The Reich Device (31 page)

Kessler moved briskly towards the bed, pulling up a wooden chair. A small plaster covered the cut on his neck.

Mayer stared. ‘Wound hurts… doesn’t it?’

‘Yes, well, your little stunt yesterday,’ Kessler resisted the urge to rub the bruise under his jaw, ‘tells me that you are fit for interrogation.’

‘Go to hell.’ Mayer turned away, focusing on a blank spot on the wall.

‘Oh, I can assure you Professor, you
will
go to hell, but
only
after answering my questions.’ Kessler slapped him across the face.

His good side stung from the blow. The scab on his head cracked, oozing a fresh crevice of blood.

‘Go to hell… ’

Mayer reeled from another slap, his head jarred. The wetness of fresh blood dripped from his nostril. Pain shot through his scalp as the scab on his head lifted.

Kessler spoke with an edge in his voice. ‘You
will
answer my questions.’

‘No… you will kill me anyway.’ Mayer turned away.

Kessler looked at the doctor. ‘Hold out his arm.’

The doctor stood motionless.

‘Do it now, hold out his arm!’ Kessler took a fresh box of mescaline syringes from his breast pocket.

Mayer thrashed, snorting through gritted teeth, as Kessler’s fingers locked around his wrist. The pressure hurt the wrist bones; he tried to pull back, but it was no good. The muscle tension failed as Kessler forced the arm flat against the bed.

‘Arghh! Nothing… you get… nothing!’

Kessler dropped the box on the bed and, with his spare hand, took one of the syringes. Unceremoniously, as if darting a wild boar, he thumped the syringe into Mayer’s arm.

‘Arghh! I… will not!’ Mayer took the pain through gritted teeth and turned his head away.

A rush of coolness shot up his arm, and fanned out across his chest. He gazed at the wall, snorting in deep breaths.

Fight it… fight it… fight!

A tug on his arm, a second pinprick. Violation, a needle moved around in his flesh. A deluge of anaesthesia and euphoria swept through his veins.

Pain. Perhaps pain would hold the tide back?

Mayer bit his lip.

His lip throbbed for a moment, then was lost as heroin and mescaline pulsed through his skull. His brain fogged; a primeval force seemed to erupt from his brain stem, taking control of his body.

Mayer foamed at the mouth; his eyes rolled back in his head as the mammoth dose of mescaline took over.

Kessler waited.

The doctor protested. ‘How can you be so brutal? This… ’ he waved his arm at the pitiful scene, ‘… this is not what Germany is about.’

Kessler whispered harshly, ‘You
will
assist me, or if you prefer, you can be reassigned to the labour camps in the east:
as an inmate!
’

The doctor blanched.

Both men watched as Mayer writhed about on the bed. Slowly, he calmed to a drunken stillness. Kessler gave a satisfying smirk. It was good to be in control.

Kessler barked an order. ‘Steinhoff! Where’s Steinhoff? Steinhoff, we need to start. Get in here!’

Suddenly, Steinhoff appeared at the door. He glanced at Mayer, then at the doctor.

‘Commandant… I… I am at your disposal, sir.’

‘Pull up a chair, take notes. I need your assistance.’

Steinhoff nodded, as he sheepishly took out his notebook.

Kessler composed himself, and delivered a test question, leaning in close so that Mayer could hear. ‘Let us begin… the substance graphite is made of carbon? Made of carbon… think about carbon Professor Mayer… answer yes or no… is graphite made of carbon?’

‘Yeeeessss.’

‘Good, good… another question. Diamond is made of a carbon? Yes or no?’

‘Yeeeessss.’

‘So you understand carbon structures. Now, let’s talk about carbon particles.’

Mayer suddenly snorted, his eyes wandering.

‘Ah! I thought that would touch a raw nerve,’ Kessler smirked. ‘Don’t worry, let me rephrase the question. How do you make carbon particles?’

Mayer gave a spasm, thrashing his good side pathetically in the bed. ‘Ummmhhhh!… Ummmhhhh!’

Kessler baulked at the surprising resistance to the drugs, but took care to conceal his reaction. ‘Please answer, how do you make carbon particles?’

‘Ummmmhhhh!’

‘Never mind, don’t trouble yourself Professor. You see… our clever Dr Steinhoff has already figured it out. You remember Steinhoff don’t you?’

Mayer wheezed, snot dribbling from his nose. ‘Ummmhhh!… Ummmhhh!’

