Political groups blamed the storms on the indifference of their political opposition. There were academics who believed we’ve screwed up the biosphere so badly we were finally paying the price. Radio talk show hosts said the weather had nothing to do with global warming, and, in fact, proved there was no such phenomenon.
When destructive events occur in series, instinct demands that we assign blame, and the standard is always human based. After a season of famine or storms, mountain gorillas and dolphins do not instinctively make blood sacrifices to mitigate fear or guilt. We do.
I told Tomlinson that we blame ourselves because we’re terrified of the truth: Life is random. There is cause, but there is no design.
Tomlinson stood fast. “There’s
Usually, that’s about as close as we come to agreeing.
I was reading about Nazi gold as Chestra worked on her new song. She would play a few slow chords, humming softly, then stop, make a notation on a yellow legal pad, then return to the keys. It gave the impression that creating music was a combination of architecture and artistry.
The music was backdropped by wind gusts and surf. The moon was full, and through balcony windows I could see trees wild in the wind, branches writhing.
Another bright and stormy night.
The tropical depression that had formed off Yucatan had drifted northwest, vacillating between a category 1 hurricane and a tropical storm. In the Caribbean Basin, a far more dangerous cyclone—the twelfth of the season— was already hurricane strength, with a well-formed eye. It probably wouldn’t be a threat, but we wouldn’t know for a week or two.
The tropical storm, though, was headed right for us, but it hadn’t rallied mass or intensity. Now only a day or two away, maximum winds were fifty m.p.h., and the system was weakening. Even so, people were evacuating, lining up to buy gas they didn’t need and canned foods they’d probably never eat. The reverse was also true: There were people who would do nothing no matter how much warning they were given and no matter how violent the storm.
Chestra, as usual, was unconcerned. She left her shutters open, as if inviting the storm inside. My home and lab were still boarded up from the previous hurricane, my generator fueled and ready. I was content to sit and read.
…as German troops stormed Europe they looted bank reserves and took the gold to Berlin. Victims of the Holocaust were robbed of gold jewelry, even gold tooth fillings. All gold was melted, then recast into bars imprinted with the mark of the German central bank: an eagle clutching a swastika in its talons, and the words
By 1944, high-ranking Germans realized the war was lost. The president of the Reichsbank ordered the country’s massive gold reserves to be secreted to the village of Merkers, south of Berlin, and concealed underground in a potassium mine. The mine was also used to store art treasures looted from conquered nations.
The village was captured by the U.S. Third Army commanded by General George Patton, and the door to the mine was blasted open. Inside, troops found 8,198 bars of gold bullion, plus gold coins and silver bars. The total value today would exceed a billion dollars.
Also, at least nine tons of gold were sent to Oberbayern, including 730 gold bars, thought to be hidden around Lake Walchensee. Some fell into the hands of U.S. GIs.
Few realize that the United States plundered Germany’s assets as an official strategy of the war effort. Today, several thousand paintings from Germany are stored in a vault at the U.S. Center of Military History. Joseph Goebbels’s 7,000-page diary resides in the Herbert Hoover Library…
On a smaller scale, many U.S. enlisted men—particularly those in supply and procurement units—figured out that it was easy to box up treasure they plundered and simply mail in back to loved ones via U.S. transport ships. Or carry it with them in their liberty bags. It’s estimated that Nazi gold and artifacts worth many millions left Germany in this way. Little of it has been accounted for…
“Doc? Do you mind? I’d like to play this for you now. It’s the first song I’ve written in…well, forever, it’s been so many years. It’s only the first verse and refrain, and it still needs work, so don’t expect too much.”
I closed the book. “I’m an easy audience because I’m already a fan. But can I ask a question before I forget? Did Marlissa have any friends or family who were U.S. servicemen during the war? Men who were close enough they’d trust Marlissa to keep a secret.”
“Well…I suppose so. I’m not sure. Nearly every able man served in the military.”
“What about your uncles?” I had seen photos on the walls of men in uniform.
“Yes. They were all Navy men, except for Uncle Clarence. He was in the Army. That’s why Marlissa lived here alone during the war years. They were all active duty, but I don’t think any of them served overseas. Of course, there were lots of soldiers and airmen stationed at bases around the area. Marlissa did USO volunteer work—she had no shortage of admirers among the troops, I’m sure.”
I was thinking it through. Even if a GI had mailed Nazi plunder to Florida, what was it doing aboard the boat that night?
“Why do you ask?”
“I’m still trying to account for the diamond insignia we found. Unless Roth or your godmother bought it, how did it get aboard? Gold, though, that might be easier to explain, if it’s there.” I tapped the book. “According to this, small-scale smuggling was common in 1944. If soldiers found something they wanted, they boxed it and shipped it back to the States.”
“Kiddo, I’m no expert on the war years in this area. The person who’d know more is Arlis Futch. You should ask him.”
I said, “Yeah, Arlis, he’s quite the talker.” Then added softly, “How do you know him?”
Chestra laughed and shook her head, scolding me because of my tone. “You silly man—you are so suspicious. You told me about the old guy who ran the boat when you found
The night before, I’d asked her for aspirin, and told her why. My head was pounding, but I said, “No, I’m fine.” I was looking at her, still thinking about it. Tonight she was wearing a blue sequined vest over an ankle-length gown of paler blue. Her blond hair was down, framing the symmetry of cheeks and chin. It made her look younger.
I changed the subject. “Why don’t you play? The first song you’ve written in years? I’d be honored.”
“All right, I will. It’s not finished, so be gentle.”
She had made a drink for me, rum and soda, with juice from a whole fresh lime and lots of ice, in a large tumbler. I sat back comfortably, hearing the wind outside. When she began to play and sing, though, I heard only her.
