Wayne sprinted back to Dr. Hoffmann’s house. The more he ran, the faster he wanted to run. His adrenalin was pumping. He wanted to tell Dr. Hoffmann that he had changed his mind before she did something foolish, such as try and do the “job” herself.
When he arrived at her house, Wayne rapped loudly on her front door until, a few seconds later, Dr. Hoffmann opened up the door.
“I’ll do it,” he proudly said as he tried to catch his breath. Dr. Hoffman stepped back to let him in.
“That is good news. What gave you a change of heart?”
“I thought about what you said — about doing what’s good for humanity. Maybe you’re right. If we have the means to alter something in history that brought so much pain and misery to so many people, then we should make use of it.”
He paused, thinking about the dead clerk. He hesitated before mentioning it to her.
“Great. Let’s go to my laboratory. I will explain all of the details to you there,” Dr. Hoffmann said zealously.
“You mean now? Go back tonight?”
“Yes. Tonight.”
“Oh, boy,” Wayne sighed. He looked toward the door and then back toward Dr. Hoffman.
“Can’t we wait a few days? Or weeks? I mean, what’s the hurry?”
Dr. Hoffmann stood firm. “It is too important for it to be delayed. Tonight we must do it.”
They drove in Dr. Hoffmann’s old, messy Chevrolet Nova to the NYU campus. They walked into the science laboratory building and past the main library. Wayne hoped that he wouldn’t run into anyone he knew. He didn’t want any rumors spreading about him and his professor.
How would he explain to friends what he was doing with Dr. Hoffmann late at night in her lab? Dr. Hoffmann would not discuss anything about what they were going to do until they were in the privacy of her lab.
Once they were in her lab, Dr. Hoffmann started talking with a great fervor about what Wayne was to do. “I am sending you back in time to January 30th, 1933. On that day, Adolf Hitler became the Chancellor of Germany. That night, a reception was held for him by his top officials in the Reich Chancellery.”
“Why then?” Wayne wanted to know. “Why not to when Hitler was in high school or some other time before he was famous?”
“Because on that night of January 30th, I can pinpoint precisely the Nazi leader’s location and also have an effective way for you to carry out our plan.”
“Would you mind filling me in on that plan?”
Dr. Hoffmann picked up a thick book entitled “Hitler’s Reign” off of her desk and opened it up to a photograph that took up almost a full page. She pointed the photograph out to Wayne. “This picture was taken on that night of January 30th, 1933.”
It was a black and white picture that showed Hitler standing at a podium holding up a large ornamental silver cup. In small, but still legible lettering, on the front of the cup was an inscription that read “DE FÜHRER”. At Hitler’s side stood his secretary and deputy, Rudolf Hess; SS-leader and chief executioner, Heinrich Himmler; and the commander in chief of the Air Force and Hitler’s second in command, Hermann Wilhelm Göring.
“It’s a bunch of Nazis all right,” Wayne replied.
“Adolf Hitler will toast his supporters and drink champagne from the silver mug which has the words “De Fuhrer” inscribed on it. All you have to do is find that mug before he drinks from it.”
Dr. Hoffmann picked up a vial filled with a clear liquid, “Once you locate that silver cup, make sure that this gets into his champagne. This will stop his heart. With the primitive medical methods available then, no one will be able to revive him. To everyone present, it will appear that their leader had a heart attack. It will probably be attributed to the excitement of the day’s events.”
“What if I can’t get my hands on that cup? I mean, is there a backup plan at least?” Wayne fidgeted. “I think we should wait and really plan this out.”
“The method to achieve our goal that I have elucidated for you is the only feasible one. Believe me, Wayne, if I didn’t think that this project would be safe for you to accomplish and exit unharmed, I would in no way send you into a dangerous situation. As I have said, I have been plotting this for many years.”
Wayne still had a question or two. “Won’t I stick out like a sore thumb?” he asked.
