The Heritage Paper (7 page)

The ringing of her phone interrupted the confrontation. After listening for a moment, she responded sharply, “He left here twenty minutes ago—no he’s not with me.”

When she hung up, the color drained from her face and Principal Sweetney turned back into a worried grandmother. “It’s Jamie—he never showed up for Career Day.”

Ben Youkelstein remained calm in the sea of panic. If there was anything he felt comfortable doing in this world, it was tracking down a predator.

The general consensus of the others was that one of two things occurred. The best case was that Jamie, stung by his punishment, ran away to make a statement.

The other scenario, and the more troubling one, was that Jamie was abducted by the Apostles. Every brittle bone in Ben’s body told him that Ellen was telling the truth, meaning the children were in great danger. But he doubted that Jamie was “taken.” This group thrived for decades by fitting into the background, and they weren’t going to start seeking the spotlight as they closed in on their goals. Police involvement and Amber Alerts didn’t fit their profile.

After Principal Sweetney called the authorities and began the process of locking down the school exits, Ben wandered off on his own to find the boy. He figured if he could find Mengele in Bertioga, then this should be a piece of cake. With Aligor’s stinging words still lodged in his craw, he moved as swiftly as his ancient legs would allow across the school grounds, leaning on his trusty umbrella.

He first crossed paths with Aligor Sterling at the Terezin concentration camp in Czechoslovakia. It was December of 1944 and Ben was at his lowest moment. Aligor saved his life that time. When Ben met up with him years later, Aligor would change it.

He could feel the cold steel flow through his veins when he thought back to that time. It seemed like just yesterday when the Gestapo raided his Munich apartment, and he and his fiancée, Esther, were transported to Terezin. The Nazis also took his parents. His mother died of typhus in Westerbork, a transit camp, while his father, a well-respected doctor in Munich, was taken directly to the extermination camps on the charges he provided medical assistance to communists and Jews.

At first, Ben found the experience at Terezin strangely rewarding. The conditions were bad—in 1942 alone, almost sixteen thousand residents died of starvation—but Terezin provided a sense of community and he felt it an honor to be surrounded by such creativity and culture.

Terezin was where they took the “privileged” Jews. It was full of artists, writers, and scientists. There were so many musicians that four concert orchestras operated at the camp and several stage performances were put on each year. Ben and Esther even tried their hand at acting. The Jewish elders took it upon themselves to make sure all the children continued their education, and many chipped in to help teach them.

Thoughts of the children still burned the pit of his stomach. Of the fifteen thousand children who passed through Terezin, only about a thousand survived, which was probably an optimistic estimate. But that was just a small portion of the death at the camp, as most of Ben’s friends were either transported eastward to Auschwitz for execution, or succumbed to the conditions at the camp. He was one of the rare survivors, but sadly, Esther was not.

From the moment she was taken from him, Ben wanted to join her in death. The only reason he was still alive was the slave labor he performed, whether it be splitting mica rocks, or spraying German military uniforms a white dye to help camouflage Nazi soldiers on the Russian front. But he’d been stricken with typhoid fever, and a sick man had no value to the monsters. It was a certain death sentence, but a sentence he welcomed.

That was when he met a young man who arrived at Terezin in late November 1944. His freshness reminded Ben of himself when he’d first arrived. And like him, the young man was also a medical student who was the son of a doctor. But he nursed Ben back to health with his friendship, not medicine, and more importantly, built back his will to live. He used to make Ben vow that when they got out they’d seek revenge on the Nazis.

Ben couldn’t picture them ever getting out, but didn’t want to squash Aligor Sterling’s idealism. It’s what kept them both alive as long as it did, he was convinced. But then a miracle did happen, or so he thought. On February 5, 1945, Himmler allowed the transport of twelve hundred Jews from Terezin to Switzerland in an agreement with Swiss President Jean-Marie Musy. Ben would later find that Himmler did this as a PR move, hoping to save himself, with Germany’s war effort on the brink of collapse. He’d always been convinced that Himmler had survived the war, and Ellen’s tale validated his thoughts.

