“Yes, I’ve read it,” Tom said taking a pull off his cigarette. “It’s the ravings of a madman. Complete drivel.”
Kammler threw back his head and laughed. “I quite agree with you Agent Flemming,” he said. “Of course had I previously voiced that concern I would have found myself out of a job at best and at worst on the wrong end of a firing squad.”
“A job!” Dawn snapped. “You call killing…” she began but Tom quieted her with a hand on her arm.
“We’re not here to rehash old crimes,” he reminded her. “Mr. Kammler has been given immunity by the United States government as long as he continues to cooperate.” Then Tom turned and stared at Kammler. “And I really need you to cooperate.”
“Alright,” Kammler said as he spread his hands out in front of him. “The ‘International,’ is that what you called it?”
“Yes,” Tom replied as he sat back in his chair.
“Well, we do not call ourselves that,” he said. “In fact we do not call ourselves anything.” He began to chuckle again. “That was Adolf. He always wanted fancy names and symbols and uniforms for everything.” He cleared his throat as he took another cigarette from its pack. “Joseph, too. Er, Goebbels,” he clarified.
“The Minister of Propaganda for the Reich,” Tom said.
“Yes,” Kammler replied.
“Don’t tell me he’s still alive, too,” Dawn said.
Kammler shook his head. “Not to my knowledge.”
“So this international Nazi conspiracy doesn’t have a name,” Tom said.
“No,” Kammler replied. “There is no actual organization. It’s not a political party. There are no membership rolls.”
“Just a bunch of Nazis trying to take over the world?” Dawn asked with a mocking tone.
Kammler shrugged. “National Socialism died with Hitler,” he said. “It’s an ugly word now.”
“But the goal is the same?” Tom asked. “To conquer the world and create a master race?”
“More-or-less,” Kammler laughed. “But the methods are very different.”
“No more killing Jews and people that look like me?” Dawn asked.
Kammler leaned forward and stared at her. “Precisely, my dear. We thought that in order to create a master race of supermen to rule the world we needed to kill off all of the sub-races.”
“Sub-races?” Dawn asked.
“Yes,” Kammler said nodding. “But what we now realize, is that when the super race takes over, even Aryans will be a sub-race to them. I certainly do not wished to be killed off.
“You see there is really very little difference between your average white male and black female beyond the obvious,” Kammler said motioning back and forth between himself and Dawn. “But the differences between someone like Donar and myself are…” he stopped and searched for the appropriate English word “Unbegreiflich,” he finally said in German.
“Unfathomable,” Tom said.
“Yes,” Kammler replied brightly. “Unfathomable.”
“Who is Donar?” Dawn asked.
“That was the Nazi’s code name for Axel and Rolf,” Tom reminded her. “It’s the German name for Thor.”
“They are like gods,” Kammler said. “And what is the point to create a race of gods, if you yourself cannot be a god, too?”
“So this Nazi conspiracy is to create a race of god-like men to rule the world?” Dawn asked.
Kammler laughed again. “You have to get past this Nazi thing. It’s not about Nazism anymore, as I just explained,” Kammler said. He released a breath. “Did you know that Joseph Goebbels was a Communist until he heard Hitler give a speech?”
Both Dawn and Tom shook their heads.
“He always hoped that the Nazis and Communists could join forces,” Kammler said.
“Wait a minute,” Dawn said. “But Communism is left wing and Nazism is right wing. Why would they work together?”
Tom turned to look at her. “The National Socialist German Workers’ Party?” he asked.
“There is no left and right wing,” Kammler laughed. “That’s an invention of the political class to keep the masses fighting over whom they want to rule them, a ‘right-wing’ authoritarian state or a ‘left-wing’ authoritarian state.”
“That way we won’t realize that either way, it’s the people that lose,” Tom explained.
“Exactly,” Kammler remarked.
“So how is this International—for lack of a better term—planning to do this?” Tom asked.
Kammler shrugged. “How should I know?” he said. “I am on a U.S. military base under guard 24 hours a day.”
“Well, can you at least tell me who Mr. X is?” Tom asked.
“I am afraid that I am going to need you to be a little more specific than that,” Kammler replied.
Tom exhaled, exasperated. “I don’t know his name. He never gave it. He’s the man in black that the President placed in charge of CSOS.”
“Oh, yes, Werner,” Kammler said.
“Werner?” Tom asked.
“Yes,” Kammler said. “It’s Werner alright. I mean he’s changed quite a bit. I hadn’t seen him since he was a boy.”
“He’s German?” Dawn asked.
“Of course,” Kammler said. “Werner Arnulf. I believe you knew his father.”
“He’s Colonel Arnulf’s son?” Tom asked, the shock evident in his voice.
Kammler smiled. “Yes, of course,” he replied as if that were common knowledge.
Dawn turned to Tom. “But how could he have gotten into such a powerful position within the United States?” she asked.
Kammler answered instead of Tom. “The International, as you call it. It’s much larger and more complex than you realize.”
“Why are you telling us this?” Tom asked, suddenly suspicious.
