***
Standing breathlessly at the top of the concrete steps, Niclas felt his heart pound loudly in his chest. Seeing the man lying twisted in an ever-increasing pool of blood seemed surreal as if watching the events unfold through someone else’s eyes. Plans were in motion and timing critical, but the burden of another death on his conscience was simply unbearable. Without further hesitation, he cautiously descended the stairs and knelt next to the unconscious man’s body. Carefully disentangling the man’s leg from the railing, he pulled the two sides of torn fabric apart to expose the injury. He had seen more than his fair share of shattered bones delivered by traversing the treacherous terrain of the Ore Mountains. Upon examining the wound, he knew that only a surgeon could repair a break this severe, but stabilizing the tissue around where the bone had broken through was possible. With the chloroform fully evaporated from the towel in his hand, he proceeded to apply pressure to the areas above and below the break.
“Walter!” he called up the stairs without turning his attention from the seeping wound.
The tall man’s blond hair was a matted mess as he came to the door. Putting one hand on his head worriedly, Walter looked down at the macabre scene below. “Yes, sir? Is that man going to be ok?” he asked, his voice high-pitched like a child who knew he had done something wrong. “I was just trying to grab him like we practiced.”
Shaking his head, Niclas responded to the underlying question. “It wasn’t your fault. Please fetch the rest of the rope and another towel from my bag, and bring them here.” He spoke through clenched teeth while he pressed both hands firmly around the wound.
It only took Walter a few moments to retrieve the requested items. Taking each step with extra care, he descended the stairs to where Niclas was working feverishly to stop the injured FBI agent from bleeding out.
“Now I need you to hold him steady while I fashion this into a dressing around the wound,” explained Niclas, positioning Walter’s hands where he needed them to be. The makeshift bandage immediately showed red with blood, but the spread of crimson through the fabric noticeably slowed as the ropes pulled taut. “That should do it,” he said, breathing a heavy sigh of relief. Using his sleeve, he wiped perspiration from his face.
Police sirens blared in the distance, prompting Niclas to turn and usher his companion back up the stairs. The other agent’s unconscious body was lying just inside the door, partially blocking it from closing. Without hesitation, Walter picked him up like a rag doll and brought him inside.
“Be careful, we don’t want to have anyone else getting hurt,” said Niclas, taking a final turn to look at the man lying motionless on the steps below. He smiled lightly, seeing him take shallow but regular breaths, his bleeding coming under control. Well ahead of the sirens, a large, green vehicle skidded loudly around the corner. A hubcap dislodged from the front left tire, continuing down the street as the car made an abrupt, forty-five degree turn into the parking lot. Reaching quickly for the door, Niclas pushed it shut, and turned the deadbolt with a loud clunk. “It seems we’ve run out of time, my friend.” His tone was solemn as he reached up to place a hand softly upon the shoulder of the young man towering beside him.
Having leaned the incapacitated man down carefully against a far wall, Walter’s lower lip puffed out as he attempted his best, decidedly unpracticed, angry face. His fists were clenched and held tightly to his sides. “I’m too big for them, I can keep them away from you, sir.”
“I have no doubts about that, my boy.” Niclas motioned toward the still unconscious, red-bearded man in the folding chair. “Will you help me move Duncan to the corner so he stays out of harm’s way?” he asked, smiling appreciatively.
“Yes, sir!” said Walter with typical enthusiasm, his face quickly turning from anger to a far more familiar smile. Effortlessly picking up Duncan, he carried the limp man across the room, slowly bending down to place him gently next to Joshua.
Before Walter could stand back up, Niclas reached in and held a rag dampened in chloroform over his unsuspecting companion’s face. “I’m sorry son, but I most certainly can’t have you on my conscience.” He held the cloth securely around the young man’s mouth and nose. “I love you, Walter. Don’t ever forget that,” he choked, straining to guide the man’s hulking frame softly to the ground. Despite his size, Walter succumbed quickly and was sleeping soundly before he slid gently to the floor.