“I have thought about that.” Dr. Hoffmann went to a cabinet and removed from it some clothes that were clearly from a different era. “You will be dressed as a waiter. That will enable you to get close to the silver cup without arousing suspicion. These are clothes that match what the waiters were wearing that night. Put them on. I’ll start getting things ready.”
Dr. Hoffmann turned away from Wayne and started to type on the computer keyboard. Wayne got changed.
“Well, she does seem to be prepared,” Wayne mumbled.
Wayne put on the black and white dress clothes. The slacks were uncomfortably stiff and the shoes were too tight, but Wayne didn’t complain. He wouldn’t be wearing them long.
Dr. Hoffmann stopped typing. “It’s time. Enter the machine,” she said.
Wayne clambered inside. “I don’t know what’s harder to believe — that you have actually invented a time machine or that I’m actually about to go through with this.”
Dr. Hoffmann adjusted several knobs. “I’m sending you back so that you will have enough time to locate the silver cup before Hitler drinks from it. Remember, just do what you are supposed to. Try not to talk to or socialize with anyone.”
“You don’t have to worry about that,” Wayne said. “What would I say to a Nazi anyway? How about breaking matzo with my family at our Seder?”
Dr. Hoffmann pulled down a lever on the time machine, making it come alive with a humming sound. “Any final questions?”
“For the moment, no,” he replied. “But I’m sure a few hundred will soon pop into my mind.”
“And, Wayne, most of all, good luck. And thank you,” Dr. Hoffmann gratefully said.
The humming from the time machine got louder. Smoke gushed out from the bottom of the machine.
Wayne disappeared.
On the evening of January 30, 1933, the Reich Chancellery in Berlin was crowded with guests. Some of those guests were members of Germany’s upper class who had supported Hitler financially and in other ways during his rise to power. One such man, present on this night, was Fritz Thyssen. Thyssen, the head of the German steel trust, the United Steel Works, and an extremely wealthy man, had contributed sizable sums to the National Socialist party and was a loyal follower of Hitler. Also present are top ranking Nazi party members and a large number of Hitler’s personal henchmen, the much-feared Sicherhietsdienst who are dressed in Nazi party uniforms with the swastika emblazoned on armbands.
The Nazis were drinking heavily and proudly celebrating their leader’s new position of power. Yes, Adolf Hitler, the son of a civil servant and a former unsuccessful painter, was now the Chancellor of Germany. It would just be a matter of time before he was the dictator of the country and had the final say about every aspect of life in the Third Reich.
An orchestra played a German operetta by Hitler’s favorite composer as Wayne materialized in a quiet corner of the room.
There he was, in 1933 Nazi Germany. Words could not express Wayne’s thoughts at that moment. He was standing in the same room as some of the most evil men who had ever walked the face of the Earth. It gave Wayne an eerie feeling. His heart was pounding and his palms sweaty. Wayne’s main concerns were to complete his mission and, most importantly, to not let anybody find out that he was Jewish.
One of the nearby guests, a bulky man, was holding an empty glass in his hand. He turned around to notice Wayne. The guest, thinking he was a waiter, shoved his glass in Wayne’s face and raucously said, “Get me another drink.”
Wayne knew that if he hesitated at all, he might cause unwanted attention. He nodded his head up and down and took the empty glass from the man.
Wayne walked around, looking for the drink table. Toward the back of the main Chancellery meeting area, where the festivities were taking place, Wayne noticed a pair of swinging doors. He figured these doors would lead into the kitchen. Given the simplicity so far, he hoped that the rest of this would be just as easy.
The kitchen was small, just large enough for a few people to comfortably work in it together. A prep cook was busy readying hor d’œuvres.
The prep cook saw Wayne and pointed, without saying anything, to a large barrel filled with iced bottled of champagne and trays stacked with empty champagne glasses. Wayne got the hint and began to fill glasses with the alcoholic beverage. He was tempted to take a swig of the stuff, but didn’t dare.
