Old Wounds

By Craig Conrad

Aaron Ginsberg, a survivor of Auschwitz spots one of his Nazi captors, SS Doctor Klaus Reiner at a Seattle Airport some forty years after World War Two ended. A week later after flying back to Milwaukee, Ginsberg disappears. A worried wife and son contact Paul Rice and ask for his help in finding Ginsberg. Paul takes the case and has to fly out to Seattle to talk to another Auschwitz survivor and friend of Ginsberg’s. During Rice’s investigation he encounters an ex-Nazi who would like to get even with the United States for Germany losing another war, and a couple of enemies who would like nothing better than to one-up Rice, including the Gleaners, the Wolf-Bipeds, the newer version of the Nazis, and Kimberly Hayes, the new possessor of the Durie Grimoire, who would like to turn Rice into stone, like she did her husband.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Dec 29, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369412787

Craig Conrad

Author resides in Milwaukee. Wisconsin, has been hooked on mysteries and supernatural thrillers since reading his first H.P. Lovecraft novel. He has written twenty novels, fourteen of them are Paul Rice novels, his reluctant paranormal investigator, with cameo appearances in two others that feature two of his war buddies along with two Dutch Verlander stories, and a collection of short stories.

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Copyright © 2024 by Craig Conrad.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 12/29/2023

Xlibris

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Contents

1

Wisconsin: Sometime In The 1980s

2

3

4

5

6

7

8

9

10

11

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

19

20

21

22

23

24

25

26

27

28

Epilogue

And makes my old wounds bled anew.

– Edmund Waller, English Poet

Auschwitz Concentration and Extermination

Complex, Poland, December 1944

1

SS-Hauptsturmfuhrer Klaus Reiner was aware of Josef Mengele’s presence along with that of his pet stooge, Hans Unger, after a chance and unexpected meeting in one of the camp hallways, but pretended he wasn’t aware of the man and kept his nose buried in the notes he was carrying. In the past, Reiner had the good luck of managing to avoid such encounters. He found Mengele a bore, infatuated with his own importance and fabricated accomplishments which he never failed to point out to subordinates or fellow doctors, especially those in the SS. Mengele was a SS Captain and Doctor like himself, who as chief doctor at Auschwitz strutted around the camp like a prize peacock, or some Wagnerian god. He even whistled some Wagnerian aria as he chose who would live and who would die and who he would experiment on each time a train arrived at Auschwitz. Reiner tried to stay clear of him and Doctor Beger, and Beger’s circus entourage of characters, all of whom were not much better than Mengele and could even be worse. Reiner tried to avoid their company as much as possible without being obviously rude.

Reiner did not like the man. He had witnessed his performance on more than one occasion whenever a train came into the camp and unloaded new prisoners. Dressed in his SS uniform and jackboots or white coat, Mengele had the new prisoners parade in front of him as he sorted out the fat ones, the elderly, the sick, the pregnant women, all the children, and sent them to the gas chambers. Other prisoners he held back off to the side selected exclusively for his little experiments that he enjoyed performing. Reiner had to grudgingly admit it that Mengele cut a handsome and somewhat dashing figure, giving off a calm demeanor and false sense of empathy as he strutted about on the railroad platform, especially to those prisoners he would be experimenting on before his false facade faded and the true nature of the man revealed itself. Reiner knew he had a violent temper that would quickly show itself as it always did. In the camp recently, he witnessed Mengele beat an elderly woman, a prisoner who was chopping wood on the campgrounds, beating her into unconsciousness with a stick for no apparent reason.

Klaus, Mengele said loudly, how goes it?

Reiner stopped, knowing he was trapped and had no choice but to talk to the man. He could not pretend he was unaware of him any longer. He turned and faced him.

How are your little experiments going with the prisoners? Mengele added. I hear you are bombarding them with radio waves of some sort now. How many Jews have you killed that way?

Not as many as you, Doctor, Reiner replied. How are your experiments going with the Twins? I hear they do not live long after you examine them, nor do any of the other prisoners for that matter.