Hands shaking, Niclas reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a sealed letter. Holding it for a moment as if reading it through the envelope, he folded it over and pushed it into Walter’s shirt pocket. “I hope you can understand someday. I pray you can forgive me,” he whispered into the ear of his longtime friend. Tears rolled down his face as he kissed the top of the young man’s head in farewell. Resting his cheek on the top of Walter’s head, Niclas lingered for a moment longer before forcing himself to get to his feet. Standing up, he put his hands on his lower back which ached from overexertion. There was no time to deal with the pain of the moment, physical or otherwise. The sound of several police sirens urged him on, as squad cars amassed in the small parking lot just outside.
Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, he willed himself toward the back of the dark room. He walked to the countertop where the little blue cooler sat and opened it once more. “I’m almost out of time, Father,” he said, as if talking to someone standing right next to him. His voice was a mere whisper. “I know it’s been a long journey. Don’t worry, I can carry you the rest of the way.”
Pale white mist wafted from inside the small container. Though his hands shook noticeably, Niclas reached into the cooler. Icy vapor clung to his fingers like ghostly tendrils unwilling to give up the dead. He carefully exhumed the last test tube which had the name ‘Eldwin’ written lengthwise along one side.
So near the end, he was surprised to discover that urgency had faded into a sensation of unmistakable euphoria. The way was clear and the final step so simplistic that nothing but divine intervention could stop him now. Through a long life of struggle, he had rarely felt this way. The times were few but distinct. Each time his father returned home from the mines, he felt it. When Otto returned home safely from the war, he felt it. The day he made the genetic breakthrough using the Nazis’ own research, he felt it. And again today, as he ended the epic battle waged long after the rest of the world assumed the war was over, he could feel it. Those brief times of happiness paled in number and intensity when weighed against the true horror of those many years. He imagined the regret and fear his brother must have felt in his final moments before meeting a violent, lonely end while fighting in Hitler’s foolish war. Unrelenting nightmares forced him to watch as a Nazi bullet extinguished the life of his once vibrant and conscientious friend, Dieter. A tragic vision of his father, so opposed to the war, showed him being forced to take up arms and ultimately perish, marching unprepared into the Russian winter. As if those tortures were not enough, life saw fit to etch the incessant heartbreak he witnessed in his mother’s eyes onto his very soul. There would be no escape from these dark thoughts and shattered memories. Not in this life.
Despite the magnitude of personal loss and anguish he had endured, Niclas remained steadfast that his lifelong efforts were intended to safeguard humanity against itself. History had testified, time and time again, that lasting lessons were rarely learned. Genocide, corruption, conspiracy, and all manner of atrocity had become the indelible signature of humankind.
It was time to teach the world a lesson it would never forget and force needed change to the writing on the wall, forever.
Chapter 35
The Shattering of Atonement
EMERGING FROM THE relative darkness of the pump station, Niclas reflexively covered his eyes with one hand and stepped into the searing light of the afternoon. The incessant wail of police sirens echoed from the street, urging him toward the pump house where the inert virus was slowly dripping into the water being pushed furiously into the gradu
ally filling reservoir.
With a violent crash, the heavy steel door securing the entrance into the pump station burst open, spraying new light through the blackness. A man holding a small battering ram which had ‘Little Gert’ painted in green stenciling on the business end, stood sideways in the doorway, bearing the weight of it on one hip. Letting the stout metal ram fall heavily to the floor, he quickly drew his weapon and moved hastily into the building, having abandoned any attempt at stealth.
Although he had anticipated a forceful response by heavily armored law enforcement, it felt distinctly more intimidating to see one man wearing a casual work suit come smashing his way inside. A rush of adrenaline pushed Niclas’s aging limbs beyond their normal limits, moving him quickly through the doorway and toward the adjoining pump house. Resonating through the glass of the test tube gripped firmly in his right hand, the rhythmic sound of rapidly flowing water grew louder with every step. Aching from overexertion, he shuffled as quickly as he could into the pump house and sidled precariously onto a long, narrow catwalk several feet above the steadily pooling water below.
