The Berkut (29 page)

It was Petrov's way to be methodical. "Ours is more work of the mind," he lectured, "than of the body." They had been through it before and knew there was no sense in protesting or trying to accelerate the process; he would not move until he had totally digested what had been gleaned. Once he had explained his method to Ezdovo: "The hunter may take his game in many ways. You can set a trap without bait. Or you can bait the trap in the hope of trapping your quarry. Or you can attempt to drive it, frightening it into going where you want it to. You can also track an animal with persistence and stealth. Or, knowing your quarry's habits, you can determine his destination, then go to the spot and wait for him to come to you." Being a hunter himself, Ezdovo understood these options, but his chief's point was not clear. Petrov continued: "Each method is proven. We know the strengths and weaknesses of each, and we can choose which is most effective for a particular set of circumstances. But none is universally effective; thus the choice of tactics is as important as the hunter's skill in implementing them. True?"

"True," Ezdovo agreed.

Petrov had joined his hands in front of him as if he were praying.

"It follows, then, that the most important part of the hunt is the time spent in understanding its circumstances and conditions. If the hunter is committed to his skills rather than to chance, he ponders first."

While one ponders, skittish game often gets away, Ezdovo had thought to himself.

Chenko looked tired. He carried his black medical bag with him, and on entering the room went straight to a cot and sat down heavily, stretching his legs in front of him. "You're going to get me killed, Petrov," he said in a low voice. "Zhukov sought me out this morning. He's in a rage. He accused me of interfering in SMERSH matters, and he's going to order Moscow to have me withdrawn unless I keep him informed of your activities. He's nervous; he wants to know who you are and what your official function is."

"Tell him to consult with Comrade Vishinsky." "
I did that. He's wary of
Vishinsky."

Bailov turned to Rivitsky. "And you said the general was stupid."

They laughed. Vishinsky was one of Stalin's top conspirators in what all Russians called "wet business"-political murders.

"Zhukov fancies himself a kil
ler," Gnedin said. "Next to Vi
s
hinsky, he's a rank amateur and
he knows it. No wonder he's wary."

"What did you tell the general?" Petrov asked. "I told him that you carry the
Red Badge." "His reaction?"

"His flesh illuminated to a patriotic red glow and he departed,
huffing like a horse that had just run several kilometers through deep drifts of snow." Regaining his energy, Chenko opened his bag and placed three bundles on the table. In each was a small test tube with a rubber stopper.

The men of the Special Operations Group stared at the specimen bottles. Petrov looked only at Chenko. "You have results?"

"Results, yes, but they are meaningless. I need to know where the samples come from," Chenko complained loudly.

"You will know in good time," Petrov said flatly.

Chenko shrugged like a bear stretching its back muscles. "Zhukov is making noises about telling the Western press of his findings. He wants to bury Hitler and be done with it."

"Zhukov can do as he pleases. He is of no concern to us."

"Yes, well, that's your opinion." Chenko lifted the first test tube.

"Sample. Dried fluid. Identification: human blood. Type matches. There are traces of testosterone and strychnine."

He picked up the second container. "Human hair. Pigmented brown.

The follicles tell us that these are from two sites: facial hairs and hairs from the scalp, with some of the roots intact."

"Finally," Chenko cooed, turning the third container, "this was the most difficult of all."

"Hemp," Petrov interrupted.

Chenko's face froze in surprise. "How did you know?" "Simple deduction. Anything else?"

"No."

"You're sure the blood type matches?"

"Yes. Very common, though there was not a lot to work with. A simple analysis to perform, even in the barbaric conditions that present themselves in this place of pestilence."

"It's enough," Petrov said.

Chenko stood silently, waiting for an invitation to remain, but Petrov only stared at him. Finally the corpulent doctor closed his bag, excused himself and departed.

When the elevator had descended, Petrov looked at his men. "This evidence convinces me that Hitler substituted a double and fled."

"But maybe he's been killed by now," Rivitsky offered. It w,as a thought that had occurred to all of them since they had arrived in Berlin.

"Possibly. We will attempt to make a determination of that. Zhu
kov has taken his bait. Any new investigations will always come back
to the witnesses. Without the guard Rudolf, there is no way they can ever discover the truth. Your thoroughness has tipped the scales in our favor," Petrov told the group.

"There's the damaged light section in the bunker," Gnedin re
minded him.

"Temporary. All lights will be repaired and sealed permanently.

The same for the entry hatch through the corridor. Eventually the entire structure will be razed; no evidence will exist. Everything we collect during our investigation will be taken to Moscow for storage. Everything else will be eliminated. The Russian people are owed ven
geance. We are going to find him. If he is alive, we are going to take him back to Moscow."

"When do we begin?" Ezdovo asked.

"We began the night we arrived," Petrov said. "Now you and Rivitsky have opened an important door for us. This SS Colonel Brumm is the confederate. I feel it. He was Skorzeny's planner. I suspect that Hitler culled him from the group for this particular mission. No doubt the sergeant is involved, too. We are almost ready to go into the field, but first we must know more about Brumm. His records were removed to hide his trail, but their absence in the midst of otherwise perfect order draws attention to him. The colonel has made a serious error; were his records on hand we would have no compelling reason to suspect him."

"We could get more from Skorzeny," Bailov suggested.

"No," Rivitsky replied. "Skorzeny hates us. He won't help us any further."

"It's academic," Petrov interrupted. "The Americans have Skor
zeny, and I suspect that's the last we'll see of him. We had our chance, and you did well to get what you did."

Rivitsky and Ezdovo both warmed under the unexpected compli
ment.

