren. Another homicide in the city was added to a record year.

  “Okay, thank you very much for your time. I have your statement taken down. You can go now, but someone might contact you with additional questions,” Officer Duncan said.

  Wayne was still feeling queasy from all of the blood. “Do you have any idea who did this?” he asked.

  “Nothing’s really missing and the cash register wasn’t emptied. That’s all that I can say,” Duncan said.

  “Has this been happening a lot?”

  “Swastikas? Uh...”

  “I’d call it a hate crime,” Officer Hall chimed in.

  “You think so?” Wayne asked.

  “As sure as shit,” Officer Hall responded. “Racial violence is running rampant in this city. Blacks hate the Orientals, whites hate the Irish, everyone hates the gays, and so on.”

  “Then you have these white supremacy groups that influence kids minds. Put all this weird shit in their heads,” Officer Duncan shrugged sadly.

  “It’s pretty bad, huh?”

  “Why don’t you go get some sleep?” Duncan said.

  The officers got into their squad car and drove off into the night.

  Wayne ran his hands through his hair. He noticed a tiny amount of blood, sticky and cold, on the sleeve of his denim jacket. He touched a finger to it and looked at it closely.

  Racial hate and violence-it never ends. Fifty years after the Nazis, twenty-five years after the civil rights movement in the South, nothing has changed. The cop was wrong about not being able to do anything about it.

  Pliss / Reich

  CHAPTER TWO

  Wayne sprinted back to Dr. Hoffmann’s house. The more he ran, the faster he wanted to run. His adrenalin was pumping. He wanted to tell Dr. Hoffmann that he had changed his mind before she did something foolish, such as try and do the “job” herself.

  When he arrived at her house, Wayne rapped loudly on her front door until, a few seconds later, Dr. Hoffmann opened up the door.

  “I’ll do it,” he proudly said as he tried to catch his breath. Dr. Hoffman stepped back to let him in.

  “That is good news. What gave you a change of heart?”

  “I thought about what you said - about doing what’s good for humanity. Maybe you’re right. If we have the means to alter something in history that brought so much pain and misery to so many people, then we should make use of it.”

  He paused, thinking about the dead clerk. He hesitated before mentioning it to her.

  “Great. Let’s go to my laboratory. I will explain all of the details to you there,” Dr. Hoffmann said zealously.

  “You mean now? Go back tonight?”

  “Yes. Tonight.”

  “Oh, boy,” Wayne sighed. He looked toward the door and then back toward Dr. Hoffman.

  “Can’t we wait a few days? Or weeks? I mean, what’s the hurry?”

  Dr. Hoffmann stood firm. “It is too important for it to be delayed. Tonight we must do it.”

  They drove in Dr. Hoffmann’s old, messy Chevrolet Nova to the NYU campus. They walked into the science laboratory building and past the main library. Wayne hoped that he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew. He didn’t want any rumors spreading about him and his professor.

  How would he explain to friends what he was doing with Dr. Hoffmann late at night in her lab? Dr. Hoffmann would not discuss anything about what they were going to do until they were in the privacy of her lab.

  Once they were in her lab, Dr. Hoffmann started talking with a great fervor about what Wayne was to do. “I am sending you back in time to January 30th, 1933. On that day, Adolf Hitler became the Chancellor of Germany. That night, a reception was held for him by his top officials in the Reich Chancellery.”

  “Why then?” Wayne wanted to know. “Why not to when Hitler was in high school or some other time before he was famous?”

  “Because on that night of January 30th, I can pinpoint precisely the Nazi leader’s location and also have an effective way for you to carry out our plan.”

  “Would you mind filling me in on that plan?”

  Dr. Hoffmann picked up a thick book entitled “Hitler’s Reign” off of her desk and opened it up to a photograph that took up almost a full page. She pointed the photograph out to Wayne. “This picture was taken on that night of January 30th, 1933.”

  It was a black and white picture that showed Hitler standing at a podium holding up a large ornamental silver cup. In small, but still legible lettering, on the front of the cup was an inscription that read “DE FUHRER”. At Hitler’s side stood his secretary and deputy, Rudolf Hess; SS-leader and chief executioner, Heinrich Himmler; and the commander in chief of the Air Force and Hitler’s second in command, Hermann Wilhelm Goering.

  “It’s a bunch of Nazis all right,” Wayne replied.

  “Adolf Hitler will toast his supporters and drink champagne from the silver mug which has the words “De Fuhrer” inscribed on it. All you have to do is find that mug before he drinks from it.”

  Dr. Hoffmann picked up a vial filled with a clear liquid, “Once you locate that silver cup, make sure that this gets into his champagne. This will stop his heart. With the primitive medical methods available then, no one will be able to revive him. To everyone present, it will appear that their leader had a heart attack. It will probably be attributed to the excitement of the day’s events.”

  “What if I can’t get my hands on that cup? I mean, is there a backup plan at least?” Wayne fidgeted. “I think we should wait and really plan this out.”

