Ellen was crazy, but not crazy the way they thought. She was crazy like a fox. But she was wrong about one thing—Veronica had no idea what to do.
Zach noticed something. “Look—there’s a note taped to the back.”
Youkelstein pulled the note off and read it. “It says to deliver the painting to Flavia’s Art Gallery in Rhinebeck.”
Chapter 14
Arriving at his office just beneath the clouds, Otto peered down at the magnificent skyline of New York City. It was as if he were levitating above the great metropolis. No wonder people think I have a god complex, he thought to himself with a grin. But reaching the top of the world was only the first step—a journey sixty-plus years in the making—it was now time to run it.
He felt a tremble go through his body, and noticed his hands shaking. He didn’t know if it was from the overwhelming anticipation, or just the effects of his advanced age.
The last few days had been the most stressful of his life. Whether to remove Ellen from the equation was the toughest decision he’d had to make since being anointed the leader of the Apostles—it was as if it were a final test. But Ellen had spared him the gut-wrenching choice, by choosing to take her own life—her loyalty shining through one final time.
When Otto heard the news, the first thing he thought of was the Führer. He always had a special spot for Ellen, but the Führer understood the importance of making the ultimate sacrifice to reach necessary goals. He had predicted this day many years ago, and now he’d taken Ellen home so she could join him in viewing their great triumph.
Thoughts of his mentor momentarily calmed Otto, and stopped the shaking. But as he studied his wrinkled hands, he realized he no longer recognized them. That was the cruel part of the aging process—he remained trapped within the excruciating knowledge of his deterioration. He envied Ellen, and her alien sightings, unaware that her mind had turned to mush.
In his mind, he was still the dashing young spy of yesteryear. His legend grew to the heights of the Loch Ness Monster within Nazi circles. Nobody could ever identify the mysterious Otto, but they knew he was present, camouflaged seamlessly into the background.
And perhaps his greatest secret was that the renowned Nazi spy wasn’t even German. He grew up in Dublin as Petey O’Neill. He’d come a long way from that street-hustling kid in Ireland, who was only a toddler when his brother was killed during Bloody Sunday. At the mere age of ten, Petey carried out orders to kill a British intelligence agent—disguised by his youth, they never saw him coming—to achieve justice for the brother he never really knew.
The British came after him mercilessly. This was no surprise, since the British never understood the concept of mercy, and his life in Dublin was effectively over. In order to save his last remaining son, Petey’s father moved his family to the States—Brooklyn, to be specific.
Petey never fit in his new surroundings. Ironic, since his natural ability to assimilate into any situation is what made him such a lethal spy. As he entered his teens, he grew to hate America, and especially the Jews who controlled his father’s job. The one he slaved at over a hundred hours a week—until one day when they decided they didn’t need him anymore, and killed him and Petey’s mother.
By his mid-teens, Petey was orphaned and passed around from neighbor to neighbor. He did find comfort in the Good Book. Not the Bible, but a visionary work by an up-and-coming German politico named Adolf Hitler, called Mein Kampf. It was as if he’d understood Petey’s pain. A pain that he could only numb by running—he channeled his tortured emotions into becoming the top high school track athlete in New York. Just the thought of those days bemused Otto. He patted his old legs, wondering if they were napping and would wake up in time to sprint to the finish line.
Many in his Brooklyn neighborhood, made up of hardworking Irish, Germans, and Italians, raised money for the local track star, so he could attend the 1936 Olympics Games in Munich. Jesse Owens stole the headlines at the Games that year, but nobody ran faster than Petey O’Neill. He ran all the way to a new life. He wouldn’t return to America for nine years.