Mattie tried the knob and the door opened. She stepped into the room. A sofa was on one side of the room with a long low table in front of it. Two silk-covered armchairs were placed opposite the sofa, creating a conversation area. A dusty pair of khaki pants hung over the arm of one of the silk chairs, the rest of Ted’s clothes marking a trail to the bathroom where she could hear a shower running behind it. Mattie smiled. Well, she thought, at least one of them would be fully clothed. Nice to know Ted hadn’t changed.
He hadn’t. Moments later, Ted Hudson emerged from the bathroom, a heavy white terrycloth towel knotted loosely at the waist, seemingly ready to fall off at any moment as he rubbed his blond hair with another towel, the golden curls on his chest glistening with water.
“Good to see you, Mattie. As beautiful as always. Excuse my appearance but I had a dusty afternoon,” he said as he leaned forward and kissed her cheek.
Mattie was annoyed and unflattered. Get to the point, she thought. “What’s so important we couldn’t meet in the lobby?” she asked in an impatient tone.
“I found the clinic.”
“What do you mean?”
“Just that,” Ted replied. “Verschuer’s clinic is located in the Bavarian National Forest approximately 18 kilometers north of a small border town named Passau.”
“I know that, Ted. I flew over it today and took photos. But how did you find it?”
Hudson shook his head. “Confidential sources. I can’t reveal MID secrets to a civilian. But if you were there too, you know they’re good sources. While you were flying over it, I was inside the compound,” he said, pointing to his pants on the arm chair.
“You were inside? How’d you arrange that?”
Ted shook his head. “It’s not only Top Secret. It’s MID Black Drape Top Secret. I can’t tell you more, but I can tell you this. Everybody has their price, even the SS.”
“So, we both found the clinic. What do we do now?” Mattie asked.
“What’s your plan?” Ted replied.
“Right now, the only option appears to be a forced entry by night.”
“Who? When?”
Mattie hesitated. Cockran, Bobby and Winston were planning this assault, not her. Hudson had given Mattie no reason for her to mistrust him but Cockran did not feel the same way. Better to be cautious. “We’re still working out the details. Things are still up in the air.”
“But Cockran’s involved. Correct? So there’s bound to be more gunplay. You and your trigger-happy boyfriend. It wasn’t enough he killed three people at Cold Spring Harbor?”
“That’s what I wanted to talk to you about. You’ve been inside the place. I’ve got aerial photos. Don’t we have enough to go to the U.S. ambassador and get him to bring in the German authorities? Aren’t you always telling me to have a Plan B? Well, this is my Plan B. I don’t want more people to die but if we do nothing, those twelve twins may well be doomed.”
“It won’t work. I didn’t see any twins when I was inside. They may be there, but I can’t prove it. Without proof, there’s no way to persuade the ambassador. He was a big financial backer of Hoover and he’s not the sharpest knife in the drawer. He’s not a risk taker.”
“You’re certain?”
“Positive,” Ted said. “But look. Cockran doesn’t need to act like a cowboy on this. I do have a Plan B. I can get us in there. And, with a little luck, we can get the twins out with nobody the wiser. At most, we’ll leave a few orderlies behind, bound and gagged. By the time they’re found, we and the twins will be long gone.”
“How?”
“The same way I did,” Ted said, picking up his khakis and shaking the dust from them. “There’s an escape tunnel beneath the compound which opens up in the woods approximately a half mile from the fence. My source indicates that’s not an uncommon feature in SS facilities,”
“Bourke needs to know this. Can you join us for dinner tonight?”
“Sorry, sweetheart. I don’t think Cockran and I are destined to break bread together anytime soon. Besides, I have a previous engagement.”
“How about if we meet on neutral territory tomorrow morning? Churchill’s suite.”
“With witnesses?” Hudson asked. “So your boyfriend won’t sucker punch me again?”
Mattie smiled. “Sure. With witnesses. I’ll leave a note with the time at the front desk.”