Another waiter entered the kitchen with an empty tray. The crowd was hungry for champagne, and he was only able to walk about nine meters before his tray was once again vacant. Wayne was eyeing all of the cabinets and drawers as a possible spot where the Silver Cup may be. He would have to do some searching. But how without drawing attention?
Wayne filled his tray of champagne glasses very slowly, but felt the gaze of the prep cook on his back. He would have to exit the kitchen with his tray. He would unload his champagne glasses to guests as quickly as possible, then get back to the kitchen. Maybe the prep cook wouldn’t be there then. Time was wasting.
Wayne left the kitchen. Guests thirstily grabbed the glasses off of his tray without saying a word to him. So far, so good. Now he had to find a way to search for the Silver Cup.
As Wayne, with his empty tray, walked through the door that swung into the kitchen, he caught a glimpse of something that made him think his eyes were playing a trick on him. He saw another waiter, a middle-aged chap, exit the kitchen through the other door. This other waiter was holding up a tray, though not just an ordinary silver tray like Wayne himself held or the other waiters had been using to pass out drinks to the guests. No, this tray appeared to be exquisite gold. It was the glitter of this tray that caught Wayne’s eye. But what really astounded Wayne was the one item he saw on this beautiful tray. That one item was none other than a silver cup. Wayne, for a split second, had thought he had seen an inscription on the front of the silver cup, but he wasn’t sure. Could this be it? Who else would be brought a special cup to drink out of on a special gold tray but the Führer?
Wayne had to act fast. He didn’t bother entering the kitchen to refill on champagne glasses. Instead, he started to trail the waiter with the gold tray.
As he tried to follow him, Wayne had a hard time making his way through the heavily crowded room. As Wayne pushed his way through, various guests placed empty glasses and cigarette butts on his tray. Wayne felt somebody bump against him. He turned around and came face to face with Adolf Hitler.
Hitler gave Wayne a cold stare with his slightly protruding, radiant, deep blue eyes — the eyes that had hypnotized a nation.
As the Führer made eye contact with him, Wayne began to shake and almost pissed in his pants. Surely Hitler would see something in Wayne that would make him suspicious of this waiter.
Wayne swallowed hard and did the only thing that he could think of at the moment. “Heil, Hitler,” Wayne said and also saluted Hitler.
Adolf Hitler did not respond. Instead, for what seemed like the longest twenty seconds of his whole entire life, the Nazi leader continued staring into Wayne’s eyes. And suddenly, Hitler continued on his way. Wayne let out a sigh of relief.
Wayne thought to himself after meeting Hitler and seeing the other Nazi functionaries how ironic it was that these men did not in any way appear to be the supermen, or ideal Aryan specimens, that was central to the National Socialist regime. In fact, with the exception of only two men that were present on that night, none of the men had blue eyes or blond hair, or even appeared to be the perfect example of a healthy human being. Not Goebbels with his clubbed foot deformity, nor Göring was his obesity, nor Himmler with his frail body and bad eyes, nor Hitler himself with his black hair and his frequent stomach problems.
Wayne continued pushing his way through the crowd. He spotted the waiter with the silver cup walking towards the podium. Wayne moved quickly to get next to him.
There was only one thing that Wayne could do. He stuck his foot out so that the middle-aged waiter would trip. The waiter proceeded to take a fall and banged his head with a strong impact on the floor, sending the silver cup flying.
Wayne picked up the silver cup off of the floor and put the prized possession on his tray. He patted the hurting waiter on the back. The waiter was too dazed to say anything. Wayne read the cup’s inscription, “De Führer,” Bingo.
Hitler stepped up to the podium. Behind him hung a huge red banner with the all-important party symbol, the swastika, dead in the center of it. Seated behind the Führer were top Nazi officials, including Rudolf Hess and Hermann Göring. The place had become silent.
Hitler stood at the podium for a full two minutes before talking. This built up anticipation for the audience, whether a small beer hall audience or a packed stadium audience, to hear their leader speak his magical words of leadership and wisdom. Hitler, being the gifted orator that he was, really knew how to work a crowd to his advantage.
