EXOSKELETON II: Tympanum (22 page)

3

Friday, 22 May (1:35 p.m. EST – Washington)

Daniel refilled his mug with hot water and walked over to the window. The silver tea ball released brilliant green currents in his cup that matched the colors of the sunbathed treetops below. He set the cup on the coffee table and sat on the couch.

The interrogation of
Obersturmbannführer
Adolf Eichmann made Daniel’s spine tingle as if his most primitive instincts were commanding him to run. His brain overrode the primordial urge, but he twisted and turned in his seat as he read.

Eichmann had been evil incarnate. He’d had the power and opportunity to carry out acts that defied the inviolability of life itself. Although known as the “desk murderer” for carrying out his heinous acts by action of the pen, Eichmann had done so without emotion or remorse and, in some cases, with denial. His numerous interrogation transcripts, especially those parts that had been redacted in other documents, had revealed something that scared Daniel more than anything else:
hope
.

Eichmann himself had used the word in defense of his actions. He’d had hope for something transformative to happen, something he’d been told by Hitler himself. He described something about a new facet
of human existence – a metamorphosis – that would elevate humanity to the next stage. It sounded familiar.

The problem was that Eichmann had never mentioned specifics in the interrogations – not because he hadn’t wanted to, but that he apparently hadn’t known any. He’d explained that the purpose of the concentration camps was to exterminate Jews, and others the Nazis wanted out of the way, but the reasons were different from what had been assumed by the rest of the world. The Nazis wanted to clean the earth not for the Aryan race in its form at the time, but for the
transformed
race. He’d explained that there would soon be a refined race that transcended humans in their current form.

The second major purpose of the concentration camps, other than extermination, was for a source of healthy subjects to be used in experiments of the sort carried out by Dr. Josef Mengele at the Kraken asylum, and other such places. It was the transcripts of interrogations of Mengele that Daniel really wanted to read. It was most unfortunate that the evil doctor hadn’t been captured. He’d lived in Argentina until the Israeli Mossad got too close, and then fled to Paraguay. Finally, Dr. Mengele had drowned off the coast of Brazil in 1979. They’d called him the Angel of Death for his participation in the selection of Jews for the gas chambers at Auschwitz – an operation that Daniel now suspected was just a discarding of the subjects he couldn’t use in his torture and medical experiments.

Human twins were of particular interest to Mengele. His curiosity had stemmed from another Nazi researcher named Nestler who had conjectured that twins’ souls were
entangled
. The entanglement in this sense was not of the sort suffered by two fishing lines that had twisted into an irreversible birds’ nest. Instead, it was related to the entanglement described by quantum physics, the common example being the entanglement of two electrons. When two electrons were entangled in the quantum sense, they could feel each other’s state from long distances – a phenomenon referred to as “spooky,” even by physicists. So was the case with twins, according to Nestler and Mengele. The twins would be separated, Mengele would kill one of them in one room, and the reaction of the other twin, unaware of the fate of the other, would be observed in another. The results had been inconclusive.

Eichmann had referred to Red Falcon several times during the interrogation – the first instance initiated by him. The interrogator had obviously led him in that direction, but had never mentioned the name of the project. In the end, Eichmann hadn’t known the details of Red Falcon. However, near the end of the interview, he’d made some chilling references. Eichmann described a New Order rising from cold waters. He called it the Last Reich. It was this Last Reich that would be the transformed version of humanity, and it was Eichmann’s hope that it would rise before he was executed. He had also claimed that Hitler wasn’t dead, nor were many of the others at the top of the Nazi hierarchy. They had escaped Germany through the secret Nazi SS operation called ODESSA, and would rise again from the south. Eichmann was executed in 1962.

~
4
~

Friday, 22 May (1:48 p.m. EST – Antarctica)

McHenry entered the control center. Whatever they’d discovered, it was big. Everyone was standing – some at their respective stations, others near the bank of overhead monitors.

“What do you have?” McHenry asked, his question directed at Finley.

Finley approached McHenry, grabbed his arm, and directed him to a monitor.

McHenry’s heart pounded. He’d never been grabbed by a crewmember – and Finley’s eyes were wide with either fear or excitement.

