From the Ashes (28 page)

Manhattan
Present Day

“So Rockefeller’s money goes to the Nazi Party,” Wayne continued, “and on election day in July 1932, the extra funding helps them win more than double the number of seats in the Reichstag than they had previously. Beyond that, they were the most powerful party in the Reichstag, their 230 seats dwarfing the Marxist-leaning Social Democratic Party’s 133 seats and the Communist Party of Germany’s 89 seats.”

Jon was shaking his head. “But then the Nazis
lost
seats when a special election was held that November.”

“Yes, they did,” Wayne said. “The Nazis lost seats, while the Communist Party gained seats. In fact, the Communists and the Social Democrats together now had more seats than the Nazis. Marxism was winning again. So we had to intervene once more.”

Mara was still standing dumbstruck, her mouth slightly ajar as she struggled to take all of this in. Jon, on the other hand, needed to scrutinize every detail.

“But neither Stimson nor Rockefeller had anything to do with Hitler’s rise to the Chancellorship. That was what really cemented the Nazis’ hold on Germany. And that was the work of Franz von Papen, President Hindenburg, and Hitler himself.”

Wayne looked troubled, as though fighting off some inner demon. “Every man has his price.”

Jon’s face blanched. “No, they couldn’t have...”

“How else could you explain a respected nobleman like von Papen, himself a former Chancellor, throwing his lot in with Adolf Hitler? Simple. We bought him. Stimson went back to Rockefeller in November of ’32. Asked for another million to finally ensure that the march of Communism stopped at the Rhine. Rockefeller agreed, but only in exchange for a second detailed contract like the one they had exchanged in January. The formalities taken care of, Stimson had his agents take the million into the heart of Germany to bribe Franz von Papen himself. One million of Rockefeller’s dollars bought Papen’s cooperation, and with it, a Nazi bulwark against Communism.”

Wayne quickened his pace again, finishing the story that Jon already knew the ending to. “Papen convinces President Hindenburg that Hitler can be controlled if they just appease him with the Chancellorship. Hindenburg is in his mid-eighties and his mind is starting to feel the effects of old age. He acquiesces to Papen’s request, ousting Kurt von Schleicher and appointing Hitler as Chancellor, the very position Hindenburg had denied him just five months earlier. The Reichstag fire in February allowed Hitler to enact Article 48 of the Weimar Constitution, granting him emergency powers that Hindenburg didn’t argue with. Hitler and the Nazis consolidated their power until 1934, when Hindenburg died and Hitler proclaimed himself President and supreme leader, or
Führer,
of the land. And the rest is history.”

Jon and Mara’s faces were twisted into an expression somewhere between shock and incredulity, an expression they had worn for the past five minutes of the story. Jon noted the pause, realized the story had come to an end, and spoke up.

“So that’s what this whole cover-up is about. Making sure people don’t find out about our involvement with the Nazis?”

“That’s it. What would you say if you knew that the worst injustices of the twentieth century, the most devastating war and the most widespread case of genocide the world has ever seen, if you knew that your country was responsible for putting those men in power? What do you think would happen in the Middle East, with our relationship with Israel, if it came out that the American government had indirectly abetted the Holocaust? Islamo-fundamentalism, homegrown right-wing and left-wing terrorist groups, our political and economic allies and enemies alike would all have a field day with us. ‘Sorry about your countries getting decimated, France and Britain.’ And Germany, for that matter. How do you think our position as a player in the world stage would look after that kind of revelation? We’re talking World War III: the world against us. Or at least, that’s... certain people’s take on it.”

Jon averted his wide-open eyes and exhaled sharply through his teeth. Mara still stared through Wayne at the wall behind him.

“But they couldn’t have known that...” Jon’s mind scrambled to come to terms with what he was hearing. “How do you know all of this? How do you even know us? How do we know you’re not screwing around with us?”

“Because I’m one of the ones charged with keeping the conspiracy secret. I’m an agent with the Division.”

“What?” Jon’s exclamation was squeakier than he had intended. “You’re charged with keeping the secret, and you just
told
it to us? And what the hell is the Division?”

