by Shah, R D
With Icarus’s handcuffs being held tightly by one of the guards, both he and Munroe were led past the office space and on towards the back of the warehouse until they reached a transparent, bulletproof door, if the signs were to be trusted. Bauer pulled a card from his pocket and slid it over the glowing pad. The door clicked open and automatically swung back and both Munroe and Icarus were ushered through into a plain white room with rows of cages bolted to the wall, filled with grey plastic cylinders.
“It’s here that we store all Blackstar’s R&D records, the culmination of decades of dedicated research. All our original designs and patents are kept here,” Bauer said, motioning to the cages, all secured by digital locks. “We don’t keep a full archive digitally. It may sound like a backwards step given the security technology available, but believe me, nothing is more secure than a bombproof room surrounded by guards. You might like to know that the original plans for the stealth helicopter you managed to evade are contained within these cages. Just another product of the cutting-edge technology we work on here at Blackstar.”
“Good luck trying to sell it. If you offer up one of those then every government in the Western world is going to know you were involved in Icarus’s breakout on Waterloo Bridge,” Munroe said, but Bauer was already one step ahead of him, and he shook his head.
“We already have the intelligence services believing it was built by the Chinese. As for why they would use it in such a way, that is not our problem, but I will tell you what will happen next. The US government will approach us, wanting to keep up the weapons race with China, and offer a contract to anyone who can build such a prototype. We’ll hold back on the specs for a few years and then, before anyone else does, we’ll offer them the finished product. It should prove highly lucrative for Blackstar. When it comes to cutting-edge technology, the military are happy to ignore certain truths. So long as they are the ones, and only ones, to own it.”
Bauer now took another key card from his other pocket and slid it across what looked like a section of white painted wall. “Now, let’s take a short ride, shall we.”
Munroe felt the tiles beneath him begin to vibrate, and the entire floor of the room began to descend.
“I guess you’re not a real Nazi unless you have your own personal bunker.” His guard jabbed the barrel of his gun into his back and his remark received an unimpressed look from Bauer.
“Very droll, Ethan. But what I’m about to show you is the result of decades of painstaking work, a promise the Führer made to the German people.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t call slavery, murder and the total collapse of Germany a promise, Hans,” Munroe replied, happy to call out the sheer arrogance of the man, “more like an affliction, or a shitty virus.”
The guard once more slammed his carbine into Munroe’s back as Bauer shook his head in dismay. “I think you’re referring to your own government, Ethan. No, it was a promise, and one that will be kept. Project Icarus, and the ushering in of a one-thousand-year Reich.”
Chapter 29
The elevator jolted to a stop and as two thick metal doors slid back Munroe was shoved out onto a grated metal walkway as Icarus, still gagged but remarkably subdued given his previous outburst, joined him, under the care of the guard. Bauer moved to the opposite railing and waved them on and down a short length of metal steps to the level below. He waited until they’d all joined him and then placed his hand on Munroe’s shoulder. “Take a look, Ethan. This is where the magic happens.”
What Munroe saw produced the same feeling he had experienced upon seeing Dr Ferreira’s ‘school’ back in Brazil, and even though the sight itself looked harmless enough, what it represented was anything but. It was a hospital. An underground hospital, with three floors. The whole area was devoid of any personnel, but from the shiny tiled floors to the corridors and rooms, to the oxygen access points and even to the red emergency lights above each doorway, Munroe could have been in any modern hospital in America.
“You look puzzled, Ethan, but use your imagination and think about it while I tell you a story. A story our friend Icarus wants you to hear, and one he knows all too well.”
They were taken for a walk through the wards as Bauer began to impart a tale that, although Munroe had not realised it yet, was what had led him to this place.
“The school where we first met, in Brazil, was run by a scientist of ours, a Dr Manuel Ferreira. He was Daedalus through and through. Not because he was born into it but because he chose and believed in it. You see, the good doctor was a genius of psychiatry, but he was only following in the footsteps of a true titan. One of our first, and the creator of what would later become Project Icarus.”
