The Bleiberg Project (Consortium Thriller) (8 page)

Berghof, the Obsersalzberg, Bavarian Alps, January, 1943.

M
y faithful Heinrich, I am
relieved that you survived this odious attack.”

“Thank you,
mein Führer
.”

“Please, take a seat.”

Himmler settled into one of the eight armchairs surrounding the small round table, on which cups of coffee had been served to Europe’s two most powerful men. And yet the scene was grotesque. The Great Hall could hold a hundred people easily. Heinrich felt like a lead figurine lost in an oversized dollhouse. He hated the place. Of all the Nazi dignitaries, only he had refused to take a house nearby. All the usual bootlickers had rushed to buy homes to stay in the führer’s good books: that morphine-addicted pig Göring; the competent and therefore dangerous Goebbels; the uptight military man Jodl; and many others who jostled for Hitler’s mercurial affections.

How the hell could they put up with these pitifully overwrought decorations?

The Gobelins tapestries depicted crude hunting scenes. The green chairs clashed with the red carpet. The beamed ceiling seemed in danger of collapsing on the room’s occupants at any moment. Heinrich already missed the martial atmosphere of his headquarters in Westphalia. There, at least, he was the absolute sovereign who bowed before no man. The news he brought would make his conversation with Hitler tricky. For now, Heinrich’s position was guaranteed by the boundless devotion of his troops and the rapid progress being made in his extermination program.

“How many men did you lose?”

“The losses aren’t too heavy. Four members of my personal bodyguard and two soldiers from the camp.”

“It’s the work of the communists!” Stamping his foot, Hitler shouted at the top of his voice, “We must crush them too. Eliminate them with no mercy, one by one until there are no more!”

“
Mein Führer
, the communists had nothing to do with this. Goebbels gave you a version of the facts intended to bolster the army and our people in the march toward Moscow. Blaming the Bolsheviks serves our cause. I came to set out to you the true circumstances of the explosion.”

Hitler froze. He swept the hair from his forehead, a sure sign of annoyance.

“What are you saying? Why wasn’t I informed? How can one be expected to rule a nation with false information?” Predictably, Hitler took on his world-weary air and flopped into the chair opposite Heinrich. He had been developing more and more of these spoiled-child affectations.

“That is why I am here today,
mein Führer
. We are currently hunting down seditious agents within the
Abwehr
itself. Given the sensitive nature of the information, bringing it in person seemed more judicious than sending a telegram.”

“Traitors in the ranks of the
Abwehr
. Nothing surprises me anymore. They’ve been sabotaging my work from the very beginning. You will unmask those responsible, won’t you, Heinrich?” It wasn’t a question but an order.

“I hope to expose Wilhelm Canaris shortly. We must be sure to net the whole ring before we act. Rest assured, the matter will be settled within the next few days.”

“Good, good. So, tell me what really happened in Poland.” Until now, the conversation had gone as expected. But storm clouds were gathering.

“Five years ago, I met a young scientist named Bleiberg who was working on the effects of radiation and chemicals on the human body. His research was worth taking further, so the SS invested colossal sums in the construction of a secret laboratory in the basement of Wewelsburg Castle. In the next two years, the research team made spectacular progress. Very soon, tests on prisoners became necessary. I therefore ordered that the experimentation center be moved to the camp hospital at Stutthof, near Danzig.”

“Excellent. Communist and Israelite scum deserve no leniency. By the way, your scientist’s name, Bleiberg, doesn’t that sound Jewish?”

“I ordered an inquiry, which proved him to be a good German,
mein
Führer
.” Heinrich preferred a lie to a sterile debate. Yes, Bleiberg was Jewish. The SS would take care of him once his research was completed.

“Good, good. What happened then?”

“The tests on humans were unpredictable and…” Hitler gestured with his left hand to interrupt his subordinate. Heinrich thought he saw the hand shake.

“What tests are you talking about? What was the aim of all this mysterious research?”

“Professor Bleiberg claimed to be capable of modifying the human body to recreate the pure Aryan race as described in ancient writings.”

“The Hyperboreans? How ironic! We have sent expeditions to the Orient looking for Shambhala, to the North and where else besides, hunting for the roots of the Germanic race, and you’re telling me that science has solved the question? Why didn’t you tell me about this earlier?”