Mengele shrugged. If they die, they died for a good cause, for The Third Reich. Besides we are here to kill Jews, are we not, to rid the world of them?

Reiner was no saint, but he didn’t believe in the indiscriminate way that Mengele killed people. He didn’t see any sense in killing them piecemeal when there are ways to kill hundreds of thousands, even whole nations. He would kill for the Reich if he had to, to preserve it for the future, but not just for the sake or pleasure of killing. It is important that the prisoners I work with stay alive so I know what progress I’ve made, he said. I don’t have the luxury of killing them off like you do. How do you account for any progress in your work?

Doctor Mengele’s experiments are important too, Unger said, taking up for his master. Unger was also a doctor and a SS lieutenant. His results are known to him before the prisoner dies. What results have you had?

Reiner had no respect for Unger either. He never had a tolerance for bootlickers.

Mengele smiled at Unger, liking what he said, then at Reiner. Yes, Klaus, how is it coming? I see no results that The Reich can use to speak of.

Unger gave Reiner a smug look. He thought Reiner was just one of the many that were envious of Mengele.

Reiner caught the look and knew what Unger was thinking. In a way, he was envious of Mengele. He wished he had his height and good looks. Reiner was shorter than Mengele and had rather plain features, not handsome, but he did not envy his brain. Mengele was a dwarf in his thinking.

Reiner bit his tongue wanting to tell Mengele and Unger what he thought of Mengele’s useless and senseless experiments, which weren’t helping anyone, leastways, not to perpetuate the Reich. Instead he said, Why don’t you talk to Joseph Goebbels. He seems to be making use of what I have found and suggested.

Mengele laughed at the thought. All Goebbels is doing is constantly telling lies to the people.

Exactly, Reiner said.

What good is that, Unger said. We always do that anyway.

More good than you know, Unger, Reiner said. More good than you know. Lies and false conclusions can topple governments. Reiner walked away lost in his own thoughts. Germany was losing the war on both fronts, but they would not lose everything, not again, not if he could help it.

A month later, a staff car arrived at the Auschwitz complex, which was an immense layout. There were other attached camps within the complex like Hans’s camp; Birkenau, the killing center; Monowitz, with Buna factories; and other mining and agricultural camps. The staff car arrived with three men; an SS sergeant, the driver; an SS lieutenant, the aide; and an SS full-bird colonel. This was Standartenfuhrer Reynard Dengler’s third visit to the camp since Reiner started on his experiments in earnest, with full Nazi funding backing him along with Hitler and Himmler’s earnest prayers, if they prayed, which Dengler doubted.

Each visit was a progress report to be made directly to Hitler and Himmler, who were anxiously waiting for some results. The present visit was no different, if anything, Himmler was even more anxious when he ordered Dengler to check on Reiner this time. Even Himmler’s wife, Marga, whom he saw months ago in Berlin at one of the few social gatherings being held in the city that no doubt would soon to be under siege, seemed out of sorts, but for a different reason. I hardly see Heinrich anymore, she complained to Dengler. Tell him that I miss him and that he should come home. Dengler did tell him when he saw him days later, but knew that Himmler could care less about his wife when had Hedwig Potthast, his younger personal secretary and mistress keeping him company. But then everyone in Germany was beginning to feel jittery and apprehensive about the war and what the eventual defeat of Germany would mean to everyone, especially to those in Hitler’s close circle. They would all be hunted and put on trial by the Allies, as would all the members of the SS, thanks to Himmler.

The staff car came to a stop in front of blockhouse 00 where Doctor Reiner was running his experiments that everyone, especially Hitler and Himmler, were hoping would turn the war in Germany’s favor. Dengler had no such hope. He knew from previous visits with Reiner that his primary interest in the last six months dealt with the effective changes to the brain and not the body, and the results were slow in coming. Himmler would not be pleased again. Dengler was glad he only had to tell Himmler the news and not Hitler as well. Hitler was known to go into a rage at hearing bad news lately.

