Chapter 16: Blood Oath

Lin Ran sensed a strong aura of a blood oath in it.

But he did not refuse immediately, for the conditions Horkheimer offered were clearly compelling.

He wanted to hear more.

“Of course, everything comes at a cost,” Horkheimer said.

Lin Ran felt reassured: “Professor, what do you need me to do for you?”

Horkheimer stared directly at him: “You must truly join the Frankfurt School. Here’s the deal—come study philosophy under me for your doctorate, and I will personally supervise you.”

If your doctoral dissertation satisfies me, I will give you some additional surprises.

You need not worry about anything else—I will arrange all the details to resolve any doubts about your identity.”

It was indeed a blood oath, but the terms were too generous.

Becoming a disciple of Horkheimer, the founding patriarch of the Frankfurt School, meant not only that all members of the school would become your allies.

Jews were not a monolith—Horkheimer’s father was a textile factory owner in Stuttgart, Germany; such a status in Germany during the S2 era was inherently tainted.

Likewise, after the war, Jews of this background became elites in Europe and America; combined with Horkheimer’s status as a renowned professor, he was a Brahmin among American Jews.

Becoming Horkheimer’s direct disciple meant he would gain the support of the Jewish community.

In the future, to enter the inner circle of the Jewish community, you either had to visit Lolita Island and leave behind some photos, or marry into a Jewish family—you had to prove your worth with tangible deeds.

Horkheimer’s casual mention of arranging cover from the Rockefeller Foundation was, in Lin Ran’s view, indirect proof that he could secure Jewish support.

Moreover, in Lin Ran’s mind, when the time was right, whether he launched his own venture or manipulated global public opinion, leveraging the Jewish community would bring only benefits.

Even learning Jewish secrets in 1960 might prove useful in 2020.

“Professor, I am honored to systematically study social critical theory under you. I’d like to accompany you to Göttingen when you go.”

Lin Ran said nothing about his ties to the Fabian Society or the Frankfurt School, neither confirming nor denying them—he maintained deliberate ambiguity.

“I want to systematically study social critical theory—but that doesn’t mean I haven’t studied it before.”

Going to Göttingen, Lin Ran thought, would let him plant anchors in Germany.

As for Lower Saxony, where Göttingen University lay, being part of West Germany and within American influence during the Cold War—there was no choice.

America’s control over Göttingen would be far weaker than over its own territory.

At this moment, he had not yet found a suitable opportunity to establish a foothold in the opposing camp.

“But my identity may have some issues,” Lin Ran implied: someone appearing out of nowhere like me requires thorough cover—your paperwork must be flawless.

Professor Horkheimer did not address this, shifting instead to another topic: “Randolph, are you interested in spaceflight?”

Lin Ran’s heart tightened: “Of course—I’m an aerospace enthusiast.”

Horkheimer continued: “There may be opportunities. NASA has long been dominated by scientists from Nazi Germany—we need our own scientists to counter them.”

Such evil forces as the Nazi scientists cannot endure.

NASA’s background checks are extremely strict—we will fabricate your identity to meet their standards.

Even von Braun’s background was tolerated by the federal government; yours will be far more legitimate.”

Lin Ran fell silent. If the big man said so, and he truly became his student, the professor would not harm him.

To avoid complications, Lin Ran returned to 2020 that very night, drove straight to Columbia University, and hoped to find some inspiration in the historical archives.

“This trip was worth it—I see now.”

From Columbia University’s 1960s historical archives, he glimpsed a hidden truth.

John F. Kennedy would be elected by the end of 1960; his victory was a turning point in American history, for he possessed both Irish-American and Catholic heritage.

Though white, Irish-Americans were a minority in America.

Catholicism, Protestantism, and Mormonism were all Christian denominations, but in America, Catholics were also a minority—Protestants made up about 50%, Catholics less than 25%.

Thus Kennedy’s background in 1960 America was that of a minority; his election clearly required significant support, including from the Jewish community.

During his campaign, the Jewish community spared no effort.

First, since Roosevelt’s New Deal in 1930, Jews had consistently supported the Democratic Party at over 70%—Kennedy was the Democratic candidate.

Second, in the 1960 election, New York State was not yet a Democratic stronghold; it was still a swing state. One-third of all American Jews lived in New York—two million people—and their votes were decisive in securing New York for Kennedy.

Finally, Jewish media figures like Philip Graham of The Washington Post campaigned fiercely for Kennedy, and Jewish entrepreneurs like Abraham Feinberg of Chicago provided him with campaign funding.

Clearly, Horkheimer, as a Brahmin among Jews, already knew their preferred candidate this year was Kennedy.

Historically, after Kennedy’s victory, he repaid the Jewish community with decisive action—he approved the sale of “Hawk” surface-to-air missiles to Israel, America’s first direct arms sale to Israel.

One could say America’s path to becoming Israel’s vassal began with Kennedy.

And Horkheimer mentioned NASA because NASA was then dominated by German scientists from Nazi Germany.

Not only did the Jewish community view these German scientists as enemies—they wished them dead.

But at the time, without these German scientists, NASA could not possibly compete with the Soviet Union.

Lin Ran discovered something intriguing in the historical records: Arthur Rudolph retired from NASA in 1969. During his tenure, he received the NASA Distinguished Service Medal and the NASA Exceptional Service Medal. Even decades later, into the 1980s and 1990s, American archives still heavily redacted information about Arthur Rudolph.

After the Soviet Union collapsed, Rudolph’s files were finally made public, and America even revoked his pension. Whether he was physically eliminated remained unspecified in the records and news reports.

“So if I demonstrate sufficient ability, will the Jewish community support me in driving the German scientists out of NASA? Could I even turn NASA into my own personal domain?”