Finally, the Nazi leader spoke in a mild tone, “A great victory has been had today, but much more has yet to be done. Today, we have paved the way for Germany to rightfully regain what was once hers.
The crowd cheered and he continued, “None but the members of the nation may be citizens of the State. None but of those of German blood, of the purest of Germanic bloodlines, will…”
Wayne entered the kitchen. The prep cook was gone. The place was empty. He had the Silver Cup. Things could not be going any better.
Wayne picked up a bottle of champagne and poured some champagne into the Silver Cup. He glanced around the now empty kitchen. The coast was clear. Wayne removed the vial of poison from his pocket. He unscrewed the protective cap and poured the deadly contents of the vial into the beautiful Silver Cup.
A waiter, the one Wayne had originally seen in the kitchen, walked in. The waiter, a young guy of average build, spotted Wayne. Something he saw angered him.
He grabbed Wayne by the shoulders and pushed him with so much force against a counter where utensils hung that most of them fell to the ground.
“Idiot!” the waiter yelled. He pushed Wayne hard again, this time into another counter. On the counter was a carving board and a full selection of carving knives. The waiter pinned Wayne down. He picked up a knife that had to have had a blade at least a foot long, and put the sharp edge of the blade against Wayne’s neck.
Wayne took a big gulp and kept his eyes fixed on the knife’s blade. Had this waiter seen Wayne pour the liquid into Hitler’s special drinking cup? Wayne didn’t believe that he had. But what else could this guy be getting psycho about? Wayne was trying to think of an excuse that he would use now that he was busted.
“Asshole!” the waiter wrathfully said in Wayne’s face. “Do you want to cost us all our jobs? You know how important tonight is. If I see you without an armband one more time, I will use this knife.”
The waiter lowered the big knife from Wayne’s neck and got off of him. He removed an extra swastika armband from his slacks and threw it at a dumfounded Wayne. The waiter exited the kitchen.
Wayne breathed a little easier. He slowly and shamefully put the swastika armband on. So, Dr. Hoffmann hadn’t thought of everything, after all. Wayne had been sure that his cover was blown. Wayne’s first instinct was to deck the waiter, but then he became determined just to get out of 1933 in one piece, whether he had completed his objective or not.
He picked up the gold tray and carefully placed the now-filled Silver Cup on it. After taking another quick disbelieving look at the knife that had been put to his throat, Wayne exited the kitchen.
Inside the Chancellery’s main room, Hitler was speaking in a fiery tone, “…why Germany must have more breathing space and no other European nation must stand in her righteous path. If the Communists, Freemasons, or Jews of the world continue to prevent Germans from acquiring what is rightfully our lands, and have been in German hands for a thousand years, then the price these people will pay will be with their own heads.” A massive round of cheering came from the guests. Hitler continued, “And now, I toast you, my Deutschland.”
Hitler looked for his special cup. One of the Nazi officials observed Wayne, who was standing by the side of the podium. Wayne had been stunned by how phenomenal a speaker Hitler really had been. Every word was spoken in a certain manner to achieve a desired effect from the audience. Wayne had seen old newsreels of the Führer speaking and how the audiences always hung on his every word, but in-person his gifts as an orator were even more impressive.
The Nazi official gave Wayne a jab to get his attention, nearly causing Hitler’s Cup to topple over. Wayne prevented such a grave accident from occurring (he had only come with the one vial of poison) by putting his hand to the Cup immediately, almost as an instant reflex. The Nazi official took the Silver Cup from Wayne’s tray and placed it delicately in front of the Führer.
Hitler wrapped his right hand around the bottom of the Cup and held up the Cup in toast position for all to view. Wayne quietly moved to the back of the room. He was now ready to go back home to 1995.
The Nazi leader commenced his toast. “To my German comrades. To a Deutschland that will be the most powerful nation in the world.”
With his dog-like devotion to Hitler, Rudolf Hess, as was his wont, shouted out “THE FÜHRER! SIEG HEIL!”
