The Twins

By Sheldon Cohen

Adolph Hitler has assumed power in Germany. A brilliant theoretical and experimental physicist has clandestinely discovered the secret of nuclear energy and the nuclear bomb. No other physicist has come close to this realization. The German physicist is prepared to deliver this secret to his Fuehrer and assure him control of the world. Who is this physicist? How can he be stopped? The intelligence services of two countries combine in an effort to disrupt the physicist's efforts. There is one chance. Time is of the essence. What is there about the physicist's past that can be utilized to try and prevent this threat to the world? Will it succeed? The future of the world hangs in the balance.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781456607265

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CHAPTER 1

The farm, just outside of Augsberg, Germany, had been in the Stegerwald family for five generations. In 1906, the main crop was barley, which made the farm very important because the Germans used barley to make beer—their national drink.

Yellow crops in parallel rows as far as the eye could see interrupted a thick carpet of grass. Narrow dirt roads wound up the low hills, disappeared on the other side and emerged again over the next hill. Crystal clear streams coursed over the land. Wooden fences divided the land into sections, and small homes and barns dotted the landscape.

Ludwig Stegerwald, a forty-eight-year-old widower, owned the farm. He was a short man of five foot five inches with dark brown hair that matched his intense, brown eyes burning from under heavy brows.

His gaze never rested on one site for long, his head moving from observation to observation like a bird perched on a branch. One could tell he was making mental calculations when his eyes would stop blinking and his wordless lips would move with his thoughts. The entire farm’s financial data, stretching back to the time that he inherited the farm from his father, were in his brain available for instant recall on a second’s notice. He had no need of paper records.

His amazing computational expertise was legend in Bavaria and Swabia. People would bring him long columns of figures. Ludwig, add this please. He would stare for two or three seconds, and respond, Six thousand eight hundred and sixty-five.

How much is 4,245 times 3,204?

This would take a few seconds longer. 13,600,980. Numbers squared or cubed were faster. What is eighteen cubed?

With the question would come the response, 5,832.

How do you add so fast?

His answer never varied. I just do.

Ludwig was the calculator of the community long before the average person had access to them. Neighbors who grew up with him reported amazing stories of his school exploits. His teachers did not know what to do, because when he entered kindergarten he was reading at a fifth-grade level. His parents, who were just as exasperated as his teachers, pulled him out of school after it became clear that the course of instruction had nothing to offer their son.

Ludwig’s parents were poor farmers. They never considered an education beyond grade school, and, even if they had, they could never have afforded it.

He had no formal education, but it made no difference. He was a voracious reader with a photographic memory. He became a source of information on any subject, not only mathematics. He was enamored with the history of science and had an encyclopedic knowledge in this area. In fact, on every business trip to Munich, he would stop at the main library to read the latest Annalen der Physik journal so that he could keep up with recent advances. Although he could not always understand the advanced mathematics so often included in the articles, he did have a good grasp of the physical principles involved.

He would try to duplicate the experiments he had read about in the journals. For this purpose, he set up a small laboratory in his attic, and when he was at work in his sanctuary, no one dared disturb him. He worked with closed glass tubes emptied of air through which he would send an electric current from the negative pole (cathode) of an electric source. The tube would glow with beautiful colored rays of light that fascinated him. What were the rays that appeared once the current started? Was electricity an actual particle of matter? Was it a wave? Was it a complete atom?

On one of these trips to Munich, he learned that Joseph John Thomson, a Scottish physicist, had solved the mystery. Thomson determined that the so-called cathode ray was composed of negative charges of electricity. Scientists would soon be calling them electrons.

This was the source of great fascination for Ludwig. However, people he could discuss these developments with were a precious few. One of them was his business advisor, Joshua Weiss, who appreciated Ludwig’s scientific genius. You’re like Michael Faraday, Ludwig. He didn’t have any scientific training either. So Ludwig became content to add scientific information to his vast store of physical knowledge and found great satisfaction in doing so. He set up a similar experiment and tried to duplicate Thomson’s work.

If anyone in town needed information on any subject, they would approach him. He never conveyed an attitude of superiority, answering their questions with whatever amount of detail he felt necessary to convey the information. For this, his neighbors showered him with love and respect.

