by David Meyer
I grabbed it and ran for the door. Pieces of concrete, several feet thick, smashed all around me.
I picked up the pace.
Concrete struck my right shoulder. Tremendous pain ripped through my arm all the way down to my fingertips.
More slabs crashed to the floor. The ground trembled. The open part of the doorframe seemed to shrink. I stole a quick glance at the surrounding wall. It was pressing inward.
I reached the doorway. But the hole leading outside was smaller than I remembered. I realized the building was settling into the ice.
Graham reached into the room. "Give me your hand."
I grabbed it. He pulled. My arm slid through the door. My body lifted off the ground.
The building quaked. It dropped an inch into the ice.
I kicked at the edges of the door and rose into the air. Using my other hand, I pulled my head and shoulders through the doorframe.
The building quaked again. The door sank another few inches.
I scrabbled at the ice. My torso and waist slid out of the structure.
The building trembled. The door dropped and squeezed against my thighs.
I yanked my legs free and scrambled forward.
The building shuddered. The concrete crumbled. Then the door sank out of sight.
Twisting around, I watched the rest of the structure vanish into the ice. "I guess we broke it."
"I guess so." Graham exhaled. "We almost died."
"But we didn't."
"I've worked a lot of excavations," he said. "And one thing I've learned is that you can't get too attached to a dig."
"We're not done yet."
"We found Werwolfsschanze. And there was no Amber Room. We have to face facts. The Nazis must've moved it. Hell, maybe they never brought it here in the first place."
"Or maybe that wasn't Werwolfsschanze. Didn't you say the drugs were manufactured in a separate facility?"
He nodded.
"So, maybe we're in the wrong place. Maybe Werwolfsschanze is somewhere else."
He crossed his arms. "Where?"
I turned in a complete circle. I saw plenty of icy tundra. But it was flat. There were no hills, no random glaciers, and no small mountains. "I don't know. But it's got to be here somewhere."
PART III
Werwolfsschanze
Chapter 29
"Wake up," Holly said in a singsong voice.
Jim Peterson's eyes fluttered open. "What … what the …?"
She cocked her head. Her face was free of guilt, remorse. "Hello Jim."
"Holly?" Peterson winced as a stabbing pain struck his skull. He cinched his eyes shut. But the pain refused to go away. He reached for his forehead. But a pair of handcuffs restricted his movement. He felt a rising sense of panic. He tried to move his legs, to escape. But a pair of leg cuffs kept them immobilized. "What is this?"
"Scream."
Peterson blinked. His vision cleared just a bit. He was situated inside a giant circular vat. Directly across from him, on the other side of the glassy surface, he saw the cylindrical containers. His heart seized up.
He forced himself to be calm. Shifting his head, he stared over his shoulder. A small platform stood just behind the vat. A couple of tables sat on top of it. Computers rested on their surfaces. They appeared to connect to the vat as well as various electrical outlets.
"I don't understand," he said.
Holly appeared on the edge of the platform. She sat down and crossed her legs, dangling them just inches from his face. "I want you to scream."
"Why?"
"Because the only way you're getting out of here is if someone hears you."
His face contorted. "Help me!"
"You can do better than that."
"Help me!" he yelled.
"Try again," she urged.
He reared back and screamed at the top of his lungs. But his voice died at the walls.
"No one can hear you." A smile danced across her lips. "We're deep underground with plenty of concrete between us and Kirby. Plus, Rupert spent a lot of time preparing this room. He lined the surfaces with a special compound. It converts sound into heat. He also added a layer of sheetrock panels, in effect creating a false ceiling. It captures and traps sound. Plus, he did a bunch of little things like caulking over the gaps and cracks. I'd say this room is as close to soundproof as we could possibly manage given the circumstances."
Peterson inhaled, exhaled. His mind felt like mush. He tried to steel it, to push it into something he could manage. But it oozed past his grasp. "Let me go, you crazy bitch."
Her smile faded. "That's not very nice."
"Neither is holding someone against their will."
"You didn't give me much of a choice." She gave him a curious look. "How'd you find this place anyway?"
"Bad luck."
"Maybe for you. But good luck for me."
"What are you talking about?"
She regarded him for a moment. "Are you a religious man?"
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Please answer the question."
He stopped struggling long enough to stare at her. "Yeah, I guess so."
"What religion do you practice?"
"Catholicism."
"Are you serious about it?"
"I go to services if that's what you mean."
"Do you believe in life after death?"
"Who doesn't?"
"Me."
Peterson snapped to attention. "Why not?"
"This is a little above your head so I'll simplify it for you. God doesn't exist. Thanks to advances in neuroscience, we know this for a fact. And without God, there's no afterlife."
"So, what happens when we die?"
"Eternal oblivion."
Goosebumps appeared on his arms. "A lot of people would disagree with you."
"Popular opinion is meaningless unless backed up by science. Think about all the theories that have been disproven over time. People used to think the Earth was flat. Others thought the Sun revolved around the Earth. Still others believed light waves propagated through the ether."
"You're going to kill me, aren't you?"