“That’s far enough, Mr. Kappel!” shouted Seth sternly, stepping out of the pump house and onto the base of the narrow walkway. He leveled his pistol directly at the man’s chest and ensured that the safety was off.
Placing his left hand on the platform’s thin metal railing, Niclas turned slowly to face his pursuer while simultaneously extending his right arm over the low railing. In the hand of his outstretched arm he held the test tube tightly, sending a clear message that he was in control of what happened next.
Taking a short breath, Seth rapidly assessed the situation. If he fired his weapon, the man would drop the fragile glass tube, which would almost guarantee the release of the virus. If he hesitated, the man may drop it anyway. He instantly decided that the latter was his only real option. “Stop. Please wait. You don’t want to do this, Niclas!” pleaded Seth, holding out one hand with his palm forward.
Tilting his head at the sound of his real name being used by someone he had never met, Niclas smiled at realizing that Professor Shukla had been found unhurt. “If you know who I am, then you know what this is,” he threatened holding out the test tube out a little further from the edge. Scanning the area behind Seth, he could see that no one else was with him. “Why are you alone? It sounds like the entire police force came with you,” he said suspiciously.
It had been a long time since the incident at the Huntington Library, but the fact that this man was willing to engage in conversation gave Seth hope that there was still a chance to negotiate a positive outcome. “I ordered them to stay back unless I called for them. They won’t interfere,” promised Seth. He further relaxed his stance, but kept his weapon pointed at the man’s chest. “As I said before, you don’t want to do this,” he said calmly, trying to keep the conversation moving.
Through steely eyes Niclas stared back at Seth. “So, you claim to know what I’m doing? Tell me, what exactly is it that you believe I’m here to do?” he asked, furrowing his brow skeptically.
“I’ll admit I don’t get the science, but I think I’ve got a decent idea for what brought us here in the first place. Professor Shukla told us everything,” said Seth. He looked nervously at the sealed test tube in the elderly man’s hand. The clear liquid inside sloshed back and forth in the man’s trembling hand.
Niclas frowned. Breaking his gaze with Seth, he bowed his head slightly, ashamed. “Everything?” His questioning voice was low and saturated with self-admonishment.
Recognizing the look, Seth saw regret strewn about the deep lines of the man’s face. “Everything that really matters,” he said, speaking as softly as he could while still making sure to be heard over the relentless drone of the pumping station. “She said that you’re a brilliant geneticist who blames himself for things that were out of his control.”
Raising his eyes from the ground, Niclas looked at the vial gripped tightly in his trembling hand. “She’s a talented scientist, but even the good Doctor cannot fathom the evil of what they made me do.” His arm lowered slightly as gravity clawed at his tired extremity. “My ignorance of their intentions does not absolve my sin.”
Time was running short. Whether Niclas decided to drop the test tube or gravity wrested it from his weakening grip, the result would be the same. Seth’s words came more quickly now. “I can appreciate you wanting to take responsibility, but what I don’t get is how messing with the genes that determine race is supposed to make you whole again.”
Impressed, Niclas nodded an acknowledgement. “It appears I gave the professor far less credit than she deserved. I’m amazed she put the pieces together so quickly.” Beads of sweat began to form on his brow from the strain of keeping his arm outstretched. “I only hope she is more successful than I was at choosing how to use such intellect.
Hoping to calm the man’s nerves, Seth lowered his weapon. “Why skin color?” he asked, shrugging his shoulders. “Why not use your talent to develop a cure for cancer, AIDS, diabetes…anything else?”
In spite of the pain pulsing through his arm, Niclas regarded the question with stony contemplation. “Those are noble causes indeed, but not what fate intended for me,” he said, his upper lip curling into an angry sneer.