Perhaps, Doctor Reiner has good news for us today, Colonel, Lieutenant Kurt Kaufmann said, feeling optimistic since Hitler’s offensive thrust through the Ardennes this month was proving to be very successful and was big news throughout Germany thanks to Hitler’s propaganda minister, Goebbels, whom Dengler could take or leave, and certainly never believed anything he said.

Perhaps he shall, Colonel Dengler said, but seriously doubted it. He didn’t think Reiner would be any further along than he was a month ago when he last saw him. Then he addressed the sergeant, who had been his driver for the past two years, a wounded veteran from the Eastern Front, too damaged to be sent back. What do you say, Otto, good news today, or bad?

Sergeant Otto Meier did not feel the Lieutenant’s optimism about the war-news; too many things had been going wrong lately for luck to suddenly change its course. The war-news had been constantly bad since ’42. The Russians were breathing hard as they raced toward Berlin. I cannot say, Colonel, but we could use more good news.

Dengler smiled. Spoken like a true politician, Otto, but we shall soon find out, won’t we? In any case, stay in the car and keep the motor running. If the news is good, I will bring you both inside. If it is bad, I won’t be staying long.

Lieutenant Kaufman opened his car door and stepped out of the backseat of the staff car and stood at attention, holding the door open for Colonel Dengler to get out. The air was cold and you could feel snow in the air, which would add to the accumulation already on the ground. Christmas, such as it was, had come and gone. The New Year was soon to arrive, hopefully with promising news, at least something better than it had brought last year. The wind whipped at their officer’s clothing as the ground snow crunched under their jackboots. Kauffamn tried not to shiver in the cold wind. He felt that SS men should not show any weaknesses. Both officers were dressed in long, leather topcoats, and although they looked stylish, the coats were not very warm.

Dengler entered the blockhouse alone, stomping the snow off his boots, and then saw Reiner. Like Mengele, he asked, How goes it Klaus, any success to report? Anything at all that I can tell Himmler and make him smile? The man hasn’t smiled in months. Dengler removed his gloves, holding them in one hand and waited for some reply from Reiner, who was presently alone as well and not conducting any of his experiments with the prisoners.

Reiner was getting tired of people asking him the same question over and over again, especially those people that were close to Hitler and Himmler. I told everyone when I started these experiments that this was no quick fix-it-solution, he said, and that it would take time, even when I get it to work properly it will still take time.

My dear, Reiner, Dengler said, looking at him seriously, as he closed the distance between them, time is the one thing that we are running out of, and Hitler and Himmler will not be pleased with what you are telling me.

I am sorry to hear that, but it is the truth. Reiner paused in thought. Are we running out of funding already? Is that what the concern is?

Dengler had to smile. Evidently, Reiner was not privy to much of the war news. No, we will run out of time before we run out of money. Good little Germans that we are, we are already burying lots of it for a rainy day.

Reiner frowned. Why are they doing that? The war is not lost. The Ardennes’ offensive in Belgium is going quite well I understand from what little I have heard, and soon we shall have the port of Antwerp captured splitting the Allied Forces in the west.

You have been listening too much to Goebbels on the radio, Dengler said, surprised that he even heard that. He never tells the German people the truth and sugarcoats all the news. All is not roses.

What do you mean? I thought things were turning around for us?

Dengler started walking about the room, going from table to table, checking the various experimental equipment that Reiner was presently using that was lying about on top of each table. Don’t you get any news here?

On the radio sometimes; Goebbels’ broadcasts when I can listen.

They have been successful for awhile, Dengler conceded, knowing that Goebbels wasn’t the propaganda mister for nothing, but it will not last. Things have been going well because of the bad weather and the Allied Air Force has been grounded. As soon as the weather changes, they will be in the air again and I fear that will be the end of our offensive. At the moment, Goring’s esteemed Luftwaffe, I’m afraid, is nonexistent. In another day December will be over and 1945 will usher in a new year, one that I think will also usher in the end of the war for us in the months to come.

Hitler will not let it end, Reiner said with conviction. How can you say that? He could not envision what Dengler was suggesting. The German people will fight to the end. They will never give up.