Kessler leaned closer to Mayer’s ear. ‘That’s it… that’s it! Feel the despair! Feel it!… You have
already
given your secret away! What harm can it do now… tell us the detail… tell us the rest… ’

‘Ummmmhhh! Ummmmhhh! Noooooo!’

‘It is carbon sixty that we need, yes or no?!’

‘Ummmmmhhhhh!’

‘Okay, I will take that as a yes! How do we make carbon sixty?’

‘Nooooooo!’ Mayer contorted; stiffening his face, a trickle of blood issued from his nostril.

‘Herr Doctor, more mescaline for the patient if you please.’ Kessler smiled.

‘Commandant… please… ’

Kessler cut him off with a wave of his hand. ‘Now! You can clearly see the patient is resisting! More!’

The doctor duly administered a third massive shot of the drug. Mayer relaxed back into the pillows with the sudden rush of euphoria. Kessler waited a few more seconds for the fresh dose of mescaline to penetrate.

‘Now, that’s better… ’ Kessler continued, ‘… how do we make carbon sixty?’

‘Nooooo… you… can’t… ’ Mayer gave a crooked smile, his head flopped uncontrollably. ‘Nooooo… not… possible… ’

‘Tell Steinhoff… tell Dr Steinhoff… how do we make carbon sixty?’ Kessler waved Steinhoff forward.

‘Gustav, it is me, Steinhoff. Please, how do we make carbon sixty? Please tell me, then you can rest.’

‘Burn… ’

‘Burn what Gustav?’

‘Burn… veeerrrry high… temperature… ’

‘Gustav, do you mean burn carbon at a very high temperature? How high? Gustav, how hot does it need to be?!’

‘Hot… veeerrrry hot… ’

Steinhoff leaned forward. ‘Tell me! Tell me! How hot?!’

‘Hot… hot… as… heeeelll!’ Blood flowed from both nostrils as Mayer went into a seizure.

‘Enough! Enough!’ The doctor pulled Steinhoff away, ‘Stop! Stop! There is nothing more to be gained here today – look!’

Mayer gurgled blood from his mouth and nose, squirming with delirium; the smell of excrement penetrated the room.

‘Alright! Alright! I am sorry… I… we… just needed to know,’ Steinhoff shook his head.

‘Do you have enough to make the carbon structure?’ Kessler pressed.

‘It is possible, yes, I think I so.’ Steinhoff tried to clear his mind. ‘Mayer was into burning all sorts of materials at high temperature in his search for fuels and catalysts; perhaps he stumbled on something? I can try burning some ordinary carbon at very high temperatures. Yes, that would seem a good place to start.’

Kessler, satisfied with the plan, stayed to watch as Mayer went into another seizure.

Dr Steinhoff whistled a merry tune as he examined the latest carbon sample on his microscope. The idea of burning wood in a blast furnace at high temperature to create fine carbon particles had worked! The resulting soot contained a mixture of different types of carbon, including a small fraction of the ultrafine carbon nanoparticles that were needed for the device. But there was lots of crap in the sample. It needed cleaning up; what’s more, the process was very inefficient. Nonetheless, the principle was sound; but where could one find a bigger fire?

That’s it! Why make your own fire when Mother Nature has already done it for you? Fires! Forest fires!

It was just a question of locating regions where forest fires were common and digging up the ash containing the carbon. A little bit of cleaning and washing would soon yield the required volume of material. There were arid parts of Europe that sometimes suffered extensive natural fires: Greece, the Russian Steppe.

But why wait for a recent forest fire? What about carbon and charcoal deposits in the geological record? There had been vast global fires in the past. Perhaps ancient charcoal deposits could be mined for the all-important nano carbon?

Steinhoff grabbed the telephone.

‘Operator… yes, Dr Steinhoff… put me through to the Department of Geology at the Technical University of Berlin.’

The line cracked for a few seconds, then started ringing.

‘Hans, how are you? It’s Steinhoff… yes… yes… I am well, and you?’ A bit of small talk seemed only polite. ‘Listen, Hans, I need a small favour… some information. I am looking for high-quality carbon deposits that contain ultrafine material… ’ He checked his words carefully; there was no need to explain about the device. Steinhoff explained his requirements. ‘… You know the kind, very fine dust, burns cleanly.’

‘Well let me see… yes, there are some. We have companies working the new oil fields in the Middle East; most of the reserves are capped off by a good quality coal seam. Then there’s Central America; some good stuff there. Recently, my team also excavated some new deposits in the diamond-mining regions of Southern Africa.’

The latter was particularly interesting. Germany already had strong interests in the region.

