Sometimes fiction is easier to believe than the truth.
From the researcher that broke Tamara Luttzatto's ties to HRC and the Invisible Bistro, a novel weaving everything from Operation Paperclip's Nazis to Elsagate to form the warp and weft of this novel's reality.
The son of hidden powers in America, Theo Mezler did the unthinkable: married someone not born into the life of wealth and privilege his secret Nazi heritage afforded him. Given orders from The Powers That Be, he must bring his wife Nyssa into the fold or face certain destruction in the public eye.
But when things backfire, Nyssa embarks on a journey of discovery which opens her eyes to reality; a world where conspiracy theories stop being mere theories and are in fact uncomfortable truths. A world of programmed people playing specific roles. A world where human trafficking by political elites and secret breeding programs are business as usual.
Order at SMASHWORDS
| ONE | THEO
Vancouver's skyline disappeared as we gained altitude, with a southerly heading in the chopper. Another weekend over, and all departed from the farm. It belonged to the family of my companion and boyhood friend, Colly. He was everything I wasn't; he possessed the type of self-assurance that comes with a legacy ensured. He spoke up, breaking the figurative silence-- if the sound of whirling rotors and engines could be deemed silent-- and asked, “So why haven't you brought the missus to our shindigs?”
Shindigs. Such a quaint way to look at the monthly socializing between those in the one percent. Decadence, depravity, elegance, blackmail. Somehow, I don't think my newly acquired wife would blend in with the crowd. “She's not one of us. She’s solidly middle class in upbringing, morality, and ethics.” I cracked a smile as my hands tightened on the cyclic stick. “The entertainment would probably have her running out of there.” Dozens of writhing bodies, candle-lit interludes and debauchery while covert cameras rolled. “Hell, I haven't told her the truth about me. I don't know if I can do so. Don't know how she'd handle it.”
Die Spinne. German for The Spider. It was an organization formed by high-ranking Nazis and headed by Martin Bormann to get Hitler out of Berlin at the tail end of World War II. While the Russians claimed they had the skull of Adolf Hitler, they were wrong. So very wrong. They had it forensically examined a while back and it was determined to belong to a woman. That woman wasn’t Eva Braun.
My ancestry involves genetics from those saved via the ratlines and monasteries in Spain, who then fled in U Boats from Cadiz to Tangiers, and then South America, going on to flourish, and work toward a particular goal of a single world power. Our power. We were over five hundred thousand strong. How could I tell my wife that? How could I tell her my grandfather was branded a Nazi war criminal that escaped so-called justice from the Nuremberg Trials, and almost got caught by Mossad twenty years later? Only escaping from one of many SS-populated colonies in Chile with help from friends in high places, did he make his way to America and set up a new life; a life of privilege I get to enjoy and am expected to pass on to yet another generation. Somehow, I think my prissy historian wife would not be okay with that, and it could damage everything I worked for and cherished.
“You could have married any woman, Theo, not some nobody from the sticks. An heiress, or aristocracy; someone from a bloodlined family. Or, if you felt like slumming, a model from Fashion Week. Anyone else. You've skipped out on a few of our gatherings... wasn't sure if your new spouse was to blame.” A warning hung in his voice.
I shrugged. “No, she doesn't know my 'business out of town' means hobnobbing. And you know I don't like my dating pool so shallow. New blood is required every now and again to ensure survival of the species. She’s unlike anyone I know, Colly. I'm trying to ease her into the lifestyle, so when the time is right she can join in guilt free. As it is, I tell her I'm on a business trip, and she buys it. And so she will believe until I deem otherwise.” I did not look forward to that conversation. She'd huff and puff and try to blow my pleasure house down. But getting her drunk and showing her a good time would fix what ailed her.
“Jezi, Chelsea, Myra... they all want to meet your wife and bring her into the fold. Although I think Jezi wants to meet her just to gauge how cute your kids are going to be. Chelsea met her at the wedding, and wants to get to know her better.”
Oh, I bet they do. They'd sink their teeth into my wife and never let go, figuratively speaking. Especially Chelsea. But no. They must be deprived for the now. But I'd make it up to them, some day. “That may be, but it'll have to wait. I want to gently acclimate Nyssa before throwing her in the deep end. Although I’d love to know what she'd think of you.”
“Me?” He jolted against the harness lashing him to the seat, before turning to me in surprise.
“Act like you don't know what I mean. Hell, I'm not sure I should tell her it was your idea to get her new bling.” I don’t think I’ll tell her my closest friend chose the rubies and diamonds. How would she feel if she knew that? Could be considered creepy despite the intention behind it; the intention of making her one of us.
Despite not wanting it to be so, Colly and I looked so damn alike. Both of us were six foot two and around two hundred pounds. Both with light brown eyes and tawny hair. At our monthly parties, we made it a rule not to mingle next to each other. But he was the son of a former president, and I, the adopted child of a publishing magnate and his wife, a high-profile psychiatrist. Would Nyssa do a double take if she saw us standing next to each other?
“Then tell her you picked it out all by your lonesome. And the dress. Do you think she'll like it? Jezi suggested the shop. Gotta admit from what I saw, it's stunning. Hope it fits her. They made do with her wedding dress measurements and a photo.”
“Yeah, although I've never seen Nyssa in that shade of red before. It's not really her style.” She erred on the side of conservative librarian, so I can't say I didn't want to see her in something more revealing and loving it. It'd be like a fuzzy caterpillar waking up as a Fabergé bejeweled butterfly. I just wanted her to give some sparkly wings a try.
“You guys going to the wedding tomorrow? Have her wear it then. It'd be the perfect occasion to show her off. I imagine Erasmus is going to have a highbrow wedding reception. Plenty of people to impress and mingle among. And then there's the after party, and the after-after party...”
