Dark Angel by Ron Felber

Author:Ron Felber
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781569808092
Publisher: Barricade Books

Chapter Fifteen

Elysee Hotel

Manhattan, New York

Once back in the city, I entered the hotel, never more determined to get to the bottom of the Kurtz murder, student suicides, and ALATON-Nazi connection. I scanned the lobby, in search of what, assassins? Who knew anymore? I wondered, coming to a halt at the sight of the big man squared up on a cushioned chair, Stetson hat in hand.

“Jack Madson!” he called out in a voice loud enough to turn heads, crossing the room as I waited for an elevator.

“You’re a lying piece of shit, Rollins,” I growled, hands folded so as not to smash a fist into his oversized, white-capped teeth.

His smile withered, “You don’t understand! There’s something you need to know . . . about you . . . about Coco!”

“Fuck off, Cowboy,” I suggested, grinning happily as the elevator door closed in his face. “You show up here again and I’ll put my foot so far up your ass you’ll need a surgeon to remove it!”

The temperature in my suite was more like Louisiana swamp than Manhattan winter when I entered, opening a window and downing a stiff drink even before checking on Amy. It was one in the morning and after a day of filming she lay on the bed fitfully sleeping which was a shame, I lamented, returning to the kitchen where I popped two Ambien with a Glenlivet chaser, feeling restless and in need of her body.

Afterward — equation back in balance as the sedative took effect — I sat at the desk in front of my laptop to confirm Harlan’s information about Wewlesburg. Unsurprisingly, it was accurate. Molter, a fabled Third Reich historian, lived in Buren, a few kilometers from the castle; Mengele had, in fact, worked in laboratories using prisoners from Neiderhager Death Camp as subjects for his experiments; and even the castle, itself, a sprawling three-towered Hell on earth where the Nazi hierarchy performed blood rituals in the so-called ‘sacred crypt’, the stone ceiling above it sculpted with pagan gods, all pointing to the skull and dagger SS insignia erupting from out of its center. Then, with photos of the castle perched on a mountain above the village, the SS monsters it housed, and bulldozed bodies piled up at Neiderhager spinning like pin wheels in front of me, I booked my flight: LaGuardia to Frankfurt, Germany.

I’m not sure what time I fell into bed but remember Amy asking, “Are you all right, Jackie?” “Yeah, Baby, I’m fine,” I answered, but this was a gross miscalculation, I came to realize at 3 a.m. when, locked in a night terror amid a tangle of sweat-drenched sheets, I bucketed up in bed and let loose a blood curdling scream, “Stop! Jesus Christ, get them the fuck away from me!”

When I came to myself, I felt as lost as an abductee dropped onto the ground from a UFO, heart galloping so hard I thought it would burst, the fearsome resonance of my screams escaped, but not the terror that accompanied it.

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