CHAPTER 2

Werner Stegerwald, Ludwig’s son, was the supervisor of his father’s farm. He was born there, as were his father and grandfathers before him. He was the third of four children. His two older sisters were married. One lived in town, and the other lived in Munich. A younger brother was soon to be married.

Werner was twenty-three years old. He was a short man like his father, not quite five foot six, and had dark blond hair and blue eyes that years later would stand him in good stead in Germany. In spite of his short stature, he was well muscled, honed by intense physical labor on his father’s farm. No one had been able to defeat him in arm wrestling competition. People gave him a wide berth because of his morose manner and rough exterior.

His strengths lay in the physical aspects of farming. He oversaw the planting and growing of the barley and the harvesting, steeping, germinating, and kilning process essential to producing the final malt product. At least fifty percent of the barley was used to make malt and the other fifty percent was used as livestock feed and human food. He took pride in being able to do all the heavy work alone, and this, no doubt, contributed to his enormous strength.

Ludwig had long since learned that his son had neither interest in nor the capacity to understand scientific principles, so the two of them, to Ludwig’s disappointment, never shared the subject together.

Tradition had it that the eldest son would inherit the farm, so Werner made every effort to prepare himself to take over. He had married his childhood schoolmate, Brigid, three years before in 1903. Together they built a small home on the edge of the farm.

To his dismay, his wife was still childless after three years of marriage, and this was becoming a cause of concern for both of them. Ludwig suggested that they had better get busy, for who would inherit the farm after Werner? What Ludwig did not know was that they had been very busy, but in spite of their efforts, she had not conceived.

Brigid was the daughter of a neighboring farmer. She was a five-foot-three-inch beauty with brown eyes and brown-blond hair. She spent her childhood in the presence of a strict disciplinarian father, who was quick to use the lash when necessary.

She found in Werner a man of similar gruff manners, but not prone to the physical violence of her father. This she viewed as a plus. She was quiet and intelligent, but her intellect remained buried, fearful of manifesting itself before the domineering male influences in her life.

One day, Werner came home after a very hard day at work. There were delays because of some faulty machinery that he had to repair. Such a situation would often make him very angry and cause him to scowl in a way that Brigid had learned to recognize. When she saw that look on his face, she would do her best to give him plenty of space by making herself scarce.

On this evening, Werner arrived home dirty and covered with perspiration. He entered the kitchen with its homemade cabinets, tables and chairs that he had built from the trees on his farm.

Brigid was in the kitchen wearing her apron. She had prepared dinner and she took one look at Werner with his dirty, grease-covered hands and face, disheveled hair, and lips turned down into that familiar scowl, and she wondered what would erupt. She knew that there was tension between them and she knew the reason. She twisted her apron strings, as she was prone to do when she was nervous. Their situation gave her considerable depression, which caused her to become more withdrawn. Even her rare smiles had disappeared. Werner would often find her with her head in her hands looking down at the floor, her cheeks pale, and her sparkling brown eyes and hair turned dull. You better leave me, she would say. I can’t give you a son.

Werner had not responded yet, but she knew how he felt. The support Brigid needed during this very stressful time would not come from Werner; it never had. Her depression continued, and with it, she was losing all interest in the physical side of their marriage, feigning headaches and avoiding him whenever she could.

Werner was becoming more angry and tense. She had been dreading the eruption, but at the same time hoped it would happen so that the issue could be settled. One look at him told her now might be the time. She was right.

You don’t want to try anymore? Are you waiting for an Immaculate Conception? said Werner with a stern, angry look on his face, as if that had been the topic of discussion all along. That only happened one time in history. I’m boiling inside. Why the hell I put up with it I’ll never know.

I don’t care what you do, she said.

Let’s go to a doctor in Munich and see if he can find out what’s wrong with you.

Doctors can’t do anything; it’s an act of God. If you leave, I’ll understand.

He was right, said Werner.

Who was right? What are you talking about? she asked, making eye contact with her husband for the first time.

I talked to Pastor Braun. He said that you would say just what you said. He told me that women get depressed when they can’t get pregnant and want to give up and leave so their husbands can marry someone else.

I’d understand if you did that. Why did you speak to Pastor Braun?

It took me awhile to get up the nerve. It was digging a hole in my brain. I needed someone to talk to before I blew up. I can get what you have to offer anytime. There are plenty of women out there that might be interested.

