Himmler's Island. Richard G. Buchanan PhD
Himmler’s Island
Richard G. Buchanan, Ph.D.
Copyright 2014 Richard G. Buchanan, Ph.D.,
All rights reserved.
Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com
ISBN-13: 9781456623654
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
Chapter 1
CLAIRE JAMES, a CNN Junior Reporter walked into her Manager’s office. Framed television programming awards the Network and the Manager had received appeared on the “Ego” wall behind him, and his desk had the usual files, notepads and a pen-and pencil cup. He beckoned Claire to sit in one of the chairs in front of the desk, and then said;
“I’ll come right to the point: For some reason, the brass has chosen you to go to a special Caribbean resort for a week to observe and then to report on it.”
Claire replied; “Thank you. What will I need? A video camera, a digital camera, a voice recorder, tickets, a passport and an advance?”
The Manager interrupted; “I’ve been told to tell you to take nothing but a week’s worth of casual resort clothes to enjoy your time. Then just come back and give your impressions in a report.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it. Pack your clothes and be ready to be picked up at three o’clock on Saturday afternoon.”
At about 3:00 PM on Saturday Claire answered the apartment’s intercom buzzer;
“Yes?”
The doorman’s voice said; “Ms. James? Your limo is here.”
The noise of the opening of the elevator door caused the relatively new day doorman to look up from his desk. He saw Claire James, a striking honey blonde with shoulder-length hair as he had never seen her before. Previously he’d either seen her dressed in the demure suits her station required female reporters to wear, or lumpy sweatshirts and jeans on the weekends. She strode out of the elevator towing a suitcase wearing a form fitting sleeveless blouse and equally form fitting mid-thigh shorts, walking in heeled sandals, enjoying the doorman’s look.
She breezed past his desk on her way across the apartment house lobby, out of its door and across the sidewalk toward the waiting car. It wasn’t a limousine, but it was a gleaming black Town Car.
The lolling driver looked up quickly when he saw Claire. She appreciated his rapt attention without letting him know she was aware of it. He opened the door saying; “Good afternoon Ms. James.”
Claire slid into the smooth leather seat as the driver put her suitcase into the Town Car’s trunk. He got into the driver’s seat, pulled away from the curb, but drove West. Claire had expected him to drive East or South.
“Aren’t we going to Kennedy?”
The driver answered; “We’re picking up another passenger ma’am.”
Claire sat back as the car went West to Central Park, through the park on one of its transverse roads, and then to a Westside apartment much like Claire’s, except there was a little circular driveway to the building’s entrance. After driving in, the driver turned to Claire saying; “I’ll be back in a minute.”
He got out, went into the building, spoke to the doorman, and then returned to the car, standing by it in the way Claire had first seen him. A few minutes later a woman emerged from the entrance, dressed much like Claire towing a similar suitcase. Unlike Claire, she had straight shoulder-length chestnut hair, fashionably center parted and a wide sensuous mouth. She slid into the seat next to Claire as the driver put her suitcase into the trunk.
She turned to Claire, extended her hand; then said; “Leslie Cummings.”
Claire took her hand and replied; “Pleased to meet you. . .Claire James.”
“Please to meet you Claire. . .” Leslie paused, looked over Claire in somewhat the same way as Claire’s doorman and their driver did which Claire noticed but chose to ignore. Leslie then said; “. . .you look familiar. Oh I know; you work for MSNBC.”
Claire replied; “Yes, and you look familiar too. You work for Fox.”
The driver had turned west, then when he reached 11th Avenue, turned south.
Leslie said; “Bet he’s going to Liberty Newark; there’re international flights that leave from there too.” She paused then continued; “Claire, let’s put our heads together. We’re going, all expenses paid, to some special Caribbean resort. ”
Claire replied; “Yeah. That’s what my boss said.”
“More. Aren’t there a lot of Reporters in your station that have a lot more seniority than you do?”
“Sure. I’ve been working there for only a few months.”
“Me too. Did your boss tell you why you got picked for this assignment over the others with more seniority? ”
“No. . .”
“Wait. Did your boss say something like ‘Senior Management decided, I don’t know why?’”
“Yes.”
“So we got picked because we were new on the job.”
“OK. I’ll buy that; but why?”
Leslie thought for a while, and then said; “I have absolutely no idea. Now, were you also told that you didn’t need equipment, tickets or a passport? ”
“Yes. Can you figure out why?”
“I can’t.”
By that time the car had entered the Lincoln Tunnel going to New Jersey under the Hudson River so the darkness put a damper on their conversation. When the car exited the tunnel and climbed up the helix, the stunning view of Manhattan’s west side skyline continued to stifle the conversation. As the view disappeared behind rocks in the road’s cut, Claire said; “I guess you’re right. We’re going to Newark Liberty.”
But after traveling West for a while, the car continued in that direction past the southerly turnoff towards Newark Liberty Airport. The two reporters looked a bit puzzled so they began paying attention to where the driver was going. He continued for a while then turned north, which completely puzzled them both. The car continued until they saw a sign which said “Teterboro Airport Next Exit.” The driver reached under the dashboard, pulled out a microphone, keyed it, spoke a few words the reporters couldn’t hear, and then replaced the microphone.
Leslie piped up; “I know where we’re going! That’s an airport for Private Aviation.”
Claire said; “So that’s why we don’t need tickets.”
The driver left the highway, went up the exit hill, turned right, went a short distance to the airport entrance, and then to one of the terminal buildings. He stopped at the broad sidewalk outside the building. The two heard the car’s trunk pop open as they saw a uniformed man pulling a luggage cart towards the rear of the car. A young suited man opened the passenger door, and then extended his hand to help Claire and Leslie out of the car, saying; “Ms. James? Ms. Cummings? Come with me.”
With the uniformed man towing the cart now carrying two suitcases following them, the suited man led the reporters to the terminal’s double doors which opened automatically. They walked across the lobby to the single security search area which looked far less formidable than the ones at commercial airports. As the man approached the area, he reached into his jacket pocket for a small identification wallet, flashed it at one of the security agents who waved them around the luggage and personal search