Bauer stopped at a small glass-faced refrigerator and gently opened it. “He was a man with the fascination and dedication to see his dreams realised and,” Bauer continued, retrieving a small test tube filled with what looked like blood, which he held up in his fingers and inspected, “that was to create the perfect human specimen, the perfect human soldier. We know him as ‘The Father’, but you would recognise him by a different name… Josef Mengele.”
“The Angel of Death,” Munroe replied loathingly; the nickname seemed to genuinely offend Bauer.
“That’s just a tacky label that stuck, gifted by people who had no understanding of the great accomplishments he sought to, and did, achieve.”
“Your ‘Father’ was a child murderer, Hans. He experimented on and tortured hundreds, thousands of people.”
Bauer looked unfazed by the accusation. “That was mainly confined to the concentration camps. His work acted as a catalyst for greater things, and in this case the end does justify the means.”
Josef Mengele, a Nazi medical officer in the Waffen-SS, was a man less concerned with treatment and instead focused on pain and suffering. His obsession with creating a master race of blonde-haired, blue-eyed Aryans was well known in the history books, and his experiments on camp inmates were about as vile as one could imagine. Forced breeding between twins, the freezing to death of patients just to see how the human body reacted and far worse. His obsession with inducing twins in every German pregnancy to quickly fill the Nazis’ sagging military ranks towards the end of the war was as infamous as it was heartless. He was also considered to be behind the inception of the Lebensborn breeding camps, where blonde-haired, blue-eyed children were kidnapped from all over the conquered nations of the Reich and used as stock for the Nazis’ desired conquest of the world. It had failed, but not before Mengele escaped. Munroe thought back to his conversation with Silva. Mengele had died in 1979 somewhere within the depths of Brazil, escaping the justice he so richly deserved. Munroe had heard the stories, but since learning of Daedalus’s existence they had taken on a whole new dimension.
“You’ve been creating a master race,” Munroe said, glancing over at his blonde-haired, blue-eyed chaperones. Bauer shook his head.
“No, Ethan. You make it sound like some crass sci-fi movie. It’s so much more than that. After the war Herr Mengele continued his work in Brazil, funded by us of course, but he only got so far before his death. Before his demise he was able, through specific breeding, to create the perfect human specimen with the attributes so valued by us. But it came with the realisation that the shell is only part of the equation in creating the perfect soldier, and then the perfect assassin. This is where Dr Ferreira became so essential to our work, with his experimentation into multiple personalities and the fracturing of the psyche.” Bauer now motioned to Munroe’s chaperones. “These men here are a direct result of that work, the creation of the perfect Aryan soldier. The Führer would have been proud, but although they are a result of perfect breeding, they never went through Dr Ferreira’s programme. Of course this work, though essential, paled in comparison to what we have achieved since. Upon Herr Mengele’s death we began a new programme, and in the modern age the breakthroughs in science and genetics gave us the ability to lay the foundations that would eventually become Project Icarus. U
nfortunately we had to cut ties with Dr Ferreira’s work, which until very recently he was still committed to. The village of Cândido Godói was a perfect testing ground for Herr Mengele’s work, but with all the press attention it received after his death we had Dr Ferreira move to another facility very close by, and for decades no one ever suspected. His work at one of the local communes proved a valuable source of research until he had achieved all he could. We let him continue his work but, I’m afraid, that all had to come to an end when our attack on Parliament was carried out. We knew that little caper of ours would set DS5 ablaze and frothing at the mouths for answers, and so we had to tie up any loose ends.”
Bauer sniffed the air and laughed. “When a predator gains your scent, the only true course of action is to cover one’s tracks. It was very sad, a true waste, a whole village of his lab rats having to be wiped out, not even knowing that they had been at the centre of our research. Still, trails have to be dusted, and we can’t have any leading to us, can we?”