Ben remained in Switzerland following the war. He resumed his medical studies and eventually became a forensic surgeon. He settled into a prosperous life with a fulfilling job and a supportive wife. But he still craved justice—he couldn’t let it go. And that’s why he felt compelled to pilgrimage to Israel in 1960 for the war crimes trial of Adolf Eichman, one of the chief executors of the Holocaust, who had been captured in Argentina after years on the run. It was there that Ben again crossed paths with Aligor, who’d made a similar journey, fueled by the same pain. It had been fifteen years since they’d last seen each other, but to Ben it seemed like five minutes.

Aligor had also completed his medical degree after the war, but never became a practicing physician. He still healed wounds, but in a different way. His wealthy and influential family migrated from Prague to New York. Aligor’s father, Jacob Sterling, a concentration camp survivor himself, opened an organization called Sterling Center, to further Jewish causes and keep history from repeating itself. By the time of the Eichman trial, Aligor had taken over the leadership of the organization. And while his father’s mission statement was to always look ahead, Aligor knew the only way to future peace was to get justice for the atrocities of the past. And during their chance reunion in Jerusalem, he’d found a partner in this quest.

After a series of small but satisfying captures, they hooked their first big fish—Hitler’s private secretary Martin Bormann, who supposedly had died while trying to escape Berlin. Aligor used his many contacts to track him down in the remote, treacherous hills of southern Chile. Bormann’s final words had stuck with him for all these years. And after today’s events, they took on greater meaning.

With over forty years of hindsight, Ben would admit the prudent thing to do would’ve been to keep Bormann alive. If his claims about Himmler were just a con to buy time, as both he and Aligor were convinced they were, then what was the harm of finding out for sure? But there was something about the arrogance in his voice, and how he talked down at them, just like the guards at Terezin did—the animals that killed Esther in cold blood. They snapped, and by the time Ben pulled Aligor from beating Bormann’s bloody body, he’d already been dead for five minutes. They took his head as a souvenir. Ben considered it a symbol of justice.

Over the years, some got justice in a courtroom for the world to see, while others like Mengele, the “Butcher of Auschwitz,” received a more personal brand—they left his stroke-ridden body in the Brazilian surf like floating garbage.

Up ahead he noticed the young boy’s head peeking out of a slow moving car. It was moving toward the exit of the school grounds. Ben walked, slow but steady. He moved under a Career Day banner and toward the car, which had stopped to allow a group of students to cross the street. He moved to the open window of the vehicle and placed the pointed tip of his umbrella at the neck of the driver.

“You’re not going anywhere with that child.”

In the midst of the chaos, Veronica realized that Jamie was in the clutches of a gun-toting lunatic. This news gave her a surprising sense of peace.

She had sought out Eddie for help, but when he was nowhere to be found, she put two-and-two together. Jamie must have conned Eddie into giving him a joyride in the police cruiser.

She took the lead, running ahead of the group. She asked a few people if they’d seen a police car, and was pointed in the right direction. But what she found was not very comforting.

Youkelstein was about to stab Eddie with … his umbrella?

“You’re making a big mistake, Grandpa,” she heard Eddie roar.

Veronica ran as fast as she could. “Eddie—it’s a misunderstanding!”

But Eddie was tough to cool down once he arrived at a boil. And he must not have gotten the memo on the fragile hips of the elderly, because he got out of the car and shoved Youkelstein to the ground. He knelt down and held his gun to Youkelstein’s mustache.

“You are about to die of natural causes, old man—two shots to the head!” Eddie continued like a crazy man.

“Eddie … no!” she screamed again.

He glanced up and saw Veronica. He must have realized how absurd it looked to be pointing a gun at a ninety-year-old man who attacked him with an umbrella, because he returned the gun to his holster.