McHenry studied the monitor. It was an image from one of the
North Dakota’s
forward cameras. The water was perfectly clear.

The tunnel terminated in an enormous cavern.

“What are the dimensions of this place?” McHenry asked, hardly believing what he was seeing.

“Irregularly shaped, about 800 meters in length, the same width, and the depth is over 1,000,” Finley replied. “But that’s not all.” He nodded towards the screen. “The image you see there is with our external lights turned off.”

It took McHenry a second to process what Finley had said, but then it was clear. “Ambient light from somewhere,” he said. “An opening to the surface.”

“Yes,” Finley said. He instructed another crewmember to adjust the view. “The ambient light is coming from here,” he said and pointed to a location on the opposite end of the cavern. “But while we searched for the light source, we found this.” He pointed to two areas high on one of the walls, near the ceiling and at the edge of the opening to the surface.

McHenry gasped. There were human-made structures. “What the hell is it?”

“Don’t know,” Finley said. “We’ll have to get closer.”

McHenry nodded. His fatigue had all but dissolved away, the adrenaline taking over. “Go slowly.” It occurred to him that there might be traps. He warned the crew.

As they inched closer to the light, the structure became more visible. Mounted to the cavern ceiling and wall, on the
North Dakota’s
port side, were rectangular structures resembling the skyboxes seen in some football stadiums, but larger. Some were solid black – probably metallic or concrete – while others had windows. In all, there were over 50 of them. Behind the boxes, where the ceiling curved gradually downward into the wall, were six slots that resembled slips for submarines. Three were occupied.

As they approached the structure, the source of the overhead light became apparent. There was a colossal hole in the ceiling of the cavern. On the surface, McHenry realized, it must have looked like a lake. If needed, they could surface to confirm their position with satellite navigation, and communicate with the carrier group.

“Get closer to the structure,” McHenry ordered. “We need to get pictures.”

The pilot brought the
North Dakota
into the light, temporarily obscuring their view of what was ahead. Sonar kept them apprised of the cavern walls and structures. A few minutes later, they passed back into the shade of the cavern ceiling, and were now close enough to see the structures in detail.

McHenry swallowed hard, not believing what was before his eyes. It was a base. The protruding structures were indeed slips. The crew stared in silence at the decrepit Nazi U-boats sleeping in their slots like corpses in a crypt.

5

Friday, 22 May (3:40 p.m. CST – Baton Rouge)

Lenny Butrolsky soaked in the sun and sipped iced coffee at an outdoor café. Baton Rouge was well inland from the Gulf, but the scent of the sea imbued the warm breeze that filtered through his short hair.

His predicament had become complex. First, he was uncertain of the identity of his employer. Second, he was there for an operation that involved multiple hits: a bloodbath. He was supposed to make it look like one member of a large group had snapped and massacred the others. He was still awaiting the details of how it was supposed to go down, and when. It sounded like a cleanup operation. Cleanup was dangerous: everyone involved seemed to be nervous, and the authorities could swoop in at any time.

He shook his head and smiled to himself: his bank account was ballooning to retirement size. He hoped he’d have the opportunity to spend it.

Since he’d been freed from the hospital, his jobs had been assigned through the network in which he’d worked for over a decade. But, after the hit on Poliakov and the cancelation of his latest job, his handler admitted a “turnover in management.” His suspicions were now confirmed: a Chinese firm that had purchased the companies connected to the project. His former boss, the late Heinrich Bergman, had worked for the American government, and therefore so had Lenny. Now it seemed he worked for China.

Lenny didn’t care either way. He wanted out of the business and was getting close to having the funds to do it. The only problem he had for playing two sides – fully aware that there might even be more sides – was that it was dangerous. And his upcoming mission was going to be particularly hazardous.

At age 55 Lenny had experience on his side. He’d dealt with the Chinese in the past. They had a reputation of tying up loose ends, and he knew he’d eventually be one of those loose ends. He planned on getting half the money he was due – the part that was paid up front – and forget the rest if they didn’t transfer it. He’d complete his jobs, and then get out of Dodge. He wanted to be absent for the final wrap-up.