Sensing a negative change in the man’s demeanor, Seth gripped his weapon a little tighter but kept it lowered. “What does fate have to do with it? Forgive me, but that doesn’t sound very scientific,” he challenged in an attempt to ground their conversation more firmly in reality.
“There are no greater elements in the universe than those of good and evil. You will do well to remember that,” said Niclas, pointing sternly with his free hand. “The research I was part of during the war was focused on one goal, and one goal alone,” he said, seeming to pausing for dramatic emphasis. “The ultimate goal was to create an Aryan nation, one way or another. Naive scientists like myself nearly gave Hitler his final solution.” Niclas’s eyes revealed a level of shame and regret that Seth had never seen.
“Are you saying this virus was going to be used to wipe people out?” asked Seth, his expression frozen in horror.
Tightening his grip on the vial slightly, Niclas fought against the numbness rising in his hand. “I believe the Nazis’ propaganda minister would have used the word ‘purify,’ but essentially the virus would have limited the physical characteristics of newborns to blond hair, blue eyes, and white skin.”
Although pleased that the conversation had continued, Seth found the concept of releasing a virus to combat a virus perplexing at best. “I thought you were against what they were trying to do,” he observed. “Why wouldn’t you just destroy the research and be done with it?” Gritting his teeth, his nerves frayed as he doubted the sureness of the old man’s grip on the fragile test tube.
“I’ve had years to consider that potential contradiction,” confessed Niclas frankly. “However, as the scientists marched ever closer to these genetic secrets, it became clear that disregarding what I knew would have only delayed the inevitable,” he said, frowning grimly. “Just as I had during the war, scientists now continue to make advance after advance for science’s sake. They fail to concern themselves with what evil purposes their discoveries may lead to.” Lactic acid continued to build up in the muscles of his arm. The test tube jostled intensely in his quaking hand.
Swallowing hard, Seth steered the conversation away from the act itself, and toward the pain it would inevitably bring. “Aren’t you doing the same thing right now?” he argued, his voice becoming louder and more desperate. “Think about what’ll happen if you drop that.”
“I’ve thought about the impact of this day for longer than you’ve been alive!” Shouting angrily, Niclas nearly lost his tenuous grip on the virus. “This is the only way to open people’s eyes to the destructiveness of bigotry,” he seethed through clenched teeth. He reaffirmed his grip on the test tube as well as his reason for being there in the first place.
Finally beginning to understand the tortured man’s motivations, Seth saw his opening. Sometimes the only way to break through the drone of longtime pain was to introduce another, completely novel kind of it. “And when people start abandoning or murdering their own children until they get the color they want?” he asked expectantly, watching for any sign that he’d broken through.
Weathered skin paled at the thought of being responsible for the loss of more innocent lives. “No parent would….They couldn’t...” Niclas shook his head in disbelief as his stomach threatened to turn.
Lowering his weapon even further, Seth kept his voice low and ominous. “You’re right Niclas, people wouldn’t,” he agreed. “But we’re not talking about people now, are we?”
Niclas raised one eyebrow, captivated by the direction of the conversation. “If not people, then to what are we referring?” he asked, his voice barely audible over the sound of water rushing below him as the reservoir continued to fill.
With unquestionable conviction, Seth looked directly into Niclas’s gleaming eyes. This was a place he’d been once before. Not a place perhaps, but a moment that never quite came that fateful day in Huntington. Fate had decided to give him another chance. A chance to change a seemingly inevitable outcome. “Monsters, Niclas. We’re talking about monsters.” he replied. His words hung in the air like a bird of prey riding the currents of a warm breeze—graceful and impossible to ignore, once seen. “The bastards who would do these things choose to do them despite what is right, not because of it. If there’s one thing I’ve learned about monsters, it’s that they never blink,” said Seth, his voice as steady as his gaze. “Somewhere along the line, they forget that they still have a chance to make a better choice. The right choice.”
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