Kammler leaned back and stared at his guests. “Let’s just say, that I don’t agree with the direction Werner is moving.”
“What direction is that?” Tom asked.
“The complete destruction of everything,” he replied.
“Everything?” Tom asked.
“Well, everything as you and I know it,” Kammler said. “Werner’s father and I, like Hitler, sought to create a super race to rule the world. But Werner…he is not content with a race of super humans.”
“What do you mean?” Tom asked.
“He and some others within the so-called International have this idea that they can transcend humanity,” Kammler said.
Transcend humanity? The phrase somehow sounded familiar to Dawn.
“They believe they can become literal gods,” Kammler said.
“And you don’t want to become a god?” Tom asked in disbelief.
Kammler chuckled. “Oh I’d very much like to be a god,” he said. “I just don’t see the point of being a god if there is no one to worship me.”
“What do you mean?” Dawn asked. “Where would everyone go?”
“Well,” Kammler replied, “if Werner gets his way, we will all simply disappear into a giant collective consciousness.”
“He means to wipe out humanity,” Tom said.
“Yes.”
Chapter 11
“What other choice did I have?” Alena demanded. “What? Were we going to swim home?”
Alena laid in a bed in the sick bay beside Brygida on the Soviet ship that had rescued them from the Atlantic Nazi base.
“You are right,” Brygida said attempting to calm her. “I am not blaming you.” She said the words and she meant them, but if she was being completely honest with herself she knew that deep down she did blame Alena.
Axel had been separated from them as soon as the Soviet helicopter had returned to the aircraft carrier, presumably to the brig of the ship. Brygida feared that as soon as they returned to the Soviet Union he would be sent to the gulag, or worse.
Of course, the younger woman did have a point. They had been stranded in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean with Nazis and killer sh
arkmen. Who knows what would have happened had they radioed the Americans. It probably depended on who received the call, and from Alena’s perspective the Soviet call was the right one. She still trusted her adopted country. Brygida did not.
The truth is that Brygida never really trusted the Soviets. They were a convenient ally against a shared enemy during the War, and provided a place to live where her hero status afforded her more freedoms and luxuries than most of the population. But Brygida was not blind to the fact that Stalin murdered many times the number of people Hitler did.
She also realized that Stalin had been every bit the anti-Semite that Hitler was. The Soviet dictator was obsessed with conspiracy theories of Jews—whom he referred to as “rootless-cosmopolitans”—trying to undermine the Soviet state and her people were wrongly persecuted in kangaroo courts in Russia just as they had been in Germany. The Soviets under Stalin even denied the Jews had suffered under the Nazis. In fact, Stalin had sealed the Soviet side of Poland, not allowing any refugees to enter. Had he not done so, she and Noah might have escaped.
Not that Stalin had been any better to the Poles in the section of Poland occupied by the Russians, than Hitler had been to the Poles in German occupied Poland. Tens of thousands were executed by the Red Army and many more were shipped off to Siberia where they died en masse.
Fortunately things had improved since the death of Stalin, but the persecution of her people still existed. It was simply more indirect, and less brutal than it had been under Stalin. Brygida certainly realized that had she not been a war hero, she would have likely been persecuted as well, if not killed outright.
However, Brygida’s distrust of the Soviet government was even more direct now. Only the Centre had known where she had been hiding in Virginia. Thus, only the Centre could have sent an assassin to kill her. An assassin that Brygida was convinced was the infamous Nazi, referred to as Night Specter.
Brygida turned to Alena. “You are right darling,” she said in English. “There was nothing else for you to do.”
“Thank you,” Alena replied.
“But you have to understand, these people are not our friends,” Brygida warned.
Alena frowned at her mentor, her protector, a woman who had been like a mother to her. “I know you are worried about Axel, but he is going to be fine,” she said. “He is too valuable to be killed.”
“I’m not worried about them killing him,” Brygida said. She knew the Soviets had a score of ways to make one pray for death.
Alena waved Brygida’s fears away dismissively. “Nothing is going to happen to Axel,” she promised.
“Listen, Alena, there is something you need to know,” Brygida said.
Alena sat up in her bed. Her wounds were healing up already. As were Brygida’s. Fast healing was one of the wonderful attributes of the prime. In another couple of days they would have nothing more than maybe a few scars.
“What is it?” Alena asked.
“After I returned to the United States, I was staying at a KGB safe house in Virginia,” Brygida said as she lowered her voice. “I was attacked by an assassin.” Alena gasped as Brygida continued. “Only the Centre knew I was there.”
Alena glanced down at the floor, then back up at Brygida. “There must be a mole,” she said. “Someone working for the International, or the Americans.”
“There’s more,” Brygida said. “The assassin was super strong, like me.”
“Wait,” Alena said. “You think it was the Night Specter?”
Brygida nodded.
Alena pondered that for a moment. “If that’s true, then clearly whoever the mole is, they are working for the International.”
“Perhaps,” Brygida replied.
“Perhaps?” Alena asked. “What else could it be?”
Brygida frowned at Alena. “That the Soviet state is as compromised as the Americans.”