The audience, in a mighty roar, repeated the slogan, “THE FÜHRER! SIEG HEIL!”
Adolf Hitler drank heavily from the inscribed cup.
In the rear of the room, Wayne said to himself “Okay, Doc, get me the hell out of here.”
At the speaker’s podium, directly after ingesting his champagne, Hitler grabbed at his throat, as if gasping for air. The Führer appeared to be trying to speak at the same time. No words came out.
“De Führer?” Rudolf Hess asked in a concerned tone. Hitler stumbled.
Hermann Göring put down his overloaded plate of food and yelled, “Something’s wrong! Doctor! We need a doctor here right away!” Nobody stepped forward as a doctor.
The Nazi leader collapsed down onto the floor with his left hand locked in a position of still grabbing his own throat.
The guests became silent and gathered around their leader. Hess felt Hitler’s neck for a pulse. There was none. Hess cried out, “THE FÜHRER IS DEAD! THE FÜHRER IS DEAD!”
The crowd let out a collective gasp. Everyone was flabbergasted. How could such a thing happen?
Göring, acting more perspective than he usually was, spoke to SS Officer Werner, who was present. “Something seems suspicious. Find that waiter who brought the Führer’s cup over here. I have got a feeling about him.” SS Officer Werner, a devoted man who had been with the Party since almost the very beginning, saluted Göring and walked away to collect his men.
Wayne watched the proceedings from the back of the room alone. Many guests were crying. Some had fainted. Some others even screamed in shock at what had happened. The room was getting noisy. “Mission accomplished,” Wayne thought to himself. “Have a good time in Nazi heaven, Adolf.” Wayne removed his swastika armband from his person and dropped it. He was itchy to get out of there.
SS Officer Werner gave instructions to his men to lock the place up. The armed Nazis drew their guns and dispersed.
Wayne became nervous. “Come on, 1995,” he said and closed his eyes tight. He reopened his eyelids, and saw that he was still where he was. “Shit.” Wayne was sure that any moment he would arrive back home. But still, what was Dr. Hoffmann waiting for?
An SS Nazi fixed his shifty eyes on Wayne. The Nazi pointed his pistol at his prey. A bullet fired in Wayne’s direction. The bullet impacted with the wall a fraction of an inch above his head. The crowd of guests ducked down. Far be it for an SS man to be concerned with the safety of innocent people. The SS Nazi was about to fire on Wayne again.
“Oh, shit!” Wayne jumped away quickly. The lead projectile fired at him narrowly missed him. “Fuckin’ hey — it’s not supposed to happen this way,” he muttered.
Wayne started running, having to hurdle over ducking guests as he did so. He eyed another Nazi with a firearm pointed at him dead on. Wayne dove under a grand oak table.
The Nazi fired. The bullets hit the table, splintering part of it right off.
Wayne would have to get out of the Chancellery. He had never been shot at before, and it was an experience that he could have definitely lived without. There was no time to think about a strategy. “Just keep moving, get the fuck out of this damn place,” he told himself, over and over.
Wayne made a dash for the front door. No luck. SS men were guarding it.
SS Nazis were closing in on him. Wayne saw a Nazi about to fire on him. Wayne snatched a guest, a well-dressed man of about sixty, and held him in front of his own body. The bullet pierced the guest in the head precisely between the eyes. Other guests shrieked. “Sorry, buddy!” Wayne said to the now-deceased man as he dropped the body. Better that a Nazi sympathizer takes a bullet than him, Wayne figured.
Wayne kept on moving, running smack into the area where the orchestra had been playing. The musicians had put their instruments down when Hitler died.
Another Nazi had Wayne in range. These guys were relentless. Wayne tripped over a set of large brass gongs lying next to the drum set. It was a trip that would save his life. He picked up one of the gongs, and positioned it in front of himself as a shield.
Wayne felt the powerful vibration of a bullet as it ricocheted off the large gong. He also heard a cry of pain. The bullet had, ironically enough, ricocheted off Wayne’s “shield” into the arm of the Nazi who had fired the shot.