Mara had regained enough presence of mind to watch the exchange of words, her face turning from Jon to Wayne and back again like a tennis spectator following the volleys of a match, but her eyes were still fixed wide-open with disbelief, her mouth slightly agape.

“One question at a time. I’ll answer the second one first. The Division is the... project, agency, call it what you will, that Stimson set up in ’41 to cover up his involvement – the country’s involvement – in the events of ’32 and ’33 in Germany. Stimson had gotten rid of the U.S.A.’s counterespionage division in 1929, famously stating that ‘gentlemen don’t read each other’s mail.’ But he quickly changed his mind on that, albeit not publicly. The Office of Strategic Services – the predecessor to the CIA – was established in 1941 while Stimson was Secretary of War. He managed to piggyback off of that and set up his own damage control unit. Its sole prerogative was to make certain that the truth about America’s involvement in the rise of Nazi Germany was never made public.” Wayne smiled weakly, as though musing to himself. “‘Operation Phoenix,’ he had called the original missions. Objective: make a strong, right-wing Germany rise from the ashes of the all-but-failed Weimar Republic to battle off the westward march of Communism. And it succeeded. A little too well, you might say.”

Mara coughed nervously. Wayne glanced at her, then proceeded.

“When things went south, when all of our European allies were being devoured not by Communism but by the monster we had created, this war-mongering, power-hungry beast that was Nazi Germany, the original conspirators freaked. The phoenix had risen and was turning our allies to ash. Bad PR for Washington, if the truth got out. So, shortly after he was appointed Secretary of War by Roosevelt – the ‘Communist sympathizer’ who he had feared was going to sell out the country to the Soviets – Stimson set up an agency that would keep tabs on the any leaks about the mission. Seal ‘em up real quick if any appeared. And seal ‘em up they did. So the Division, as it came to be called among the very few who knew about it, shut the curious and the loose-lipped up – permanently. They called it ‘information containment.’ Basically, no one outside of the Division was supposed to know anything about the Operation – or about the Division, for that matter. Think McCarthyism, but inverted. Everyone knew about the McCarthy witch hunts, and in some cases, it backfired. What’s a sure way to get someone to think about Communism? Talk about Communism, plaster it all over the news, vilify it in public proclamations and spectacles. And what does that do? Give it an allure, a mystique. Stimson chose a different route with his undesirable topic – nip it in the bud, quietly and irreparably.”

“Michael...” Mara whispered to the stones of the floor.

“Yes, Michael was probing where too many had probed before. Probing quite effectively, actually. He got closer to the truth than most before he was eliminated.”

“He was
murdered,
you sick bastard,” Jon seethed.

Wayne frowned. “It’s just the training lingo talking. Apologies.”

“So if you’re... one of them,” Mara asked, finally looking at Wayne again, “then why are you helping us?”

“I haven’t helped you yet.”

“Alright then, why are you telling us about what happened? Why are you spilling your ‘Division’s’ secrets?” Jon made air quotes as he said ‘Division,’ his tone faintly mocking.

“Because I want it to end.”

“You want
what
to end?” Jon asked.

“The killing, the lies, the cover-up. It’s a vicious cycle.” Wayne looked to the face of Jesus shining in the window. “Christ Himself said that the truth would set us free.” He turned his eyes back to Jon. “And only through proclaiming the truth can the killing stop.”

“So what, we just go down to Times Square, tell Katie Couric about a government conspiracy to put the Nazis in power eighty years ago, tell her how they’ve been killing their own curious citizens ever since?”

“Not without proof, no.”

“What proof is there? I imagine Stimson covered his tracks pretty well.”

Wayne smiled. “He did. But Stimson wasn’t the only one involved in the conspiracy.”

“Rockefeller.” Jon’s eyes lit up. The map from Michael’s notebook. He
knew.
Somehow, Michael had found out about the whole conspiracy. Or at least enough to connect the dots between Roger Blumhurst’s suicide and Rockefeller’s Manhattan properties. The emails, the phone calls, the newspaper articles. And everything on Michael’s laptop. Even though Jon couldn’t go through all of Michael’s sources right now and see how he had figured out what he had, he felt a surge of pride at his brother’s brilliance. And then he remembered that it was this very brilliance that had gotten him killed.

