Side Effects (2 page)

"Precisely."

"And your research, Franz, how does it go?" Time for a counterthrust.

"It goes and it stops and it goes again. You know how that is."
Page 3

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

Sure, sure, but mostly it doesn't exist, Becker wanted to say. Instead, he nodded his agreement.

"Willi, my friend, I fear the war will be over anytime now. Weeks, days, hours; no one seems to know. I have no notion of what will happen to us--to those in our laboratory--after that. Perhaps our research will be made public, perhaps not. I feel it is crucial for each unit, Blue, Green, and Brown, to know exactly the nature and status of the work being done by the others. That way, we can be as well prepared as possible for whatever the future brings." Becker's eyes widened. "I have decided to start with your Green Unit," Mtiller went on. "A meeting has been scheduled for twenty-one hundred hours this evening in the Blue Unit conference room. Please be prepared to present your research in detail at that time."

"What?"

"And Willi, I would like time to study your data before then. Please have them on my desk by nineteen hundred hours." M tiller's eyes were flint.

Becker felt numb. His data, including the synthesis and biological properties of Estronate 250, were sealed in a dozen notebooks, hidden in the hull of a certain Rostock fishing boat. His mind raced. "My ... my work is very fragmented, Franz. I ... I shall need at least a day, perhaps two, to organize my data." This can't be happening, he thought. Nineteen hundred hours is too early. Even twenty-one hundred hours is too soon. "Let me show you what I have," Becker said, reaching toward the drawer with the Walther.

At that instant, Dr. Josef Rendl stepped inside the office doorway. Rendl's aide, a behemoth whom Becker knew only as Stossel, remained just outside in the hall.

They had been somewhere out there all the time. Becker felt sure of it. Rendl, a former pediatrician, was a short, doughy man with a pasty complexion and a high-pitched laugh, both of which Becker found disgusting. Becker's information had it that Rendl's mother was a Jew, a fact that had been carefully concealed. For a frozen second, two, Becker sized up the situation. Mtiller was but two meters away, Rendl three, and the animal, Stossel, perhaps five. No real chance for three kills, even with surprise on his side, which, it seemed now, might not be the case. The battle would have to be verbal ... at least for the moment.

Becker nodded at the newcomer. "Welcome, Josef.

My, my. The entire Blue Unit brain trust. What a pleasant honor." "Willi." Rendl smiled and returned the gesture.

"Leutnant Stossel and I were just passing by and noticed the two of you in here. What do you think of the meetings?

A good idea to present our work to one another, no?"

You smarmy son of a Jew whore, Becker thought.

"Yes. Yes. An excellent idea," he said.

"And you will honor us by presenting the Green Unit biochemical studies tonight?" Rendl, though an oberst, exactly the same rank as Willi, often spoke with M tiller's authority dusting his words. Becker, fighting to maintain composure, sucked in an extra measure of air. "Tonight would be acceptable." Both of the other men nodded. "But," he added, "tomorrow evening would be much better." Because, he smiled to himself, I intend to be a thousand kilometers away from here by then.

"Oh?" Franz Miiller propped his chin on one hand.

"Yes. I have a few final chemical tests to run on Estronate Two-fifty. Some loose ends in the initial set of experiments." As Becker scrambled through the words, searching for some kind of purchase, an idea began to take hold. "There's an extraction with ether that I was unable to complete because my supply ran out. Late yesterday, several five-gallon tins arrived. You signed for them yourself." Miiller nodded. Becker's words became more confident. "Well, if you would give me tonight to complete this phase of my work, I shall gladly present what I have tomorrow. You must remember that what I have is not much. Estronate Two-fifty is far more theory than fact.

A promising set of notions, with only the roughest of preliminary work on humans." Miiller pushed himself straighter in his chair and leveled his gaze across the desk. "Actually, Willi, I do not believe that what you say is true." The words, a sledgehammer, were delivered with silky calm.

"Wh ... what are you talking about?" The question in Becker's mind was no longer whether Miiller knew
Page 4

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

anything, but how much. His trump card--Blue Unit's falsified data--would have to be played. The only issue now was timing.