The image of the burning church and the arm marked with the symbol of Daedalus now made perfect, if sick, sense. Those people had been corralled into the church and burnt alive not just for who they were… but what they were. Experimented on without their knowledge and marked like concentration camp victims, they had then been disposed of to conceal any tracks leading towards Daedalus’s greater goal, and that was the question now on Munroe’s lips.
“Why did you blow up Parliament?” he asked, sounding calm, not wanting to interrupt Bauer’s continuing admissions, but he was met with a deep guttural laugh.
“Now that is well beyond your pay grade, Ethan. Just consider yourself fortunate I’m granting you information on Project Icarus.”
Bauer rolled the vial containing the red liquid between his fingers before placing it back in the refrigerator and closing the door. “So, getting back to the point, let me ask you. What makes a good soldier, Ethan? Strength, stamina, reaction time, obedience… These are mainly physical qualities, and they can be produced through good breeding, just like we breed dogs for desirable traits. But what makes a good leader, what produces men with drive and charisma, what makes them stand out at such a young age, these natural born trailblazers?”
Bauer tapped his forefinger against his lips in wonderment. “These genetic traits are hidden to us, locked away in the human genome and far more difficult to reproduce. Project Icarus was begun to not only create the perfect Aryan warriors and assassins, but the world leaders of tomorrow. Can you imagine if we could identify, within the DNA double helix, those traits that the greatest leaders in world history all possessed? And once bred, to be then indoctrinated into the true ideology, the right ideology, the Nazi ideology. Anyone holding that power of creation would hold the keys to a kingdom, and the ability to reshape it in their image. Would they not?”
Munroe now knew what Bauer was getting at, but it seemed the stuff of science fiction. Designer babies were within humanity’s grasp, but designer leaders? “You’re talking about politicians. Humans genetically engineered to be the perfect leaders. Bullshitters, scam artists, con men with the intelligence and charisma to pull it off and win people over.”
“Well, that’s a rather base way to put it, but something like that, yes,” Bauer replied, looking disheartened by Munroe’s assessment. “Have you ever wondered why some men can walk into a crowded room and people are just drawn to them? Why is that? Why some have the ability to manipulate others with a single look or stare. It makes no physical sense unless, subconsciously or otherwise, people are drawn to these individuals because of what they possess on a genetic level. The Führer had it, many world leaders have it. What is that ‘thing’ that makes them stand out, which gives them an ability to seduce the masses? Well, through Project Icarus we discovered these mysteries, learnt how to rewire DNA in just the right way. And we have been refining the process ever since. It takes a while for humans to grow, but the more you produce the higher the likelihood of getting winners. Don’t forget, Ethan, we’re only animals. We respond to a vast array of unseen stimuli, and what we have found is that genetics plays a huge part in this. The age-old question of nature over nurture has been revealed, by us, and it seems that nature is far more influential than previously believed. If you ask someone what it is about that person, why am I drawn to them, why do I have such an instant connection with them, the answers are usually physical in nature. Their eyes, the way they smile, how they carry themselves… But what if it was far deeper than that? Deep below the skin, something in their genetic code. You can’t tell me that you’ve never seen someone and just known they were special. They just had ‘it’. We do it all the time, but never consider why that is.”
Bauer’s hypothesis sounded crazy, but who knew how long they had been experimenting on humans. Those trials could have put them decades ahead of the current understanding of genetics. Human experimentation was morally deplorable, although sadly its use could increase understanding and yield results far beyond what other methods allowed, and considering the lack of scruples these Nazis had it seemed more than plausible they could have made such a breakthrough. A breakthrough about what it was to be human, and how to manipulate that knowledge to their own ends.
There was, though, a big hole in Bauer’s theory, and Munroe brought it up the instant he thought of it. “Are you seriously trying to tell me that Icarus,” Munroe glanced back at the gagged killer and nodded towards him, “was bred to be a leader?”
