Ice Storm (11 page)

I moved closer to examine them. They looked like skinny van doors and offered an airtight fit to the surrounding frames. Hollow metal tubes were attached to each door.

I wrenched a door open. The temperature dropped a few degrees. A smoky odor filled my nostrils.

Graham grimaced. "What the hell is that?"

I pointed my flashlight into the room. It was small, maybe two or three square feet. I cast my eyes about the floor. Any sympathy I'd held toward the scientists melted away.

"Ashes," I said. "And bits of bone. This isn't a laboratory. It's a gas chamber."

Chapter 27

"See this metal tube?" I peered into it. "Its singed on the inside."

"Meaning what?"

"Meaning the Nazis didn't just pump gas through it. They stuck something else inside it—probably a flamethrower—to burn the bodies."

Bile rose up in my throat as I gathered a few bits of bone for testing purposes. I wanted to wipe my mind, to completely forget what I'd seen. But the ashes and bones haunted my brain.

I checked the other rooms. They were similar to the first one. Some of them were empty. Some of them contained sprinklings of ashes and bones.

"Why would the Nazis transport prisoners thousands of miles across the ocean just to murder them?" Graham asked. "Why not take them someplace closer, like Auschwitz or Dachau?"

I looked around the laboratory. I saw the broken tables, the shattered equipment, and the dried puddles. Slowly, it dawned on me. "They didn't do exterminations here. They did experiments. They were testing some kind of gas."

Graham's eyes widened.

"What do you know about Nazi experiments? Were they trying to do anything in particular?"

"Not really. It was a hodgepodge of horror. Some scientists injected dyes into eyes in an attempt to change eye color. Others inflicted phosphorous burns on prisoners or shot them with poisonous bullets. Still others sewed twins together, hoping to create conjoined twins.

"How about cold weather stuff?"

"I think one guy subjected prisoners to freezing cold temperatures and tanks of ice water. I don't know why though."

I was quiet for a moment. "How could anyone do those things?"

"Evil is everywhere."

"I can't imagine this happening back home."

"Have you ever heard of Dr. John Cutler?"

I shook my head.

"In the 1940s, he served as acting chief of the U.S. Public Health Service's venereal disease program. Later, he rose to the rank of Assistant Surgeon General under President Eisenhower. Sounds like a good guy, right?"

I nodded.

"Well, it turns out Dr. Cutler had a dark side. He oversaw the deliberate infection of fifteen hundred Guatemalans with syphilis, gonorrhea, and other sexually transmitted diseases. Later, he got involved with the Tuskegee syphilis experiments. He and many others deliberately withheld proper treatment from almost four hundred black men with syphilis, even after penicillin was proven to be an effective cure."

"That was just one guy."

"Over the years, scientists funded by the U.S. government have deliberately exposed people to radiation, chemical weapons, biological weapons, and deadly diseases. They've conducted forced sterilizations. They've subjected people to brain-altering drugs. They've injected them with every substance known to man. For all I know, it still happens today."

"Why doesn't someone stop them?"

"Because no one cares. Most experiments are done on poor people, prisoners, and minorities. In other words, the undesirables. Think about it. If someone experimented on your neighbors, you'd go ballistic. But I doubt you'd care if it happened to a prisoner. Hell, you might even convince yourself he deserved it."

"What if he did?"

"Still doesn't make it right."

I shifted my beam toward the crates. "Let's find the Amber Room. I don't want to stay in this place any longer than necessary."

For the next ten minutes, we searched the crates. But all we found were more supplies and scientific instruments.

"Damn it," I said as I closed the last crate. "It isn't here."

"Maybe the answer is in these papers." Graham quickly sifted through a small pile of documents. "That's interesting."

"What's interesting?"

"According to this, the Nazis used this place to test various drugs. But it looks like the manufacturing process occurred somewhere else."

"Where?"

"It doesn't say." He stopped to read something. "You wanted to know about D-IX right?"

I nodded.