"No, no. Quite the opposite."
"Just let me go. I promise I won't tell anyone about this place."
Holly stood up. She walked to a computer. "Mankind is born with a natural survival instinct. And yet, only a small fraction of science is devoted to life extension technologies. Personally, I blame religion. It gives people false hope. It keeps them from doing everything possible to extend life."
Tears welled up in Peterson's eyes. "Please."
"The U.S. government funnels billions of dollars into science. They spend money on all sorts of odd projects, ranging from the mating habits of beetles to observing how people ride bikes. And yet, very little of that money is spent on life extension technologies." She shook her head. "Astounding, isn't it? We know death is the end. And yet, we're barely investing in ways to overcome it."
"Don't do this. Please don't do this."
"We should be treating this like the Manhattan Project. We should be investing every conceivable dollar in ways to conquer death." Her face darkened. "To do otherwise is tantamount to mass murder."
Peterson fought to control his emotions. "You don't have to kill me. We can make a deal."
"Haven't you been paying attention? I don't want to kill you. I want to give you eternal life and not the false kind promised by religions. Unfortunately, life extension technologies aren't here yet. That's where cryonics comes in."
"Cryonics?"
"It's the practice of preserving life via low temperatures. In other words, I'm going to freeze you, Jim." She tied her hair in a ponytail. "I'm going to place you on ice. Then I'll drain out your blood and replace it with a special cryoprotectant. This will reduce the risk of ice crystal formation within your cells. Afterward, I'll move you to one of my cryocontainers and immerse you in liquid nitrogen. Your temperature will drop to negat
ive one hundred and ninety-six degrees Celsius."
"You're insane."
Holly typed commands on a keyboard.
Peterson yanked his arms, his legs. But the cuffs held fast.
Icy water touched his bare feet. A sudden surge of coldness swept over him. The water quickly covered the ground. Then it started to rise.
He shivered. His shoulders started to tremble. He kept waiting for his body to adjust to the temperature. But it didn't happen.
Icy water swept over his ankles. It moved to his thighs. His breathing turned into rasps. His struggles quieted down. His eyelids started to close.
Peterson fought to keep them open. He knew what would happen if he fell asleep. But the frigid water was too much for him to handle.
Holly watched his eyes shut for the last time. She hated death, hated it with all of her heart. Every time she saw someone die or even heard about it, a small part of her died as well. She could never kill someone.
And that's why Peterson wasn't dead. She had every intention of reviving him someday, once technology had progressed that far. In the meantime, however, he'd make an excellent experimental subject.
She climbed off the platform and swept across the room. She passed by several stacks of crates. Due to the nature of their work, she and Rupert needed to import sensitive materials and resources on a regular basis.
Five shiny cylindrical cryocontainers stood on end against the west wall. They were made of metal and rose roughly seven feet into the air. A table, covered with computers, stood off to one side. The monitors flickered gently in the dim light. Numerous other pieces of machinery were situated about the area.
An old-fashioned diesel generator took up the southwest corner. Canisters of diesel fuel sat nearby. Cables sprouted out of the generator. They snaked across the ground, connecting to the computers, machines, and cryocontainers. The generator was an absolute necessity, especially since Kirby was subject to periodic blackouts. A total loss of electricity would be catastrophic to her work.
A sense of calm came over her as she stopped in front of the middle cryocontainer. It was propped up on four wheels and towered above her. She reached out and touched the stainless steel surface. It felt cold, yet surprisingly warm.
The cryocontainer consisted of two cylinders, with the smaller one encased inside the larger one. This allowed it to operate like a vacuum flask, preventing heat transfer by conduction or convection. The result was a well-insulated container, not all that different from a coffee thermos.
Liquid nitrogen flowed through the cryocontainer. The excellent insulation kept the interior at the proper temperature.
It was Holly's personal design and almost entirely self-sufficient. It merely required a small amount of electricity as well as a weekly dose of liquid nitrogen. Her next design would eliminate the need for electricity. Unfortunately, she'd still have to deal with replenishing the liquid nitrogen reserves.
Holly's heart started to ache. She stared up at the cryocontainer. The stainless steel blocked her vision and she couldn't see inside it. But the brass plate mounted on its surface reminded her of the occupant.
"I miss you," she whispered. "I miss you so much."
Chapter 30
"I already told you." I stepped out of the Sno-Cat and slammed the door. "I came here to find the Amber Room. I'm not leaving without it."
"And I already told you we have nowhere else to look. Unless you're equipped to dig into those ruins—and I know you're not—we're done here."
"We've still got clues we can follow."
"Like what?"
"I grabbed some bone samples from the gas chambers."
He made a face.
"I'm going to ask Holly and Rupert to examine them. Maybe we'll learn something interesting."
"That won't get you to the Amber Room."
"Maybe not." I reached into my parka. "But this might do the trick."
He took the leather book from me. "What is it?"
"I found it near the dead soldier. I'm betting it tells us how to find Werwolfsschanze."
He stared at me. "You're really going to risk your life chasing some stupid artifact?"
