The Reich Legacy: A Jim Slater novel (The Jim Slater series Book 3)

by Stanley Salmons

  Müller nodded. “That’s better. Now turn, and show yourself to the Colonel.”

  So far she hadn’t seemed to register my presence, but now she lifted her head a little and turned. I was vaguely aware of her breasts, of the dark flame of pubic hair, but that was only in my peripheral vision because her contemptuous gaze swept the room and rested on me, and I shrivelled in the heat of her loathing. My cheeks burned – with embarrassment for me and for her.

  Müller got to his feet. His voice was matter-of-fact as he switched to English. “You may leave us now, Colonel. I have some unfinished business with this young lady.”

  I set my jaw and got stiffly to my feet. My voice was as steady as I could make it. “Thank you, Herr Doktor. Very impressive.”

  33

  I didn’t want to see anybody. I hurried back to my room and paced around. My guts were turning over. I’d just witnessed a proud, beautiful woman being utterly degraded, and Müller had shamed me along with her. I was pretty sure no one had told her what that small wound in her head was about, so the pain of her ordeal would have been amplified by shock and disbelief. I criss-crossed the room, clenching and unclenching my fists. I couldn’t get the images out of my mind: Delfina writhing in agony on the floor, arms wrapped around her body, and finally, head bowed, her resistance broken, standing naked before her torturer. I didn’t even want to think about what Müller was doing to her now. I wished to heaven I could get her out of here. But she wasn’t alone: every girl in that factory must have been subjected to similar treatment. Now, with the memory of that intense pain burned into their minds, they would submit night after night to whoever placed a white plastic disc in front of them. I stopped at the window. I had to go outside, to get some air and try to rid myself of the sour taste in my mouth.

  Would the entrance door be locked? Probably not. Unlike me, Delfina and the other girls would have been marched straight from the clinic to see Müller, and no doubt he’d take some satisfaction in telling them about the fence himself.

  Unsmiling white-shirt-and-jeans was hanging around at the front entrance. He stiffened as I approached.

  “Where are you going?”

  I’d had enough of this. I didn’t even bother to use Spanish.

  “I’m going to stretch my legs. You have a problem with that?”

  Go on, take a crack at me. I’d be delighted.

  His eyes roved over me, sizing me up. Then he said, again in Spanish, “Stay inside the fence.”

  I ignored him and pushed through the door. It breathed shut on the air-conditioning and the heat hit me right away, drilling out of a clear blue sky and coming back at me off the ground. Vehicles had worn a path to the front entrance and I strode out along it as far as the fence, which was every bit as flimsy as it looked from my room. There was the wide gap I’d seen before – clearly there to let vehicles through – but I wasn’t daft enough to walk through it; the cable would be continuous underground and there was no slider controlling that field, it was running at full whack.

  I squatted to examine the path more closely. To judge from my own experience, Delfina would have arrived two, maybe three, days ago. These tyre tracks weren’t old, but they weren’t as recent as that, so where had she been brought in? I thought about it. She’d been kidnapped and handed over to the soldiers. Müller said the LRA made food deliveries, and that wouldn’t be at the front here, it would be to the kitchen, adjacent to the dining area at the back. They must have used the same route to deliver Delfina.

  I brushed my fingers across the most recent tracks. They were probably from the old Toyota that I came in. I straightened up. Come to think of it, where was the Toyota?

  I turned round and looked at the building but I could see no sign of either the vehicle or a garage, so the question remained unanswered. Still, it seemed like a good opportunity to confirm and extend the picture of the place that I’d built up from the inside.

  The building was faced with a pale reddish-brown plasticrete, and they probably had solar panels the same colour on the roof. It wouldn’t be that easy to spot from the air, although in low sun the shadow would be a giveaway. In front of me was the short wing with the entrance lobby. To my left was the secure wing where I woke up three days ago with a thumping headache. The so-called clinic would be at the end, then the rooms for the surgeons, the recovering patients, Baer’s office, and the visiting soldiers. What was in the wing to my right?

  I moved off in that direction. The noise of machinery came to my ears and got louder as I approached, the smooth chatter of many sewing machines, like a Far Eastern sweat shop. The uniform factory. It had windows but they were obscured by louvred blinds. I skirted the wing. There were no windows on this side of the building. I walked along it, pacing out in my mind the length of the factory, then the dining room, and finally the kitchen. On turning the corner I saw a door at the back, tyre tracks leading right up to it. It was just what I’d suspected: the door led into the kitchen, and the deliveries from the LRA camp came from this side. The tyre tracks were more numerous and more recent than the ones at the front, and they were heavy duty, made by something bigger than the Toyota.

  I looked up in the direction travelled by the vehicles, a path of packed sand, dirt and scattered white stones denuded of the tough grass that grew everywhere else. It led through another gap in the fence, then disappeared into the savanna. Beyond it, swimming in the heat, were low mountains clothed in scrub and trees. From the position of the sun the building faced south-west. It would be good to have the precise coordinates, but that was another reason Müller wasn’t giving me back my phone.