A Nazi came up from behind Wayne suddenly and grabbed him. Wayne had taken karate as a kid, so at least he had some fighting abilities. This was about to pay off. Wayne elbowed the Nazi hard in the kidney area, causing the Nazi to let go of him. The Nazi took his gun out. Wayne screamed and did a high kick, which knocked the gun out of the Nazi’s hand.
He rushed Wayne and punched him hard in the gut and then gave him a hard jab to his face. Wayne had never been punched that hard in his life. He dropped to the floor. Not even bothering to pick up his firearm, the Nazi came again at Wayne.
Wayne grabbed two large gongs off the floor and clapped one on each side of the Nazi’s head, forcing his head to involuntarily waver and fall.
With a group of SS Men swiftly closing in on him, Wayne became desperate. If he were lucky he’d be captured; Wayne didn’t feel lucky. He looked around. There was only one place he could now go. He remembered seeing something that would be his only chance.
Wayne bolted into the kitchen. Thank God, there was nobody in there. Wayne surveyed the thick ventilation shaft above the main stove. The outer opening to the airshaft was covered with a tin grating. He climbed up onto the big iron stove. He removed the grating, which came off easily enough, and then crawled into the ventilation shaft. If he had been a little heavier, he would not have fit in, for Wayne had only a minute amount of breathing space. Wayne placed the tin grating back on the opening of the ventilation shaft as best he could from the awkward position that he was in.
Wayne put his hand behind him in the darkness of the shaft to better situate his body. He heard a loud squeak and felt something squirming around. “Ow!” Something had bit him. Wayne’s eyes had adjusted to the darkness, much as one’s eyes do when turning off the light to go to sleep. Wayne looked down to see what had bit him. It was a large black rat. Wayne lifted up his hand to his face. His hand was bleeding. Not profusely, but it was a good size cut. Wayne never knew that rats had such sharp teeth.
Wayne started crawling deeper and deeper into the filthy airshaft. He began coughing incessantly. There was very little oxygen in the shaft to begin with, and all the dust, grease particles, and dirt in it didn’t help matters.
Wayne was terrified. That same fear of death that had gripped him on the Hindenburg overcame him again. What in the world was Dr. Hoffmann doing? Why did she let him stay in Nazi Germany so long?
At the other end of the air shaft, in what seemed like at least 60 suffocating feet to his lungs, Wayne arrived at a grating partition that led to the outside of the Chancellery.
Wayne kicked hard at the grating, which caused the weathered plaster holding it in place to begin to crumble. He kicked harder with all of the strength that he could muster in his legs. The grating finally separated from the plaster. The grating was jerked free.
Wayne crawled out of the ventilation shaft. He was breathing heavily, and his clothes carried a filthy appearance and a foul smell.
The streets of Berlin were alive with the sound of marching boots. A procession of SA Nazi Stormtroopers, the organization originally designed to protect Nazi mass meetings and oppose political rivals, wearing their brown uniforms marched to German military music while they carried torchlights. Joseph Goebbels, head of propaganda, had organized this impressive march on just an hour’s notice. The news of Adolf Hitler’s demise had not been made public yet.
Wayne viewed this procession from his vantage point outside of the Chancellery building. He did not want to be seen by them. He should keep moving, he decided. Wayne ran around the corner and away from where the Stormtrooper march was headed.
The cold air made Wayne shiver. It wasn’t a bitter cold, as Berlin often became during the long German winter, but cold enough for most all of its citizens to complain about. The weather was one thing that the Nazis could not control.
Five blocks from the Chancellery, a drunken SA Nazi on that night had his pistol aimed pointblank at a young man and his wife, who was clearly in the later stages of a pregnancy. The man foolhardily wore a Jewish Star of David on a necklace around his skinny neck. That night the man should have left his religious emblem at home.