Dengler scoffed. I am afraid that there will not be a choice in the matter. Presently, Hitler is hiding in his bunker afraid to come out, and the German people are no longer disillusioned by his promises of a world dominated by Germans. In the east, the Russians are on their way to Berlin, as will be the West as soon as the skies clear. I think our war will be over by June of ’45 if not sooner. You will need to find another place to finish your experiments; that is if you can survive after the war.

If Hitler and Himmler and the rest of them couldn’t see the handwriting on the wall, at least he could, Dengler thought. He rather liked Reiner and told him the truth. Dengler would have liked to see a world dominated by Germany too, but it was not to be. Conquering countries through war was one thing, but exterminating millions of people, most of them noncombatants, was something else. He couldn’t see murdering all those people from conquered countries just because they could. He was never an advocate of ‘might makes it right’ even though he disliked the communists. He couldn’t see killing anyone just because they had a difference of opinion or looked different; like they did in ’41 killing Jews, Gypsies, communists, and Russian civilians during the first months of the war with Russia. The Wehrmacht and the SS did most of the killing, and although he was in the SS, his mantra was not brutality as theirs seemed to be. Truth be known, the only reason he joined the SS was because he liked their uniforms, and before it got its sinister reputation, the SS unit promised romance and adventure, at least at the beginning. Now it was like wearing an albatross around your neck. If you were SS, you were automatically judged bad, you killed people, not like a soldier in the line of duty, but like a murderer that just likes to hurt and kill people.

What about the Waffen SS, aren’t they doing well? Reiner asked, breaking up Dengler’s train of thought. Surely, Dengler was wrong. Things just couldn’t be that bad.

Dengler looked at him sadly. More Goebbels, I’m afraid. Himmler so wanted to be part of the German Army that he created the Waffen SS, the fighting arm of the SS, and although they are doing well at times, savage brutality cannot be sustained forever, and cannot take the place of good soldiering. I’m sad to say that is the only thing they have going for them, and when they run out of that, and are overrun by the enemy, they will soon find that the brutality has changed hands.

Reiner exchanged looks with him. He had never heard Dengler talk this way before. He, like himself, wasn’t a Nazi brute, but he did share Dengler’s feeling in perpetuating the Reich. I cannot believe what you are telling me is true. It cannot be the end of the Reich. Hitler said it would last a thousand years.

Dengler stopped moving about the room. I’m afraid it will only last about twelve, unless your experiments are finished and you can reverse the outcome, or perhaps, resurrect the Reich sometime in the future, and to do that you will need an escape plan. This camp is not a good place to get caught.

I haven’t even thought of it, Reiner said, somewhat surprised at the mention of escape. Have you?

No, I haven’t, Dengler lied. Perhaps, you should start thinking about it. It was not good to tell all your secrets and plans to anyone, even if you liked them, especially in these waning days of an ending war, which Dengler could plainly see and could also feel. Even Lord Haw-Haw’s broadcasts to Britain weren’t as contemptuous as they used to be at the beginning of the war. His sneering, upper-class, radio voice, hence the nickname dubbed him by the Brits, was faltering lately. Lord Haw-Haw wasn’t his self-assured, annoying self anymore and seemed to be hedging his bets on how the war would end. Plus, you never knew to whom you were really talking. They were still shooting old men and young boys who refused to take up arms and defend Germany, the Fatherland, or even Berlin. Hitler thought everyone should die in the end, like in some Wagnerian tragedy.

Reiner shook his head in despair. I told Himmler at the beginning that this would all take time. Did he forget?

Evidently, he did. Are you close to being successful?

No, I’m not there yet. I’m still working with radio waves.

Then you will have to seek retribution after the war, Dengler pointed out. Maybe then you can pay back the wound that the East and the West have given us, that is if you can escape the Allies and live to carry on. I’m afraid the SS will be dealt with harshly as war criminals after the war ends. We can thank Himmler for that. In his quest to be the number two Nazi after Hitler, he has made the SS especially brutal and a scourge to be reckoned with. It needn’t have been so, good fighting men would have been sufficient. So the Russians will kill you on sight, and the West might not kill you right away, but they will certainly hang you later.