So go, she said, her gaze drifting away from her husband.

The whole thing is driving me crazy. At least the pastor will not shoot his mouth off; he’ll keep it to himself. Do you want me to divorce you? he asked.

With unchanged expression, she said, That’s fine. You’ll do what you want anyhow.

Banging his greasy hands on the clean white tablecloth, he said, That settles it. Pastor Braun wants to see us. He said to come in tonight. I told him we’d be there another time because I have to go to Alfred’s bachelor party. Tomorrow’s Alfred’s wedding day. Remember?

Werner turned and left the room. Brigid sighed in relief. The tirade was over for now, but she knew he had laid down the gauntlet. Not a word passed between them the rest of the night.

CHAPTER 3

Werner dressed in his Sunday finest. He and two of Alfred’s friends were to meet Alfred in the town’s beer hall where they would spend one last night with him while he was still a bachelor. Werner was in no mood for levity, but this obligation he could not ignore.

Alfred was the first to arrive. He chose a booth in one corner of the large square room farthest from the bar. He sat there contemplating his future as a married man, burying his insecurity behind a confident demeanor.

Werner’s younger and only brother, Alfred, was twenty years old. He lived in town and worked as an apprentice glass blower. In fact, he was the source for the glass tubes for his father’s experiments. During the heavy season of malt production, Alfred would spend whatever time he could spare working on the farm helping Werner.

He was the same size as his older brother, also had blue eyes and blond hair, and knew how to have a good time. Unlike Werner, who resembled their father, Alfred had more of his mother’s appearance. He had a thin face, high cheekbones, and a slightly upturned nose. Several months ago, he had announced his engagement to Helene Schmidt, the only child of a local hotel owner.

Besides blowing decorative glass works, Alfred was involved in producing the cathode ray tubes physicists and chemists used for experiments at the University of Munich. He would receive drawings of these special tubes and then shape them according to the scientist’s specifications. This was the most difficult task in glass blowing, and Alfred’s boss, Sigmund Halder, blew the more complicated forms. Alfred would tackle the simpler structures, and, when he showed improvement, Sigmund would give him some of the more difficult tasks. He would fashion a cathode ray tube for Ludwig and wonder why his father was wasting his time on that stuff.

The second son of a German farm family needed an occupation to depend upon, because the first-born son would always inherit the farm. In German society, this was tradition. Many second sons would leave Germany in difficult times. The majority of them immigrated to the United States.

Alfred was secure for the time being. Although his income was insufficient to support a wife, his apprenticeship was doing well, and working with his brother in malt production supplemented his salary enough to give him the confidence to go ahead with the wedding.

Ludwig had no such faith, and he suggested his son should wait until he had more financial security. Alfred would have none of it.

My job is good, he would answer his father.

Ludwig would counter. I know what you do at the glass works. You spend a lot of time blowing those glass shapes for the University of Munich…

Yeah, I do. So that’s good, isn’t it? interrupted Alfred.

It’s been good, but the use of those glass tubes is for a certain kind of research. And they’ve made discoveries about the atom and light and electricity that could mean that this kind of research might not be necessary anymore. They may cut down or even stop using those glass tubes. You never know.

How do you know about that kind of stuff? Alfred would ask.

I read plenty. You should try it sometime. They learned a lot by passing electricity through those tubes. In fact, they learned what electricity is, so they may not need to experiment like that any more. It looks like they have better methods now. At this point Alfred’s eyes would glaze over, and Ludwig would realize that he had just wasted his breath.

Alfred remained deep in thought as he waited for his guests at the beer hall. Noisy and boisterous patrons filled the room. The Augsberg beer hall was the most popular meeting place in town.

The room was about forty meters square with a high ceiling held up by twelve pillars. Tables seating two to eight patrons filled the center of the room. Booths seating four to eight patrons surrounded the periphery on two sides. A large bar with stools occupied a third side. Behind the bar were two entrances to the kitchen.

Alfred’s waitress approached him. Yes sir, what would you like?

Alfred could only stare. The waitress was very attractive. She had large brown-green eyes and brown hair that flowed an inch past her shoulders. She wore no makeup, but Alfred could see that she needed none, for her complexion was as clear and unblemished as an artist’s portrait. She wore an apron over a floor length brown skirt and an orange blouse with embroidered frills on her shoulders. However, a frown and her moist shimmering eyes shattered the image as Alfred noticed that she appeared to be on the verge of tears.