‘Hans, thanks. Do you have geologists in the field now? Could they bring back some samples from Southern Africa, and the other sites?’

‘We certainly do, in fact, I have some samples in the lab now. I can send you some over, you can expect them in a couple of days. I see you’re not at Kummersdorf anymore, where should I send them?’

‘That’s very generous, but I will send our man to collect the samples today.’ Steinhoff neatly avoided the question; the fewer who knew about Peenemünde the better.

Steinhoff worked through the last of the geological carbon samples supplied by his colleagues in Berlin. The sample preparation had been fairly straightforward. It was simply a matter of grinding up each sample into powder, and washing it with industrial alcohol; there was no shortage of that at Peenemünde. The resulting carbon and alcohol mixture contained the ultra-fine remains of the ground-up carbon.

He examined each one carefully on the microscope.

The deposits from the Middle East were not that great. The high oil content in the coal had made the extraction of carbon less efficient. However, the material from South America gave a good quality carbon sample; certainly worth working on an industrial scale. But the quality of the South African deposit was absolutely stunning. The carbon came from a seam that was apparently close to the surface, and only a few metres thick. It would be easy to dig up. What was more, the sample was perfect; an almost pure source of the right kind of carbon.

Steinhoff leapt from his chair, and rushed towards Dornberger’s office.

‘We have it! We have it!’ Steinhoff burst into the Commander’s office without knocking. Dornberger looked up from his desk.

‘You have what?’

‘The carbon! We have the carbon particles!’ Steinhoff waved a test tube of the stuff in Dornberger’s face.

Dornberger gave a large grin, and leapt to his feet, shaking his hand. ‘Well done! Well done! Where did you find it?’

‘In Southern Africa. There’s a deposit running close to the surface in the wetlands on the east coast, Zululand apparently. It’s mainly swamp and mangrove, but we can get the natives to dig it up. The muddy deposits can be cleaned up on site, and we should be able to collect enough material for several devices. It could be shipped directly to Germany the same week!’

‘This is fantastic news! We should make arrangements immediately!’ Dornberger gave a huge grin and shook his hand again. Both men beamed at each other. A major hurdle had been overcome.

Now Steinhoff could build his device.

H
einkel, pleased with his new orders after the fiasco in England, rehearsed the deception again. He stood on the steps of the Cape Mineral Company Headquarters, absently gazing at the ornate stone facade. The straps on his leather satchel strained; he ignored the weight of the bag. The mining company was obviously doing well to afford such an iconic building in the centre of town, and right next to the South African Reserve Bank – that might come in useful.

The charade had to be perfect; otherwise the chairman wouldn’t fall for it. He had to admit; it was a remarkably devious plan. One of his best.

He skipped up the steps into the lobby; the hard soles of his shoes echoed off the polished marble as he made his way to the elevator. He studied the signage for a few seconds, identifying Director Krumbach’s office on the fourth floor. He pressed the big brass call button. The clank of cables and mechanical parts sounded in the shaft as the lift approached. Suddenly, the door opened.

Heinkel stared at the white face of the bellboy.

‘What floor would you like, sir?’

He stepped into the elevator. ‘Fourth floor please.’

Rudy Temple peered out from behind the carved stone pillar.

So, Mr Heinkel was back in town, and paying another visit to the Cape Mineral Company.

Temple watched the numbers light up above the elevator… second… third… fourth floor.

Interesting, it seems Mr Heinkel has some business with the director.

Temple lit up a cheroot, checked his watch, and headed for the street.

Heinkel smiled at the receptionist, still clasping the heavy satchel with his left hand.

‘It will not be long now sir, Mr Krumbach will be with you shortly,’ she smiled back. The company accounts had made interesting reading. Krumbach was living the dream, but for how much longer? The Cape Mineral Company had been through a period of rapid expansion, buying out German interests in West Africa, and was now overstretched. It was an impressive debt: some ten million US dollars. It was a simple matter of exploiting this weakness.

The deception was already in motion; the idea of getting Himmler to write a personal letter to Rockefeller was a stroke of genius; both men were on the board of the Schroder Bank. The rich capitalist had taken the bait easily with Himmler exalting the difficulties of German land and mineral wealth being absorbed into the colonial interests of the British. The imperial dogs had squandered hard-earned German wealth on lavish residences and hunting trips, and allowed the business to fall into ruin. It was an ideal opportunity for Rockefeller to buy some mineral prospects in South Africa and, acting indirectly on behalf of the Schroder Bank, he could also return shares back to their rightful owners: the German people.