SecondWorld (29 page)

“And you know where that is?” Adler asked.

“I do,” Vesely said, “but…”

“But what?” Adler said.

Miller knew exactly what the man wanted. He had spent his whole life researching this subject; in essence, preparing for this fight. “He wants to come with us.”

“I don’t think—”

Miller cut Adler off. “Done.”

“Yes!” Vesely said, thrusting a victorious fist in the air.

Adler looked incredulous.

“We don’t have time to beat the information out of him,” Miller explained. “And I’ve seen the way he handles a gun. Might come in handy.” He turned to Vesely. “So, where are we going? I suspect it will be far from the eyes of civilization.”

“Correct again, Survivor. We’re going to Antarctica.”

Neither Adler nor Miller spoke. It was too crazy. Too far. How could they get there?

Vesely spoke, his voice serious. “I can see you need to be convinced. Let’s start before war. In 1938, Germany launched expedition to Antarctica under supervision of Reichsmarschall Hermann Göring, who would later become Oberbefehlshaber or Supreme Commander of the Luftwaffe, Germany’s air force, and after war was tried and convicted of war crimes and crimes against humanity. He committed suicide before being hanged. I say this because Göring’s promotion may be result of his success in the Antarctic. They took a seaplane carrier, the
Schwabenland,
to Queen Maud Land, a region of Antarctica claimed by Denmark. They flew over area, dropping clouds of tiny, spiked flags bearing swastika, and renamed region Neuschwabenland. They also took thousands of photos of coast, mountain ranges, and ice sheets. A large team of scientists including biologists, geologists, and climatologists scoured the land and claimed to have found geothermal hot springs—free of ice and home to algae. They spoke of deep, heated caverns, noted food sources such as penguins, walruses, and whales, and without saying so directly, made a convincing argument that this area, with its harsh terrain, freezing temperatures, and geographic isolation, would make perfect place for a secret base.

“Göring returned to Germany five months later, made his report, handed out medals, and never, not once, spoke of mission again. Flash forward to end of the war. The Allies are advancing on all fronts. The war is essentially over. Obergruppenführer Hans Kammler, not only oversaw construction of the concentration camp system, extermination camps, and all cremation facilities used on prisoners, but also ran a think tank that developed secret weapons projects including the Messerschmitt ME 262 fighter jet, V-2 rockets, and the Bell alongside Obergruppenführer Emil Mazuw. More than that, he also oversaw relocation of the Reich’s R and D facilities to underground locations, something he apparently had previous experience with before war. He was also in charge of a special evacuation plan developed by Martin Bormann, personal secretary to the Führer. The plan detailed how Hitler, key scientists—ones that would not be missed—personnel, supplies, and projects like the Bell, would board several Junkers 390 transport planes just miles from our current location, at the very same place Kammler was last seen alive. There are several contradictory reports of his death, but many believe he simply vanished. The plan had the Junkers fly to the coast of Norway where all materials and personnel would be transported to a fleet of waiting U-boats, several of which were advanced XXI variety—wire-guided torpedoes, magnetic proximity fuses—advanced for the time.

“Three days after Hitler supposedly killed himself—”

“What do you mean,
supposedly
?” Adler asked.

Vesely shook his head. “You are German. You should know this.”

Adler crossed her arms. “Some Germans don’t like talking about Hitler. I’m not as fascinated by the man as you apparently are.”

“Fascination is the wrong word,” Vesely said. “Prepared.”

“Know your enemy,” Miller chimed in. “Finish your story. Please.”

Vesely looked at the factory ceiling, recalling where he’d stopped talking, and said, “The Russians told the world that Hitler committed suicide, along with his wife, Eva Braun, by shooting himself. They claimed his body had then been covered in gasoline and set on fire. They recovered two charred bodies and a skull fragment. There was never a positive ID made from body. No DNA tests. And the Russians cremated the remains a second time, in 1970, and scattered the ashes. Many believe the Russian claims were simply propaganda that U.S. and England went along with because they did not want the world to know that Hitler still lived, and they could not find him.”

“A World War Two Bin Laden situation,” Miller said.

“Exactly. That one man cannot be found by world’s superpower would have been as embarrassing then as it is now.” Vesely stretched and continued. “Three days after his supposed death, Kammler’s disappearance, and the mass killing of sixty-two scientists that worked on the Bell, a flotilla of U-boats left coast of Norway and headed for Iceland.”

“This is part of the plan?” Adler asked.

“No,” Vesely said. “This is history. The submarine fleet made run south between Iceland and Greenland, where they encountered an Allied battle group. The result was an epic battle, perhaps the last of the war, that left only one Allied survivor, the commander of a destroyer, who told of an overwhelming naval force of advanced submarines that, after wiping out the Allied fleet, powered south and were never seen again.”

Vesely held his hands out to his impatient-looking audience. “I am almost finished. In 1946, U.S. Admiral Byrd led fleet of seaplane carriers, destroyers, fueling ships, and submarines to Neuschwabenland, the region claimed by Germany before war. The expedition was prepared for eight-month stay. Forty-eight hours after reaching Neuschwabenland, they were ordered back to the States. No official reason was ever given for mission’s cancelation, but I suspect Nazi influence in upper echelons of American power was already at work.”

“That’s all very interesting history,” Miller said. “And I admit that I’m intrigued, but how can you be sure that after seventy years, the Nazis—including Hitler and Kammler—are still hiding out in Neuschwabenland?”

