There is something compelling yet frightening about the dark stranger. Moshe Brodsky, the world renown Nazi hunter, simply appeared on the doorstep of Ilsa Michalski’s boarding house at the edge of the Florida Everglades. Ilsa is inexplicably drawn to the hunter, although she hides a secret that her German step-brother was once a Nazi guard. Fearing Moshe will soon be after her brother, she must now choose between protecting him or surrender him to the man she loves. As her brother hitchhikes across the country to return home, she’s unable to warn him. Every mile he travels, brings him closer to a man who could destroy him.
As Ilsa and Moshe struggle with their faith and their attraction to each other, Moshe’s true prey, Horst Bress, a vile, freak of a prison guard, has decided to turn the tables on the famed Nazi hunter, and anyone close to him is fair game.
“That is my Lillie’s. I gave her that necklace. Give it to me,” he pleaded.
Something in the mire moved past Efraim’s right foot. It slid over the back of his ankle. He dug his nails into mud in a vain attempt to pull himself out of the swamp.
“Sir, please help me. You must help me get out of here. Give me the necklace and help me to my feet.” The man came nearer. He stopped only a foot away from Efraim and shone the flashlight once again in his face. Despite the pain, Efraim raised his arm to block the blinding ray. “What is the matter? Why do you do nothing?”
A crack of thunder shook the ground around them. Efraim pulled against the grass as hard as he could, but never progressed. Exhausted, he rolled onto his back. A flash of lightning illuminated the entire swamp and Efraim let out a loud gasp when he saw the vision of the stranger before him.
The man stood as tall as Efraim remembered. His face still showed the indentation of his cheek, which had been shattered by a French bullet. Another burst of lightning confirmed his identity. It had been over twenty-three years, but no one else could possibly carry that odd mixture of an upright and rigid back, slightly bent to one side, shoulder blades almost touching, yet the head tucked down low, unable to be raised.
The Demon of Belzec stood there before him.
Efraim glanced at his wife’s Star of David dangling from the man’s hand, then scowled at the stranger, disgusted, but no longer afraid as the man inched toward him. He knew the man would soon take his life, but he would not give this demon the satisfaction of taking his spirit. He would not cower to this animal.
“I know you.” The demon stopped in his tracks.
Efraim sat up straight and pointed. “Ich kenne dich!” The man took a step backward as Efraim spouted the words in German. The stranger raised his cane high in the air. The lightning flashed again, revealing familiar spikes of metal protruding from the end in the shape of a trefoil of interlocking triangles. A flashback of the thousand innocent people who fell victim to those spikes somehow strengthened Efraim. Knowing he faced his evident fate, he lashed out the same words.
“Ikh ken dikh!” This time the words echoed in Yiddish, the language of his people, as the cane swung through the blackness of the night.