***
She opened her eyes, but saw nothing but darkness. Her entire body ached. She was cold. Terribly cold. And…and…she couldn’t breathe! With horror she realized that she was under water. She had to reach the surface, get air. But which way was up. She screamed in panic and saw the bubbles rush out of her mouth. Bubbles go up! She swam in the direction of the bubbles, as fast as she could.
Darkness began to close in on her again as she swam. She was close to blacking out. No! She pushed harder and suddenly she broke the surface. She gasped for air, breathing sweet oxygen into her lungs. She opened her eyes and scanned her surroundings, but it was hard to see much over the waves.
Where am I? She thought to herself. Then she had another thought: Who am I?
She felt like she had been beaten with a club all over her body. Treading water she spun around, hoping to see something anything that she could grab onto. Relief shot through her when she noticed an oil platform just a couple hundred feet away, rising up above the water. She swam for it, as searing pain shot through her body with every stroke.
Finally, she reached the giant steel legs that broke the surface of the water. She reached up and tried to pull herself up, but could not. There was too little strength in her arms. She rested for a moment, securing her feet against the steel.
When she had caught her breath, she tilted her head back and opened her mouth to shout for help, but little sound came out. She had no voice. And the pain was almost unbearable. She started to cry, but the pain from crying was just as harsh.
She attempted to pull herself out of the water once again, and this time she was successful. She climbed a few feet above the waves, but had to stop from the exhaustion. She found a place where she could almost sit. She laid her head against the cold steel. She could rest here. Yes, just rest. Someone would find her. Someone had to find her. But for now she needed to rest. She hurt so badly. Her eyes closed involuntarily.
Her eyes suddenly popped open again as she felt herself falling. She gripped the steel as hard as she could. She peered down at the water just a few feet below. How long had she been asleep? She had no way to know. She was lucky she had caught herself before she had dropped back into the water.
She was still very tired, and felt like she had been hit by a truck, but she was doing a little better. Maybe she could climb up now. She gazed up at the platform above. It was so far up out of the water. But she had no choice but to climb it.
Suddenly, she heard a splash and stared back down at the water, frantically searching for whatever had made the sound. Then she saw it. Fear shot through her when she noticed the shark fin moving toward her and circling the steel leg on which she sat. She gripped the steel tighter, terrified to fall in. She was a few feet out of the water, so she assumed she’d be safe there, but now she was scared to climb. What if she slipped and fell back into the water, now?
She watched the fin circle around a couple more times and then disappear below the water. She breathed a sigh of relief as she assumed the shark had swam away. She looked up once more and mentally prepared herself to try and scale the giant steel leg to the platform above.
Suddenly she heard another splash from below and peered down in terror as she saw the shark leap out of the water toward her. She desperately tried to scream, but no sound came out. She feared the teeth were about to sink into her, but instead she was grabbed, by arms. Human arms! The shark had human arms.
The creature pulled her into the water with it and she quickly sank below the surface. She punched at the shark, but it grabbed her arms with its hands. Hands! She felt teeth sink into her arm as flesh tore and bone snapped in the beast’s powerful jaws. She started to kick and kick against the shark.
She was able to kick the monster away and frantically swam for the surface. She reached it and to her excitement she saw a helicopter just above her. She waved her one good arm trying to get the pilot’s attention.
Then she felt razor blades sink into her leg as she was jerked below the surface again. She stuck her fingers into the shark’s eye causing it to release her and she managed to break free.
But then she saw another fin. There were two sharks. The second came in fast, slamming into her thigh, ripping her leg off. She forced her way to the surface. The water around her was dark red.
She saw someone in a diver’s suit staring at her from the helicopter. She screamed for help and then a shark broke the surface of the water biting down on her and everything went black.
***
She blinked awake. The sharks were gone and she was safe in bed. It had been a dream, a horrible nightmare. She tried to sit up but couldn’t. She was much too tired. She closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
She woke up again, not sure how long she had been asleep. But this time she felt the pain. Intense pain. She tried to lift her arm, but couldn’t. She fell back to sleep.
She woke again, still in a fog. This time there was someone in her room. It was a man. He had a long scar across his cheek. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t be sure from where.
“Rest,” he whispered to her in German. “Rest, now. Everything will be alright, sister. Just rest.”
She closed her eyes and fell back to sleep.
Chapter 12
Dawn and Tom had returned to Washington D.C. to end up in an interrogation room at a black site just outside of the city. They had been met by stone faced dark suited agents when their plane arrived at the airport. They had been kept waiting in the interrogation room for close to an hour, sitting at a table while Tom filled the ashtray with cigarette butts.
Dawn looked over at him as he blew a stream of white smoke out from between his lips. She smiled. “Mind if I get one of those?” she asked sweetly.
Tom shook his head. “Not at all, love,” he said as he pulled out his pack and flipped it open. She reached in and pulled one out placing it between her lips. Tom produced a lighter and flicked it, an orange flame began to dance from its top.
Dawn leaned forward and placed the tip of the cigarette against the flame. As it began to burn she spoke in hushed tones. “We have to get out of here,” she said. “Any ideas?”
The International Page 7