"According to this, it contained five milligrams apiece of Eukodal and cocaine. Plus, three milligrams of Pervitin."

"Oxy, coke, and meth. That would mess someone up real quick."

"Or enhance them."

"Oh?"

"According to this, D-IX caused brief bursts of superior performance. Subjects were able to carry heavy packs through the snow for two to three days straight." He flipped to another paper and quickly scanned it. "Here are some notes about genetics. Or rather, eugenics."

"Eugenics?" I searched my memory. "Wasn't that the excuse the Nazis gave for the concentration camps?"

"Yes, but it wasn't just the Nazis. Eugenics was a worldwide movement in the 1920s and 1930s. The basic idea was to weed so-called genetic misfits out of the population. The Jews, the poor, the idiots, the blind, the deaf, and the promiscuous all got caught up in the movement. They were segregated, sterilized, and often killed."

I thought back to our research on
Werwolf
. The mysterious Nazi operation was originally designed to recruit and train soldiers to operate behind enemy lines. But maybe it had bigger ambitions.

The building trembled. A layer of dust dropped into the room. A few small pieces of concrete collided against the floor.

"I might know what the Nazis were doing here," I said.

Graham stared uneasily at the ceiling. "What?"

"Maybe they were trying to fulfill the dream of every military power since the dawn of man. That is, create a soldier without genetic defects who could operate beyond normal human limits." I paused. "Maybe they were trying to create a supersoldier."

Chapter 28

"Damn it, Cy." Graham eyed the ceiling. "Let's go."

I ran to the opposite side of the workshop. "I want to check something."

"There's nothing left to check."

"Just give me a minute."

"The Amber Room's not here. It's time to cut our losses."

"Go." I stopped next to the dead body. "I'll be right behind you."

Graham twisted around. He hoisted himself through the open part of the doorframe and vanished from sight.

I quickly searched the dead man. I found a lighter and cigarettes in one jacket pocket. A black and white photo of what looked like an extended family filled another one.

The building groaned. A ripple ran through the walls. I heard a distinct cracking noise. It grew louder and louder.

I rooted about the floor. I found a gun—a Walther P38—lying a few feet away from the corpse. I picked it up and detached the single-stack magazine. It was empty. Apparently, he'd fired it before he'd died.

The concrete pulsed and throbbed. I heard an earsplitting crack. The thick walls sagged. The ceiling started to break apart.

I started toward the door. But a hint of leather caught my eye. I shifted my gaze and saw a small book partially obscured by the man's leg.

I grabbed it and ran for the door. Pieces of concrete, several feet thick, smashed all around me.

I picked up the pace.

Concrete struck my right shoulder. Tremendous pain ripped through my arm all the way down to my fingertips.

More slabs crashed to the floor. The ground trembled. The open part of the doorframe seemed to shrink. I stole a quick glance at the surrounding wall. It was pressing inward.

I reached the doorway. But the hole leading outside was smaller than I remembered. I realized the building was settling into the ice.

Graham reached into the room. "Give me your hand."

I grabbed it. He pulled. My arm slid through the door. My body lifted off the ground.

The building quaked. It dropped an inch into the ice.

I kicked at the edges of the door and rose into the air. Using my other hand, I pulled my head and shoulders through the doorframe.

The building quaked again. The door sank another few inches.

I scrabbled at the ice. My torso and waist slid out of the structure.

The building trembled. The door dropped and squeezed against my thighs.

I yanked my legs free and scrambled forward.

The building shuddered. The concrete crumbled. Then the door sank out of sight.

Twisting around, I watched the rest of the structure vanish into the ice. "I guess we broke it."

"I guess so." Graham exhaled. "We almost died."

"But we didn't."

"I've worked a lot of excavations," he said. "And one thing I've learned is that you can't get too attached to a dig."

"We're not done yet."

"We found
Werwolfsschanze
. And there was no Amber Room. We have to face facts. The Nazis must've moved it. Hell, maybe they never brought it here in the first place."

