Alex had kept copious notes in a variety of notebooks, and he had dozens of scrap books documenting news stories and other materials and references. He wasn’t the most organized conspiracist - but he had a fair memory for keeping track of the various materials he had put away in the scrap books and notebooks.
One of his passionate ideas was that Hitler didn’t die at the end of World War II. He was equally passionate about Hitler’s ancestry. Alex often wondered about Hitler’s family, and what they thought of the Fuhrer. He was endlessly curious about any Hitler progeny that might be alive today. Much as the French conspiracy of the Merovingian and their link to Jesus Christ avoiding death and escaping to France, Alex considered Hitler avoiding death and escaping. Possibly to England, or South America.
German science had a considerable advantage in adapting to various living conditions. Whether it was Antarctica, or South America, or anywhere - they likely had the ability to subsist, and even flourish in a new geography. The Germans were resourceful, resolute, and robust in their existence.
It had been reported in various half-hearted journals that a population of Germans, possibly including the Fuhrer himself, had escaped the clutches of the Allied Forces at the end of the war. And, that they had migrated, secretly, across the global to South America. Somewhere in the difficult mountain terrain, which would be difficult to survey.
Alex had read innumerable excitations that portended to describe the conditions of the journey, the passengers who participated, and the destinations. He was sure that if these stories had any truth to them, that Americans and Britons would have pursued every avenue to chase down the German survivors and bring them to justice. Yet, he couldn’t shake the gut feeling that perhaps they were true, but left to skeptics and cynics who were sure Hitler was dead and Germans hadn’t escaped. He thought, perhaps, these cynics and skeptics didn’t have the nerve or guts to chase down the South American Germans. Or perhaps, there was a deeper conspiracy to the war, and this was the planned end-game all along.
This evening, Alex had pulled together all of his material related to Germany, Hitler, and the great war, and began to try to organize it in a way that made sense to him. He tracked down the handful of South American articles which lent credence, or at least, weak evidence to the idea of Germans in South America. He had an idea in his head that he couldn’t quite form in total yet. He continued to study the scrapbooks, and photos, and news clippings. And the vague image of an answer was in his head, but remained inaccessible behind an impenetrable fog.
Only the night before, with his belt around his neck in the bathroom did his mania return. It was like a switch went from dread to excitement in an instance. He had pulled the belt off the door, and started rifling through his notes and notebooks, scrapbooks, and photos. He had them scattered across his bed and was trying to draw a story out of them. It wasn't long before his mania expired though, and he fell asleep, with the lights on, and his materials all strewn about the bed and over him like a patchwork blanket of pages.
This night, after several glasses of cheap whiskey, he began to feel the pangs of sleep engage his body and his mind. He thumbed through the material twice more, looking for any connection he had missed. But alas, his eyes were heavy. He could read, but was losing focus, and had to keep rereading the same paragraph to try and decipher its meaning. Finally, he gave up, removed his boots, pants, and shirt, and climbed into bed in a more proper manner.
As he drifted to sleep, the images of Germans, and South American newspapers seemed to melt into a single intangible concept.
As he fell into a deep sleep, the concept left him. His bed felt warm, and his blanket comforted him, despite his deep fear of a conspiracy working against him and the world at large. Suddenly, he found himself in a small village - or at least that was his impression. There appeared to be tropical vegetation all around a small clearing, where there were several small huts or buildings, expertly built from the surrounding resources of trees and thatch. Each hut or building featured a small doorway, outside of which was stationed two armed guards, in characteristic Nazi SS uniforms. He was immediately overcome with a sense of fear. The guards had not yet noticed his presence. So, he ducked back into the forest that outlined the village, in order to catch his breath and get his bearings.
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At this moment, he could hear what sounded like gunfire somewhere in the village. Just then, a small group of 4 or 5 teenagers scrambled past him on the edge of the forest area, giggling to themselves, as several of the guards gathered near the site of the sounds briefly, then split into different directions to try and identify the perpetrators.
By now, the teenage group had disbanded and were comfortably relaxing in their own homes. One of the guards passed by, but didn’t notice the person hiding in the forest.
A small jeep rolled into the center of the village, containing a driver, and what appeared to be at least one VIP, and several guards, also carrying machine guns. As it rolled to a stop, another VIP appeared from the largest building in the village to meet them. A characteristic salute (staunch, solid, feet together, right arm straight out, Sig Heil exclamation). Unfortunately, they spoke in German, so their conversation was indecipherable. The group then marched in a semi-formation back to the large building, while the jeep driver exited back the way he came.
Time seemed to pass, but it was not perceptible. Maybe it was 30 minutes, or 2 hours, it was hard to say. But suddenly, from the road appeared a large, unmarked, white truck. Four guards met the truck, which stopped just before them. After a brief interview with the driver, two of the guards remained in front, while the other two guards surrounded the rear of the truck. Raising the trailer’s door, they immediately smiled. One of the guards remained by the rear door, while the other left to gather foot soldiers to help with the manual unloading.
Soon there were eight or ten soldiers hand carrying wooden crates off the truck. They carried them to a till-now unseen cellar below the earth. There was a cellar door, camouflaged to match the terrain. Steps led down to an area where they warehoused the crates from the truck. Once all the crates had been unloaded, the truck was closed off, it turned around, and disappeared back into the forest from the way it came.
Making his way around the circular village, through the forest, he found himself just beyond the cellar door. It was expertly camouflaged to be invisible unless you already knew it was there. He cleared enough dirt and foliage to expose the handle. He lifted it enough to sneak behind the door and allow it to close behind him.
Inside the bunker, it was pitch black. The door was solid and sealed all the way around. There was no electricity in this area, and artificial lighting was rare, save for the basic oil torch. Feeling around the walls, he grasped what he thought was a torch. He could feel the handle and the oily wick. He felt around more, and thought he discovered a flint. He scratched the flint against the stone steps, and a brief spark blinked out in front of him. He leaned the torch near the steps, and struck the flint to the stone step again. This time the spark jumped to the oily wick and the torch exploded into life, lighting up the stairway.
He could now see that there were several torches hanging on the wall of the stairway, and one additional flint on a ledge near them. The room was not severely large, but large enough. He estimated it to be at least a hundred feet deep, by twenty or thirty feet wide. There was an open walkway down the middle, and the sides were lined with wooden crates, though the room was not full by any measure. The crates were sealed shut with nails, but were marked in English, which was surprising. On the outside of each crate was emblazoned: GD HMG BROWNING .50 CAL
Another batch of smaller green containers were marked, in white paint: USARMY ORDINANCE on the top, and .50 CAL MOUNTED MACHINE GUN on the side.
There must have been several hundred of the larger wooden crates, and at least five hundred of the smaller green metal containers.
Near the front of the cavern, next to the steps was a small desk and a clipboard. On the clipboard was a paper document entitled “MANIFEST JUNE 22 1949”. In the top right corner was the logo of the General Electric company, with an address in Schenectady, New York. The manifest described a series of washing machine models and part numbers.