I’m expecting some other guys, but I’ll have a beer now, please, he said, but what’s the matter? You look like you got the weight of the world on your shoulders.

She turned her face. Nothing, she said. I’ll get you your beer.

Alfred raised his hands, palm up. Wait, don’t run away so fast. Cheer up. What’s your name?

Frieda, she said, not making eye contact.

Where are you from? Alfred inquired in a compassionate tone of voice.

I’m from Austria.

I figured that by your accent. How old are you, Frieda?

Twenty.

The rapid-fire questions by Alfred would keep her around a bit longer. He liked what he saw, but he sensed some unhappiness. She looked depressed. Okay, Frieda, my name is Alfred Stegerwald. It’s good to know you, but I think you could use some happy time. I can tell when a woman is down.

Frieda looked at Alfred. Stegerwald, she said with a mask like face. I’m fine, she added.

They spoke for a few minutes with Alfred doing most of the talking. Back to his jovial and carefree manner, he asked Frieda many questions. She answered in a monotone.

I better get you your beer, she said.

He watched wide-eyed as Frieda walked away. Her long skirt could not hide her curvaceous body.

When Werner and their friends arrived, Alfred was half-finished with his beer.

Boozing up already? The wedding boy is not supposed to pay, said Werner.

I told the waitress you were coming, and she said she’d run a tab. Drink up, boys. My brother has more money then he knows what to do with.

Yeah, right, said Werner. He was deep in his own thoughts. He was at the beer hall because he had to be and would try to get his frustration with his own wife out of his mind. Plenty of beer might be a good way to do it.

Alfred searched the bar with his eyes. When he saw his waitress, he waved his hand. Frieda, he called, holding up four fingers.

You know her name already? said Sigmund, Alfred’s barrel-chested boss.

You bet I know her name, and her age, too. She’s twenty. She’s from Austria. It never takes me long to learn about a good-looking lady.

You got damn good taste, said Reinhard, a neighbor and former schoolmate of Alfred’s. He stood a full head taller than his classmate did. Their peers had once deemed them an unusual combination as they walked to school together.

She lives in one of the cabins in the back, said Alfred.

I suppose you also got her measurements? asked Sigmund.

He doesn’t have to ask such questions. Lover boy gets the measurements in person, said Reinhard.

Frieda returned with the four beers perched on a tray on her right hand, shoulder level, palm up.

Thank you, Frieda. My brother here, money bags Werner, gets the bill.

With unchanged expression Frieda said, Here you are gentlemen. Heidi will be your server now.

Alfred sat upright. What? You’re deserting us, Frieda?

I’m off duty now. I only work until 9:00.

But we were just getting to know you. The beer’s gonna turn bitter if you leave, said Alfred with a wink

Werner smiled. He knew his notorious, womanizing brother was on the make.

As long as you’re off duty, maybe you’d like to join us, Frieda, said a flirtatious Alfred.

Frieda stared at Alfred, her eyes like slits. The boss wouldn’t like that. He says I can’t sit with the customers.

What a narrow-minded man. What about your cabin? Can you sit with the customers there? asked Alfred.

Frieda bent over Alfred, cupped her hand over his ear, and whispered, I can sit with anyone I want in my cabin. I pay rent there. If someone leaves the beer hall, then he isn’t a customer anymore.

"Yes," said Alfred delighted with her sudden change.

Frieda turned and walked away. She left her apron at the bar, and, just before she left the beer hall, she glanced back and stared at Alfred. Her face had a dual mask: sadness and anger.

Werner watched this interplay between the attractive waitress and his brother with the knowing smile still on his face. He looked at Alfred. What the hell was that all about?

Sporting a smug smile, Alfred said, The poor thing has fallen in love. She can’t help it. I have that effect on all women. It’s a curse I must bear, said Alfred, placing the back of his right hand on his forehead.

Reinhard told his friend, Don’t worry. Since I’m a good friend of yours, I’ll be ready to help anytime I can. After all, what are friends for? Then he added, Time for a toast. Let’s drink to my crazy friend. He should have such a good marriage that he won’t have to think of the Frieda’s of the world.