He took a deep breath and rubbed his shoulder. The warm weather was good for his body – soothing the dull aches from the many injuries he’d suffered over the years, as well as the natural deterioration of his aging body. He sipped his iced coffee and casually scanned the café. He spotted his contact: a tall, blonde female, forties, with a charm bracelet. The bracelet was supposed to have a small dodecahedron – a twelve-sided die, like the ones used in role-playing games.

The woman got in line, bought a coffee, and went to a small counter and mixed sugar and cream into her cup.

Lenny approached from her right and spotted the bracelet and charm on her left wrist as she grabbed a stir stick.

“Nice bracelet,” he said. “Anniversary gift?” It was the phrase he’d been instructed to use.

“Yes,” the woman replied and smiled. “I live a charmed life.” She had a soft southern accent.

It was the correct response.

“Shall we sit outside?” he asked.

She nodded and followed him to a table far away from foot traffic.

Her face turned serious, and she handed Lenny a small memory device. “You’ll find what you need on this,” she said. “Your honorarium decreases after seven days. You’ll get a bonus if you finish the job within the next five.”

Rushing things for a multi-target job was risky. He needed time to study them, and plan the operation. “What kind of bonus?” he asked.

“Three fifty,” she replied.

Lenny flinched.
Three hundred and fifty thousand dollars
. It would free him from his occupation. “Why is this so important?”

The woman ignored his questions. “Up to four more people will arrive in five days. Right now, it’s likely that only the original five are present.”

“Likely?” Lenny asked. He didn’t like uncertainties.

“There’s a constant flux,” she said. “It’s all in the file.”

Lenny nodded.

The woman stood with her drink, smiled broadly, and walked away, leaving Lenny with the memory device and his thoughts.

6

Friday, 22 May (8:06 p.m. CST – Baton Rouge)

Darkness settled in as Will sat in the back seat of his SUV and waited. A gentle breeze carried the aroma of chicken from a small gathering of students cooking with a grill a few doors down. The night before, he’d tailed the former CP inmates from the Bullfrog to their house off of River Road, near the university campus. Dense traffic had provided adequate cover, and he’d followed them all the way to their door and parked his car on the street a few driveways down. He’d separated and observed them that evening, obtaining helpful information for this evening’s activities – the alarm code and the combination to a safe hidden in a back room. The back of his neck stiffened at the thought of breaking in and carrying out his plan.

A door squeaked open somewhere on the right side of the house, and then banged shut a few seconds later. Five men emerged and piled into a red Honda Civic, one of three cars parked in the driveway. The car backed into the street and exited the subdivision, out of sight.

Will separated. He entered the house, unlocked the door, turned off the alarm, and punched the numbers into the keypad of the electronic safe. He wanted to set up everything to minimize his time in the house.

He returned to his body, got out of the SUV, and closed the door quietly. He looked for potential observers, saw none, and then walked up the driveway and followed a walkway along the right side of the house.

He stopped on a concrete stoop and examined the entrance. A rusted screen sagged on the warped wood-framed door, and he was sure the tears in the corners let in mosquitoes. As he pulled the door, it creaked with a metallic ringing that he followed to a large spring that functioned to snap the door closed. He pulled it open as slowly and smoothly as possible until he was able to squeeze his body in and turned the knob of the inner door. He pushed the door open, and stale air from the cool interior breezed gently over his sweating hand. He entered, making sure to let the screen door close gently. The smell of stale beer and dried ketchup filled his nostrils. He was in a filthy kitchen.

He had to fight to stay calm even though the men would probably be out for hours. He made his way into one of the three bedrooms, opened the closet, and removed the blankets and clothes that covered the unlocked safe. He turned the handle, opened it, and pulled out three manila folders, each with 10 to 20 pages of documents. He removed the contents of one of the folders and laid the pages in a row on the carpeted floor. He turned one of three light switches on the wall by the door, energizing a light fixture. He adjusted the dimmer switch until the illumination was sufficient.

He pulled a small digital camera from his pocket and snapped pictures of the documents. He did this several times, checking periodically to make sure the images were clear. When he was finished, he packed the documents back into the safe and closed the door and locked it. As he piled the blankets and clothes back into their original positions, he discovered an Army-green metal box about the size of a carry-on suitcase.