"What I am talking about is information that your work on Estronate Two-fifty is rather advanced."

"That's nonsense," Decker shot back.

"Further, that you are lacking only stability studies and the elimination of a troublesome side effect--some sort of bleeding tendency, is it?--before more extensive clinical testing can be done. Why, Willi, are you keeping this information from us? You have here, perhaps, the most awesome discovery--even the most awesome weapon--of our time, yet you claim to know nothing."

"Ridiculous."

"No, Willi. Not ridiculous. Information straight from a source in your laboratory. Now either we receive a full disclosure of the exact status of your work, or I shall see to it that Mengele or even Himmler receives the information we have."

"Your accusations are preposterous."

"We shall judge that after you have presented your work. Tonight, then?"

"No. Not tonight." It was time. "My work is not ready for presentation." Becker paused theatrically, drumming his fingertips on the desktop and then stroking them bowlike across one another. "Is yours?"

"What?"

Becker sensed, more than saw, M tiller stiffen. "Your work. The Blue Unit radiation studies. You see, the two of you are not the only ones with--what was the word you used?--ah, yes, sources, that was it. Sources."

Rendl and Miiller exchanged the fraction of a glance.

The gesture was enough to dispel any doubt as to the validity of Decker's information.

"Willi, Willi," M tiller said, shaking his head. "You try my patience. I shall give you until tomorrow night. Meanwhile, we shall organize our data and present them at the same time."

"Excellent," Becker said, reveling in being on the offensive at last. "And, please, do try to have some of your human subjects available for examination. It would lend so much to the understanding of your work." This time, M tiller and Rendl shared a more pronounced look.

"You don't really care, Willi, do you?" M tiller said suddenly.

"I ... I'm afraid I don't know what you mean, Franz."

"You see only yourself. Your place in history. The here and now mean nothing to you. Germany, the Reich, the Jews, the Americans, the prisoners, your colleagues--all are the same to you. All are nothing."

"You have your mistresses, and I have mine," Becker said simply. "Is immortality so homely that I should throw her out of my bed? You are right, Franz. I do not concern myself with petty day-to-day issues. I have already reached planes of theory and research that few have ever even dreamed of. Should I worry about the price of eggs, or whether the Fiihrer's hemorrhoids are inflamed, or whether the prisoners here at Ravensbrtick are pathetic inside the wire or without, on top of the dirt or beneath it?"

"Willi, Willi, Willi." Mtiller's voice and eyes held pity rather than reproach. Becker looked over at Rendl, and there, too, saw condescension, not are. Don't you dare pity me, he wanted to scream. Revere me. The children of your children will prosper because of me. The lebensraum for which so many have fought and died will be attained not with bullets, but with my equations, my solution. Mine!

M tiller broke the silence. "We are all with the same laboratory. We all stand to lose much if we fall into disfavor--either now with the Reich or soon with the Allies. I expect a full disclosure of your work with Estronate Two-fifty, Dr. Becker."

Becker nodded his acquiescence and silently prayed that his portrayal of a beaten man would be convincing.

Minutes later, the three men from the Blue Unit were gone. Becker closed his eyes and massaged the tightness at the base of his neck. Then he poured three fingers of Polish vodka from a bottle Edwin had sent him, and drank it in a single draught. The encounter with M tiller and Rendl, triumphant though it had been, had left him drained. He fingered his chronometer. Was there time for a nap? No, he decided. No sleeping until this filthy camp with its petty people and skeleton prisoners was a thing of the past.
Page 5

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

He walked briskly from his office to the low, frame, barracklike building that housed the Green Unit's biochemical research section. With glances to either side, he backed through the rear door and locked it from the inside. The wooden shutters were closed and latched, creating a darkness inside that was tangible.

The flashlight was by the door--where he had hung it that morning. Using the hooded beam, Decker counted the slate squares making up the top of his long central workbench. Reaching beneath the fifth one, he pulled.

The cabinet supporting the slate slid out from the others.

Beneath it, hidden from even a detailed search, was the circular mouth of a tunnel.