"Our best opportunity will be to use the records we have in order to identify commando personnel among our captives. The units from Vienna are in American or Canadian hands. We will concentrate on the prisoners taken on the Oder."

"Both of them?" Bailov said sarcastically.

Petrov shot a dagger stare at Bailov, who turned away from his gaze.

"There were thousands of prisoners taken," Petrov said sternly. "I've checked.
They are in
camps. Some are already being moved east."

"First we have to locate the camps," Rivitsky pointed out.

"The trail will grow cold," Ezdovo complained. "The Oder is in the opposite direction. Our quarry will go west."

"Not necessarily. The safest route is not always the fastest. This event has been planned carefully. I suspect they will move to a safe place, a haven already prepared, and lie in. Presumably, Hitler is neither healthy nor strong and will need time to mend. The trail may fade, but it won't disappear." Petrov paused. "We also must consider that in the absence of a hunter the animal often settles into a normal routine and can be more easily taken by surprise later."

"We've done well," Rivitsky said, reaching for a loaf of bread. "Lucky," Gnedin added.

"Good hunters create their own luck," Ezdovo said. Their leader smiled. "Ezdovo understands the hunt."

Petrov retreated into his own thoughts. He had heard a rumor, so far unsubstantiated, that a high-ranking Nazi had turned himself in to Soviet authorities with an offer to provide assistance of a special nature. If true, Brumm's past might be revealed more quickly than the others imagined.

34 – June 3, 1945, 11:50 P.M.

The group stood in the doorway waiting for
Brumm to create light inside. The colonel struck a match and fumbled in the blackness to ignite the wick of a kerosene lantern. At first the wick gave off only a tiny red glow; then it turned white and grew, casting a golden glow on all but the deepest corners of the cold stone interior.

When the group saw their surroundings, they gasped in unison. The main room was much larger than the external farrade had sug
gested. Two doors opened off it to dark halls. Despite the building's unusual structure, it seemed to be a normal house inside. The floor was made of hand-hewn but exceptionally smooth and tightly fitted planks, covered with a dark varnish that reflected light. A slightly curving stairwell, which appeared to have been carved from a gnarled tree trunk, climbed up into the darkness from the middle of the room.

One end of the hall was dominated by a cooking fireplace made of stones fitted together solidly without benefit of mortar. At the other end was a smaller fireplace, this one with a narrow opening. The room was furnished with tables and chairs that appeared to have been shaped from arm-thick trees, their natural forms incorporated into their de
signs. Near the cooking area, fresh water tumbled from a carved wooden trough into a stone basin, and from there down to a narrow pipe set into the wall. It was a simple but ingenious plumbing system.

Brumm went through the room lighting lanterns until the whole area was brightly illuminated. The others moved through the door, _ dropping their gear just inside the entrance.

"It doesn't seem real," one of the girls said.

"Real enough," Brumm said. "This place is called Stone Cave. What you see here has taken five generations to build. My grand
father's grandfather discovered this valley in the nineteenth century. He hewed out the first rooms; generations since have added their own touches, always expanding it. There are six full rooms on this level and a large loft above. The beds are filled with cured moss-better than feathers. Behind these rooms is a string of caverns. Ancient tribes came here; you'll see their paintings on the walls of the caves."

The colonel noticed that Herr Wolf had cocked his head at an odd angle; he seemed to be mesmerized by some thought that he was keeping to himself. Brumm sat on a chair and lit a cigarette. It was the first time the group had seen him smoke. "More than a century," he said, his voice hinting melancholy. "Five generations. We have everything we need: weapons, ammunition, medical supplies. There's even a small generator waiting to be assembled. It can be operated with water power, and there's plenty of that in this valley. We have a radio, fresh food, roots and plants, small game, fish. As a boy I thought this was paradise."

"Who else knows about this place?" Erda asked.

"Only us. My grandfather is gone. This valley is actually the crater of an old volcano, and so is very fertile. Around us is a maze of valleys and deep gorges, most of which lead nowhere. From above, it looks no different from any other valley in the Harz. To get here you have to know the way."

"What was once found can be twice found," Beard said with skepticism. By nature he preferred open ground and the freedom to move, not a static base, much less one built into a mountain of rock.

"True, but the odds are small. The shelter is invisible from the air;
it can be seen only from
the ground, and even then only when you are on this side of the valley."

"Show us the rest of it," one of the girls said eagerly.

Brumm waved his hand. "Explore for yourself." He listened to the girls chatter to one another as they disappeared into the hallways and loft, then shrieking with delight over the beds. When they returned, they were all talking at the same time.

"Come," Brumm said. "There's more." He led them down a cor
ridor and through a thick wooden door into the caverns, where a narrow wooden walkway had been constructed.

They were amazed at the magnitude of supplies stacked on both sides in the darkness. Beyond the storage area Brumm led them down a narrow tunnel cut through solid rock that required them to move single file. As they walked deeper the temperature and humidity stead
ily increased.

"I know about caverns," Herr Wolf said suddenly. It was the first time he had talked since they had entered the valley. "Further in you can expect the temperature to stabilize at a constant; there will be little variation even if you travel a kilometer into the ground. Such places are ideal for storage. I've given the subject considerable study and have become something of an authority on it." The group did not respond; they had no interest in hearing another long-winded expla
nation, preferring to make their own discoveries. "Extraordinary," Herr Wolf continued, his voice growing louder and beginning to echo. "It's getting warmer."

Eventually they reached the end, a small open space triangular in shape. The solid rock ceiling above them was at least four meters high. Brumm held his lantern high and stood aside to let them all press into the area. Below them was a pool of water. The room was humid, and steam lifted off the surface. "A natural spa," he explained.