Reiner looked at him in disbelief. He did not like what he was hearing.

You know what I say is true, Dengler said. We will pay the piper for the creation that Hitler and Himmler gave to the world, I’m afraid.

What would you suggest? Reiner gave him a long look. What are you going to do?

Dengler had no illusions about what would happen to him if he were caught when the war ended and Germany was forced to surrender. Even if he had never killed anyone, and he hadn’t, he was still SS, an officer to make matters worse. Himmler’s fanaticism tarred everyone with the same vile brush he used to run the unit. If you were SS, you were automatically guilty of heinous crimes, and that dark cloud would always remain with them, just like the SS arm tattoo they were forced to have. If he only knew what he knew now, he would never have joined the SS, then again, he would have probably been conscripted into the Wehrmacht and sent to the Eastern Front to freeze to death or die from a Russian bullet, so in any case, his future had been a tossup from the beginning. Unfortunately, they all had taken part in Hitler’s wild dream.

Reiner, if I were you, Dengler said, seriously, I would start making plans to run before it’s too late.

WISCONSIN

Sometime In The 1980s

2

Aaron Ginsberg buckled his seatbelt as the plane started its approach and landed at Mitchell Field Airport. His wife, Benta, did the same and looked over at her husband of some forty years, giving him a pensive and somewhat worried look. She knew something was bothering him. He hadn’t been the same since they left the Sea-Tac Airport. He had been distant, lost in thought, during the flight back to Milwaukee.

What is wrong with you? she said, quietly. You have hardly spoken a word to me since we left Seattle. You’ve been in a trance since you exchanged looks with that man at the airport. Who was that man? I asked you that before and you didn’t answer me. Did you know him?

He smiled at her. I answered you. I said I wasn’t sure if I knew him.

If you didn’t know him, what have you been thinking about all this time? She knew her husband had bitter memories of the war and especially the time he spent at Auschwitz as a Jewish prisoner. He was sixteen at the time and never spoke of his days at the extermination camp, but she knew he lost his whole family there. His father and mother and sister were sent to the gas chambers. He made it out alive, thank God, but she knew his past and the terrible time he spent as a Nazi prisoner still tormented him at times, like now.

She gave her husband another look and waited for an answer. Well, did you know that man? You looked at him long enough, as if you did.

Aaron shrugged. Maybe, he looked like someone I knew from the past, or thought I knew, but that man was supposed to be dead.

Well, evidently he isn’t dead, or you’re mistaken. She smiled. I hope you’re not seeing ghosts.

Aaron smiled back. That could very well be, a ghost from the past.

And so it went, after the landing and the cab ride home, he tried to dispel his thoughts of the man and put them out of his mind, but it kept coming back. The face was older now, like his own, but he would never forget it after spending almost every day with the man as one of his many human guinea pigs. Age and time cannot cover that up, nor could he ever forget those icy-blue eyes of his, so deep set they were almost buried in his face and could probably peer out the back of his head. More than one of his fellow prisoners commented on it. Still, he was better than Mengele. His guinea pigs never survived his experiments. Mengele was a sadist butcher who enjoyed the pain he inflicted on others that he viewed as inferior human beings. Still, the man was a Nazi and he didn’t know and never met any good Nazis. For all he knew the man was a war criminal and was probably wanted by the Allies. So if that was true, what was he doing here in the States and not in South America with the other Nazi fugitives, or at least dead? If it was him, he hoped to God that the government didn’t give him sanction like they did with all the Nazi scientists. That would surely be a bitter pill to swallow.

That was Saturday and by Monday he felt he had managed to forget what he was thinking and was ready to admit he had been mistaken, but at work, all day on the route, he felt someone was watching him. He constantly turned around to check out his surroundings and could see nothing amiss. Still, the feeling persisted and although it bothered him, he said nothing to his wife about it. Every day that week the feeling grew stronger and every day he brought it home with him, until one day, at the end of the workweek, he didn’t come home at all.

