Bipolar WINTER. Samuel David Steiner

the old man.

      “Closing for lunch,” the owner said. “Meet back in forty-five minutes.”

      “Sure. Want me to pick up something for you?”

      The old man shook his head and held up a crumpled lunch sack.

      Aldo found a deli nearby and inhaled a sandwich. He still had twenty minutes, so he looked around for a grocer. Finding a small corner store, he purchased a bottle of water and a few protein bars, pocketing them for later.

      He spent the entire afternoon in the concealed room, reading book after book. When the owner came at closing, Aldo glanced at his watch and groaned. “Six o’clock already?” He reached into his pocket and handed him another 500-peso bill. “Same time tomorrow?”

      “Yes,” the old man said, stuffing the money into his pants pocket.

      The next two days went by just as quickly, but for all the reading he had done, Aldo barely filled a handful of pages in his notebook. On his fifth day in the room, just after lunch, Aldo found a small, leather bound book. As he flipped through it, a piece of parchment fell out. He picked it up and unfolded it, discovering a hand-drawn map. A chill ran down his spine as he studied it.

       Is this what I think it is?

      The map showed Frankfort, Germany toward the top, with dotted lines connecting other cities. Innsbruck, Austria was at the center and Genoa, Italy at the bottom. On the thin paper was a small illustration of a ship departing from Genoa for some unknown location across the Atlantic. No markings indicated the borders between countries, just dotted lines showing what looked to be ship routes.

      As Aldo studied the book, his suspicions were confirmed. Sophia Burwitz, the author, was the daughter of a member of ODESSA and Stille Hilfe. Aldo’s German was rough, but he thought Stille Hilfe loosely translated to Silent Help.

      What he knew of ODESSA came from the few mentions of it he found during his research into Mengele and a film with Jon Voight from the seventies, The Odessa File. He wasn't convinced that ODESSA or Stille Hilfe were real, but according to this account, Burwitz had lived among members of those clandestine organizations dedicated to helping SS officers escape Germany at the end of World War II.

      Burwitz detailed the long trek from Memmingen, Germany to Innsbruck, Austria where the escapees then hiked through the Brenner Pass. The route she described matched the map he held in his hands. The officers were then put on a ship bound for South America. A teenager at the time, Burwitz managed to keep her journal secret throughout the journey, hiding it among her belongings or beneath a floorboard in her cabin aboard the ship.

      As he read, Aldo jotted down the names of ODESSA members in his notebook to look up later. Based on her account, though, it seemed less and less likely that the Seventh was involved. ODESSA and Stille Hilfe clearly believed in Nazi ideology, as evidenced by the stories Burwitz recounted of her parents lecturing her about their political views. But from what he knew of the Seventh-day Adventist Church, their doctrine differed greatly from Nazi principles.

      Considering the Nazis’ agenda, Aldo could understand why they supported Mengele’s experiments during the war, but what reason would the Seventh have for helping him escape, instead of turning him over to the Nuremburg Trials?

      Aldo shuttered, remembering the gruesome accounts of torture and mutilation from the diaries. He doubted such a monster would simply give up on his experiments. The man had clearly been obsessed and would most likely have found a way to continue his work once he arrived in Argentina.

       But how?

      Startled by the sound of the door creaking open, Aldo bolted to his feet then glanced at his watch. It was only five o’clock. He set the book aside and picked up his notebook, tucking it into his pocket. As he headed toward the open door, Allison poked her head in and grinned.

      “Hi,” she said cheerfully.

      Stopping abruptly, Aldo took a moment to register what he was seeing. What is she… He shook his head. He shouldn’t be surprised. It’s Allison, after all. “Hey,” he breathed. “You like to catch me off guard, don’t you?”

      “It’s one of my things.” She smiled, leaving the door cracked as she entered the room.

      “How on Earth did you know where to find me?” Aldo asked. He’d been evading her text messages for the last week.

      “We have a plant in the Apostolic Palace.” She ran her fingers over the shelves of books as she circled the room. “I can’t tell you who, but he’s reliable.”

      “Even so, that doesn’t explain how you found me here.” He gestured at the room around them.

      “Rafael,” she said simply.

      “Who?” Since being hijacked off the top of a mountain, he’d felt like a player in an improvisational sketch comedy, never quite knowing what was going on.

      Allison stared at him. “Haven’t you spent the last five days with him?”

      “Oh!” Aldo smacked his forehead with the palm of his hand. The owner . “Rafael's his name!”

      “He’s an old friend.”

      “What a coincidence,” Aldo said, unable to keep from rolling his eyes.