Schmuel's Journey by Steven P. Marini

Author:Steven P. Marini
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: thriller, suspense, nazi, holocaust, concentration camp, new hampshire, aryan race, auschwitz, dr mengele, henniker
Publisher: Gypsy Shadow Publishing, LLC

Chapter Twenty

MONDAY, OCTOBER 21.

It was late Monday afternoon. The day went smoothly after the heated exchange between Arthur and Ian. Sam was back in his office after a meeting with the students who ran the college radio station. They had an executive cadre: a Station Manager, an Assistant Manager, a Music Director, a News Director, and a Sports Director. Fred sat in as the technical advisor.

When his phone rang, Sam grabbed a tissue first and spat a wad of gum into it, before answering. Sam had taken to chewing gum more often lately.

“Hello, Sam Miller here.”

“Hello, Sam, it’s Al Turner. Have you got a minute? Actually, can you come to my office? I’d like to chat with you, if you’re free.”

This was a rarity. He didn’t often get a casual call from Al.

“Sure, no problem, Al. I’ll be right there.”

Sam stood up, grabbing the windbreaker he’d slung over a file cabinet. “Got to go see the big boss, fellas. Take care of the farm while I’m gone.”

Fred looked up from the collection of metal things on his desk. “Dum, de dum dum,” he uttered, mocking the theme from the old TV show Dragnet. “Watch out, Sam. He might try to drive you through a wall again.”

“I doubt it. You saw him at the dinner. He was a real pussycat. That stuff was just in the heat of competition. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Not until the next game,” said Fred with a laugh.

Sam withheld comment and moved on his way, but a question repeated in his head: What is this all about? In a matter of minutes, he was uptown and found a parking spot behind the Administration Building. He left his car and entered the rear of the building, making his way toward the president’s office, where Al usually stationed himself these days. It was an inner office, with Irene parked at her desk in the outer space like a guardian. Too bad nobody was serving as guardian the night Seth was murdered.

“Hi, Sam, go right in,” said Irene, motioning Sam toward the open door to the inner office. Al sat in his chair, looking very businesslike with his sport coat on, his collar buttoned and his tie straight. Sam figured it was the way an acting college president should look. Al rose up without speaking as Sam entered and pointed to the door on the far wall that led to the conference room. Sam obeyed the non-verbal direction and followed Al inside.

“Take a seat, Sam.” Al broke the silence, watched Sam ease himself into a chair at the table and closed the door after him. He chose a seat directly across from Sam.

Sam’s thoughts raced back to those times in the camp when he was summoned by Mengele and Rauf. He didn’t speak until spoken to, so now he decided to forego any meaningless pleasantries with Turner. Both men sat back in their chairs, eyeballing each other, waiting for the other one to blink.

Eventually, Sam leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table and folding his hands together, but he still didn’t speak.

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