The Post Office said Aaron Ginsberg had disappeared while on his route. They found the mail truck where Ginsberg had parked it while servicing his mail route, but that’s all they found. Benta waited anxiously a home, jumping at every sound in the house, hoping that her husband was returning to her, but that didn’t happen. After three days she went to the police with her son, Ben, and reported Aaron as a missing person.

After a month with no results from the police, Ben decided to take matters into his own hands. He knew a guy from the Army that knew a guy who tracked down missing persons and was successful at it.

Paul Rice left his inner office, stepping into the outer office domain of Natalee Cruz, his associate and secretary, girl-Friday, and coven member. He walked to her desk and handed her some written papers. Here’s that report you wanted me to write up so you could type it for your records.

She took it. Okay, I’ll get right on it.

The small TV on her desk was on picturing a candidate for the coming election who was running an ad on the local channel lying about his democratic opponent.

How can you watch that stuff? Paul commented. All those politicians do is lie through their teeth. It’s enough to give you the galloping trots. There should be a law against candidates telling lies during an election, but that will never happen.

Natalee made a squeamish face. Thanks for that bathroom visual.

You’re welcome.

Don’t democrats lie?

Paul faked an appalled look. Shame on you for even thinking that.

Well, do they?

Some do, Paul conceded, especially during the time of Franklin Roosevelt’s administration. At that time the government was filled with democrats from the south who were against blacks and segregation and those conservatives were all anti-Semitic. In fact, it was mentioned, at the time, that the Nazis got their ideas on how to handle the Jews by copying the way we were dealing with people of color here in America, but now the democrats are not as bad as the party on the other side of the fence who are champs at telling whoppers, especially to the working class and the have-nots, lying on how they are working and doing things to better their lives and why people should vote for them, and all the time working to take away all government benefits, like medicare and social security. I think they are getting as bad or worse as they were in the ’30s and ’40s and might even be worse when 2016 rolls around, the year that the Gleaners have targeted on their calendar. The sad part is that some people, who should know better, believe some of that crap.

I thought you’d be watching this stuff too, since Claire is running for reelection this November. Claire Thayer-Prescott was governor of the state and Paul’s close friend, and a friend to her as well.

No need to watch it. Claire should win another term as governor hands down if the people vote intelligently. Besides, there’s too much of that stuff on television whenever an election rolls around. I get tired of it.

Yes, she should, but people don’t always vote wisely. I can’t understand why some of the older voters as well as some elderly are for her opponent and make political statements against Claire.

I don’t understand it either unless lots of money is being paid to them. The other party does nothing for them and they never have. They are strictly for themselves and people with money. I don’t see why people can’t figure that out. It’s like some folks are just brainwashed, or some part of their brain isn’t functioning properly.

Natalee tossed Paul a look. You still don’t know what 2016 is all about, do you?

"No, unfortunately, only that the Gleaners are grooming someone of their choosing to be president."

Wolf, your hairy informant, isn’t helping? Wolf was a non-Gleaner, a faction that was against the Gleaners and all they stood for, but still as much as an alien as they were who could change from an upright wolf, their true form, into human form, and who recently, within the last ten years have become very visible running down dark country roads and encountering people.

He doesn’t know, at least not yet, anyway.

By the time he finds out you might be too old to do anything about it. 2016 is about forty years from now.

Unfortunately, that’s true too.

Natalee shot Paul another concerning look. Claire should still win, shouldn’t she?

God, yes, perish the thought if she doesn’t and all the screwballs get in again like they did when Franklin Roosevelt was president, there would be hell to pay. If the Japanese hadn’t attacked Pearl Harbor, and the isolationists got their way, we’d all be speaking German and goose-stepping our way to the grocery store, if we still had a grocery store and if we were still around to shop and not gassed. Paul turned back for his office. I’ll start on that other report for you so you’ll have it. Natalee liked to keep written reports on each house that was cleansed of a spirit or spirits.

Natalee turned off the TV. Good, I’ll start working on this one.

Paul smiled. Don’t you want to watch the rest of the political ads?