“Jewish swine,” the drunken SA Nazi spoke. “The Reich will take care of your kind of vermin for good. Why, I’ll kill you now, swine, before your kind can breed anymore.” The intoxicated, brainwashed Nazi looked as if he could barely stand up straight. He did possess enough energy, though, to lift up his gun and point it at the pregnant woman.
Wayne turned the corner of the street and stopped at the sight in front of him.
The brown shirted Nazi turned and aimed his pistol in Wayne’s direction. Intermittently laughing hysterically and talking, he said, “Watch what I’m gonna do; watch me kill some Jews. Heil Hitler!”
Wayne took a hold of the Nazi’s arm. The gun fired into the air.
The tipsy Stormtrooper was shocked at what Wayne had done, “Traitorous son-of-a-bitch. I have to report you for your… for your getting in the way of a Party member carrying out official business. May you hang high, you bastard.”
He tried to grab at Wayne’s neck, as if he would strangle him if he had the strength to. Wayne struck him hard in the face, knocking the man out.
“Thank you, thank you,” the Jewish man said as he hugged his crying wife.
“Glad to be of help,” Wayne responded.
“You have saved our lives. How can I ever thank you?”
“You just did.” Worried that the gunshot may have attracted attention, Wayne wanted to leave quickly. He thought it strange that the woman’s face seemed oddly familiar to him. She probably just had one of those faces.
The Jewish man gave Wayne a hearty handshake, and did not let go of his hand. “My name is Josef Hoffmann and this is my wife, Greta. Who are you?”
“Wayne Goldberg.” Wayne politely withdrew his hand.
“Wayne, if you ever need anything at all—”
The Jewish man’s name sure sounded familiar to Wayne. “Hoffmann… Hoffmann… Josef Hoffmann…” Wayne knew, of course, why his last name rang a bell. But where had he heard this man’s name recently? All of a sudden, it came to him. To make sure he was right, Wayne asked, “Your unborn child — have you chosen a name?
“Yes,” Josef replied. “If it is a boy, Josef Junior, and if it is a girl, Lisa.”
“I got to get out of here.” Wayne ran off.
Josef called out to Wayne, “Remember, Josef Hoffmann.”
Gestapo vehicles, the identifiable black jeeps with the words State Police etched on the sides in white, approached the area. The SS Nazis picked up Wayne’s trail.
The news of the Führer’s death had been broadcast on radio. All over Germany, people were saddened and in shock at the awful news. Germany’s best hope for a future of employment and prosperity and a recovery from the depression seemed to disappear. The news also broadcast that foul play might have been involved in Hitler’s death, a good chance it being “the work of despicable Communists or Jews, or both working together to once more disrupt the future of Germany.”
One of the Gestapo vehicles pulled up alongside Josef Hoffmann. Inside the vehicle was SS Officer Werner, his face contorted with hate, as well as another SS man.
Josef Hoffmann secretly slipped off his necklace. He wasn’t looking for any more trouble that night.
Officer Werner eyed Hoffmann and his wife suspiciously. Nazis especially loathed pregnant Jewish women. It was believed, mistakenly, by the Nazis, that Jews were trying to have as many children as possible so that one day there would be more Jews in Germany than “pureblood Germans” and so that the Jews could infiltrate every business, factory, university, and so on that they didn’t already have their sneaky paws in. Werner shared this view.
“Have you seen a young man dressed as a servant go by?” Werner asked the couple.
“No,” Josef said.
Werner put his fact close to Josef’s face. “If you are not telling me the truth, you will end up in jail, or worse. Now, do you want to reconsider your answer?”
Hoffmann did not have to think about it, “No.”
Werner tried to get information out of Greta Hoffmann when he warned her, “A wife remaining silent when her husband does not tell the truth is a criminal offense.” Werner attempted to hit her in a vulnerable spot. He surveyed her expanded midsection and added, “One must think of the wellbeing of a child. It would be a pity if a child grew up without having its mother and father around. After all, who would raise it?” Werner said in a sadistic tone, “Who would feed it? Who would keep it safe from the elements if something unfortunate should happen to its mother and father?” He paused to let what he said sink in, then asked the very scared woman, “I will ask you once- have you seen a man dressed as a food servant go by?”