He unbuckled two latches and opened the lid. It was tightly packed with small bricks of an off-white material that he was certain was the plastic explosive C-4. He snapped some pictures, closed the box, and put it back in its original position. He searched the rest of the closet and found detonation cord, detonators, and a box of cell phones – bomb materials.

He returned all of the items to their original positions and covered them. He closed the closet door and a headed for the kitchen. Just as he was about step onto the greasy linoleum floor, a noise made him freeze in place. It was the metallic screech of the screen door.
Someone was entering the house.

He found a coat closet, slid in, and pulled the door closed.

The metallic jingle of sloshing keys persisted until one was inserted into the lock. A moment later, the screen door slammed closed, and the floor creaked in the hall just outside the closet. He held his breath as the floor creaked just out side the closet and footfalls continued on into a back room.

He felt no fear, but he had to be calm and still. Maybe the man just forgot something and would leave. Will had locked the door when he’d entered the house, but hadn’t reset the alarm. It seemed that the man hadn’t noticed. Will’s attention turned to his voice. It was a one-sided conversation that he couldn’t quite make out. He was on a phone. Even though it was muffled, the one sided conversation seemed to turn into an argument.

Will now worried that the others might return. He had to do something before the situation got more complicated. He sat down beneath hanging coats and shirts, and settled his rear on a pile of shoes. Once he was sure his body would remain propped in the corner, he separated and found the man in a back room. He recognized him from the Bullfrog. He’d been one of the less vocal ones, although that wasn’t apparent from the animated cussing he currently delivered into his phone. It was clear that he was looking for something in someone else’s room but couldn’t find it. After a few minutes of arguing, it was clear that the person on the other end of the conversation was coming back to the house. Will would have to make a move before the others returned.

It was a tricky situation; he couldn’t just run. The man would hear him, and then they would know they’d been compromised. Harming the man would have the same effect. He had to
incapacitate
him – without him knowing what happened.

He decided to choke him until he passed out – a blood choke, or sleeper hold. And he’d have to administer it without the man feeling like he’d been attacked.

In the separated state, Will could either stiffen his interaction with matter in order to manipulate it, or soften it to pass through things. He’d never tried to pass though someone’s body.

The man ended the phone call, walked into the one of the three bedrooms, sat on the bed, and began untying his shoes. Will descended upon him slowly and focused on the side of his neck. Focusing on small things had the effect of reducing his size, like miniaturizing himself, so that he could also manipulate things at that scale.

He reached through the surface of the man’s neck. It was a warm sensation, but much different than passing through a wall. Something inside seemed to resist his movement – it was something he’d never experienced when passing though inanimate objects.

He pressed into the throat area, and muscles, tendons, vertebra, and blood vessels came into view. He found the two large vessels he sought – the carotids – and pinched them closed.

He backed out to see what was happening to the man while he maintained the pressure on the arteries. The man flinched and grabbed his throat, and Will hoped he’d grabbed the right blood vessels – a mistake could be lethal.

The man lurched backwards onto the bed, struggled for a few seconds, and passed out. Will kept the pressure on the arteries for a few seconds longer, then returned to his body.

He stood from his position in the closet, opened the door, and made his way to through kitchen, out the back door, and down the walkway to the street.

Just as he got into the SUV and closed the door, a vehicle turned down the street and proceeded in his direction. A brown van cruised in and turned into the driveway. Now there were four vehicles; the men must’ve met up with others and brought them back with them.

Five men piled out of the van and filed into the house.

Will was lucky how it worked out; the other men would find their colleague asleep on the bed. No signs of a struggle or breakin.

The utility of Will’s unique abilities was becoming clear to him. If he wanted to kill someone discretely, all he’d have to do is sever an artery, or damage an organ such as a spleen, spinal cord, or brain. He could do it undetected, and from far away. The Nazis and the US government had had the foresight to see this potential from the beginning.

He drove the SUV out of the subdivision and turned right onto River Road. A mile north, with the Mississippi River on his left, he turned right onto a larger street where the traffic thickened. His path across town to his apartment was impeded by numerous stoplights, and he stopped behind a long line of cars. It didn’t bother him, however. He needed time to think, and to calm down. He was in a strange state of mind: adrenaline was flowing in his system, and he had no fear. It was a dangerous combination.