MATTIE let herself back into their hotel room. Cockran had still not returned. She thought over her conversation with Hudson. Cockran was not going to be happy, but at least she had tried to explore a political solution. Maybe the fact that Cockran and Hudson had the same low opinion of the ambassador might count for something with Bourke. But Hudson’s knowledge about the escape tunnel ought to count for more. That might be just what they needed. Safer than Cockran’s suicidal plan, that was for sure.
Still, something nagged at her. How did Hudson know that Cockran had killed three people at Cold Spring Harbor? Mattie was fairly sure she hadn’t told Ted that night when she stopped by Stanhope Hall to check on his condition. But that had been a traumatic night and her memory of it was uncertain. Still, that wasn’t the biggest mystery on Mattie’s mind at the moment as she picked up a folder from the table in their sitting room. The folder contained three photographs she had taken that day in their second pass over the compound, photographs which she hadn’t shared with Cockran or the others.
The first two photos had caught Mattie’s attention because of their disturbing resemblance. At first, she thought it might have been Ted Hudson with the blond hair but the profile was more angular, the jaw line firmer, the nose longer. The third photograph was the one that sent a shiver through her body and she felt herself flush as her mind went back to a tent and a cot and two naked lovers in the Austrian Alps.
If Ted Hudson had been inside the compound that day, he wasn’t the only person Mattie knew who had been there. Because, sitting in the open touring car beside the H-shaped building at the center of the SS compound, looking up at the autogiro, his face unmistakable, was another man she knew. A kind man. A ruthless man. A man who loved her. A man who twice had made love to her. A man to whom she still was magnetically attracted. Kurt von Sturm.
PART IV
Germany
31 May — 6 June 1932
For decades, American eugenicists had stressed the research importance of twins’ eyes, and the German movement naturally adopted the precept. In addition to eyes, Verschuer wanted blood. Litres of it.
Edwin Black, War Against the Weak
The twins had died at the same time and were now lying beside each other on the big dissecting table. It was they who had to resolve the secret of the reproduction of the race. To advance one step in the search to unlock the secret of multiplying the race of superior beings destined to rule was a noble goal.
Dr. Miklos Nyiszli
64.
A Favorite of the Führer
Castle Wewelsburg
Westphalia, Germany
Tuesday, 31 May 1932
WESLEY Waterman shook his head. Customers came in all shapes and sizes but Heinrich Himmler, the head of the SS, took the fucking cake. Part of the man was living in the middle ages with Knights of the Round Table dancing in his head. The ghastly castle in which the two men sat was its concrete manifestation. Yet Himmler was also a modern man, a man of science, dedicated, as was Waterman, to the improvement of the human race and, more specifically, assuring that the Nordic peoples would contribute more than their fair share to the human gene pool in the future. Here, Wesley Waterman was doing his part as well. After all, hadn’t he volunteered his wife’s brother and sister to further the groundbreaking experiments being undertaken at this very minute at the SS Clinic near Passau? It served the bitch right.
Better still, Waterman carried in the breast pocket of his gray flannel Brooks Brothers suit the biggest contract I.C.E. Europe had ever received. Scores of electronic computing machines and punch cards to feed them, cards on which I.C.E. held
a monopoly. And, of course, the service contracts to keep the machines running smoothly as they tabulated and compiled the genealogy of every single member of the SS back ten generations, insuring that no Jewish or Slavic blood would ever defile Adolf Hitler’s Praetorian guard, the Black Knights of the SS.
Himmler led Waterman into his personal study, the walls lined with books and tapestries and lit by electricity. Large chandeliers hanging from the beamed ceiling and brass lamps between overstuffed brown leather armchairs cast a warm glow over the room. A teetotaler like his leader, Hitler, Himmler sipped from a cup of herbal tea while Waterman had a large brandy. He studied Himmler’s face. Round, a weak chin, pince-nez glasses, his brown hair shaved on the sides in a futile attempt to make his face appear narrower, closer to the Nordic ideal. But those muddy brown eyes gave it all away, Waterman thought. A distinct contrast to Waterman’s own blue eyes, fair brown hair and aquiline nose, his face naturally long and narrow. And, of course, at six feet four inches, Waterman towered over the smaller Himmler. In fact, Waterman wondered from time to time how he would look in a black SS uniform. Certainly more imposing and more like the Aryan ideal than the SS chief himself.