  I scanned the horizon from end to end. I could almost see the strands of the web of evil that stretched across this continent. And sitting at the centre of the web, like a venomous spider, was Erich Müller. Where did Holle fit in? I closed my eyes. Of course! The Guardians of the Reich wasn’t a charity supported by Lipzan Pharmaceutica at all: it was the organization itself. The Guardians provided the conduit for the money flowing from Mexico, and Lipzan gave it an apparently legitimate front. To keep up the deception the company would put on the books the requisite donations to the so-called charity. They could well afford to do that. Their own profitability was assured, because they could transport people like Baer here and coerce them into fudging statistics and writing false reports that secured one hundred per cent market success for every new product. No wonder Schröder and his predecessors hadn’t been able to nail them. The company’s finances would be irreproachable, and the rest was well concealed.

  I shook my head. It was all very well to know this, but so long as I was trapped in this place I couldn’t do a damned thing about it.

  I resumed my walk, past the central wing with my room somewhere in the middle of it, and past the windowless end of the far wing that housed the radiofrequency transmitter.

  As I rounded the far corner I got a surprise. There, beyond the fence, was another structure: low, sand-coloured like the main building, with a pair of large doors. That would be where the Toyota was kept. And it was big enough to take at least one more vehicle. I stood looking at it.

  Why put it all the way over there?

  I had no idea so I walked round to the front and passed through the cool entrance lobby, ignoring the guy still hovering there.

  Even the brief exposure to the fierce sun outside had brought me out in a prickly sweat, so back in my room I stripped and had a shower. Then I patted myself dry, washed out my shirt, and hung it in the cubicle.

  The far wing with the radiofrequency transmitter – that was the nerve centre; destroy it and this place would be thrown wide open. First I needed to find out what was inside it, but how? The corridor had a security door and whenever I was taken through it to see Müller I was escorted by one of the soldiers. I needed to find another way.

  *

  As usual I went into dinner with Colin. After Müller’s demonstration that morning his company was especially irksome.

  “Cau
ght sight of the new bird today," he said. "Delfina, her name is. Müller should let her go soon. He doesn’t keep ’em long.”

  “Is she all right?”

  “I should say. Fuck me, the tits on her! Can’t wait to get a piece of that.”

  I suppressed a strong desire to straightened his crooked teeth with my fist. "I meant has she recovered? I was there when she came in. Müller gave her one hell of a pasting."

  “Dunno about that. I mean, you don't expect 'em to look happy, do you?”

  What a caring individual you are, Colin.

  He turned his head. “’Allo, ’allo, here she comes now. That’s Maria with her. She’s kind of a supervisor in the factory.”

  I looked up to see Delfina being led in by the woman he called Maria. Maria was a comely, smooth-complexioned woman. She was more heavily built than the younger girls, which gave her a maternal look. Her arm was draped gently around Delfina, who was staring ahead with haunted eyes, like a person in a trance. Maria said something as she sat down, and one of the other girls went to the counter and came back with a starter, which she set in front of Delfina. So far as I could see it remained there, untouched.

  I glanced along the men's tables. Conversation had ceased. They were all eyeing Delfina.

  If Müller was about to release her into general circulation she’d be up for grabs. These men would be climbing over each other to get at her, but I had a feeling it would be Colin at the head of the queue.

  Could I really stand by and let that happen?

  34

  I was still thinking about it the following morning when Josef Baer and I were summoned to Müller’s office. With yesterday’s demonstration still fresh in my mind I could think of a variety of words better than “office” to describe that room. This time, at least, there was a more business-like air to the meeting, and we were allowed to sit close to his desk.

  He came straight to the point, speaking English for my benefit. “Mr Holle called me this morning. Xylazib has obtained FDA approval. The next step is sell it to the United States Army, and he wants to do that as soon as possible. We must make the application. Baer, you have analysed the data. You have all the figures?”

  “Yes, Dr Müller, the statistical analysis is complete and the tables prepared.”

  “So, Colonel. With this information you can now write the application.”

  My pulse raced. I’d never written such an application in my life. Josef could probably show me the type of thing they’d done in the past, but that wasn’t the point. Xylazib wasn’t safe. I didn’t want the Army to be using it. And I needed more time to prepare an escape. I thought quickly and something came to mind, something Josef had said to me when I was asking how the trials were conducted.

  A lot of the subjects come from poor areas of South America.

  I turned to him.

  “Mr Baer, have you analysed the distribution of the trial subjects by age, gender, ethnicity, and country?”

  He blinked. “Why do you ask?”

  “The United States Army is a mixed bag, like the population: whites, blacks, Hispanics, and so on. The Army needs to be sure they’re all going to respond to the drug the same way. If, for argument’s sake, most of your subjects came from South America that wouldn’t be representative.”

  Baer nodded. “It is true there were many from South America but other nationalities were included. We were able to analyse all these things.”

  Well, that hadn’t worked. I was kicking myself for even raising it. The drug probably wouldn’t have got past the FDA without data like that.

  Müller said testily, “Really, Colonel, you are not dealing with amateurs here.”

  I hastened to retrieve my position. “No, of course not. What I mean is, the procurement committee likes this kind of information presented graphically, in pie charts and column charts as well as tables. It’s easier to absorb.”