  “The method to achieve our goal that I have elucidated for you is the only feasible one. Believe me, Wayne, if I didn’t think that this project would be safe for you to accomplish and exit unharmed, I would in no way send you into a dangerous situation. As I have said, I have been plotting this for many years.”

  Wayne still had a question or two. “Won’t I stick out like a sore thumb?” he asked.

&
nbsp; “I have thought about that.” Dr. Hoffmann went to a cabinet and removed from it some clothes that were clearly from a different era. “You will be dressed as a waiter. That will enable you to get close to the silver cup without arousing suspicion. These are clothes that match what the waiters were wearing that night. Put them on. I’ll start getting things ready.”

  Dr. Hoffmann turned away from Wayne and started to type on the computer keyboard. Wayne got changed.

  “Well, she does seem to be prepared,” Wayne mumbled.

  Wayne put on the black and white dress clothes. The slacks were uncomfortably stiff and the shoes were too tight, but Wayne didn’t complain. He wouldn’t be wearing them long.

  Dr. Hoffmann stopped typing. “It’s time. Enter the machine,” she said.

  Wayne clambered inside. “I don’t know what’s harder to believe - that you have actually invented a time machine or that I’m actually about to go through with this.”

  Dr. Hoffmann adjusted several knobs. “I’m sending you back so that you will have enough time to locate the silver cup before Hitler drinks from it. Remember, just do what you are supposed to. Try not to talk to or socialize with anyone.”

  “You don’t have to worry about that,” Wayne said. “What would I say to a Nazi anyway? How about breaking matzo with my family at our Seder?”

  Dr. Hoffmann pulled down a lever on the time machine, making it come alive with a humming sound. “Any final questions?”

  “For the moment, no,” he replied. “But I’m sure a few hundred will soon pop into my mind.”

  “And, Wayne, most of all, good luck. And thank you,” Dr. Hoffmann gratefully said.

  The humming from the time machine got louder. Smoke gushed out from the bottom of the machine.

  Wayne disappeared.

  On the evening of January 30, 1933, the Reich Chancellery in Berlin was crowded with guests. Some of those guests were members of Germany’s upper class who had supported Hitler financially and in other ways during his rise to power. One such man, present on this night, was Fritz Thyssen. Thyssen, the head of the German steel trust, the United Steel Works, and an extremely wealthy man, had contributed sizable sums to the National Socialist party and was a loyal follower of Hitler. Also present are top ranking Nazi party members and a large number of Hitler’s personal henchmen, the much-feared Sicherhietsdienst who are dressed in Nazi party uniforms with the swastika emblazoned on armbands.

  The Nazis were drinking heavily and proudly celebrating their leader’s new position of power. Yes, Adolf Hitler, the son of a civil servant and a former unsuccessful painter, was now the Chancellor of Germany. It would just be a matter of time before he was the dictator of the country and had the final say about every aspect of life in the Third Reich.

  An orchestra played a German operetta by Hitler’s favorite composer as Wayne materialized in a quiet corner of the room.

  There he was, in 1933 Nazi Germany. Words could not express Wayne’s thoughts at that moment. He was standing in the same room as some of the most evil men who had ever walked the face of the Earth. It gave Wayne an eerie feeling. His heart was pounding and his palms sweaty. Wayne’s main concerns were to complete his mission and, most importantly, to not let anybody find out that he was Jewish.

  One of the nearby guests, a bulky man, was holding an empty glass in his hand. He turned around to notice Wayne. The guest, thinking he was a waiter, shoved his glass in Wayne’s face and raucously said, “Get me another drink.”

  Wayne knew that if he hesitated at all, he might cause unwanted attention. He nodded his head up and down and took the empty glass from the man.

  Wayne walked around, looking for the drink table. Toward the back of the main Chancellery meeting area, where the festivities were taking place, Wayne noticed a pair of swinging doors. He figured these doors would lead into the kitchen. Given the simplicity so far, he hoped that the rest of this would be just as easy.

  The kitchen was small, just large enough for a few people to comfortably work in it together. A prep cook was busy readying hor d’oeuvres.

  The prep cook saw Wayne and pointed, without saying anything, to a large barrel filled with iced bottled of champagne and trays stacked with empty champagne glasses. Wayne got the hint and began to fill glasses with the alcoholic beverage. He was tempted to take a swig of the stuff, but didn’t dare.

  Another waiter entered the kitchen with an empty tray. The crowd was hungry for champagne, and he was only able to walk about nine meters before his tray was once again vacant. Wayne was eyeing all of the cabinets and drawers as a possible spot where the Silver Cup may be. He would have to do some searching. But how without drawing attention?

  Wayne filled his tray of champagne glasses very slowly, but felt the gaze of the prep cook on his back. He would have to exit the kitchen with his tray. He would unload his champagne glasses to guests as quickly as possible, then get back to the kitchen. Maybe the prep cook wouldn’t be there then. Time was wasting.

