“I always wanted to live in New York!” said Eichmann with a chuckle.
“No, actually, my friend, you’d hate it there,” replied Himmler bluntly.
“Hollywood?” Eichmann asked.
“Oh, yes!” replied Mengele. “Lots of communists and whores and little boys.”
The group began to laugh, and Himmler allowed them a moment of brevity. He was not interested in their depravity. Unlike a few in the room with the exception of Rommel, Himmler believed in the Nazis’ quest for a pure Aryan race. He had no need for immorality or the degeneracy of American show business.
He continued with a stern voice. “By doing this, we will have the ability to re-establish the Nazi Party through an underground movement, just as we did in the twenties and thirties. The difference will be our vast resources and experience this time.”
Dr. Scheid spoke up. “I can carefully approach the executives from Volkswagen, Krupp Steel, Brown-Boveri, Zeiss and Leica. May I assume our friends at Messerschmidt are on board?”
Himmler nodded and winked. “From now on, German industry must realize the war cannot be won and that it must take steps in preparation for a post-war campaign. Our bankers must recognize the future may lie temporarily outside Europe, but the void they leave behind can be filled by our financial allies at Union Bank of Switzerland.”
“Yes,” exclaimed Mengele. “UBS, the pillar of the banking world in supposedly neutral Switzerland. Those high and mighty fools financed the war for us. They were just too stupid to know it.”
Once again, the Nazis shared a hearty laugh. Even the usually stoic Himmler smiled. UBS laundered more money for the Nazi Party than any other financial institution in the world. Their numbered accounts were tailor-made for the Nazis’ ill-gotten gains.
“These are all details that will be worked out over the coming days. From this point forward, this plan will be discussed outside the official quarters of any military or political office of the Reich. Tomorrow, as more join us for discussions, we will be meeting at the Hotel Rotes Haus. The day after that, we’ll convene at the Maison Rouge hotel. Despite our agreement, and for the protection of Martin, we must remain clandestine in our activities. That means no pillow talk with your wives and women. Understood?”
The group all agreed. The two SS commanders, Schwammberger and Priebke, had remained mostly silent during the conversation. Finally, Priebke asked, “Does this operation have a name?”
“Yes, it is quite simple,” replied Himmler. “Odessa.”
Chapter Eight
Aboard the Victory Casino Cruise Ship
One Hundred Five Miles East of Brownsville, Texas
Gulf of Mexico
Garland was familiar with the insurance company’s approach to piracy on the high seas. When he was with MSC in South Africa, he’d conversed with other captains who’d proposed a contingency plan in the event of an attack of this kind. A senior captain presented it to management, who had insisted upon changes to protect the company from lawsuits. It was later approved with the consent of the insurance companies.
In South Africa, cruise ships did not carry weapons of any kind, not even a pistol to take down a raving-mad, homicidal heavy loser at the gaming tables. America was different. Over the past decade, it became customary to arm employees of all types. Society had begun to show signs of collapse as Marxist protestors demanded change in the wake of heavy losses to the nation following an asteroid’s remnants striking part of the planet. The ever-impatient Americans were unwilling to allow the nation time to repair, and demanded that more be done. The result was chaos in many cities across the nation.
The plan adopted relied upon speed and mild maneuvering to keep the boatloads of armed pirates at bay. However, the cruise line was not willing to have the marauding pirates slaughter a great many of its employees and passengers, so they adopted a surrender tactic. Lloyd’s of London, one of the world’s largest ship insurers, apparently agreed. Hence the stand-down order.
Abduwali strode confidently through the carpeted hall leading to the bridge. He knew exactly which passageway to use and where every door was located as he walked past. He’d carefully studied the deck plan of the Victory after downloading it online several weeks prior.
Two men accompanied him, armed with AK-47s, holding them at their hips, prepared to fire. He had a sidearm tucked into his black cargo pants, covered by a black tee shirt. To finish off his ensemble, he wore his preferred battle cap bearing the New York Yankees logo.
The door to the bridge was ajar, and the space was dark except for the ambient light coming from the control panels of the ship. He walked through the entry into a scene from an American slasher movie. He’d seen bullet-riddled bridges before, but this was the worst. All of the windows were shot out, and three dead bodies lay on the once spotless floor covered in glass mixed with blood.
A man’s silhouette caught his eye. Abduwali pulled a tactical flashlight off the waistband of his pants. He clicked the button and shined the light on the man standing erect near the helm. The captain was spiffily dressed in white with four stripes on his tabs. His once clean uniform was now sprayed with a bloody mist that had turned his shirt a variety of colors from crimson red to light pink.
The world-renowned pirate pointed the flashlight around the bridge to check for other members of the crew. He paused to survey the carnage. He turned his attention back to the captain, who appeared to be unharmed.
“Check for weapons!” he ordered his men, who moved toward the captain. They patted him down and then checked the bodies and any compartments on the bridge. The captain remained silent throughout the process.
Abduwali slowly walked through the bridge to avoid stepping on bodies and blood. He looked through the shattered port windows and craned his neck to check for activity at the