His question received a shocked look from Bauer, and he wagged his head and laughed. “God no. David only took the name Icarus, he wasn’t part of it. He was bred from Herr Mengele’s initial work, to have all the qualities of a soldier. Faster reactions, stamina, strength, and with Dr Ferreira’s contribution and his fracturing process, he and his brothers and sisters were bred and trained and brought up to be assassins for Daedalus. To pave the way for the leaders created by Project Icarus. But there was a difficult obstacle in our way, in the form of DS5. Churchill and Truman’s charter has made it incredibly difficult to place our own produce within the political folds, which is why we changed tack and did the only thing we could. We targeted DS5 as well.”
A sagging realisation now tugged at Munroe’s stomach, and like a puzzle the pieces began sliding into place. The attack on their C-130, on a trip known only to a select few, and the ambush in New Orleans… How had they known he and Icarus would be there unless someone from DS5 had passed on Munroe’s location? Who else knew?
He was still mulling over the possibilities as Bauer explained further and appearing to take great enjoyment in his own smugness.
“Infiltrating DS5 has proved tougher than any political hierarchy because of their hiring policy, their reliance on chance encounters. That is something which is extremely difficult to orchestrate.”
Munroe said nothing, his mind was swirling with questions and calculations as to who the mole, or moles, at DS5 could be. Bauer saw the conflict in his eyes. “Not easy finding out you’ve been stabbed in the back, is it? But I think it may make what I’m about to tell you a lot easier to swallow. Please, follow me.”
It wasn’t as if Munroe had an option as the two guards nudged him forward and, along with Icarus, he was led by Bauer into a room located further up the corridor.
“Is this your office?” Munroe said with a sarcastic raising of his eyebrow, but Bauer gave a shake of his head as Icarus was also bundled inside by the guards.
“No, Ethan. This room contains the apex of our efforts. The culmination of all the decades of work we have carried out.”
Bauer looked extremely proud as Munroe scanned the room. There was no desk, no computer, not even a chair, just empty space except for what hung from the walls. Dozens upon dozens of rows of large rectangular photos, and with a push from one of the guards Munroe walked over to the nearest ones and began to examine them, one by one. They looked like school photos, each picture containing around twenty children. It was a mix of girls and boys, with tho
se at the front squatted on one knee as those in the rows behind stood proudly with folded arms. They couldn’t have been more than ten years old. At the bottom a date had been printed in embossed gold type, starting in 1966, with each subsequent picture going up in two-year increments.
“The left and right walls are Herr Mengele’s accomplishments,” Bauer said, now taking a step towards the far wall, “but these are our crowning achievements. The accomplishments and fruits of Project Icarus.”
There must have been over a hundred children on the far wall, but these were different. Whereas in the Mengele photos the children all had blonde hair and blue eyes, the ones on the Icarus wall were all different. Some had black hair, others red, some were blonde, but and if one counted all the photos in the room there must have been over four hundred young faces.
As Munroe gazed over them the reality of what Daedalus had achieved produced a tight knot in his stomach. “These are all genetically made kids, genetically purposed?” he said, and Bauer tapped the wall with his finger and smiled.
“Each one instilled with the genetic traits that best suited them for the role we have laid out. And each trained and serving the greater good. Our good.”
While Munroe fathomed the incredible scope of Daedalus’s endeavour Bauer continued to speak, his pride shining through in each word that was spoken by him.
“The war never ended, Ethan. It just took on a different form. They say that revenge is a dish best served cold, and I couldn’t agree more. That isn’t to say we’ve not had our setbacks. We came close to consolidating the world positions we needed back in the early noughties, but with 9/11 came a shift in political power and thinking. A whole generation of our candidates were lost to the political wilderness, but that was twenty years ago and now, with the landscape littered with identity politics and racial division, the time has never been riper to consolidate our power. The coming bondage of slavery will not be in physical chains but invisible ones, in the minds of free people.”