"If that's what it takes."
He tossed the book at my face. "Then count me out."
Graham spun around and stormed out of the vehicle shed. His reaction surprised me. I knew he had mortality on his mind. I just didn't know it was impacting him this much.
I picked up the book and walked outside. Wind rushed at me. Large snowflakes pelted my head and shoulders. As I hiked toward Kirby, the blizzard gained intensity. The wind increased speed. The snowflakes gathered into sheets of snow and plummeted to the ground at a terrifying rate.
I could still see the horizon. And Kirby itself remained visible. But a wall of whiteness covered everything else. Even the Mühlig-Hofmann Mountains had disappeared.
I entered Kirby and took off my parka. Aaron Jenner was the only person in the common room. He sat on one of the couches, sketching furiously in a notebook.
"Hey Cy." He continued to scribble without pause. "Back so soon?"
"Soon? What time is it?"
"About two o'clock." He turned a page in his book. "How's your field camp coming along?"
"Not too good at the moment."
"Why not?"
"Let's just say there's a disagreement about process."
"Between you and Dutch?"
I nodded.
"That's what I figured. He walked in right before you. He didn't look particularly happy."
"He's not."
"Where's your other partner?"
I hadn't thought about Beverly Ginger for several hours. Obviously, she hadn't found the concrete bunker. So, where the hell was she?
"She's still out in the field." I threw myself into a chair. "You study evolution, right?"
"Evolutionary biology to be specific. But yes, I study evolution."
I thought about my speculations regarding the drugs, eugenics, and Nazi supersoldiers. "Did you ever study the dark side of evolution? You know, how technocrats once wanted to use it to, uh, improve society?"
He lowered his pencil. But his hand didn't stop moving. Instead, it trembled lightly. "You're talking about eugenics."
"Could it—I don't know—have worked?"
He frowned.
I held up my hands. "I'm not saying I like eugenics. I'm just curious about the science behind it."
"Well, it wouldn't have worked at that point in time. The Nazis only possessed a rudimentary understanding of genetics. For example, they didn't know about heterozygous recessive traits. So, even if they'd managed to eliminate a visible trait from the population, there would've still been plenty of other carriers who could've passed it onto future generations."
"I see."
"It's a little different today. Technology has improved. We could probably detect and eliminate a heterozygous recessive trait from the overall population. It wouldn't be easy or cheap. But it could be accomplished."
"That's a scary thought."
"I don't know about that. The Nazis were wrong, dead wrong. But they had the right idea."
Iciness crept into the back of my skull. "What?"
"I tend to think the United States—the whole world even—is facing a dysgenics crisis. To put it simply, bad genes are growing faster than good ones."
I had no clue how to respond. He looked ordinary. He seemed sane enough. And he obviously knew far more about the subject than me. "You're joking right?"
"In the past, natural selection favored certain traits. People who were healthy, smart, and law-abiding were more likely to survive and thus, pass on their genes. That's no longer the case. Advances in medicine have allowed those with unhealthy genes to live longer and have more kids."
"So, you're not joking."
"Studies show that poor people have more kids than rich people," he said. "Criminals have more children than law-abiding citizens. And low IQ couples out produce high IQ couples."
>
From a certain point of view, his words made sense. But they still seemed creepy. "There's more to life than genetics."
"Very true. Human nature is plastic to a degree. However, the genome imposes very tight constraints. Studies show effective nurture might be able to improve a person’s IQ. However, the effect is small, no more than a few points at best."
"It's one thing to say genetics are important. We all know that. But it's a whole other thing to say society should be engineered on a genetic level."
"Yes, but—”
"Look at the Nazis." I heard my voice grow louder. "They committed mass murder trying to do pretty much the exact same thing."
"Times have changed." His voice remained cool and calm. "A kinder, gentler form of eugenics is now possible. Some studies show that embryo screening could raise the intelligence quotient of a population by fifteen points in a single generation."
"Are you really comfortable with people pretending to be God?"
"The history of humanity is a history of progress. And we have yet to reach the limits of that progress, if such limits even exist. In a sense, all human achievement is a path toward perfection, a path toward God if you will."
"I’m not exactly the religious type. But I’m pretty sure God wouldn’t think much of eugenics."
"Actually, I have to disagree. If we take the Bible at face value, then God invented eugenics."
I gaped at him. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Remember the story of the Great Flood?"
"What does Noah have to do with this?"
"Not Noah. The Nephilim."
"The who?"
"The Nephilim. They were a separate race of beings that inhabited Earth many centuries ago. No one knows what they were, but linguists often consider them to be giants."
"How come I've never heard of them?"
"Because they're only mentioned twice in the Bible. But according to Genesis, they played a major role in the Great Flood. It's implied that God sent the Flood specifically to wipe them out."
To my annoyance, his comment piqued my curiosity. "Why?"
"He considered them wicked. And do you know what great crime they committed? They were born via interbreeding. The Nephilim were the offspring of the sons of God, or angels, and the daughters of man. In other words, they lacked genetic purity."