Page 26 of Wild Oblivion

“Okay. I’m going to send you a photo of von Markov, Heissler, and Strauss taken in 1943. You tell me what you think.”

The image buzzed my phone a moment later.

I took a look at it and stared in disbelief. Klaus von Markov looked identical to Klaus Brenner.

I showed JD.

It was undeniable, but I tried to deny it. “So the grandkids look like their grandparents. Like that’s never happened before. Big deal.”

“I compared that photo to the photo of Rudolph Weiss that you sent me. Facial recognition says they are the same person.”

“The algorithm is wrong.”

“97% certainty.”

“3% is a wide margin.”

“No, it’s not.”

“You don’t really expect me to believe this, do you?”

“Are you familiar with the Philadelphia Experiment?”

“Somewhat.”

“According to the legend, the Navy played around with camouflaging ships in 1943. With electromagnetic field generators and high-voltage Tesla coils, they tried to make a Cannon-class destroyer escort invisible to radar. Witnesses say that once the generators were activated, a greenish mist surrounded thevessel before it vanished from the Philadelphia Naval Shipyard for several minutes. Witnesses claim it appeared momentarily in Norfolk before reappearing in Philadelphia.”

“It’s BS,” I said.

“An eyewitness wrote several letters to an author who became obsessed with the story. Of course, both died mysteriously shortly thereafter. The Navy denies any experiments regarding teleportation or invisibility.”

“Conspiracy theory nonsense,” I said.

“Yeah, well, the file is so classified, even I can’t access it.” Isabella could get to just about anything. “I’m going to keep digging into Projekt Zeispeigel. All I’m saying is to keep your mind open.”

“Always,” I said, before ending the call.

I shared her theory with JD and the sheriff.

Daniels sighed and shook his head. “It’s always something weird with you two.”

“She sounded a little spooked,” I said. “She doesn’t rattle often.”

“Well, if she’s right, the world is about to get weirder,” Daniels said.

I figured it was time to have a word with Henrik Strauss. We left the station and headed over to Blissful Shores. I suspected it was anything but blissful.

Jack found a place to park, and we walked into the main lobby. The place had that mothball scent of slow death.Soiled diapers, disinfectant wipes, and a floral fragrance to cover it all.

I flashed my badge at the reception desk. "Looking for Henrik Strauss.”

The receptionist’s eyes rounded with surprise. "He's not in any trouble, is he?" she asked, half joking.

"We’re investigating a bank robbery," I said, just to get a rise out of her.

Her eyes rounded. "You know he's 98 years old.”

"It's never too late to be who you could have been."