The chill returned, but this time Nina felt more than just the winter cold. The youths all wore black uniforms — and even from a distance she could make out the symbols on their red armbands. Swastikas.
Rasche saw her appalled expression. ‘The New Reich,’ he said with an oily smile of pride as the truck made its way into the compound.
Sidings split off the railroad, an old and rust-streaked steam locomotive on one spur with a small train of covered wooden wagons. A passenger carriage and a caboose waited on another, behind them a string of carts that had once carried some mined mineral. None had been used for some time; as in the wider world, rail had given way to road, several large trucks parked by the workshop buildings. These too were battered and elderly.
They turned at a junction and headed away from the railroad to pull up outside one of the ranch houses. Walther gave a command to the two men, who dropped the tailgate with a bang before picking up Banna and Macy. ‘Move,’ the hulking Nazi told Nina.
She jumped down. As Walther lumbered after her, she looked up at the house. It was distinctly Germanic, white-painted walls divided by black timber cross-beams with a high, steeply sloping roof. The other houses nearby were similar in style, though smaller.
Rasche headed to the front door. Walther pushed Nina ahead of him, her companions being carried behind. The newcomers’ arrival had attracted interest, a group of young men marching along a side path looking on as they passed—
Nina’s eyes locked on to one of the observers as his gaze snapped to her. Simultaneous recognition — but for her, the feeling was joined by shock. She was looking at a dead man.
It was Volker Koenig, the youth who had sought her out in Los Angeles, only to be gunned down by Maximilian Jaekel.
But that was impossible. This had to be a twin. Did he know what had happened to his brother?
The doppelgänger’s group marched out of sight as she arrived at the house. A man standing in the porch snapped to attention, one arm raised in a ramrod-straight Nazi salute. Rasche returned it somewhat more casually. The guard opened the door for them.
The first thing that hit Nina was the smelclass="underline" the interior stank, a pervasive miasma of cigarette smoke, coffee grounds and stale sweat soaked into the woodwork. The group went down a long hall. Rasche knocked on an ornate dark oak door. ‘Hereinkommen,’ said a voice. They entered.
Nina froze at the sight waiting for her. The room was a large study, the wooden walls and furniture all carved in an elaborate Gothic style, eagles and other motifs of the Third Reich featuring prominently. But two symbols overpowered all others. The first was a huge Nazi flag hanging on the wall behind a large desk.
The other was above the fireplace, a portrait of one of the most evil men in history.
Adolf Hitler.
Nina stared at the painting, almost refusing to accept that such a thing could still exist. It was the twenty-first century! How could anyone still believe in the hate-filled rantings of this madman?
Her eyes then went to the room’s occupants, and she had her answer.
These men were not neo-Nazis, appropriating the basest elements of Hitler’s twisted philosophy to cover their own fears and failures and inadequacies. Like Rasche and Walther, they had personally been a part of the horrors of Nazism, true believers from the start.
She knew their faces from the mugshots at the United Nations. Herman Schneider, squat and toad-like, little eyes lighting up with a predatory glee at the sight of the two captive women. Bren Gausmann, thin-faced and with a cold, dead stare that told her he would feel no more remorse at killing a human being than he would a fly.
And the leader of the group, behind the desk. Erich Kroll, bald and bloated almost beyond recognition — if not for the malignancy in his gaze. It was a look that had been the last thing countless victims ever saw.
And now it turned upon her. ‘Dr Nina Wilde. Welcome to the Enklave.’ His voice was deep and heavy with smoker’s phlegm.
Nina tried not to show her fear. ‘Erich Kroll. I can’t say that I’m pleased to meet you.’
One fleshy eyebrow twitched upwards. ‘You know who I am.’
‘You’re famous. Well, infamous.’
‘As are you.’ Kroll gestured at Macy and Banna. ‘Wachen sie auf,’ he said. The two men carrying them deposited them far from gently on chairs against the wall — then slapped their faces.
‘Hey!’ Nina protested. ‘Leave them alone!’
Walther pounded a fist down on her upper back and knocked her to the floor. It felt as if a tree had fallen on her. ‘Shut up!’ he barked. ‘You do not give orders here.’
‘Sturmmann,’ said Kroll in mild reproach. ‘Get up, Dr Wilde.’
Nina stood painfully. By now, the other prisoners had been forced back to consciousness. ‘Nina?’ said Macy, confused, before fright took hold. ‘Oh my God! They — they killed the others, they—’
‘Macy, Macy!’ Nina cut in, trying to calm her. ‘It’s okay, we’ll be okay. They want something from us — they won’t do anything to us until they get it.’
‘The fish,’ croaked Banna. ‘Where is the Andreas relic?’
Kroll turned expectantly towards Rasche, who called back into the hall. Another man brought in the case containing the bronze artefact. The lid was raised to reveal the prize within.
Gausmann and Schneider stepped closer with greedy eyes, while Kroll leaned forward in his seat, almost willing the metal piece towards him. ‘Haben wir es endlich…’ the Nazi leader whispered.
Nina didn’t need to understand his words to know his meaning. ‘Yeah, you’ve got it,’ she said. ‘So why do you need us?’
‘Because you will help us to use it,’ Kroll replied. He rose, both hands flat on the oak desktop to push his bulk out of the chair. Despite being grossly obese, he was a threatening, dangerous figure, tall and overbearing. He stood before his prisoners. ‘It will lead us to the Spring of Immortality.’
‘The Spring of Immortality?’ Banna echoed. ‘But that is just a myth — a fantasy from the Alexander Romance.’
Kroll chuckled, a thoroughly humourless sound. ‘It is no fantasy, Dr Banna.’
‘Yeah, I think that’s proven by the fact that you’re all standing here and not rotting in your graves,’ said Nina. ‘So how did you find out about the statue of Bucephalus? You knew it was inside Alexander’s tomb even before the tomb was discovered — how?’
‘I will show you.’ Kroll returned to his desk. Rather than sit, though, he went to the huge hanging swastika behind.
Rasche spoke in German; the words were said with a degree of deference, but were still clearly critical, even challenging. The bald man shot him an irritated look. ‘It is my decision, and mine alone, Rasche.’ That he was replying in English told Nina that he was speaking for the benefit of the three visitors, letting them know who was in charge. ‘The more information they have, the faster they will be able to locate the spring.’
His subordinate was displeased at the dressing-down, but nodded. ‘Mein Führer.’
Kroll tugged a cord at one side of the banner, drawing the swastika aside like a curtain. Behind it was revealed a large metal door with a keyhole and combination diaclass="underline" a safe.
The Nazi leader pushed his fingertips under the folds of his jowls and into his collar, pulling out a key on a gold chain. He inserted it into the keyhole and turned it, then — after a wary glance at the others in the room — moved in front of the dial to enter a combination. A dull click, and he pulled at a recessed handle. The heavy door slowly swung open.
Nina’s eyes widened in amazement as she took in what lay behind. It was no mere safe, but a vault. The metal-walled space was about twelve feet by twelve.