"Or maybe that wasn't
Werwolfsschanze
. Didn't you say the drugs were manufactured in a separate facility?"

He nodded.

"So, maybe we're in the wrong place. Maybe
Werwolfsschanze
is somewhere else."

He crossed his arms. "Where?"

I turned in a complete circle. I saw plenty of icy tundra. But it was flat. There were no hills, no random glaciers, and no small mountains. "I don't know. But it's got to be here somewhere."

P
ART
III

Werwolfsschanze

Chapter 29

"Wake up," Holly said in a singsong voice.

Jim Peterson's eyes fluttered open. "What … what the …?"

She cocked her head. Her face was free of guilt, remorse. "Hello Jim."

"Holly?" Peterson winced as a stabbing pain struck his skull. He cinched his eyes shut. But the pain refused to go away. He reached for his forehead. But a pair of handcuffs restricted his movement. He felt a rising sense of panic. He tried to move his legs, to escape. But a pair of leg cuffs kept them immobilized. "What is this?"

"Scream."

Peterson blinked. His vision cleared just a bit. He was situated inside a giant circular vat. Directly across from him, on the other side of the glassy surface, he saw the cylindrical containers. His heart seized up.

He forced himself to be calm. Shifting his head, he stared over his shoulder. A small platform stood just behind the vat. A couple of tables sat on top of it. Computers rested on their surfaces. They appeared to connect to the vat as well as various electrical outlets.

"I don't understand," he said.

Holly appeared on the edge of the platform. She sat down and crossed her legs, dangling them just inches from his face. "I want you to scream."

"Why?"

"Because the only way you're getting out of here is if someone hears you."

His face contorted. "Help me!"

"You can do better than that."

"Help me!" he yelled.

"Try again," she urged.

He reared back and screamed at the top of his lungs. But his voice died at the walls.

"No one can hear you." A smile danced across her lips. "We're deep underground with plenty of concrete between us and Kirby. Plus, Rupert spent a lot of time preparing this room. He lined the surfaces with a special compound. It converts sound into heat. He also added a layer of sheetrock panels, in effect creating a false ceiling. It captures and traps sound. Plus, he did a bunch of little things like caulking over the gaps and cracks. I'd say this room is as close to soundproof as we could possibly manage given the circumstances."

Peterson inhaled, exhaled. His mind felt like mush. He tried to steel it, to push it into something he could manage. But it oozed past his grasp. "Let me go, you crazy bitch."

Her smile faded. "That's not very nice."

"Neither is holding someone against their will."

"You didn't give me much of a choice." She gave him a curious look. "How'd you find this place anyway?"

"Bad luck."

"Maybe for you. But good luck for me."

"What are you talking about?"

She regarded him for a moment. "Are you a religious man?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Please answer the question."

He stopped struggling long enough to stare at her. "Yeah, I guess so."

"What religion do you practice?"

"Catholicism."

"Are you serious about it?"

"I go to services if that's what you mean."

"Do you believe in life after death?"

"Who doesn't?"

"Me."

Peterson snapped to attention. "Why not?"

"This is a little above your head so I'll simplify it for you. God doesn't exist. Thanks to advances in neuroscience, we know this for a fact. And without God, there's no afterlife."

"So, what happens when we die?"

"Eternal oblivion."

Goosebumps appeared on his arms. "A lot of people would disagree with you."

"Popular opinion is meaningless unless backed up by science. Think about all the theories that have been disproven over time. People used to think the Earth was flat. Others thought the Sun revolved around the Earth. Still others believed light waves propagated through the ether."

"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"

"No, no. Quite the opposite."

"Just let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone about this place."

Holly stood up. She walked to a computer. "Mankind is born with a natural survival instinct. And yet, only a small fraction of science is devoted to life extension technologies. Personally, I blame religion. It gives people false hope. It keeps them from doing everything possible to extend life."

Tears welled up in Peterson's eyes. "Please."