But if Waterman was feeling smug and superior to Heinrich Himmler now that he had that contract safely in his pocket, Himmler managed to swiftly change all that. “It would appear, Wesley,” he said, taking a sip of tea, “that your wife has located those two siblings of hers whose names and location you so generously furnished to us.”
Waterman was instantly alert. That bitch had found her brother and sister? How the hell had she done that?! Bruno Kordt’s latest report was that she couldn’t be found. “Excuse me?” Waterman asked.
Himmler picked up a brown manila envelope. “Take a look at these.”
Waterman knew the game. He unfolded his large frame, walked across the room, took the proffered nine-by-twelve envelope and returned to his seat. He picked up his brandy snifter, swirled the liquid around, and took a sip. He wasn’t going to give Himmler the satisfaction of showing any concern. That was not how Wesley Waterman had climbed to the top of the greasy pole. He opened the envelope and pulled out four glossy photographs. Her hair was brown and cut short but he would recognize his wife anywhere. Ingrid. That bitch!
Waterman’s jaw almost dropped when he saw the next photo. Standing beside his wife, dressed in black, was the blond hair and arrogant face of Kurt von Sturm! But Waterman wasn’t going to let on that he knew Sturm. While he and a few other members of the Geneva Group were allies of the Nazis in their effort to achieve power, they never took the Nazis into their confidence. The Geneva Group used politicians. They didn’t trust them. Nor confide in them.
“That’s my wife. She’s cut her hair and dyed it. Who is the man with her?”
Himmler smiled. It was a tight little smile. Waterman didn’t like this man. Which was not unusual. Waterman disliked most of his customers.
“An old party member. We joined in the same year. 1923.”
“These photos were obviously taken at the clinic.” Waterman said. “Is the man SS?”
Himmler shook his head. “I’m afraid not. He is a favorite of the Fuhrer who turned down my invitation to join the SS. Do you know why he would be with your wife?”
Because he’s fucking her, you sexless toad, Waterman thought, and I’ve got the goddamn photographs to prove it. The man’s face had never been visible in the photographs but his blond hair had been unmistakable. It was all too painfully obvious now that the man who had fucked his wife and made a cuckold of Wesley Waterman, III, was the Geneva Group’s own executive director.
“I have no idea,” Waterman replied. “Do you know where they are staying?”
“No,” Himmler replied. “The SS guards are not permitted to leave the compound.”
“Why were they there? Why were photos taken of them?”
“Dr. Verschuer recognized your wife. Because of your generous support of our work at the clinic and the fact that she was disguised, he thought I would find it of interest. I did.”
The little toad was evading the question. “What was the purpose of their visit?”
“A tour of the clinic. Surm had a letter of introduction from the Fuhrer himself.”
“Did they see her brother and sister?”
“Of course not,” Himmler replied. “They were allowed to see a few of the rooms where some of the twins were being examined. Nothing more.”
Himmler motioned that Waterman was to return the photographs to him, which Waterman obediently did. As if he had a choice. Waterman knew what Himmler was doing, letting the silence build until Waterman had no choice but to fill it which, in the event, he did.
“My wife and I are estranged. We are in the middle of rather messy divorce proceedings. It would be unfortunate if she were able to locate her siblings. Can you find where she’s staying?”
“Possibly,” Himmler replied. “What do you propose to do if we locate her?”
Have the fucking bitch killed once and for all, Waterman thought. “Perhaps I can appeal to her better side.” Waterman replied. “There is no reason we can’t be civilized about this. But I would be most appreciative if you could locate her.”
Kurt von Sturm! No wonder Bruno Kordt botched the kill in New York and Hamburg. The man clearly was beholden to Sturm. Indeed, according to von Thyssen, Sturm was pushing Kordt as a possible successor to him as executive director. Well, that was never going to happen.
