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Authors: Island of Dreams
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he was seventeen, he started stealing money from his uncle, who had never paid him the first nickel in wages, and at eighteen, he had accumulated enough to return to Germany. He left one night, robbing the cash register of everything and taking whatever else he could convert into cash. Germany was his country, not America, and now he would enjoy being part of America’s defeat. A very important part.
Hans would enjoy killing von Steimen if his…accomplice made one wrong move. Hans should have been given leadership of this mission, not von Steimen, who was technically in charge because of his military rank. But Hans took secret pleasure in knowing something the naval officer didn’t know, hadn’t been told. Canaris had warned Hans not to give the final orders to von Steimen until the night of the planned raid.
Hans wanted to grin as he thought of von Steimen’s reaction. But he kept his face blank to the other workers, who somehow knew to stay away from the new gardener. Instead, they chatted quietly among themselves as the boat approached the dock of the Jekyll Island Club.
Upon arriving on the island and finding his new employer, Hans listened carefully to instructions, nodding and answering in monosyllables. When this mission had been planned months ago, he had been given intensive instruction in gardening, especially those plants and flowers found in the southern United States.
“Yes,” he mumbled when asked whether he could prune the thousands of Cherokee roses that graced the club property, along with the colorful jasmine and wisteria. When the supervisor left, Hans studied the clubhouse and cottages with contempt. Such waste. Such extravagance. His eyes found and gauged each of the residents: the nattily dressed men who seemed not to have a care in the world, and the pampered women whose gazes flickered over him carelessly as if he were beneath notice.
He would show them exactly how they misjudged him.
He hid a secret smile as he thought how completely their lives would change. Soon. Very, very soon.
Chapter Four
M ICHAEL DIDN ’ T SLEEP at all that night. It was a problem he’d seldom had before.
At sea, he never knew how much sleep he might get, so he’d learned quickly to take what he could, to snatch a nap here, a few hours there.
But nothing worked now. He was so damned torn, as if he were in the middle of a tug of war, his heart pulled one way, his mind another. He had always followed his own instincts, but now they had deserted him. There was no guide here. None at all.
He’d always felt an obligation to his mother, a need to make up for some of the suffering she’d suffered at the hands of his father, and a responsibility to protect his younger brother. He had deserted them once, although he knew it had been necessary, for he’d no longer been able to contain his own rage. He would only have made things worse if he had stayed. Yet there was a guilt that wouldn’t die, and he knew he couldn’t desert them again.
There was also an ingrained loyalty to Germany, his homeland. My country, right or wrong. Where had he heard that? But it was true. God, it was true. No matter how hard he tried to run from it.
Sleep continued to elude him. At dawn, he finally rose and walked to the window. The sun was coming up over Jekyll Creek, a rosy sheen backdropping the huge oak trees. Michael shaved and dressed in casual gray slacks, white shirt, and dark blue sweater. He wanted to explore the island before he met with Hans, locate a site for the radio, and determine the most feasible route for the submarine to approach. He had already arranged for a bicycle, a less conspicuous form of transportation on the island’s winding paths and wide beaches than the red bug. It would also be good exercise for his leg.
Michael saw only a servant as he went down the steps. He could hear the kitchen staff preparing breakfast, but he saw no other guests up at this hour. He found the bicycle he had engaged, and
Hans would enjoy killing von Steimen if his…accomplice made one wrong move. Hans should have been given leadership of this mission, not von Steimen, who was technically in charge because of his military rank. But Hans took secret pleasure in knowing something the naval officer didn’t know, hadn’t been told. Canaris had warned Hans not to give the final orders to von Steimen until the night of the planned raid.
Hans wanted to grin as he thought of von Steimen’s reaction. But he kept his face blank to the other workers, who somehow knew to stay away from the new gardener. Instead, they chatted quietly among themselves as the boat approached the dock of the Jekyll Island Club.
Upon arriving on the island and finding his new employer, Hans listened carefully to instructions, nodding and answering in monosyllables. When this mission had been planned months ago, he had been given intensive instruction in gardening, especially those plants and flowers found in the southern United States.
“Yes,” he mumbled when asked whether he could prune the thousands of Cherokee roses that graced the club property, along with the colorful jasmine and wisteria. When the supervisor left, Hans studied the clubhouse and cottages with contempt. Such waste. Such extravagance. His eyes found and gauged each of the residents: the nattily dressed men who seemed not to have a care in the world, and the pampered women whose gazes flickered over him carelessly as if he were beneath notice.
He would show them exactly how they misjudged him.
He hid a secret smile as he thought how completely their lives would change. Soon. Very, very soon.
Chapter Four
M ICHAEL DIDN ’ T SLEEP at all that night. It was a problem he’d seldom had before.
At sea, he never knew how much sleep he might get, so he’d learned quickly to take what he could, to snatch a nap here, a few hours there.
But nothing worked now. He was so damned torn, as if he were in the middle of a tug of war, his heart pulled one way, his mind another. He had always followed his own instincts, but now they had deserted him. There was no guide here. None at all.
He’d always felt an obligation to his mother, a need to make up for some of the suffering she’d suffered at the hands of his father, and a responsibility to protect his younger brother. He had deserted them once, although he knew it had been necessary, for he’d no longer been able to contain his own rage. He would only have made things worse if he had stayed. Yet there was a guilt that wouldn’t die, and he knew he couldn’t desert them again.
There was also an ingrained loyalty to Germany, his homeland. My country, right or wrong. Where had he heard that? But it was true. God, it was true. No matter how hard he tried to run from it.
Sleep continued to elude him. At dawn, he finally rose and walked to the window. The sun was coming up over Jekyll Creek, a rosy sheen backdropping the huge oak trees. Michael shaved and dressed in casual gray slacks, white shirt, and dark blue sweater. He wanted to explore the island before he met with Hans, locate a site for the radio, and determine the most feasible route for the submarine to approach. He had already arranged for a bicycle, a less conspicuous form of transportation on the island’s winding paths and wide beaches than the red bug. It would also be good exercise for his leg.
Michael saw only a servant as he went down the steps. He could hear the kitchen staff preparing breakfast, but he saw no other guests up at this hour. He found the bicycle he had engaged, and
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