No, I had a movie on while I was working, which ended. The political ads were on after every story break. They were getting longer and there seemed to be more of them. I’ve had my fill.

You’re learning, Paul said. What was the movie?

A Farwell to Arms.

The first one, the one with Gary Cooper?

No, the other one with Rock Hudson.

And Jennifer Jones, Paul added with some distaste.

Natalee caught his tone of voice. It sounds like she isn’t one of your favorites.

She isn’t. I don’t like what she did to her husband, Robert Walker. She threw him under the bus and started having an affair with a movie director to further her career. Walker never got over it and later killed himself. No, she is not one of my favorites.

Natalee didn’t push it. She knew Paul had a strong dislike for betrayers, especially women who didn’t stand by their man. He had witnessed lots of it during the war in Vietnam, men coming home broken and sick from the war and their women leaving them. To a certain extent, she didn’t blame him for feeling that way. She changed the subject. Don’t forget, you have a late morning appointment coming up today regarding a missing person.

I didn’t forget, Paul said. I’ll be in my office working on that other paper for you.

Downstairs, Ben Ginsberg and Ralph Milling entered the lobby of Paul’s office building. Both men were thin, tall, and lanky, cookie-cutter images of each other, and in the same age bracket, give or take a year. The only difference being that Ginsberg was dark-haired with a dark complexion, whereas Milling was blond and fair.

How well do you know Paul Rice? Ginsberg asked. Milling had only told him that he knew a guy who could help.

I told you, I met him a couple of times in Nam, Milling said. I’m surprised you’ve never met him. You were there when I was.

I’ve heard of him over there, but our paths never crossed although his outfit worked with ours once or twice. I wasn’t around when you met him for some reason. Are you two friends?

We’re not close, so I would call us only acquaintances, but he knows me and was friendly enough at the time. Stop worrying. I hear he’s partial to helping veterans.

And now he’s a private detective?

They stopped in front of the bank of elevators and waited for an empty one going up.

He’s really what they call a paranormal investigator, Milling said, knowing a little about the man. He investigates paranormal activities, but he also finds missing persons.

You mean he’s a ghost hunter? Ginsberg said, taken aback. Oh, great.

No, I wouldn’t call him that. He’s what I said he is, and from what I’ve heard about him from people in the know, he’s very good at what he does.

I just hope he can help us. My mother’s close to a nervous breakdown and the cops aren’t helping.

Why wouldn’t he? Milling said. It’s what he does now, and we’re both vets.

An empty elevator dinged open and they stepped in. Minutes later, they were on Paul Rice’s floor and in his office.

We’re here to see Mr. Rice, Milling said moving to Natalee’s desk. I called for an appointment, Ralph Milling and Ben Ginsberg.

Natalee smiled at them. Of course, Mr. Rice is expecting you. Natalee buzzed Paul on the intercom. Your eleven o’clock appointment is here, Mr. Ben Ginsberg and Mr. Ralph Milling.

Send them in, Paul said. He moved away from his desk leaving what he was working on and greeted them at the door to his office, shaking their hands. I think I know you, he said, looking Milling over. Milling, isn’t it?

You do, we met in Nam, Milling said, pleased that he remembered him, noticing that Paul looked as fit as the day he first met him in Nam. He hadn’t put on any weight like some ex-vets did, himself included.

Right, you were a sergeant with an army unit, the Big Red One, if I’m not mistaken.

You’re right, Major, we both were, Ben too, Milling said.

"Make that Paul, my majoring days are over."

Paul gestured them to the two leather client chairs that faced his desk. What can I do for you? Sit and tell me about it.

They sat.

My friend, Ben here, has a problem, Milling said. His father is a missing person.

Paul stood in front of them and sat back on the edge of his desk. Oh, how did that come about? How long has he been missing?

My father works for the post office as a letter carrier, Ben started. He disappeared while on his male route over a month ago. My mother and I reported him missing, but so far the police haven’t found him, or turned up anything useful that would help.

Do you think your father just decided to go away for awhile, Paul asked. It’s been known to happen.

No, my father wouldn’t do that to my mother. She thinks someone took him.