Meanwhile, Waterman would have to have a quiet chat with Dr. Verschuer. It was intolerable that Verschuer had passed information about his wife to Himmler and not to him.
The Hearst reporter and that lawyer Cockran no longer seemed such an imminent threat to the project that they once had been. He had been assured they were both under control and under close surveillance. His wife, however, was another matter entirely. The project was still in jeopardy. But he knew what had to be done. The twins would have to be moved; his wife still would have to be killed. And for the latter, he knew just who to call.
65.
Ted Agrees With You
Hotel Continental
Munich
Tuesday, 31 May 1932
SOMETHING was bothering Mattie. Cockran could tell that from the minute he returned to their room. She seemed preoccupied, distant. Winston, the Prof and Randolph were dining at the home of a German history professor while Bobby and the Apostles were touring the beer cellars of Munich. Cockran suggested room service and Mattie agreed. He made martinis and they sat opposite each other in wing chairs beside the suite’s small fireplace.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Cockran said. “You seem quiet.”
“Sorry,” Mattie said. “I just don’t have a good feeling about your rescue plan.”
“I’ll be fine,” Cockran said. “Bobby’s already bought the bolt cutters. He brought four new Thompson submachine guns with him from Ireland. All with Maxim sound suppressors. And plenty of ammunition. I’ll go in after midnight. The guards won’t know what hit them.”
“Sound suppressors for Tommy guns? You’re either drunk or dreaming.”
Cockran didn’t reply. She was right. The sound suppressors weren’t that effective. But he had faced worse odds. Killing the first two SS sentries would not be a problem. The rest was dicey but doable. But what else could he do? He had to try and rescue the twins. He had used his skills as a lawyer, so far unsuccessfully, to fight what he considered to be the evil of eugenics and its state-sanctioned sterilizations. He didn’t know why twins were being murdered and mutilated in the name of eugenics but the SS was involved and, from personal experience, that told him a lot. They talked of honor while they murdered innocents. Thanks to Mattie’s skill as a journalist and her dogged perseverance, he now had a unique opportunity to use his government-acquired skills in bloody mayhem to save the twins’ lives and strike a blow against the evil of both eugenics and the SS. It may have started as Mattie’s story but it had become his fight. He rarely picked
fights but he never backed down once they came. Never.
Room service arrived and the thin potato pancakes, asparagus and sauerkraut Mattie had ordered went very well with their medium rare rack of lamb. They ate in silence and Cockran waited. Either Mattie would tell him what was troubling her or not.
“What if there were a safer way to rescue the twins? Would you consider it?”
“Sure but I don’t think there’s a better way, let alone a safer one.”
“I talked with Ted today. He knows the clinic’s location also.”
Cockran frowned. He hadn’t expected her to actually tell Ted the clinic’s location.
“Why did you tell him that?”
“I didn’t.”
“How’d he find out?”
“He wouldn’t tell me how, but he implied he bribed an SS guard.”
“And?”
“Ted’s found a tunnel underneath the compound that leads directly into the main building. He says we can get all the twins out that way.”
“What about you and Ted talking to the U.S. Ambassador?”
“Ted agrees with you. The ambassador is too political to stick his neck out.”
Cockran listened as Mattie relayed what she had learned about the tunnel. It seemed too convenient. But, he told himself, keep an open mind. It might be a safer way with less gunplay.
“Okay. I’ll meet with Ted and hear him out. Want to come along and referee?”
Mattie laughed and it was the first time this evening that she seemed like herself. “Ted doesn’t want to meet you alone either. He said he wanted witnesses in case you tried to sucker punch him again. I suggested Winston’s suite tomorrow morning.”
Well, Cockran thought, she had a point. Meeting on neutral territory was better. He couldn’t stand the sonofabitch but he would try not to let that affect his judgment as he heard what Hudson had to say. A tunnel? It almost seemed too good to be true.
The Gemini Agenda Page 33