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"Huh." Jack grunted thoughtfully as he read the news.
Daniel looked up from his archeology journal. There was an undertone in Jack's voice that alerted him to...something.
"Jack?"
Jack blinked at and looked at Daniel. "Danny?"
"What was in the newspaper that caught your attention?"
"Ah, that." Jack looked back at his paper. "Simon Weisenthal died."
Simon Weisenthal. Oh. The Nazi hunter. Daniel eyed Jack for a long moment, wondering why the event was significant for his lover.
Jack sighed and lay his paper down. He knew what Daniel wanted. "My uncle George was with the Army's 11th Armored Division. They were the ones who liberated the Mauthausen concentration camp in Austria in 1945," his eyes were dark with suppressed emotion.
Sensing that this had to do with Jack's own imprisonment, Daniel stayed silent.
"George had endured war, knew what happened to men in the middle of it, but nothing prepared him for the cruelty of the concentration camps. Children, women, men were nothing but skeletal remains on two legs. There was disease, piles of bodies and worse, the living. And among them was Simon Weisenthal. He was 99 pounds when they liberated the camp."
Jack abruptly got up and poured himself a cup of coffee, sipping it while he stared out of his window. Emotions were seesawing through him, but he needed to tell Danny about this. He sighed and went back to the table, aware of Daniel's concerned blue eyes.
"When I was in Iraq, it was Simon's story that carried me through the worst of it. I'd be tortured, or starved and I'd think, 'You can do this standing on your head, Jack. Think about Simon, he was in five concentration camp! This is just one. Or, damn it, Jack! Simon lost almost 90 family members to the Nazi's, you can survive this shit.'" He shook his head. "And I'd make it another day. I knew I had to make it, or Uncle George would know why."
A smile crossed Jack's face. "Uncle George wasn't one of the vets who buried everything he'd experienced in the war. He'd talk about it to us nephews, didn't think it was fit talk for our female cousins, but he wanted us boys to remember what happened in that filthy, dirty camp. And I did..." he now looked at his lover. "I remembered, and everytime I ran across something remotely similar I would make sure I put a stop to it."
Daniel nodded thoughtfully. "Sounds like Simon Weisenthal was one of your heroes."
"Justice, not vengeance," Jack said quietly. "I tried to take that saying of his to heart. And yeah, he and Uncle George were my heroes."
There was a long silence, then Daniel stood. "I've got an idea."
~*~
The mailroom of the Holocaust museum was busy as always. Letters from school children who toured, more letters from Holocaust survivors wanting to make sure their stories were told before they died, and the usual anti-Semitism trash that went straight into the circular file.
Simon Luzzader eyed the envelope with the Minnesota postmark but no return address, curiously. He slit it open and out fell a pale blue piece of paper, and a cashiers check. He picked up the paper and smiled.
"In memory of all of those who died, and for Simon Weisenthal's heroism."
As he picked up the check, he gasped. Sarah Greenburg came up and her own eyes widened. "How many zeroes is that?"
"Seven," the man whispered in awe.
~*~
Several bank accounts belonging to noted racist organizations mysteriously came up empty.
And in a nursing home in Minnesota, an old man sat with his nephew and toasted Simon Weisenthal with some good Irish whiskey.
"Lest we forget."