Secrets of the Last Nazi (26 page)

†

The only difference seemed to be words printed below the ‘†’.

Myles focussed on it, trying to distract himself from the prediction that he only had twenty-four hours to live. He concentrated, as if somehow he could crack the German. But he couldn’t. ‘What does this mean?’ he asked.

Pascal didn’t know. Zenyalena gestured towards Heike-Ann, urging Myles to check the words with her. So Myles bent down, and passed the paper to their wounded translator.

Heike-Ann read it, then looked up at Myles. ‘It says, ‘Death from a great height.’’

Myles refused to react. He could tell she was holding something back. ‘Is that all?’

Heike-Ann paused, before asking, ‘Do you have a girlfriend or partner?’

‘Yes.’

She was speaking softly. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Helen. Helen Bridle.’

Heike-Ann nodded, pausing again before she broke the news. ‘Well, I’m afraid this says ‘Girlfriend also ceases to be, two days later’. According to the predictions, Helen’s going to die two days after you.’

M
yles tried
to absorb the prediction about Helen, desperately wondering what he could do to protect her. If she just stayed in a safe place, could she avoid her fate? Myles knew he had to call her, or find some way to get a warning to her. It would be his last chance to communicate with her, if the predictions were accurate.

Zenyalena weighed the gun barrel in her hands. ‘So two of us will die today, two tomorrow, and two will survive,’ she said, eyeing the five people in front of her while she decided what to do.

Myles tried to reason with her. ‘Only if you believe the machine, Zenyalena. It doesn’t have to happen. You can still live. And the fact you’re holding that Spandau gun, I’d say you’re more likely to survive than any of us.’

‘Shut up. This isn’t about survival. It’s about the Nazi’s greatest secret…’ Zenyalena’s voice was shrill. She edged towards Myles. ‘… you see, someone has been trying to keep us from this secret. That’s why they killed Jean-François. That’s why they started the fire in Vienna, and trapped us underground in Munich. They even set-up machine guns against us in France. And if Stolz’s secret is worth protecting, it means the predictions are true. Which means I’m about to die…’ Zenyalena was now speaking just a few inches from Myles’ face. ‘… and I know one of you here has been trying to stop us finding this secret. Which means one of you is about to kill me.’ Zenyalena looked straight at Myles.

Myles stared back without flinching. He watched as the Russian woman flexed her hand near the trigger. Was she about to shoot?
Myles couldn’t tell. But he knew she was about to do something…

Suddenly the Russian turned the gun barrel towards Glenn. ‘Glenn: on your knees.’

Glenn was shocked. ‘Me?’

‘Yes, Mr American, you. Do it now.’

Glenn submitted, kneeling down on the floor. ‘Zenyalena, I’m…’

‘Quiet. Put your hands on your head.’

Glenn obeyed.

‘Who do you work for?’

‘The American government.’

‘Which part?’

Glenn paused before responding. ‘A government agency.’

‘Which one?’

Glenn didn’t answer. Myles guessed he
couldn’t
answer. He probably wasn’t allowed to, even under duress.

Zenyalena shook the gun as she pointed it at him, her voice rising. ‘CIA?’

Still Glenn didn’t answer, but his body language seemed to confirm it. Some sort of intelligence agency. Zenyalena relaxed slightly. She had the response she wanted.

Then Glenn began to shake his head. ‘Actually, no. I’m not with the CIA.’

‘Really? Then why all the macho-spy stuff, Glenn?’

Still on his knees, Glenn sounded apologetic. ‘I’m only an advisor. I’m a Federal Government employee, but my job is to write reports about stuff.’

‘What sort of stuff?’

‘Agricultural outputs, job numbers, trade ratios, statistics.’

Zenyalena leant back and laughed. ‘Ha! The great Glenn. Just a bureaucrat after all!’

‘I was sent here by my government. We all were.’

‘I know. There’s nothing wrong with being a bureaucrat, Glenn.’ She was trying to sound polite. Nice, even. But it was insincere. ‘Nothing wrong with being an ‘advisor’ at all. The problem is that you’ve been trying to stop us finding this place, haven’t you…’

Glenn contorted his face. Without words, he was accusing her of talking baloney.

Zenyalena started addressing her words to the others. ‘I assume you’ve all noticed, too. Haven’t you? Every chance he had, this man tried to make us think Stolz’s work was nonsense. He always tried to slow us down and stop us. And now we’ve found the secret, the machine predicts that he’s going to get out alive and keep it for himself.’

Slowly she walked around the confined space, careful to step over the tumbled stacks of paper, until she was standing immediately behind him. Then she lowered the gun barrel until it levelled with the back of Glenn’s head. One press on the trigger and the American would die instantly.