“Because,” Vesley said, “a U.S. aircraft carrier group has been stationed there for the past five months.”

“How can you know that?” Adler asked.

“Aircraft carrier groups are hard to hide,” Vesely said. “Even in Antarctica. Several whaling, fishing, and scientific expeditions have come across the fleet, and I make it habit to keep track of such things.”

Miller took out his phone and prepared to call the president. If Vesely was right and there was an aircraft carrier group at the German-claimed territory, he required no more convincing. In part, the presence of an aircraft carrier was good news because they would have a place to land and a jumping-off point to Antarctica. The bad news was, a portion of the crew, and most certainly the officers, were part of the Fourth Reich. A warm welcome might include surface-to-air missiles.

But if that’s where the enemy hid themselves, that’s where he would go. Miller’s thumb hovered over the Send button, but a loud booming voice stopped him from placing the call.

“To jest policja. Wyjd
ź
cie z podniesionymi r
kami!”

Miller, Adler, and Vesely all snapped toward the sound of the amplified voice, just outside the factory.

“It’s police,” Vesely said. “They want us to come out.”

40

“They sound angry,” Adler said as the officer repeated his command.

“If they found Brodeur and his two MP5s they’re probably pissed,” Miller said.

“Backup is probably en route,” Adler said.

Miller clenched his fists. “We don’t have time for this.”

Vesely whipped off his belt and holsters, tucked the two .38s into his pants behind his back, and headed for a hole in the front wall. “Watch my back, Survivor?”

Miller wanted to object, but Vesely stepped into the sunlight before he could say anything. The police started shouting a moment later. Miller peeked through a hole in the wall and saw Brodeur lying against the hood of one of two police cars, hands cuffed behind his back. Two officers stood beside him, weapons drawn and pointed at Vesely, who strode confidently toward the men.

That’s when Miller noticed the weapons the officers carried were Micro-Uzis, which from a distance looked like standard handguns, but could actually fire 1,200 rounds per minute. Two things quickly occurred to him. First, these weren’t police. Second, they were about to tear Vesely apart. But it was too late to warn the man without revealing himself as well.

Vesely approached the officers calmly, open passport clutched in one of his raised hands. His body language was relaxed and the faux police approached him less aggressively than Miller expected. That was, until they got a look at the name on his passport.

Both officers took a reflexive step backward, Miller assumed because they didn’t want to get splattered with Vesely’s blood. The step only took a second, but it was longer than Vesely needed. The man’s hands came down and behind his back in a blur. He drew both .38s, leveled them at both men’s chests, and pulled the triggers. Twin explosions of blood and gore burst from the two men’s backs as the high-caliber rounds tore through them.

Miller charged out of the factory as two more officers appeared behind the cars, which left only their heads for targets. Miller fired twice and one of the officers’ heads snapped back. He dropped down behind the car. The second officer opened fire, causing Miller to dive for cover. But the man only got off three shots before Vesely turned one of his hand cannons on the man and fired a single round. Unlike the man Miller had shot, this man’s head burst like a melon.

“Good God, man,” Brodeur said from the hood of the car, where he still lay, cuffed. “You could have shot me!”

“I do not miss,” Vesely said.

“Right, you’re a cowb—”

A single shot rang out. Vesely spun, but not in reflex. He’d been struck in the shoulder.

Miller turned toward the sound of the shot and saw another officer standing at the corner of the factory. The man’s Micro-Uzi was already leveled at Miller, who knew he wasn’t nearly as fast a draw as Vesely.

Fortunately, he didn’t need to be.

Three shots fired.

The first two struck the officer’s chest, twitching his body with each impact. The third shot punched a hole in the man’s nose. The round, slowed by bone and brain, didn’t exit the skull, but the effect on his body was no less dramatic. He fell in a heap.

Miller turned and found Adler by the ruined factory wall, gun still raised in a solid shooter’s stance. “Thanks.”

She kept her weapon raised and stayed silent. Together, she and Miller scanned the area for more hostiles and peeked around the factory corner. All seemed quiet. When they turned back to the cars, they found Vesely holding a hand over his shoulder, which was wet with blood. Brodeur was still cuffed, but stood on his feet. His cheek was swollen.

“What happened?” Miller asked Brodeur.

“I was in the car. Didn’t hear them coming.” He pointed to his injured cheek. “Sucker punched me through the open window, dragged me out, cuffed me, and threw me on the hood.”

“Why did they not shoot you?” Vesely asked.

“How the hell should I know?” Brodeur said, his typical good nature fading fast. He locked his eyes on Vesely. “Maybe because my name’s not on the list. It was
your
name they reacted to.” He shook the cuffs at Miller. “Can you please get these off of me?”

Miller searched a body and found the cuff keys. He freed Brodeur and turned to Vesely. “How’s the shoulder?”

“Is nothing. The man’s aim was horrible.”

Adler lifted Vesely’s hand away, found the hole the bullet had torn in his shirt, and ripped it open. She inspected the wound. “Looks like it could use a few stitches.”

Vesely waved her off. “Let it heal. Will leave scar. Women will like it.”

Adler smiled and tore the sleeve the rest of the way off, ignoring Vesely’s protests. She tied the sleeve around his shoulder. “Keep it there until the bleeding stops. Then you can look tough
and
not bleed to death.”

Vesely chuckled, but then grew serious. “Survivor, before I risk my life for this cause, I would like to know how they found us.”