“Exactly. The contracts Rockefeller exchanged with Stimson – for all intents and purposes, the Dossiers commissioning Operation Phoenix. When Stimson created the Division, one of the first loose ends he tried to tie up was getting rid of those Dossiers. Rockefeller refused to give them up. He said that they were in a safe place, and that someday, at the right time, they would be revealed. Not during his lifetime, he was sure, but someday, the truth behind the biggest mistake of his life would come out. And his guilty conscience would be bared posthumously for all to see.”

“Someplace safe...” Jon repeated, deep in thought.

“Stimson persisted in his attempts to get Rockefeller to turn over the Dossiers, but Rockefeller never gave them up – or the secret of their final resting place.”

“The man owned half of New York. He could’ve hidden it anywhere!”

“And not just in New York, Jon. Ohio, Arizona, Illinois, Wyoming, abroad. The man had homes and projects everywhere. Not to mention his philanthropic ventures.”

Something stirred within Jon’s mind at this last statement, but he decided to file it away for later.
Don’t show your cards too early,
he reminded himself.
Or in some cases, don’t show them at all.

“And this is the proof you spoke of?” Mara asked. “The proof that could end the killing?”

“Yes. If the Dossiers are brought to light, if the truth of Operation Phoenix is exposed and proven, the Division would have no further reason to exist. Its mission parameters would be impossible, and the killing would end. Michael would be the last. His death would mean something, instead of being just another name in a line of lives cut short, a line known only to the ones who killed them.”

“But how in the world are we supposed to find them, if no one has been able to find them for more than seventy years?” Jon asked.

“You have something they didn’t have. Michael’s research.”

“But we’ve been over his research.
He
didn’t even know where they are.” Jon pulled his brother’s notebook from the backpack and turned to the page with the map of the city. Wayne’s face gave the slightest impression of a smile at the sight of the marked map. “He knew it was Rockefeller, but he didn’t know
where
he would have hidden it.”

“No, but he knew who could help him find out.”

“Who?” Jon and Mara blurted together.

Wayne gave his closed-mouth smile that might have bordered on patronizing. “Roger Blumhurst.”

“What?” Mara said.

“But we’ve been... wait a second...” The gears in Jon’s mind were spinning and gnashing like the blades of a blender. “It
was
you!
You‘re
the one who masqueraded as Michael and stole the envelope from Catherine Smith!”

“Jon, you’re in a church, lower your voice,” Wayne said in a maddeningly calm voice. “I didn’t
steal
it so much as she gave it to me, but yes, I took it. I had to see for myself. And now, I pass it on to you.” He pulled a yellowed envelope from his coat pocket and handed it to Jon.

“Why are you helping us? I mean, why are you even
with
the Division if you want to stop the killing? Aren’t you just putting yourself in danger, too?”

Wayne sighed, looked at the holy images shining through the window, stared for a moment, lost in thought. Finally, taking a deep breath, he turned his gaze back to his interlocutors.

“I am. I’ve probably just signed all three of our death warrants, but somehow... somehow we can stop it.
You
can stop it.”

“Why are you turning your back on your mission, though? On your job?”

“I’m not turning my back on that so much as I’m finally turning
toward
the truth. Toward the path that my own loved ones – who were also mercilessly taken from me – would have wanted for me.” He looked back at the altar for a wistful moment, breathing deeply and steadily through his nose. Then, turning back to his companions: “Jon, Mara, what path would Michael have wanted for you?”

Mara stood silent. After a moment of quiet reflection, arriving at the obvious answer, Jon spoke first.

“He would have wanted us to find the truth.”

Wayne smiled. “There you have it then.”

“But,” Mara interjected, “why don’t you do this yourself? Why do you need us?”

“Mara, Stimson and his cronies at the Division have been searching for this thing for the better part of a century. Michael got further than any of them, except, perhaps, for Roger Blumhurst, but his being
in
the Division kind of gave him a bit of a head start. Our intelligence reports indicate that you, Jon, think a lot like your brother, and considering how close each of you were to him, the two of you may be the best bet the country has of finding out the truth before we have
another
seventy years of senseless killing in the name of ‘information containment.’”