There was sweat on her face, and a wry half-grin. Zenyalena looked up at the others for a reaction. ‘Now, I have a puzzle for you all,’ she declared, amusing herself. ‘If Glenn is about to die, it means the predictions are false, which means there was no secret to protect, so he must be innocent. But if Glenn lives, then the predictions are true, and he’s guilty. Innocent if he dies, guilty if he lives. Should I pull the trigger?’ She lifted her eyes to Myles. ‘Myles: should I pull the trigger?’

Myles shook his head firmly.

‘Why not, Myles? Don’t you want Glenn to be innocent?’

‘Because I don’t want Glenn to die. Zenyalena, we can all still live,’ he pleaded. ‘You can be stronger than the predictions.’

Zenyalena smirked. ‘Nice try, Myles.’

‘No, Zenyalena. If you kill Glenn then you prove the predictions false. Killing Glenn would destroy Stolz’s secret.’

‘Now you’re getting desperate. We know that at least one person here is not who they say they are. And I know: that person is about to kill me, unless I kill him – or her – first.’ She positioned her finger on the trigger, aiming at Glenn’s tightly-shaven scalp. Myles saw the muscles in the American’s neck tense up. Glenn knew he was probably about to die….

Then an interruption.

‘Wait.’ It was Pascal.

Zenyalena looked up, her eyes suspicious.

The Frenchman paused, trying to measure his words before he spoke them. ‘The person who is not just who they say they are is… is me.’

Zenyalena jolted. She pivoted on her feet and turned the gun barrel towards Pascal, squinting sceptically. ‘Explain.’

Pascal showed his empty palms in surrender. ‘Some terrorists are trying to get hold of Stolz’s secrets.’

‘And you’re a terrorist?’

‘No. I’m with a humanitarian group. I’m here to negotiate with them.’

Zenyalena’s eyes narrowed. ‘The French government sent you here to negotiate with terrorists?’

Slowly, Pascal nodded, shame-faced. His cover had been blown. He tried to explain. ‘When Jean-François was murdered, there was a terrorist website which claimed responsibility for it. They made other threats, too. The French government sent me here to find them and cut a deal.’

‘But they didn’t want to be seen to be talking with terrorists?’

‘Correct. If people knew the French government negotiated with such people, it would encourage more of them. We’d be forever held to ransom.’

Glenn piped up, still kneeling. ‘So the French really do talk with the bad guys…’ There was sarcasm in his voice.

Pascal responded with sincerity. ‘I was sent here by the French, but I don’t work for them. I work for an organisation committed to peace. It’s called ‘Humanitarian Pursuit’.’

Zenyalena was nodding subtly to herself. Pascal’s story rang true. ‘So that’s why you took such risks? Saving the papers from the fire in Vienna, placing the grenades underground in Munich, taking out the machine guns in France.’

‘Correct. I knew that we had to keep searching for Stolz’s secret. Otherwise we’d never find the terrorist.’

Suddenly Zenyalena became optimistic. ‘So you know who the terrorist is then?’

Pascal let the question hang in the air. Myles sensed there was a reason why he couldn’t answer.

Zenyalena kept on. ‘Is it someone in this room?’

Still no response from Pascal.

Finally, the Frenchman stepped out from behind the machine. ‘Zenyalena, it’s like this. I know something but not everything. I know someone here is not who they say they are. That person is linked to the terrorist group – they’ve been sending things to the terrorist website. And I know it’s not you.’

‘How do you know that?’

‘I can’t say, Zenyalena.’

‘So who is it?’

Again, Pascal didn’t answer, but his eyes were looking at Frank, Myles, Heike-Ann and Glenn. The accusation was obvious: it was one of the four of them.

Zenyalena turned towards them. She studied their faces, searching for any sign of tension: something which would reveal who was guilty. Slowly she allowed the MG 08/15 to sway in her hands, hoping one of them would admit something when the gun-barrel pointed their way.

But nobody reacted. She still couldn’t spot the traitor.

Pascal studied the four faces: Myles, Frank, Glenn and Heike-Ann. Only after a long pause did he return a glance to Zenyalena. ‘There is a way we can identify the terrorist, but it’s not something my organisation could support.’

‘What is it?’ Zenyalena was getting frustrated.

Pascal’s tone was sombre. ‘The terrorist has killed before. I think they will only reveal themselves when the alternative is death…. Which means, we must threaten death.’ Pascal hated his words as he said them.

But Zenyalena was encouraged - she seemed to have the initiative again. She jerked the weapon in her hands, pointing it back towards Myles. ‘Myles. Is it you?’

Myles shook his head in denial.

But before Myles could speak, Pascal interrupted again. ‘No, Zenyalena. Each of them will deny it. They have to be threatened together…’ He scanned the room for ideas, then saw some coiled power cables, and turned to the American. ‘Glenn – give me your utility tool, please…’

Glenn checked with Zenyalena. She was underwriting Pascal’s request. Glenn duly passed his utility tool to the Frenchman.

Pascal collected the tool and flicked out the main blade. Then he measured lengths of power cable and began to cut them, talking quickly. ‘To the three of the four of you who are innocent, please accept my apologies in advance for what I am about to do.’

