Olivia waited for a reply.
Smokey purred under the chair, rubbed her body against her feet.
She looked between her legs. “Hey boy, some chow?”
Her laptop sounded, ping!
The mail was a long but deflating one from Professor Hans Rutherford. It said:
“Hello, Olivia Newton.
“It was nice to hear from you. I found your questions very interesting.
“Especially the ones about the German secret labs. I must assure you that you are not the first to puzzle about Hitler’s Third Reich and the laboratories. And yes, there were laboratories. Notable among the scientists that worked there were Werner Von Braun and Werner Heisenberg. Of this man you asked about, Harald Kruger, there is no record. If there was, I would know.”
“The contents of that box, as you mentioned, may just be nothing but memorabilia. There are countless numbers of them all over Europe. I have some. And please, there is nothing in Antarctica but a lot of snow.”
“I hope this answers your questions. If you wish for more answers, contact Professor Peter Williams. He teaches at the University of Florida. He specializes in the Second World War.”
“Best regards, Hans Rutherford.”
Well, that didn’t yield much fruit, did it? She took the cat into the kitchen and fed him. She read the mail again when she came back. The name of the professor that Hans recommended jumped at her. It wasn’t all lost then.
Olivia did a quick query with Google and found Peter Williams.
He was strikingly good looking, young, and smiling in his photo. The university was a ten mile drive that she looked forward to the next day.
Olivia called Tom on the phone but it was Betty that answered. She expressed sadness at not been around for John’s remembrance. Tom was out running, she said.
“Tell him to call my cell as soon as he comes in,” Olivia said.
“Kepler has been asking about you, Olivia.”
“Kepler who?”
The name didn’t ring a bell.
“The guy from the art gallery, remember him from last Christmas? He was nice to you at the party—”
“Oh, yes, that Kepler.” Olivia feigned surprise. No wonder she didn’t remember him. She wasn’t open to dates yet. Kepler was a douchebag. A rich douchebag, but contemptible all the same.
“Will you call him? He seems really genuine, Olivia.”
“I’ll call him when I get the chance, Betty. Tell Tom to call me, okay.”
“Will do.”
They hung up. Olivia exhaled. Talking to Betty was getting tiring lately and her visits weren’t ones she looked forward to. Betty was Olivia’s appointed matchmaker.
Her Volkswagen was hurtling towards Gainesville some minutes later.
At about 1:00 pm, Olivia caught sight of the Century Tower poking at the sky in the center of the university. Its white top shone brightly and beautifully. Olivia had visited the school several times before. The last time she did, the carillon in the tower was playing.
She drove past it and found parking space in between a tow truck and a black Porsche — which happened to belong to Peter Williams. She had called the professor in advance and he had given directions to the Faculty of Humanities.
Olivia walked into the square grey-colored building with some apprehension. The professor was a young man, at least from the sound of his voice. She was wary of young, dateable young men.
She was checking up on the office doors, looking for his name, when the professor bounded up the steps into the cool shade of the hallway.
“Olivia Newton?”
“Yes, that’s me,” she said, sizing the man up.
Professor Peter Williams was of average height, brown-haired with dark blotches, intense blue slanting eyes. He had the angular face of an actor. His jaws reminded Olivia of Brad Pitt. He wore biker clothes; black leather jacket and brown denim. His black boots had mud stains on them.
He gave Olivia a look, up and down. There was a slight hesitation in his eyes when Olivia wouldn’t shake his hand. He put it back in his pocket. He smiled instead, foiled.
“Did you have trouble finding us?”
“I live in Miami, Professor,” she countered quickly.
“I’m sorry, but most people never come here if they aren’t trying to study something.”
“I am a journalist.”
They walked a few steps and stopped at the door with his nameplate on it. He produced a key.
“And here we are—”
“Er, can we go somewhere less sequestered?”
The professor's hands lingered on the door handle. He glanced at Olivia, considered the suggestion for a second. He smiled again.
“It will be okay here, Miss Newton.”
Olivia grabbed her bag tighter.
9
Everything about Peter Williams' office was huge.
His desk filled the office, so did his shelves and the books in them. His photo was hung on the white wall behind him. Next to that was a floor-to-ceiling window through which she could see the blue clouds and trees.
He sat opposite her and folded his hands, waiting. His eyes ran over her again. She was aware that she hadn’t been especially careful about her clothes. She didn’t care that much. She hoped too that the smell of whiskey wasn’t too hard. She’d had a few drinks on the way here.
“I have here some things I have written.” She got her jotter. “Let me see…”
She opened pages.
“Right, Professor Hans Rutherford assured me that you are in the best position to know these things—” She paused.
“What did they make at Peenemunde?” she blurted.
Cooper’s brows went up.
“Why don’t you start from the beginning, I can assure you whatever you say here, remains here, between us,” he promised.
He seemed nice enough. Cocky, but nice, Olivia thought.
“A man named Harald Kruger was killed two days ago in a Miami nursing home. He left a box behind. I think he may have known something, information that someone somewhere is trying to cover up. Contents from the box suggest he was a scientist who worked in the labs of Peenemunde in the Second World War. My guess is Harald was in the home, running from someone that hunted, and eventually killed him. What is it they did in those labs in Peenemunde, Professor?”
“Call me Peter, please.”
He rubbed the side of his jaw in deep thought.
“This is intriguing,” he said, getting out of his chair. He went to the shelf and pulled a large volume with a black cover and gold rims.
He opened it, flipped the pages fast, and stopped. He read for a few seconds before coming back to his seat. He pushed the big book, still open, across the table.
“Read that, it might help.”
Olivia frowned. Seriously? her face declared. She didn’t come here to study, or be impressed by how big his library was. He could just tell her what she needed to know. Exasperated, she tried to read the place Peter Williams had shown her. The letterings were the size she detested, too small.
Finally, she closed the book.
“Peter, do you drink?”
“What?”
“I need a drink to listen to you tell me what I need to know. Let’s find a bar around here.”
Peter stared at her, mildly surprised.
“Shall we?” Olivia invited.
It was a student bar. They served water mostly. And soda. The closest to alcohol here was a watery substance called Crud. Book-tired students were there. Olivia saw a few sharp ones, boys and girls.
They found stools at the bar.
“The German labs in Peenemunde were more significant than you know. The ideas for space travel were born in those labs,” Peter Williams began.