"And the rockets red glare, the bombs bursting in air ..." Alfi Runstedt sang the words as he dug, although he had no idea of their meaning. The song, he knew, was the American anthem, and this day, at least, that was all that mattered. As a child in Leipzig, he had spent hours beside his family's new Victrola memorizing selections from a thick album of anthems of the world. Even then, the American

"Star Spangled Banner" had been his favorite.

Now, he would have the chance to see the country itself and, even more wonderful, to become an American.

"Oh say does that star spangled ba-a-ner-er ye-et wa-ave ..." With one syllable, he rammed the spade into the sandy soil. With the next, he threw the dirt up to the side of the grave. The trench, three feet deep, was better than half done. Lying on the grass to Alfi's left, two meters from him, were the corpses of the peasant woman and her son, which would be laid inside as soon as the proper depth was reached. Alfi Runstedt paid them no mind.

He was stripped to his ample waist. Dirt, mingling with sweat, was turning his arms and walrus torso into a quagmire. The thick, red hair on his chest was plastered into what looked like a fecal mat. His SS

uniform pants were soaked and filthy. "... and the home of the brave. O-oh say can you see ..."

"Alfi, take a break if you need one. We cannot make any moves until dark. I told you that." From his perch atop a large boulder, Willi Becker gazed down into the narrow crypt. Alfl stopped his digging and dragged a muddy wrist across his muddy forehead. "It is nothing, Herr Oberst.

Believe me, nothing. I would dig a thousand such holes in the ground for the honor you have done me and the reward you have promised. Tell me, do you know if many American women are thin like Betty Grable? One of the men in the barracks at Friedrichshafen had her picture by his cot."

"I don't know, Alfi." Becker laughed. "Soon, you shall be able to see for yourself. If we meet the boat in Denmark and if my cousin has made all the arrangements, we should be in North America with valid papers within a few weeks."

"Big ifs, yes?"

"Not so big. The biggest if anyplace is money, and hopefully we have enough of that. We'll need some luck, but our chances of making it out undetected seem rather good."

"And you do not think me a traitor or a coward for wanting to leave with you?"

"Am I?"

"You are different, Herr Oberst. You have research to complete. Important research. I am just a junior officer in an army that is losing a war."

"Ah, but you are also my aide. My invaluable aide.

Was it not you who informed me of the old system of drainage pipes running beneath Ravensbriick?"

"Well, it was just my fortune to have worked with the sanitation department when I was younger and--"

"And was it not you who chose to keep that information our little secret and to help me with the connecting tunnel?"

" Well, I guess--"

"So don't say you are not deserving, Unteroffizier Runstedt. Don't ever say that."

"Thank you, Oberst. Thank you." And at that moment, Alfred Runstedt, the man who had overseen or assisted in the extermination of several thousand Ravensbriick prisoners, the man who had, not an hour
Page 6

Generated by ABC Amber LIT Conv
erter, http://www.processtext.com/abclit.html

before, calmly strangled to death a woman, her young son, her husband, and her father, wept with joy. Hollywood, New York, baseball, Chicago--now just words, they would soon be his life. Since the June invasion at Normandy, and even more frequently since the abortive July attempt to assassinate the Fiihrer at Rasten burg, in eastern Prussia, he had been forced to endure the recurrent nightmare of his own capture and death. In one version of the dream, it was execution by hanging; in another, by firing squad. In still another, ghostly prisoners, totally naked, beat him to death with sticks. Soon, the nightmares would stop.

The grave was nearly deep enough. The wooded grove which was serving as an impromptu cemetery accepted the evening more quickly than did the adjacent field and was nearly dark when Becker pushed himself off the rock.

"So, just a few more spadefuls, is it?" he said.

"I think so," Alfi answered. He had donned a wind breaker against the chill of dusk. His uniform shirt, hanging on a branch, would be kept clean for a final display.

"Cigar?"

"Thank you, Herr Oberst." Alfi paused to light the narrow cheroot, one of a seemingly endless supply possessed by Becker.

"I think you are deep enough now," Becker said after a half dozen more passes. "Let me give you a hand."