Westfield, N.J. September 2000

“Eichmann,” he said. “This was taken at his trial in Israel. Do you know who Eichmann was?”

“He killed the Jews in the Great Patriotic War,” Alenia said flatly. The Great Patriotic War was what the Kremlin dubbed World War II and drummed into children.

“You’re as smart as you are beautiful,” Joe said, patting her rear.

“Many of my family died in the war,” she said without emotion. “Maybe Mr. Swedge liked Nazis.”

“Preston was a lot of things, but I doubt that he was a Nazi lover.” Joe turned to the carbon paper. He hadn’t seen or handled the stuff in years. The paper was severely creased looking as if any manipulation would cause it to split. “Do me a favor. Get a pencil and the tweezers from the top right drawer in my desk.”

Alenia popped the G-string with her half-inch French manicured nails as she walked to the den. Joe felt where Alenia used the daggers to scratch the middle of his back. She returned with the pencil and tweezers tucked in the half-dollar size patch covering her nether region.

Joe held out his hand. Alenia snapped the items into his palm. Using the pencil’s eraser, Joe tried to hold the carbon sheet down on the table. “This isn’t working. Give me your fingers.”

Alenia held out her hands, pushing a two carat diamond toward Joe’s face. He guided the nails on her index fingers to the edges of the carbon paper. “Don’t move,” he ordered.

 Joe lifted the carbon paper with the tweezers just enough to slide the pencil under the flap, ever so slowly unfolding it along the crease. “You can let go,” he said.

"Do I get a reward?” Alenia asked, puckering her lips.

“Later,” he replied, using the tweezers to hold the carbon paper to the light. Alenia snuggled next to him. Joe read the typewriter impressions aloud, “31may1944. Photo Reconnaissance Fifteenth Air Force: Mission 60 PRS/462 Can D Exposures 4056-8. Height 27,000 feet. Aerial photographs of Manowitz, Poland; Synthetic rubber production facilities; also noted barracks and railroad lines to the concentration camp Auschwitz.”

Joe put the carbon paper and tweezers on the table. He studied the loose-leaf sized map. “I don’t believe what I just read.” Stunned, he leaned back in the chair. Fumbling with the cellophane wrapper on the pack of cigarettes, he handed the pack to Alenia.

With the zip of a nail, she removed the wrapper and opened the pack. She handed a cigarette to Joe and took one for herself.

“What’s got you in this punk?” Alenia asked. She moved a chair away from the table and sat.

“The word is funk,” Joe corrected, taking a huge pull on the cigarette. He opened the door a crack to air out the growing haze of smoke. “The American Air Force took pictures of the Auschwitz concentration camp and didn’t do a fucking thing. You see this map?”

Alenia nodded yes. “What do the red lines mean?”

Joe traced his finger along the straight line from Foggia, Italy to Manowitz, Poland. “This is the route bombers took to bomb a synthetic rubber plant less than four miles from the concentration camp. The crooked line is the return path to Italy.”

"Syn-tetic rubber?”

“In the 1940s, tires were made from real rubber. The Nazis had limited supplies. They invented a way to make rubber from oil. We use something like it to make tires today.” Joe flicked ash into the mug.

From between two crusty pieces of cardboard, Alenia removed a second piece of carbon paper. This piece was in pristine condition and easily read. She held it up to the light.                         

EYES ONLY: JOHN P. McCloy
ASSISTANT SECRETARY, U.S. ARMY    
20 August 44 Re: Mission completed.
Will return to Washington ASAP
Preston Swedge, Captain U.S.A.A.F.

“This McCloy a big shot?” Alenia asked with the cigarette dangling from her lips.

"I’m a little hazy on details about McCloy,” Joe said, tossing the cigarette into the coffee. “I’ve read some stuff about him—he was a big shot before, during and after the war. I’ll be right back.” He got up from the chair and walked out of the room.