“I wanted to be certain,
mein
Führer
. Besides, with the French campaign and the planning and, er, difficulties of Operation Barbarossa, I didn’t wish to add to the burden on your shoulders.”

“As considerate as ever, Heinrich. I appreciate it.”

Heinrich replied with the sympathetic smile that served him so well in all circumstances. Behind his little round glasses, it was impossible to guess what ideas were germinating and what ambitions he nurtured. God, he loved that!

“I have a substantial workload, also. There’s no lack of conspiracies, and the organization of the Final Solution requires complete concentration to ensure no crucial logistical details are overlooked. The team at Degesch has worked hard to deliver the Zyklon B ahead of schedule. As a result, however, there was a delay while the gas chambers were being built. We barely avoided a situation that would have been detrimental to our objectives. In sum, we were both too busy to waste time with conjecture. I wanted to bring you a feasible project or abandon the whole operation and move onto something else.”

“I see. Please, go on.”

“For two years, none of the test subjects survived the mutation process. Some died from the exposure to radiation. Others were unable to withstand the injections following exposure. The medics gradually stabilized each step, but the subjects developed rampant cancer. Then, at the end of last year, Professor Bleiberg requested that I visit Stutthof because he had important news for me. He knows me well and is aware that if someone whistles, I rarely come running.”

“Except when your master whistles.” A subtle but significant reminder. Heinrich smiled once more.

“Indeed,
mein
Führer
. So, I was convinced that a welcome surprise awaited me in Poland.”

“Let’s go straight to the conclusion, shall we? Jodl’s waiting his turn for a briefing on the Russian Front.”

Jodl? Let him wait.
“Very well. One of the subjects had survived the radiation, tolerated the injections and had not been laid low by a tumor. Bleiberg mentioned a high long-term cancer risk but thought he could develop a serum to stop the cell necrosis. Subject 302 was brought in. A pure marvel,
mein
Führer
. The professor had turned a spindly Jew with stereotypical racial characteristics into a sturdy blond child. Even his nose was no longer hooked.”

“Are you sure the operation was genuine? I assume it could have been easy to introduce a decoy. We both know that scientists are adept at such trickery.”

“That’s why I insisted on the whole process being filmed and photographed. There is no room for doubt. Subject 302 is the first functional prototype of the
Übermensch
.”

“Why isn’t he here with you?”

Heinrich took a deep breath to gather his nerve. “The child came to me quite docilely and gave a perfect salute. Most likely to allay my suspicions. I approached and ruffled his hair. Suddenly, he seized my service weapon, and before we could stop him, he shot holes in the vats of chemicals in the laboratory. Explosions gutted the building. In the confusion, he escaped. I was lucky to get out alive. Bleiberg and his team scrambled to save their archives. Their corpses must be frozen in the ruins.”

Adolf Hitler wearily rubbed his eyes. “You didn’t capture the subject?”

“No,
mein
Führer
. Two of my elite units are still scouring the area. He must have died or gotten help. We will leave no stone unturned.”

“You almost had good news for me. I’m grateful for your honesty, Heinrich. Keep me informed of developments. Before I let you go, give me something to celebrate.”

“Treblinka and Sobibor have achieved cruising speed. Auschwitz-Birkenau is functioning at full capacity. Zyklon B is proving a highly efficient alternative to carbon monoxide. I estimate that sixty percent of European Jews will be eliminated within two years. We could go even faster, but I wish to keep the healthy ones available as a labor force for the war effort.”

“Good. Excellent. Leave me now, Heinrich. Tell my secretary to show Jodl in. We have a counteroffensive to prepare on the Eastern Front.”

Heinrich Himmler rose in silence. After an impeccable salute, which elicited a distracted response and no eye contact, he strode away, down twin flights of steps and approached the heavy wooden door. Hitler’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Heinrich! Just out of curiosity, what is this
Übermensch
operation’s code name?”

“The Bleiberg Project,
mein
Führer
.”

E
ytan took up position at
a table against the window of the bar across the street from the bank. Traffic was dense, but his line of sight was relatively unimpeded. Anyway, it wasn’t as if he would need a clear shot. The next five minutes would hold no surprises for him.