  Müller scowled. “We did not have a problem with Prescaline, Baer?”

  “No, Dr Müller, but…”

  I held my breath. I’d been winging it, and my credibility was on the line.

  “But,” he continued, “it did take a long time. Perhaps this was the reason.”

  I breathed out. Did Baer see what I was trying to do? Probably not; he just didn’t want to contradict me openly.

  “There you go,” I said, looking at Müller. “So before we do anything else I should take a look at the analysis and the presentation to make sure it’s in the right form. That’s why you wanted me here, isn’t it?”

  Müller said impatiently, “Yes, yes, that’s true. How long is this going to take?”

  I pursed my lips. “Hard to say without looking at the data. But it’s worth doing. Always quickest to provide them with everything up front. ’Course,” I added, “I’ll need Mr Baer’s expert help.”

  Baer glanced my way and there was gratitude in his eyes.

  Müller ruminated for a moment, then said, “All right. You had better work on this together. I want it done as quickly as possible.”

  We got up. Josef dipped his head in his usual fashion and left the room, but I waited behind. Müller raised his eyebrows.

  “A private matter I wanted to talk to you about, doctor. A kind of sensitive one.” I shifted my feet a little so as to look ill at ease.

  “Go on.”

  “That girl, Delfina, the one we saw yesterday. I was wondering whether… er, when you’ve finished… entertaining her, she could, um, come to my room in the evening.”

  He looked at me, his lips curved in a mocking smile. He held that look for several long seconds, then said:

  “She does not please me. I was planning to send her into the factory today. I will give you a disk and you can exercise your ‘privileges’.”

  “Er, but you see, this girl, she’s very attractive. There’ll be a lot of competition for her. I was hoping you could… erm, assign her to me yourself. It’s entirely in your hands, of course, but I’d consider it a personal favour.”

  The smile was more crooked than ever. “This is not a problem, Colonel. You can have her tonight.”

  “Thank you. Look, I don’t want to cause any ill-feeling among the others. I’m new here and they could see this as jumping the queue.”

  He shrugged. “I will tell her to say that Dr Müller has not yet finished with her.” He met my eyes. “She will, of course, do as she’s told, in this and every other way.”

  “That’s great. Thank you.”

  I couldn’t help all the girls but at least I could try to alleviate the suffering of this one.

  *

  It wasn’t hard to keep what I’d done from Colin at dinner that evening, because he more than compensated for any taciturnity on my part. Now that I was fully in the picture, he was keen to parade his extensive and intimate knowledge of the girls, which he did between courses.

  “Take this table here,” he said. “On the end, the skinny dark-haired one with the plaits, that’s Camila.”

  I glanced up. The girl didn’t look old enough to be out of school.

  “Too bony to be a great fuck, but she does a decent blow job. Next to her, is Rita…”

  And so he went on. I registered the names and ignored the rest: Beatriz, Sandra, Genoveva, Victoria, Eugenia, Francisca…”

  I was so used to attaching names to faces that I did it automatically now. It was harder in the Force when you were out on an operation with the guys all camo’d up. Sometimes you only knew who they were from the way they walked or the type of weapon they were carrying. By comparison this was easy.

  “Now Dorotea…”

  This was getting tiresome. “Colin, can I stop you there? It’s too much to take on in one sitting.”

  “Oh.” His face registered disappointment. “Right.”

  There was a lull in our conversation, and as a result I became more aware of the steady buzz of background conversation. That was probably why I noticed how suddenly it faded. I looked round to see one of the sol
diers coming in. He bent down to speak to a girl at the first table, and she pointed to the second table. He went over and said something to a pretty teenager with short brown hair. Then he left. I saw the girl opposite put her hand to her mouth. The girl he’d spoken to slumped, and several others came round to hug her.

  Colin followed my gaze. “That’s Daniella.”

  “She seems to have got some bad news.”

  “You could say that. Not hard to guess. Mrs Müller’s asked for her.”

  I felt a stab of surprise. “Mrs Müller? The guy’s surely not married?”

  “Oh, he’s married all right. Lot of German families in South America. Mrs Müller came from one of those.”

  “And she doesn’t mind what he does with the girls?“

  “Her?” He laughed. “Oh no. Her tastes are different. She likes the girlies, too.”

  “So she gets them after him and then they go into circulation?”

  “No, the girls aren’t good for much when she’s finished with them, not for a while anyway. One told me about it. The woman has a whole tool kit of goodies in there. The more they scream the more she loves it. She gets off on it, see?”

  “Good God.” I shook my head. “So this girl, Daniella, has to go to Mrs Müller tonight?”

  “Straight after dinner. He’s waiting to take her along there now.” He pointed and I saw the soldier lounging at the entrance. Colin pinched his lower lip together. “Daniella… As I recall she’s been there once already, so she knows what she’s in for. That’s a bit rough. Well, you won’t be seeing her for a while.”

  I hardly touched the rest of the meal. Daniella got up, and her friends gave her farewell hugs and pats and made reassuring noises. Then she left the dining room, head bowed, tears running down her cheeks.