Veronica arrived, out of breath. The others slowly formed behind her, her mother coughing up her smoker’s lung.

“We had reports that Jamie was missing,” Veronica stated vaguely, not going into the whole Nazi story. She had no idea how she’d explain to Eddie what Ellen confessed to in the classroom. Either she was lying, a lying Nazi, or had lost her mind. Eddie would accept none of the above.

Before Eddie could question her, Aligor Sterling spoke up, “Lieutenant Peterson—I see you’re doing prep work for our meeting today.”

Eddie actually smiled, noticing Sterling’s presence. “I guess you could say that, Mr. Sterling.”

“Meeting?” Veronica asked.

“It’s nothing,” Eddie deflected.

Sterling disagreed. “By nothing, Lieutenant Peterson means he’s been selected to lead the NYPD security team to protect Jim Kingston tomorrow night when he gives his acceptance speech in New York. It’s a historic occasion, and I’m sure a great honor for Lieutenant Peterson and his fellow NYPD officers.”

Veronica looked proudly at Eddie. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“I’m just doing my job—it’s no big deal,” Eddie shrugged it off, as he did with any praise.

Veronica knew the real reason he didn’t say anything. It was the idea that he received special treatment because he was Harold Peterson’s adopted grandson. It was the same reason he turned down a lucrative detective job to work undercover in a seedy section of the Bronx.

Eddie was the son of Greta Snyder, while his biological father was a drug dealer who used to beat Greta. That was, until he was confronted by a police officer named Harry Peterson Jr., the son of the legendary NYPD detective. Harry Jr. explained that it was in his best interest to hop on the next bus out of town, to never be seen again, and Eddie’s father agreed.

Harry Jr. nursed Greta back to health and their relationship soon blossomed into a romance, which led to a rocky marriage and a half-brother named Carsten. But any dreams of a happy family life drowned in the pool of Harry Jr.’s blood on their kitchen floor. With their parents gone, Eddie and Carsten were raised by Ellen and Harold Sr. They were the only true family Eddie ever knew. He took the name Peterson and even followed Harold Sr.’s footsteps by joining the NYPD.

“That’s great, Uncle Eddie,” Maggie exclaimed and gave him a hug around his midsection.

Aligor Sterling broke up the party, announcing that he’d had enough “nonsense” for one day and was leaving. But before he did, he looked to Veronica and said, “Ms. Peterson—it’s bad enough we have a daily reminder of the ghosts from the past. Please don’t let people create new ones for you.”

His eyes wandered to Youkelstein as he said it.

Zach was again quietly assessing the situation. And as Sterling wheeled toward his limo, he asked, “Are you sure your sudden loss of interest isn’t because any connection between your agency and Ellen, an admitted Nazi, will hurt the Sterling Center’s credibility, and more importantly, impair your candidate’s chances of winning tomorrow’s election?”

Sterling looked smug. “My house is in order, Mr. Chester. Can you say the same thing?”

Zach said nothing.

“Say hello to your wife,” Sterling said as he wheeled away.

Low blow,
Veronica thought. She’d seen a whole different side of Sterling today. The Nazi hunting, skull displaying, condescending side. It wasn’t a side she cared for.

Suddenly two men with semi-automatic rifles appeared out of nowhere and moved in on Sterling.

Veronica instinctively began to scream out a warning. But realized that Sterling and the machine-gun guys were on the same team. They circled him, and helped him into the limo. Veronica was amazed she hadn’t even seen the guards, who had melded into the tree-lined campus.

Zach dusted himself off from the cheap shot and forced a smile. “I think he’s still a little upset over that story I did on them. I implied that they sometimes bent the rules to get justice, which he took exception to. But he has much bigger enemies than some small-time journalist. Those guys with the scary looking guns are his security detail. They are former Mossad intelligence agents from Israel. Sterling gets about as many death threats a day as the president and he’s betting that semi-automatic beats anti-Semitic every time. Probably a wise choice.”