In the last fifteen minutes, he had met Bart, the waiter, and Léon, a recently widowed retired postal-service manager who spent his afternoons in the bar. They were sipping their coffee and about to play a game of dice when Eytan saw Jeremy come out of the bank, looking anxiously for Jackie’s Lexus. The perfect target.

Léon’s expertise at the game of Four Twenty-one saw him to victory in the first round. He was warming the dice in his cupped hands to start the second game when, outside, Jacqueline pulled over and Corbin hopped in. Twenty yards behind, the black Mercedes was on their tail. It would intercept the Lexus at the first opportunity. Eytan was sure of it. Two bullets to each head, the documents stolen, case closed.

Triple one. Léon picked up where he had left off. Eytan took a black box the size of a lighter out of his pocket. The fingers of his right hand fiddled with it while the dice rolled out of the palm of his left hand onto the green baize tray between the two players. His thumb tightened on the box. A deafening explosion echoed around the street, followed by screeching brakes and honking horns. The bar’s patrons, including Léon, rushed out and gawked at the black sedan in flames. Debris hovered in the air before falling like pathetic metal leaves onto the road.

Triple six.

I warned you guys not to screw with me
.

In the movies,
a car going up in a ball of fire looks cool. In real life, too. Except for the occupants of the bomb on wheels, of course. I didn’t jump when the explosion happened. I have enough sedative in my veins not to show a flicker of emotion for another few hours. Jackie, on the other hand, nearly jumped out of her seat. She seems totally on edge. When I got into the rental, she was sweating and looking ragged. Jeez, with her hair all mussed up she’s even cuter. Buffy rammed her cell phone under my nose. “That your Jolly Green Giant?”

The photo’s blurred. Surely the CIA can afford more sophisticated equipment for its agents. They’ve got it tough. Now let’s take a closer look: broad back, camouflage jacket, lumberjack boots, combat pants. “No fashion sense, bald as a coot, six-six and dubious sense of humor? Yes, little lady, that’s him. But how…”

“He saved my life in an alleyway next to the bank. I wanted to create a diversion and take down two guys following us. Instead, I screwed up. He shivved both guys and inflicted the humiliation of a lifetime on me. I sent the picture to Bernard for identification.”

“Don’t complain. At least, you didn’t wind up on your ass and out cold.”

She tucks away the cell. Purses her lips slightly. I’m beginning to read you now, baby. “You did wind up on your ass?”

“Zip it!” I zip it. But I laugh my ass off. Not Jackie.

“We head to the hotel, check out what was in the safe-deposit box, debrief with Bernard, and that’s where you get off the joyride.”

“That’s not your decision to make. Don’t pull any national security or classified information bullshit on me. I smell a rat. An official mission would get me what, five, ten bodyguards? Bernard’s flying solo. Why? No idea. You either, I guess. So Baldy made a fool of you? I’d appreciate it if you didn’t take it out on me.”

Jackie is about to reply when her phone rings.
Mission Impossible
ringtone. I laugh again. “OK, give me a break.”

“Jackie?”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, I was chatting with Jeremy.”

No, Jeremy just busted your ass. Get it right.

“I got the picture you took. Where and when?”

“Zurich, sir. Roughly fifteen minutes ago. Have you been able to identify him?” Long silence.

“Yes. How did you spot him?” It’s Jackie’s turn to fall silent. This one’s going to overtime.

“I didn’t spot him. He came to my assistance. Who is this guy, sir? He seems very well informed about the Agency and remarkably efficient.” Playful self-confident Jackie was gone. Meet serious, anxious Jackie.

“He goes by the name Eytan Morg. Christ, that’s why his voice seemed so familiar on the phone. If he hasn’t killed you already, he must be there as a friend. Thank your lucky stars for that.”

“This Morg guy asked me to send his regards. Do you know him personally, sir? Who does he work for?”

“Yeah, I know him. We worked together once. Back in the day he was a Mossad agent. Now? I’ll have to get back to you on that. Do you have the documents? Have you taken a look?”

“The contents of the box are in our possession. We’ll proceed with the examination as soon as we regroup at the hotel.” Oh, the rhetorical delights of a military training.

“I want you to report back in the hour. Then jump on the first flight home.”

“Yes, sir. I didn’t find anything on the two individuals who tried to eliminate me. Another unit was following us, but their car blew up in traffic. With all due respect, sir, what the hell is going on?”

“You tell me, Jackie. You have one hour.”