Please take note that this was the last chapter posted by the author and it was posted in October of 2007, as such I would not hold much expectations of the story being continued.

Chapter 8

I stared at the interloper in surprise. I stayed Gwen’s hand as I continued watching our uninvited tablemate. Grace asked waspishly, “Who the fuck are you?”

He smiled calmly as he replied, “Mr. Smith. And that…”

As he shrugged his shoulder at a tall, athletic looking blonde woman in a short leather jacket: “…Would be Mrs. Smith.”

The blonde in question was leaning on a trash container across the aisle, eating an ice cream cone. She made eye contact as she took a particularly long lick, then winked.

Gwen settled her palms flat on the table as she quietly said, “Mr. Whatever the fuck your name is, why don’t you and your blonde bimbo get the fuck away from us before I start yelping for security.”

Mr. Smith nodded as he said, “Perhaps just a few moments of your time Billy, then we’ll leave you to your shopping. Have you heard from your mentor since his firing?”

*****
In the silence Mr. Smith had my complete attention. I sat utterly still staring into his eyes. He softly continued, “We know Otto was fired from MCL, then we lost track of him.”

Grace asked, “Who is this ‘WE?’ Don’t you dare say you and the blonde Mrs.”

Smith smirked as he replied, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Then, more seriously, he continued: “Friends who are disturbed by some of Kressinger’s wartime activities.”

“Mossad” popped into my head. I decided I did not want to discuss Otto with any Mr. Smith. I said more calmly than I felt, “I haven’t seen Otto since he left MCL.”

Mr. Smith looked at me carefully, and then asked, “You have time for a short story Billy?”

I shrugged. “Sure. Fairy tales can be fun.”

Smith grinned. “Yes, exactly.”

He stretched as he asked, “Refills, ladies?”

Gwen answered frostily, “No thank you.”

Mr. Smith began, introspectively staring at the table. “It was 1942 in Sachsenhausen Concentration Camp. About 150 counterfeiters, printers, and engravers were brought together for something called ‘Operation Bernhard” the greatest counterfeiting operation in history. These mostly Jewish craftsmen directed by SS Sturmbannfuhrer Bernhard Kruger made a perfect British five pound note.”

He looked up, grinning: “Actually they made almost ten million perfect notes of various denominations! At one point, forty per cent of the British notes in circulation were phonies from Bernhard’s German presses.”

Gwen looked at him with mild interest. “But this is long ago, Mr. Smith, and far away from here.”

Smith nodded as he said, “I’ll try to make it relevant. By 1945, Bernhard was working on American currency. They were building plates of the one hundred dollar bill, and were set to begin production in July. But before they could enter full production, the camps were overrun.”

I nodded, but somehow I knew there was more to the story as he went on, “The story that your Secret Service circulated was that they recovered the plates before more than a trial run of a couple hundred bills.”

Grace asked with real interest now, “They lied? Mr. Smith, I’m shocked!”

Smith grinned. “For many reasons, they had to lie. What actually happened was the good major protected his forgers from being killed by supplying unlimited forged notes to fleeing war criminals. Their phony British Pounds funded Rome’s ODESSA operations, making conduits to South American safe havens. Those forged American Dollars went to routes through Syria and into South East Asia. In fact Bernhard’s perfect plates ended up in Syria, the basis for their ‘Super K’ counterfeiting operation. But one set of plates for hundreds came to be much closer to your home, Billy.”

I nodded as he continued. Smith and his fairy tale had me riveted to my chair, “The war was ending and the American tanks were closing in. The inmate forgers were finally to be moved to Ebensee Camp for their final solution. The Major made a trade with the guard in charge of their transport.”

Smith continued with a slight smile, “Bernhard traded one set of plates for that perfect one hundred dollar American note, for the lives of his forgers. The guard concocted mechanical problems for their trucks and by the time it was resolved the forgers melted into the Ebensee’s sizable inmate population, and within hours the camp was liberated.”

Gwen smiled slightly as she said tightly, “Well, Billy doesn’t have your god damned perfect plate, Mr. Smith. Not much use anyway after the currency redesign.”

Smith nodded: “Yes and why do you think they did that? No, we know where it ended up approximately. We followed him through the ports of Mexico, across the border into the southwest, ending in New Ulm, here in Minnesota.”

I let out an explosive breath, saying, “New fucking ULM!”

Gwen laughed out loud saying, “You have to be shitting us. New Ulm!”

Smith looked aggrieved at our disbelief. “In World War One, strong, often expressed pro-German and anti-war statements by the mayor and city officials caused the Minnesota National Guard to occupy New Ulm, placing them under Martial Law for sedition.

Grace chortled as she asked, “So your runaway camp guard set up a massive but secret printing press in southern Minnesota?”

Smith shook his head emphatically. “Nope, very low tech operation, washed the ink off dollar bills, over printed them with his hundred plates. Until they added unique watermarks and micro strip, the paper was matching on all bills.”

He continued, “Through the Fifties and Sixties, Bernhard’s Hundred funded a Midwest Underground Railroad for minor SS and SD functionaries relocated to German communities across Minnesota, Wisconsin and Illinois.”

Smith looked aggravated as he stated flatly, “This “Hundred” network seems to be resurgent as an anti-Semitic and anti-Zionist influence”

Mr. Smith scanned our faces with annoyance. “We had hoped to talk to Otto about old times and old friends. MCL fired him before we can get to him.”

I tapped the table lightly to get Mr. Smith’s full attention as I made unsmiling eye contact. “I don’t know where Otto is. No fucking idea!”

Smith’s companion walked up, standing at his shoulder as he quickly stood, both looking at us carefully. Finally, Mr. Smith tossed a business card on the table, saying curtly, “Please tell Otto to give us a call.”
He turned and stalked off as his blonde shepherd warily backed out of the coffee shop and moved watchfully in his wake.

I let out my breath in a sigh as Gwen and Grace simultaneously patted and rubbed my shoulders. I laughed ruefully as I said, “And no, I don’t know what that was all about ladies.”

Grace smiled at me as she said, “Just when I thought life couldn’t get more complicated.”

Gwen snickered. “Oh, hell yes, it can.”

Grace looked over at Gwen, asking, “So who was this Smith guy or what was he?”

Looking around, Gwen said, “Someone looking for a German from the Big War, sounds like Israel.”

I blurted, “Mossad, Israeli CIA.”

Gwen and Grace both looked at me speculatively then nodded.

I looked around as I asked, “Where’s the rest of our flock right now?”

Gwen answered, “If I had to guess, I say its lingerie time right now.”

I nodded. This should be cheering news but right now Otto’s history and his entanglements seemed to be reaching out from the past snaring us as well

*****

We walked into the gigantic Victoria’s Secret to see pandemonium as the clerks tried to deal with my harem. I didn’t know where to look first.

As my head swiveled I saw: Angel trying on camisoles, Hannah helping Diana into a bra, and Brianna modeling teddies for Bailey. None of them seemed to feel any need for the dressing room as they changed right in the store aisles.
Attempting to corral all this out of control tumult was the thankless task of the harried Manager. Her nametag was emblazoned with: “Lisa.”

Lisa was a lovely brunette; her curly hair filled with red highlights…and with dark brown fuck me eyes (among other things…).

Gwen poked me with her elbow, breaking my stare and almost a rib. I looked into her grinning face while rubbing the bruise. Giggling she said, “Staring holes in her tits is rude.”

I shook my head, saying defensively, “I was reading her nametag.”

Now Grace and Gwen were both giggling. Grace was smirking as she said, “Took a long damn look see for such a short little name.”

I was laughing as I admitted my sins.

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