“She is not going to the after party. Or the after-after party. Last thing I want her to do is get hammered and grab your ass instead of mine. I don't think Ras' bride-to-be has been introduced to the lifestyle yet, either.” All things considered, I can't blame him.
“Well, fear not. I'm not going to be there. But you should flaunt her at the after party. Everybody loves fresh meat and everyone is looking to meet her.”
They were jaded from the same faces, no doubt. Same people all life long, families marrying into families, and keeping wealth centralized by making sure the family tree doesn't fork too much. And when it does? Always into the same strata, the same kind of people-- the kind of people who view marriage as a business arrangement meant to benefit both families. Love is secondary, always and without exception. That is what mistresses were for, after all.
And I diverged from that track, shocking friends and family. They expected me to make a sensible match, a high society girl, a girl with all the right connections. Marry someone who knew the ropes because they had been born or adopted into privilege. Nyssa with her smart mouth and laughing eyes did what paraded debutantes couldn't; she stole my heart. She was a breath of fresh air after a lifetime of staleness. I had hoped Colly understood, but no. I kept my romance a secret as best I could. Stopped with certain societal obligations, which was very much noticed by my peers. People began asking questions. And so, before Colly could confront me, I told him. He felt betrayed and didn’t come to our wedding. And since then, it's been a slow reconciliation. Me bringing my wife fully into the loop was the only way he deemed my lapse of judgment remedied.
“I'm not offering my wife as a sacrificial lamb to the company of wolves I keep. Not yet. I'm too jealous of a man.”
He barked a laugh and then put his serious face on for my benefit. “You don't get that choice. It's either bring her into the fold or consider yourself ruined. It's been agreed on by The Powers That Be. Like I said, you should have married anybody else.”
Shit. “How long do I have? Because the last thing anyone wants is for her to jump ship as soon as she sees the reality of the situation.”
“Six months.”
“That's all? Just six months?” Tried not to grit my teeth and focused on my breathing.
“You've had time, Theo. You're giving the impression of breaking away and we both know that can't happen. There's too much at risk for you to leave a loose end.”
“How do you do it, Colly? How the hell do you tell someone you adore that anyone in power is a Nazi descendent or benefactor, and that includes you? That publicly is one mask and privately is another and they can’t be reconciled? I don't know how to tell her... and let's face it. To the average person, that's not considered a huge turn-on. My wife is a museum historian. She's not going to let that slide.”
“Then get a new wife.” The way he said it so matter of fact, angered me. As if it was that easy. “Keep her as a mistress if you can't say goodbye. Or lock her ass in the attic and get a better wife. Make her disappear. You do realize you have options, right?”
“God, you're a dick, Colly.”
He smirked. “That's only one of my charms. But seriously. Either get her to conform or ditch the bitch. If you want a happy life, you aren't going to ignore this decree from up high. And I don't want to see you wrecked financially over a woman. You worked hard to distance yourself from your family's money. I can respect that. But you can't cut all ties. Your bloodline matters more than you want to admit, and by default, that means your children, too. Get your shit together and get your head back in the game. There are a lot of people depending on you. That dress for her wasn’t acquired for shits and giggles. Accept it and assimilate. You know what it means.”
I sighed.
Red.
The color of a sacrifice who would survive their ordeal…if they didn’t fight.
A fleeting thought of aiming the helicopter straight into the ocean skipped through my brain. Not an option. I have a wife. “I know. And I'll do my best.” Because if I didn't do my best, everything I worked for would be stripped. Scandals-- real or imagined-- would execute me in the court of public opinion. Lawsuits I could never win would engulf all my enterprises. State government and IRS sicced upon me like hounds after a rabbit. And worse? They'd submit my name to the FISA court, claiming I am working for foreign governments. From there, my name passed along to the Washington State Fusion Center, where a team of douchebags would be assigned and federally funded to make my life a living hell.
Break-ins, tampering of medications. Gangstalking. A level of surveillance one cannot truly grasp; one that is kept hush-hush because of how invasive it is. And then an even larger effort to destabilize my personality. It's amazing what WIFI and electromagnetic fields can accomplish when it comes to manipulating the human body, especially the brain. Telecommunication companies get big kickbacks for their compliance with using their equipment for secondary purposes. Get the frequency and hertz just right, and a person can be influenced toward certain self-destructive behaviors. Teamed with gangstalkers armed with military-grade directed energy weaponry which causes anything from adrenaline surges to excruciating pain in the form of non-stop migraines and jacked up blood pressure, one can be tortured into compliance of the Fusion Center's wants. If it came to that, there'd be no coming back. The goal would be incarceration; either in prison or a psyche ward to be drugged into oblivion. I'd be targeted. A Non-Investigative Subject, handling code 4. Watchlisted but never investigated since that list was meant for slow kill victims. Seen it happen to others who went against The Powers That Be; it was watched as entertainment, like a bullfight. There may be a grand show, but nine point nine times out of ten, that bull dies after a shitton of torment, to the applause of the audience.
I could not let that happen to me or mine.
My whole life was built on a lie. A cover story for the Nazi gold my grandfather left me. Before he died, he hammered into my head that our wealth was not up for discussion, ever, especially to outsiders. They’d never understand, couldn’t understand. How could I tell my wife that? And everything else?
Had to do my very best; Nyssa depended on me. I couldn't leave her unprotected in a world populated by two-legged sharks; they would eat her alive and enjoy her screams all the while. I knew it deep in my bones.
I needed help. Nadja. Could ask her to meet at Ras' wedding. She could get a bead on Nyssa, and tell me what to do. If anyone could do it, it'd be Nadja.
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