Olivia watched him over the rim of her glass. Her eyes said, Go on. Peter was a professor, she could listen to him without taking notes.
“Wernher Von Braun oversaw the designing of the first rockets in Peenemunde. The Vergeltungswaffe.” He paused again. “The revenge weapon. That was Himmler's idea, the name that is. They made two types, the v1 and v2. You have to remember that many of these scientists were not sympathetic to the Nazi cause. They did what they did to stay alive. If given a second chance, they’d be doing humanity a greater good teaching in some university—”
“Just like you.”
“Just like me.” Peter sipped distilled water from a glass. “In 1945, the war ended and all the scientists walked up to the Allies. I’m sure you read about all this already.”
Peter was staring at the wide eyes of Olivia. The knowledge in them was dancing about in there, unchained. There was charm somewhere in those eyes, the soft shoulders and her straight back. There was also a pillar, deliberately set in place. She was annoying, without trying.
She set her beer on the table. Her clear brown eyes not quite clear anymore.
“Here, I have all the items photographed, maps and notes, and memorabilia as Hans Rutherford called them.” She produced a photocopied sample.
Peter grimaced as he perused the paper.
“Where did this come from?” he asked, not looking up.
“From a dead man.”
“He must be trying to tell us something,” he said, awed. “These are the earliest German designs, none I have seen before. None like the ones in the archives.”
Olivia searched her bag again. “How about these?”
She handed over a fold of old papers.
“They were from the box belonging to Harald Kruger.” A part of her was enjoying this. She smiled when Peter’s mouth dropped open.
“My God,” he breathed. “These documents, damn, German documents, secret formulas and design protocols. This is definitely gold.”
“You know German?”
“Yes, I do.”
“All I want to know is what is in those documents that would make someone kill Harald Kruger.”
“Let's go back to my office,” Peter said sharply.
Olivia knocked the rest of her beer back into her throat.
“Let’s.”
Olivia knew that eventually she was going to have to let a third party — in this case, fifth party — in on the existence of the numbers. By this time she had memorized them. The feeling that they were a key to all of this was a nagging awareness.
They were back in the professor's office. Peter was behind his desk, tapping away at a keyboard. He rubbed his face every time and said, “Shit.”
Olivia rubbed the body of a whiskey bottle in her bag, wondering what Peter’s reaction would be if she drank. She was thirsty.
Finally, she let go of the bottle.
She fidgeted.
“All of these are meaningless without…” Peter rubbed his face, glanced at Olivia. “Peenemunde was sacked after the war. The factory is a hull filled with scraps of rockets and documents — useless data and old — there’s nothing there to suggest that these documents are from there or whether they are true.”
He shut his laptop down and continued rubbing his chin.
“I have read these documents and notes. They assert some of the greatest plans and weapons exist, but where? They are not in Peenemunde. There is nothing in that place but a beautiful beach. I’ve been there myself. Two times,” he concluded.
After a moment Olivia said, “I’d like a drink now.”
“We just had some,” Peter said, with a tone.
Olivia produced her bottle of whiskey. Peter watched the drink, curiously. There was a clock on the wall behind Olivia. Peter glanced at it.
“Too early?” Olivia asked when she had finished.
Peter Williams shrugged.
“Take a look at this.” Olivia placed the small sheet of paper with the numbers on it before the professor. “I found the numbers in the box.”
“Numbers…”
“Yeah, Kowalski didn’t know what they meant either. Harald didn’t say. And my friend Tom Garcia thinks they are lottery numbers.”
Peter stared at the paper. “They must mean something, a part of this puzzle, or he wouldn’t have kept them. I need to see the original.”
“Why?”
“If it’s written in his hand, I’ll know.”
“What difference does it make?”
“At least it can’t be lottery numbers; that I know for sure,” Peter assured her.
“The original, you do have it?” he asked.
“Yes. In Miami.”
“Good, you will fax it to me. I need to see it.”
“Okay, boss,” Olivia said and sipped from her bottle.
Professor Peter Williams excused himself.
That night, after debating the notion with Tom Garcia on the phone and getting drunk, Olivia faxed a copy of the numbers to Peter Williams, together with a return telephone number.
Five minutes later her phone was ringing off the hook.
“They are coordinates, Olivia.” Peter’s voice was tight with suppressed excitement. “The numbers are coordinates and guess where they are—”
“You are kidding?”
“No, I’m not. When can you get back here?”
“I don’t know.” She tried to conceal the buzz in her voice too. “I’m going to have to check my schedule—”
“And Olivia?”
“Yup?”
“There’s a surviving scientist from Peenemunde, he lives in Houston. You should visit him if you can. I’m faxing his address and photo to you as we speak.”
This was a game-changer. Meeting someone who worked in the same lab with Harald Kruger was the closest she could get to knowing who Harald was and what got him killed. She was ecstatic.
When she finished talking with Professor Peter Williams, Olivia called Sheriff Tom Garcia to inquire about the search on Harald Kruger and Kowalski. Tom had decided that it was necessary to have his contact in the FBI help him with this.
“But I’ll know something tomorrow morning,” he said.
“I need you to add one more name, Tom.”
“Give it.”
“Robert Lehmann,” Olivia added. “He is a surviving scientist from Peenemunde laboratory. Peter says he lives out in Houston. I’m going to see him tomorrow.”
“You take care out there.”
“I will.”
Her first disappointment the next morning was the news from the FBI guys at the Pentagon.
She had woken up early, fought the urge to hit the bottle early, and did some calisthenics instead. Her lungs had burned with the fire of irregular exercise when Tom called with the news.
“So far, those guys have stayed off the grid. They don’t exist—”
Olivia was angry. “The FBI doesn’t think that’s strange?”
“If someone doesn’t want to be bothered, maybe it was because they got nothing to bother others about too. It’s good peace for all,” said Tom and Olivia could feel him chuckle.
“And Lehmann?”
“Blank mostly. Nothing on record ties him to Harald Kruger, or Peenemunde for that matter. Just a simple address in Houston where he lives with his children.”
Olivia sat down hard on the bed. She hated that she had to go to Houston with so little to go on. Old men who lived with their children were supposed to be nice, right? She sincerely hoped so.
“You can handle this?”
She reasoned that she could. “I’ll be fine, thank you Tom.”
She was glad though for how deep the investigation had gone. She was making progress. She thanked Tom and hung up. She eyed the bottle in the kitchen on her way out and decided against it.