Ben’s father is an Auschwitz survivor, Milling added, and took part in some experiments that were going on there at the time.

Not with Josef Mengele, I hope, Paul said. If so, he’s lucky to be alive from what I’ve heard about Mengele.

No, there was another doctor there at the time experimenting on the prisoners, Ben said.

Do you know his name? Paul asked.

No, my father never spoke of what happened to him at Auschwitz. My mother and I know very little about what happened to him over there.

That’s too bad, Paul said. Maybe what happened at Auschwitz has something to do with your father’s disappearance.

Ginsberg and Milling exchanged smiles at Paul’s intuition and grasp of the situation. My mother and I think it has too. My father and mother recently returned from a trip to Seattle. My father doesn’t make friends easily, but he has a friend there who was with him in Auschwitz and survived as well. They have kept in touch over the years. My mother said that on the way back home, at the Seattle Airport, my father began acting strangely after seeing another man there, who my mother thinks is someone from my father’s past. A week later, my father turned up missing while working his mail route.

Did he tell your mother anything? Paul said. Who he thought this man was that he saw.

Ginsberg just shook his head and Milling answered for him. He didn’t. His father was very close mouthed about what happened to him at Auschwitz, but I’m sure he talked to his friend in Seattle.

What’s this friend’s name?

David Wisen, Ginsberg answered. My mother and I think that the man my father saw at the airport was someone from his past, someone he knew from Auschwitz.

Paul nodded. I agree. It was probably a Nazi, perhaps an SS guard, or maybe the doctor who had been experimenting on him. Whoever it was seemed to have upset him.

MY mother and I have come to the same conclusion, but if it was an ex Nazi, why would they chance getting involved with my father? I should think that they would just let it pass and go on with their business.

Nazis aren’t like that. They are very through in everything they do, Paul said. They hate leaving loose ends around. And perhaps this man he saw is a fugitive, a wanted Nazi criminal that is still sought by the authorities and fearful of being found. That might explain it. A lot of them got away after the war. Some are still in hiding in other countries as far as South America, and some are even here in the States.

I heard of that, Milling said. Why didn’t we just get all of them after the war ended instead of letting them just all slip away? It seems like we didn’t do much to make them pay for their war crimes.

Everyone was tired of the war when it ended, Paul said. The Allies became negligent, just wanting to go home and everything to be over with, and the Nazis, with the help of the Catholic Church and The Red Cross, managed to make their escape from justice, prison, or the hangman. The only country that pursued them were the Israelis. They caught a few of them, but not as many as they would have liked. Things might have been different if Roosevelt had lived to finish his fourth term as president, as it was, he died too soon and Truman did nothing about it.

Yeah, I remember them getting Adolf Eichmann, Milling said. Too bad they didn’t get all of them. That would have been sweet justice.

Do you think that’s what happened to my father? Ginsberg asked. That the Nazis took him. Would they still be able to do that now after all these years after the war?

I think they still have some part of a functioning Nazi organization that’s still alive and well even today here and in Europe, Paul said. And then there are some Americans that openly sympathize with the Nazis, like the Skinheads and the American Nazi Party, and I’m sad to say, our own government seems to be headed toward fascism.

Really? Milling was surprised. That would seem improbable.

But not impossible, Paul said. Check the records of the men serving in our government. Some are already leaning in that direction.

Ginsberg wasn’t surprised at Paul’s words. He noticed changes in our government as well, and not for the better, but said, Do you think you can find my father?

I will try, Paul said. I will need the address of your father’s friend in Seattle. And do you know who the police talked to at the post office?

Ginsberg shook his head. I don’t know.

No, matter, I can find that out. I know some people down there. Anything else you can tell me about your father, anything at all, especially his time as a prisoner at Auschwitz-Birkenau?

I thought it was just Auschwitz? Milling said. There were two camps?

Yes, the crematoriums were at Birkenau, Paul said. The camps were close.

Then you know about Auschwitz, Milling said.

I know a little of the history of the place, Paul said, glancing at Ginsberg. "Anything else