“It is nice of you to join us.” He spoke German and, as he did, a horsewhip tapped against his leather boots, tap, tap, tap, in time to a rhythm only he could hear.
It was pointless to disseminate; there was no cover story here, no Anna Krojer or Marija Zita or Janet Gordon to hide behind, this was ground zero and there was nowhere else to go.
Nevertheless…. “I’m sorry,” I said, spreading my hands slowly, “I don’t understand...?” I said it in English but it didn’t seem to make much of an impression on him, and he smiled, showing teeth. There was a file by his side and I knew it was mine. They would have known who I was--or what I was, at the very least.
“I was under the impression you spoke German fluently,” he said, still in the same language, still smiling. He had very bright, white teeth. He probably polished them every night as if they were gemstones.
Tap. Tap.
“Perhaps we can test it by cutting off one of your small fingers and see how you react?”
One of his bodyguards was standing on my right, a little back. I saw him reach for one of the surgical knives and knew they would happily do it, and that what I had do was to try and lengthen the time until they did decide to get rid of me, and try and make my move before then. It wasn’t much of a plan but it was all I had.
“That,” I said, carefully and in German, “won’t be necessary.” I let my hands drop to my sides and felt them relax, just a little, behind me.
He was immaculately dressed in a grey uniform without insignia. Riding boots, a horsewhip. Greying hair, a sensitive face grown podgy, eyes that could make the cold outside seem like a holiday in the sun, somewhere hot where they serve drinks with little umbrellas and play soothing music. His eyes said there would never be any more drinks with little umbrellas, that I would never see the sun. They were quite eloquent, for eyes.
The smile didn’t leave his face. It was like a growth that couldn’t be removed. He said, “Excellent. You are a remarkable woman, Shadow Executive Killarney. That is your codename, isn’t it? Killarney? Our friends in the Fourth Directorate have quite a large file on you.” He tapped the table. “As you can see.”
“And you are?” I said, letting it ride.
I felt them shifting again behind me. Nervous bastards. There was one on either side of me, two more covering the door. And Herr Doktor, tap-tap-bloody-tap. They were all standard muscle boys, in fact, a little too standard: blond, blue-eyed, large, they all looked exactly like the pair I had killed on the train, as if Herr Doktor had found himself a way of manufacturing perfect Arians.
“Is the name really important?” he asked, still smiling. Still tapping. Tap. Tap.
Tap.
“The work will live on after the name is forgotten, after all.”
“And your work involves torturing angels?” I had to keep him talking, keep thinking of a way out of this.
When the water came rushing into the corridor I was already running, the organism taking over completely, using up all available resources, have to get out of this, run faster, find a way up or a way out, and hurry up because the water is nearly there, touching you....
There had been a shuddering sound and a part of the floor dropped away behind me with a sickening thud. I stumbled but kept running as, behind me, more of the floor dropped away. Icicles flew in the air and one or two hit me, their edges as sharp as blades.
There was only one way to do it and I took it, putting the gloves back on and praying it would work, and then I jumped, a three-hundred-and-sixty degrees jump shortened to a hundred and eighty as the boots caught on the ceiling, spikes extending, and I broke the arc and swung the other way, catching the ceiling with my hands, the gloves extending and catching at the ice, the needles driving in hard, and I held on as, underneath me, the water rushed, too low to touch me.
There was a ventilation shaft only a short distance from me--if I could reach it. I wasn’t convinced of the efficiency of the suit. I knew every second the contact with the ice could weaken and I could fall into the frozen waters below. I inched my way towards the ventilation shaft, clawing at the ice, and reached it just as the floor fell beneath me and I was left staring at a drop that was a guaranteed kill, hanging upside down from the ceiling of ice.
There was nothing else to do. I reached out, carefully, carefully, hooked the grill and pulled; it dropped away from the ceiling and crashed below. I thought I’d made it. I reached through the hole and found purchase and tried to pull myself up.
Then two sets of arms grabbed me and pulled me up, and I knew the game was up and that I was the piece most likely to be off the board next.
They lifted me up and I couldn’t help but breathe in relief. It’s not easy hanging upside-down on a wall of ice when the floor drops below you, and whatever the alternative, at that moment I was pleased to be back on something solid.
There were two of them in the small space, and they gave me a fright until I realised they were not the two I had killed on the train. One had a gun trained on me but fighting would have been useless anyway; they had me and I was too exhausted to fight, not right then at any point. I’d have to work out the best time for that later. If there was a later.
They led me away. It was some sort of space between spaces, but not a crawlspace as I’d thought. It was another corridor, with grills in the floor through which I glimpsed the ruined corridor below, and it ended with a door.
We stepped through it, passed through another set of corridors, and then we were in a plush office and the Nazi with the horsewhip was greeting me with that smile. I’d made a mental note to erase that smile sometime in the near future, using as violent a means as was available to me.
“What you must understand,” he said, “is that we do not torture angels. We study them. And what fascinating creatures they are! Such interesting powers. We knew you were approaching long before you did, you see. They have such useful powers; if they can only be harnessed. I was quite amazed when you fought back against their influence--if you hadn’t fought, you would have been standing here some time ago with none of the unpleasantness of the flood. Still--” he looked thoughtful for a moment “--it certainly provided me with some interesting data on you.”
“Who are you?” I said again but, as I did, a suspicion was already forming in my mind; how many crazed Nazi doctors were this ruthless, and still at large? I thought of the cages of angels, the operating theatre, the precision, the fastidiousness. Who was there who could do those things?
He could read it in my face, and the smile never wavered; he nodded once as if confirming my thoughts.
I said, “Mengele.”
He almost beamed. Instead, the smile remained, like a malignant tumour. All I needed to remove it was a knife. “Always a pleasure to be recognised.”
He was known as the Butcher of Auschwitz; his medical experiments on prisoners in the death camp had been bloodied, grotesque, inhuman; he had specialised in experiments on twins, on midgets, but he had picked anyone he liked from the long queues leading up to the gas chambers. He had selected them by pointing his whip, idly.
ODESSA had helped him disappear after the war; there were rumours, never proven, that he had lived in Argentina, though similar claims had been made for Egypt, Korea and one even placed him for a time in Borneo, where they’d captured Eichmann in ’59.
Apparently, however, they were all equally wrong.
“Where do they come from?” I said. “The angels.”
He laughed, a short, unpleasant sound as cold as the walls and as ugly as his smile. “Isn’t that the million-dollar question?” He looked pleased with himself for using the expression; it sounded odd in German. And, “You’ll find out.”
I let my muscles relax and got ready to make a move; I could take out the guy on my left and use his gun. It would be risky, but it might just work and what alternative did I have?
I was about to swing. Then, before I’d even begun to turn, something heavy connected with the back of my head without warning, and I fell into a darkness as solid and as hard as ice.