  Wayne left the kitchen. Guests thirstily grabbed the glasses off of his tray without saying a word to him. So far, so good. Now he had to find a way to search for the Silver Cup.

  As Wayne, with his empty tray, walked through the door that swung into the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of something that made him think his eyes were playing a trick on him. He saw another waiter, a middle-aged chap, exit the kitchen through the other door. This other waiter was holding up a tray, though not just an ordinary silver tray like Wayne himself held or the other waiters had been using to pass out drinks to the guests. No, this tray appeared to be exquisite gold. It was the glitter of this tray that caught Wayne’s eye. But what really astounded Wayne was the one item he saw on this beautiful tray. That one item was none other than a silver cup. Wayne, for a split second, had thought he had seen an inscription on the front of the silver cup, but he wasn’t sure. Could this be it? Who else would be brought a special cup to drink out of on a special gold tray but the Fuehrer?

  Wayne had to act fast. He didn’t bother entering the kitchen to refill on champagne glasses. Instead, he started to trail the waiter with the gold tray.

  As he tried to follow him, Wayne had a hard time making his way through the heavily crowded room. As Wayne pushed his way through, various guests placed empty glasses and cigarette butts on his tray. Wayne felt somebody bump against him. He turned around and came face to face with Adolf Hitler.

  Hitler gave Wayne a cold stare with his slightly protruding, radiant, deep blue eyes - the eyes that had hypnotized a nation.

  As the Fuehrer made eye contact with him, Wayne began to shake and almost pissed in his pants. Surely Hitler would see something in Wayne that would make him suspicious of this waiter.

  Wayne swallowed hard and did the only thing that he could think of at the moment. “Heil, Hitler,” Wayne said and also saluted Hitler.

  Adolf Hitler did not respond. Instead, for what seemed like the longest twenty seconds of his whole entire life, the Nazi leader continued staring into Wayne’s eyes. And suddenly, Hitler continued on his way. Wayne let out a sigh of relief.

  Wayne thought to himself after meeting Hitler and seeing the other Nazi functionaries how ironic it was that these men did not in any way appear to be the supermen, or ideal Aryan specimens, that was central to the National Socialist regime. In fact, with the exception of only two men that were present on that night, none of the men had blue eyes or blond hair, or even appeared to be the perfect example of a healthy human being. Not Goebbels with his clubbed foot deformity, nor Goering was his obesity, nor Himmler with his frail body and bad eyes, nor Hitler himself with his black hair and his frequent stomach problems.

  Wayne continued pushing his way through the crowd. He spotted the waiter with the silver cup walking towards the podium. Wayne moved quickly to get next to him.

  There was only one thing that Wayne could do. He stuck his foot out so that the middle-aged waiter would trip. The waiter proceeded to take a fall and banged his h
ead with a strong impact on the floor, sending the silver cup flying.

  Wayne picked up the silver cup off of the floor and put the prized possession on his tray. He patted the hurting waiter on the back. The waiter was too dazed to say anything. Wayne read the cup’s inscription, “De Fuhrer,” Bingo.

  Hitler stepped up to the podium. Behind him hung a huge red banner with the all-important party symbol, the swastika, dead in the center of it. Seated behind the Fuehrer were top Nazi officials, including Rudolf Hess and Hermann Goering. The place had become silent.

  Hitler stood at the podium for a full two minutes before talking. This built up anticipation for the audience, whether a small beer hall audience or a packed stadium audience, to hear their leader speak his magical words of leadership and wisdom. Hitler, being the gifted orator that he was, really knew how to work a crowd to his advantage.

  Finally, the Nazi leader spoke in a mild tone, “A great victory has been had today, but much more has yet to be done. Today, we have paved the way for Germany to rightfully regain what was once hers.

  The crowd cheered and he continued, “None but the members of the nation may be citizens of the State. None but of those of German blood, of the purest of Germanic bloodlines, will...”

  Wayne entered the kitchen. The prep cook was gone. The place was empty. He had the Silver Cup. Things could not be going any better.

  Wayne picked up a bottle of champagne and poured some champagne into the Silver Cup. He glanced around the now empty kitchen. The coast was clear. Wayne removed the vial of poison from his pocket. He unscrewed the protective cap and poured the deadly contents of the vial into the beautiful Silver Cup.

  A waiter, the one Wayne had originally seen in the kitchen, walked in. The waiter, a young guy of average build, spotted Wayne. Something he saw angered him.

  He grabbed Wayne by the shoulders and pushed him with so much force against a counter where utensils hung that most of them fell to the ground.

  “Idiot!” the waiter yelled. He pushed Wayne hard again, this time into another counter. On the counter was a carving board and a full selection of carving knives. The waiter pinned Wayne down. He picked up a knife that had to have had a blade at least a foot long, and put the sharp edge of the blade against Wayne’s neck.