"So, that cinches it. This building is Werwolfsschanze."
"It sure looks that way." Graham shifted his beam. "Damn, look at those wounds. It looks like something tried to eat him."
"I suppose the Nazis could've brought animals here. Maybe they got hungry when everyone died. Of course, that still doesn't explain how people died in the first place."
"Maybe. But whatever attacked this guy was powerful. Damn powerful."
"What makes you say that?"
"Look at his head. It's barely attached to his body."
Chapter 26
The building quaked. The floor cracked and shifted beneath me. Dust shot into the air, forming a thick cloud cover over my face. Bits of concrete worked themselves free from the dilapidated ceiling. They hurtled toward the ground, pelting me like hail.
I grabbed Graham's arm and dragged him toward the west wall. Kneeling down, I covered my head with my hands.
The wall trembled. Small pieces of concrete struck my arms. More dust kicked into the air. Then a loud shrieking noise rang out.
A section of the east wall quivered. With a horrible groaning noise, it collapsed. Concrete and ice crashed to the ground. More dust lifted into the air. Snow joined it, whirling about in all directions. I could barely see.
The quaking stopped. The dust and snow began to settle. I waited a few seconds before removing my hands from my head.
"This place could come crashing down at any minute," Graham said. "We should get the hell out of here."
"You go. I'll be right behind you."
"You're sticking around?"
"Yes."
He exhaled through his nostrils. "Then so am I."
I swept my beam across the room. It passed over the newly formed pile of concrete and ice. Despite Graham's presence, I suddenly felt very alone. It was a far cry from Manhattan.
I'd traveled the world for the last three years. But I'd always considered Manhattan to be my home. I didn't love it, not exactly. Manhattan was like an old whore, used-up and tired but with enough tricks in her bag to keep you coming back for more.
She wasn't dead, not yet. Manhattan was still a giant, still unimaginably wealthy, still teeming with life. People from all over America — hell, from all over the world — traveled to visit her, to pay their respects, to experience just a tiny bit of her grandiosity. But her heyday had passed and it wasn't coming back.
I'd never been overly fond of the tourists or the foot traffic. In fact, my favorite Manhattan memories were of late nights. The traffic would lighten up, the tourists would return to their hotels, and the noise level would drop a few decibels.
Many evenings, I'd seek out an empty street. I'd stroll down the sidewalk, close my eyes, and listen to the crickets chirping in Central Park. For a split second, I'd experience an exceedingly rare moment of Manhattan life — blissful silence. Back then I'd craved solitude. Now, I had it.
But I was no longer sure I wanted it.
I crept to the south door. It was partially ajar. I slid through it and entered a second room. Once upon a time, it had served as some kind of scientific facility.
Now, it was a tomb.
Corpses lined the floor. They lay sprawled over fallen desks. They were heaped onto piles of papers and shattered test tubes.
I stopped next to the body of a young man. He wore a white lab coat. An armband on his left sleeve displayed the Werwolf Freischärler symbol. His body was well preserved and I could still make out some of his facial features. What was left of them anyway.
"More bite marks," I said.
"That's putting it mildly," Graham replied. "It looks like something chewed up his head and spit it out."
"No windows. No privacy. Below freezing temperatures. And then something ate him. Hell, I almost feel sorry for the poor bastard."
"I don't care much for rules. But here's one to live by." Graham bent down to adjust his mechanical leg. "Never feel sorry for Nazis."
"We're not talking about Adolf Hitler here. We're talking about a couple of scientists who got stuck working in the Nazi equivalent of Siberia."
"Scientists." He made a face. "More like torturers."
No photographs of the original Amber Room existed. However, I had a pretty good idea of what it looked like. So, I pointed my beam around the room. I didn't see it. But I did see a bunch of crates lining the east wall.
I poked inside a few of them. They contained microscopes, balances, clamps, test tube racks, beakers, and Petri dishes.
I moved down the line. In one crate, I saw a large puddle of dried liquid, paper slips, and pills. I could make out three of the words printed on the papers. "Ever heard of Pervitin?" I asked.
"I think its methamphetamine."
"How about Eukodal?"
"That's an old name for oxycodone."
"And D-IX?"
"Never heard of it."
Meth and oxy. I wasn't sure what to make of them. But one thing was becoming increasingly apparent. The Nazis had built more than a vault in Antarctica. They'd built some kind of laboratory too.
I lifted my flashlight. The beam passed over a series of metal doors that ran along the south wall.
I moved closer to examine them. They looked like skinny van doors and offered an airtight fit to the surrounding frames. Hollow metal tubes were attached to each door.
I wrenched a door open. The temperature dropped a few degrees. A smoky odor filled my nostrils.
Graham grimaced. "What the hell is that?"
I pointed my flashlight into the room. It was small, maybe two or three square feet. I cast my eyes about the floor. Any sympathy I'd held toward the scientists melted away.
"Ashes," I said. "And bits of bone. This isn't a laboratory. It's a gas chamber."
Chapter 27
"See this metal tube?" I peered into it. "Its singed on the inside."
"Meaning what?"
"Meaning the Nazis didn't just pump gas through it. They stuck something else inside it — probably a flamethrower — to burn the bodies."
Bile rose up in my throat as I gathered a few bits of bone for testing purposes. I wanted to wipe my mind, to completely forget what I'd seen. But the ashes and bones haunted my brain.
I checked the other rooms. They were similar to the first one. Some of them were empty. Some of them contained sprinklings of ashes and bones.
"Why would the Nazis transport prisoners thousands of miles across the ocean just to murder them?" Graham asked. "Why not take them someplace closer, like Auschwitz or Dachau?"
I looked around the laboratory. I saw the broken tables, the shattered equipment, and the dried puddles. Slowly, it dawned on me. "They didn't do exterminations here. They did experiments. They were testing some kind of gas."
Graham's eyes widened.
"What do you know about Nazi experiments? Were they trying to do anything in particular?"
"Not really. It was a hodgepodge of horror. Some scientists injected dyes into eyes in an attempt to change eye color. Others inflicted phosphorous burns on prisoners or shot them with poisonous bullets. Still others sewed twins together, hoping to create conjoined twins.
"How about cold weather stuff?"
"I think one guy subjected prisoners to freezing cold temperatures and tanks of ice water. I don't know why though."
I was quiet for a moment. "How could anyone do those things?"
"Evil is everywhere."
"I can't imagine this happening back home."
"Have you ever heard of Dr. John Cutler?"
I shook my head.
"In the 1940s, he served as acting chief of the U.S. Public Health Service's venereal disease program. Later, he rose to the rank of Assistant Surgeon General under President Eisenhower. Sounds like a good guy, right?"