He turned to face Glenn. ‘Glenn, please put out your hands.’

‘Come on Pascal - is this really necessary?’

Zenyalena levelled the gun at him. ‘Yes, Glenn, it is ‘really necessary’. Do as he says.’

Glenn put out his wrists. Pascal wrapped a length of power cord around them, then pulled it taut. He fixed it in place with a double-knot. ‘Glenn, if you’re innocent, then I’m sorry.’

‘Well, I am innocent, so I hope you
are
sorry.’

Pascal gave a half-smile, then went on to Myles. ‘The same, please: your wrists.’

Myles checked with Zenyalena: the Russian was pointing the gun at him. There was no way he could refuse. Reluctantly, Myles held out his hands.

‘Thank you, Myles…’ Again, Pascal wrapped a cord tightly and knotted it. He pulled it hard to test it was secure. It was.

Next Pascal bent down to Heike-Ann. He tried to engage her eyes as he bound her wrists, one of them now dark red with blood. ‘…I’m sorry, but I have to do this.’

Heike-Ann managed only a groggy reply. It was inaudible.

Finally, Pascal reached Frank. ‘Come on, Frank. If you’ve done nothing wrong, you’ve got nothing to fear.’

Frank was refusing to put out his hands, keeping his arms folded. The museum curator shook his head. He was incensed.

Zenyalena tried to cajole him, pointing the gun barrel towards him as she spoke. ‘Frank, do as the others. Allow yourself to be tied up.’

‘No.’

‘Frank, you must.’

‘No. I know what you’re going to do.’

Zenyalena looked surprised. She genuinely didn’t know what they were about to do. She kicked him. ‘Well, Frank - What are we going to do?’

‘You’re going to let the water in,’ replied Frank, gesturing towards the emergency hatch with the yellow handle. ‘Come on. It’s obvious. We’re next to the River Spree, and we must be below the water level down here. You expect one of us to confess as the water’s rising. Except I’ve just been told I’m going to die today, and that it’s ‘death by water’. So I hope you understand why I’m reluctant to have my hands tied.’

Pascal tried to make Frank relax, ‘Nobody’s going to drown, if you do as you should.’

‘Good. Then don’t tie me up.’

Zenyalena’s face tightened. She hadn’t expected anyone to refuse. She gripped the gun firmly and toyed with her finger near the trigger. ‘Frank. This is your last chance.’

Frank sensed Zenyalena was serious. He tried to control his rage, looking around, as if to find another reason not to have his hands tied. Then, very slowly, he relaxed his arms and pushed his wrists out, towards Pascal.

‘Thank you, Frank. This won’t take long….’ Pascal tied the cable around Frank’s wrists, checked it was firm, then turned back to the machine. ‘OK, Zenyalena. I’m going to need your help with this.’

‘What are you planning?’

Pascal was too focussed on the Nazi prediction machine to respond. He delved his hands into the inner workings, feeling his way around the device. After a few moments his expression changed. ‘This. This is what the terrorists want.’

Zenyalena squinted, unsure. ‘The whole machine?’

‘No. We wouldn’t be able to take it out of here,’ conceded Pascal. ‘It’s too big. But there must be a small part inside. The algorithm – calculated from the papers in this room.’ Using Glenn’s utility knife, Pascal had managed to unscrew a heavy cover plate from the top of the machine. He peered down inside. ‘I can see it. The mechanism. And we can lift it out.’

Zenyalena glanced across at her captives. They all glanced back, as Pascal called over. ‘Zenyalena, I need you to help me extract it.’

Checking again no-one was going to rush for her weapon, Zenyalena hauled the gun onto her shoulder so she could lend Pascal a hand. Together they managed to pull out a suitcase-size mechanism. It was the core of the Nazi computer. Mostly gears and wheels - like the inner workings of a clock, but also with beads on rods like a small abacus, and sockets where cables plugged in.

‘Thanks, Zenyalena.’ Pascal gathered his breath. He stared at the delicate device in front of him. ‘This machine is the greatest of the Nazi wonderweapons.’

Zenyalena frowned, unsure. ‘But, can it kill?’

‘It’s far more powerful than that. It can predict the future. It is the product of a truly massive research programme. More than a million deaths were involved in gathering the information it contains. SS Captain Werner Stolz might even have killed people to test it. Refined and honed, until it was the perfect prediction device – perhaps one of the first real computers. Unfortunately for the Nazis, it must have predicted a future in which they were defeated….’ Pascal turned to the four people on the floor, all with their hands bound. ‘… and we can see why it’s so valuable. It’s already cost many, many lives. Most recently, my good friend Jean-François. It may be about to cost more…’ Pascal’s voice was even. He spoke with strength. It was an ultimatum voice. ‘… So, Frank, Heike-Ann, Glenn and Myles - whoever is the terrorist collaborator in this room, reveal yourself now. Or I will destroy this machine.’