Mrs. Hoffmann was fearful as she stood there being put on the spot. She had often heard SS men make idle threats about all sorts of things. That was what they were good at. Though Werner did frighten her with his words, she was smart enough to know that it was a scare tactic to get her to talk. Greta would not rat on someone who had just saved her and her family’s life.
“No,” she said firmly.
SS Officer Werner gave the couple a thorough lookover, as if taking a mental picture. Abruptly, he ordered his driver, “Move it out.”
Wayne ran down a narrow street lined with apartment buildings, shops, and cafes. His eyes searching desperately for a place to hide. He checked doors of storefronts to see if one might be unlocked — maybe he could slip into one and hide out there.
It was clear to Wayne why Dr. Hoffmann had chosen him to go back in time; why she had wanted to get to know him. He had only a few minutes ago saved her life as well as her parent’s lives. Dr. Hoffmann must have known that one night in 1933 a man named Wayne Goldberg would save her parent’s lives. And it blew Wayne’s mind that it was himself. His head pounded with questions as he ran like a panic stricken mouse down the street. What if Lisa Hoffmann, unborn child, died tonight? Then I could not be here in Nazi Germany because a Dr. Lisa Hoffmann would never have invented a time machine. But how could I save Lisa Hoffmann if she was only an unborn child and didn’t even invent a time machine yet? Was that the reason she was keeping me in 1933 Germany so long?
Three Gestapo vehicles led by Werner turned onto Wilhelm Street. “That son-of-a-bitch is all mine,” he said.
Wayne saw the cars and knew exactly what the words State Police implied and knew it was himself they were after. Having no other place to go, Wayne dashed into a dark alley that was located behind the stores.
The back alley dead-ended into the back of an apartment building. The wall of the dwelling towered twelve stories above him. He could go no further. Wayne kicked himself for being so stupid. How could he let himself get cornered like that?
On the ground, besides trashcans too small for a person to fit into, was a large pile of flattened cardboard packing boxes. Wayne figured he was beat, but crawled anyway into the pile of boxes so that he was hidden.
A squad of six SS Nazis, led by SS Officer Werner, entered the dark alley, illuminating their way with flashlights. They began to search every nook and cranny of the alley. The SS men kicked over trashcans, and kicked though small mounds of scattered debris, as they neared Wayne’s hiding place.
This was it, Wayne thought — his final moments on Earth. He thought about his impending death. Would it hurt? Would there be a heaven? Could this be it- you live, you die- and that is it? He was sorry he hadn’t called Lauren before he left on this insane escapade. He would miss her more than anything else.
Werner and his men neared the end of the alley. Werner eyed the pile of boxes, lit up by the Nazi’s torchlights. The SS men had their firearms at the pile.
A flash of brilliant white light surrounded the heap of boxes and a loud, mysterious crackling noise rang out.
The SS men stopped dead in their tracks. None of the men had ever witnessed so bizarre an incident. These trained men of steel, including Officer Werner, became apprehensive about what they had just seen.
“Check it out,” Werner cautiously said to his men.
Obeying directions from a superior, the five men, with weapons drawn, slowly pulled apart the pile of boxes. Nothing was found except for a few red ants scurrying about.
Everybody was speechless. The men knew they had seen their fugitive run down into this alley. There was no other place he could have hid or could have gone to. Wanting not to appear weak in front of his men, SS Officer Werner simply said, “Move it out.” His men complied.
The occurrence did haunt Werner, though. The once proud SS officer became a heavy drinker, and then a full-fledged alcoholic. He would die of liver failure in 1938 before the war broke out. His family never would understand why he became what he did, but to the five SS men with him on that night in that dark alley, there was little doubt as to what had caused Werner’s confidence to have been shaken and what had led to his inevitable decline.