March 23, 1939, Midnight, Heidelberg, Germany

Ragged clouds and gale-force winds tore at the twin-engine Lockheed Electra L-10E as it forged its way through the pitch-dark enshrouding the German countryside - sans running lights or anything capable of giving away its location.

Bolts of jagged lightning arched the sky allowing the pilot, Thomas Manning III, to catch intermittent glimpses of the terrain below.

Thomas looked over at his co-pilot and navigator, Marty Kesselman. "See anything yet?"

Arnie scanned the horizon with his binoculars. "Nope. Who did you say we're picking up?"

Thomas smiled a grim little smile. "Half a dozen German Jewish scientists . . ."

Thomas grabbed Marty's binoculars. Heidelberg . . . Got to find Heidelberg! There . . . off to the right!

The powerful craft dipped its wings and swung to starboard.

Manning feathered the props and nosed the Electra downward at a steep dive.

The craft screamed its protest, as though loathe to perform acts beyond its flight envelope.

At five hundred feet altitude, a fierce bolt of lightning struck a nearby mountain ridge, illuminating the small band of people standing their ground against the raging storm.

Manning applied the flaps and aligned the craft with the crude runway.

The Electra's landing gear swung down.

The tires met firm resistance, much to Manning's relief. Ground winds buffeted the aircraft all the way down the runway.

A man emerged from the dark directly ahead, waving his arms crossways over his head.

Manning cut the throttles back to maneuver position, then applied the left brake pedal.

The craft obeyed, lurching in an arc to port until it faced the direction of approach.

Manning cut the engines to idle, and the engines assumed their characteristic rough, clattery dialogue.

Another surge of lightning traced its eerie outline across the night sky, revealing a small group of people emerging from the nearby trees.

Six bedraggled refugees hurriedly made their way towards the plane.

Almost hidden within the small group, a solitary young woman made her way across the airstrip, her youth in stark contrast to the weary and anxious middle-aged adults.

"Get that hatch, will you Arnie?"

Marty made his way to the hatch, then swung it inward to reveal a mass of gray shapes, huddled against the storm.

He lowered the step, then motioned for the refugees to come aboard.

Thomas turned to watch.

The refugees began to clamber into the craft, hugging briefcases tightly against their bodies as though their entire lives were contained within those precious pieces of luggage.

Marty began to strap the passengers into their respective web seats.

One of the refugees, a man in his mid-forties, cast a hopeful glance toward the cockpit.

Thomas saw in those eyes a gleam that belied the powerful intellect hiding behind the wire-rimmed glasses.

A young woman made her way into the craft, followed by another middle-aged couple - her parents, Thomas guessed.

Marty began systematically strapping the girl into one of the available seats.

The man Thomas had pegged as the father came forward, then removed his fedora.

The man's eyes seemed to burn holes in Thomas' soul.

He spoke, haltingly as he gestured aft with his head, "Pliss . . . Sir . . . I am Samuel Mandelbaum, unt that young lady ist meine daughter, Rose."

Thomas turned to look back at the man's daughter.

Rose Mandelbaum was a tall slender girl with long, dark, wavy hair tied back in a bun. Under her raincoat, she wore a cotton navy blue dress that hung well below her knees.

The man continued, "Meine Rose ist only . . . nineteen years of age."

Thomas listened without taking his eyes from the young woman. "What is your point, Sir?"

"We . . . My Marie unt I . . . We are not coming. I am asking you to protect our Rose . . . unt make sure she gets to Amerika unharmed."

Thomas' eyes cut back toward the man.

"Marty and I risked our lives to get you out . . . and you're not going?"

"Ja, I am afraid that is so. Only now is Marie telling our Rose the truth of der matter."

Thomas cut his eyes back toward the passengers.

Marie Mandelbaum's eyes were filled with tears.

Thomas could hear the woman addressing her daughter softly in German.

The mother placed a package wrapped in cloth in her daughter's hands.

"What's she saying?"

"She is telling Rose that der package is Rose's heritage . . . un destiny."

Samuel gently grasped the sleeve of Manning's flight jacket.

"If you only knew, Herr Manning. That package ist der most precious thing in this world! Please, make sure Rose understands she must guard it mit her life."

"Look, Mister, uh, Mandelbaum . . . I'll get your daughter to safety. I'll take her under my wing and protect her until you arrive in America."

"Unt der package!"

"Yeah, the package, too."

Mandelbaum shoved a passport and some money into Manning's hand.

"This is for Rose. Please take care of her!"

He turned to leave.

Thomas grabbed his coat-tail. "You, uh . . . you two are coming along later, aren't you?"

Samuel peered deeply into Manning's eyes, his own face wearing an incomprehensible expression. "Ja, ja . . . for sure."

He turned and made his way aft, then kissed his daughter on the cheek.

Samuel waited while Marie Mandelbaum issued one last tender embrace to her daughter.

Mother and daughter burst into tears.

Samuel tugged gently at his wife's sleeve, then both walked quickly toward the hatch and disappeared into the lightning-racked darkness of early morning.

Kesselman gave Manning the high-sign, then turned to retract the step and slammed the hatch shut.

Thomas began his pre-flight check-list while Arnie made a last-minute check of the passengers.

Manning finished his check-list, then turned to survey his passengers. Three men, one woman, and a girl sat on the web seats staring into infinity.

The girl cried out with all her might, "Mama, Papa, don't leave me!"

Manning shook his head, then turned his attention to the aircraft's control panel.

Kesselman crawled into his seat and gave Thomas a 'thumbs-up.' Manning shoved the throttles forward.

The aircraft eased forward, slowly at first, then gained speed.

The Electra lifted barely in time to miss the trees at the end of the runway, then gained the sky with a roar.

Far below, a pair of bedraggled figures brushed aside their tears and waved at the craft carrying the future of Mankind to an uncertain fate.

The Electra glittered in the fierce light of the raging electrical storm.

Thomas Manning caused the craft to circle the field once, gained his bearings, then trimmed the Electra for her flight to France and safety.

He stole a look at his silent passengers.

The girl clutched the cloth-covered package tightly in her trembling hands, her attention trained on the ancestral home of the Mandelbaums fading from view in the gray hours of pre-dawn.

Marty turned to look aft as well. "Poor kid. Torn away from everything she ever knew . . . everything she ever loved. What kind of world is this becoming anyway, Tom?"

Manning stared out into the darkness, lost in thought. "I don't know, buddy. But this storm may swallow up all of us before it's over."

Marty stared at Thomas for a long moment, then spoke softly, "Believe in destiny, Thomas?"

Manning shivered, involuntarily, then stole another look at Rose Mandelbaum.

The girl looked back at him, unabashed.

"Not until now, Marty . . . Not until now."

NEXT








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