He forced himself to think about something other than what had just happened. He recalled something an old physics professor had told him back in college: “If something were possible, humans would eventually do it,” the professor had said. “Even if it meant destroying themselves.” The atomic bomb was an example. Others included the high-energy particle colliders and genetic experimentation. Now their endeavors had expanded to a new dimension. They’d happened upon a new world or, perhaps, to the next
one: they were manipulating the soul.

Will nearly jumped through the roof of his SUV in response to a horn blast that came from the vehicle behind him. The light had turned green.

He stepped on the gas and crossed through the intersection where the road turned from one lane to two. He pulled into the right lane to let the vehicle pass, but it changed lanes as well, now tailgating him. The vehicle was large and its high beams glared through his back window. He turned his rearview mirror away from his eyes and tapped the brakes. His follower responded by laying heavily on the horn.

His first thought was that the men had figured out what happened back at the house and somehow caught up with him. He dismissed it immediately, even though the vehicle seemed to be tall, like the brown van.

As they approached the next stoplight, it turned yellow and Will slowed to a stop. This seemed to anger the driver behind him who again laid on the horn, and then pulled beside him. It was a large, black pickup truck with a giant tires and its frame jacked up to an unsafe height. It growled loudly through two chrome exhaust pipes that extended above the backside of the cab. The tinted passenger window rolled down and a man stuck his head out and glared at Will. He was in his mid-twenties, wore a purple baseball cap with the bill facing backwards, and had a lump of chewing tobacco in his lower lip. Will rolled down the window.

“You got a problem, asshole?” the man said, and wiped tobacco drool from his lips with a hairy forearm.

“Stay off my ass,” Will said. The adrenaline concentration in his blood started to increase again.

A click from the driver releasing his seatbelt drew Will’s attention past the passenger and deeper into the cab. Another man, same age, similar look but with a beard, leaned over from the driver’s seat.

“How’d you like to get your ass kicked, asshole?” the driver said.

Will pointed to a restaurant one street up. “Why don’t we meet over there?”

The passenger responded by gyrating in excitement. “We’re gonna kick the shit out of you,” he yelled and then spit a disgusting brown slurry of tobacco juice at Will, missing low and hitting the door a few inches below the door handle. Will rolled up the window and the driver blasted the truck’s engine, making the exhaust flaps flutter.

This wasn’t going to be a good night for them. Will had no intention of driving into a parking lot and drawing attention to himself.

He shifted the SUV into park. He closed his eyes, concentrated, and separated from his body. He passed out of his vehicle and into the cab of the pickup. The men were talking, but he had no interest in what they were saying. The light was still red, but the intersection had cleared. Will simultaneously pulled up on the brake pedal and pressed the accelerator all the way to the floor.

The vehicle accelerated away from him, and his grip on the accelerator and brake slipped as the truck lurched forward. It gave him a moment to hear the reactions of the two men, their truck now in the middle of the intersection.

“What the hell are you doing?” the passenger yelled.

“I didn’t do it!” the driver replied.

Will recovered his position and grip on the control pedals. He yanked the brake and jammed the accelerator to the floor. The engine screamed and the truck blasted through the intersection. This time he concentrated on moving with the truck as it accelerated. The men yelled in what sounded like fear and confusion as Will grabbed the steering wheel and turned the truck sharply to the left, forcing it over a curb and crashing into the large windows of a storefront, where everything slammed to a halt. An instant later, he took in the view from his own vehicle, still at the light, which was now green.

He drove through the intersection and examined the aftermath of what he’d just done on the sidewalk to his left. Half of the truck’s bed stuck out of the storefront. The tailgate had opened during the collision, and the bed was covered with tiny pieces of broken safety glass. The driver was slouched over the steering wheel and the horn was blaring. He wasn’t moving. Will figured the man hadn’t put his seatbelt on after their exchange at the light. The passenger moved slowly, trying to open the door. It was jammed.

Will drove off. Although he hoped the men would be okay, he felt no remorse for what he’d done. His mind was numb.

After a mile, two police cars passed in the opposite direction with their sirens howling. Will smiled spontaneously. It frightened him.

Fifteen minutes later he pulled into his parking space at the apartment complex. His thigh muscles trembled as he climbed the stairs to his flat, a symptom of the adrenaline in his blood and the need for food.