“Including the ones that messed with my memory?”
“Yes-though, it would seem, not enough.”
“And you provided the business expertise that turned Woodbridge Holdings into a successful multinational company.” I gave him a harsh glare, trying to provoke him. “That camp in Maine was just a test bed for Irma’s drugs. And a place for your little Nazi army to grow like fungus in the forest.”
Rothmann nodded impassively. “Irma didn’t just work with drugs, though. She was also involved with some remarkable machines.”
I had a flash of the complex mechanical lid that had lowered over me-the martial music, the uniforms, images from what I now realized was Nazi Germany.
What was it they had called the process?
“Coffining,” I said. “What a pretty name.”
“Because the subjects died and became ours,” Rothmann said, his eyes narrowing. “In most cases.”
“You brainwashed me.”
“Not just you,” he said dismissively. “There are many who came through with substantially better results.” He angled his head toward the young woman opposite. “Including Gwen.”
I looked at her. She seemed confused, her eyes darting between him and me.
“You bastard,” I said. “You turned her into a killer. You made her and her brother carry out the occult killings, didn’t you?”
He looked at me and shook his head slowly. “That is where you show your ignorance.” His cell phone rang. “Yes, the comrade is expected,” he said, after listening intently. “Very well. Send her over.”
I wondered who this could be. Another from the Rothmann parade of twin zombies? I heard light steps on the pier outside and a knock on the door.
“Come!” ordered the Fuhrer.
The door slid open and a figure wearing a black rain jacket stepped inside. There was a hood over the head and I couldn’t make out the face in the dim light of the cabin.
“Show yourself,” Rothmann said. There was a tightness in his voice that hadn’t been there before.
I felt my stomach somersault before the features came into view. Could it be that my ex-lover Sara Robbins, the Soul Collector, was behind the killings after all? Could she have inveigled her way into Rothmann’s confidence? I didn’t have the slightest doubt that she could have.
The hood was pulled back and I felt my gut clench. I’d seen the angular features before. I’d been bound to a wheelchair, surrounded by naked, chanting people-and, up at the front, there had been a pair of prancing figures. One had a hyena’s head and the other the stony face of the most depraved gargoyle. The latter was on display now.
“How dare you?” Rothmann said, spittle flying from his mouth. “Take that mask off immediately!”
A hand was raised slowly to the repulsive features-I had a vision of the naked woman, the one I’d feared was Karen, being tied to the upturned cross and then butchered. Then I saw that the person before me was a young woman, red hair pulled back from an attractive face. She dropped the mask to the floor with disgust.
“I know you,” I said, as my memory kicked in. “You were at Joe Greenbaum’s place with Clem Simmons.”
The woman nodded. “That’s right. I’m medical examiner for the MPDC, actually-Marion Gilbert’s the name. And you’re Matt Wells, the so-called occult killer, aren’t you? I’ve seen your photograph.”
Rothmann was looking at her curiously. “It’s good to see you, Doctor. But I’m rather busy at the moment. Could you perhaps wait? There is very comfortable accommodation that way.” He pointed toward the bow of the Isolde. “Please take the mask with you. I will need you to explain what you’re doing with it. The original is dedicated to the unholy ritual. No copies should ever have been made.”
“I made it out of misplaced love.” The doctor laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “I’m not going anywhere, my Fuhrer.” She spoke the title as if it burned her tongue. There was a blur of movement, after which I saw she was holding a vicious-looking skewer in each hand.
Rothmann looked astonished. “You!” he gasped. “You’re the occult killer? But…but you were one of our earliest subjects, you were trusted with-”
“Stand still, girl!” Marion Gilbert said, pointing one of her weapons at Gwen. “Move backward and sit on the sofa.” She glanced at me and Rothmann. “All of you!”
We complied. I tried to move my thigh away from the Fuhrer’s, but he wasn’t giving me any room.
“What is this?” he demanded. “You are to show respect to me at all times!’
Marion Gilbert stepped closer. “I’m afraid those times are gone. If you speak again, I’ll put one of these skewers through your tongue.”
Rothmann opened his mouth, but sensibly he made no sound.
Since I hadn’t yet been threatened, I decided to act as interlocutor. “Help me out here, Doctor,” I said. “You were one of the Rothmanns’ guinea pigs?”
She nodded. “There were twenty of us.” Then she sighed and words that she had been holding back for far too long were finally spoken.
“We were all at the top of the class in high school. One of the boys and I wanted to study medicine. The rest were going to be businessmen, soldiers, scientists-a range of professions. And we all had a similar racial background-we were white and of German, Anglo-Saxon or Scandinavian stock.” She pointed at Rothmann. “This…this man and his vile sister set up a fund, and tempted our parents with scholarships and grants for our studies. The only condition was that we had to spend half of each vacation on what they called research projects. We thought that meant we’d be doing research, but it turned out we were the subjects.” She glared at Rothmann. “Guinea pigs is right. We were as expendable as animals. Sixteen of the group were terminated before a year passed.”
“Were terminated?” Gwen said.
Marion Gilbert’s expression softened. “You’re one of us, too, aren’t you? I can tell by your eyes. I can also see that your conditioning is in full effect.” She smiled sharply. “Try anything and the Fuhrer dies in agony.”
Gwen sat back, but her nails were digging into her thighs.
“Were terminated?” I repeated.
The doctor looked at me blankly for a few moments-I got the impression she was struggling to keep focus.
“The people who couldn’t take the conditioning were…killed… If they were twins, which many of us were, the stronger sibling was ordered to execute the weaker.”
Jesus. Then I remembered the woman who had cut the man’s throat in front of cameras in the camp. Had they been twins, too?
Gwen leaned forward. “It’s not like that now,” she said, looking at Rothmann earnestly. “I was with my twin, Randy, till…” She broke off and gave me a fierce stare. “Until this man shot him last night.” She turned back to her Fuhrer. “Before he killed Professor Irma.”
Rothmann’s eyes locked with mine. Although there was little trace of emotion, I could see that he intended to make me pay the full price for what I’d done to his twin sister.
“You killed the bitch, Matt Wells?” Marion Gilbert asked, her face suffusing with joy. “That’s the best thing I’ve heard since…” She stopped speaking and peered at the skewers in her hands. “Since Malcolm made the Yale chess team.” She took a quick step toward the sofa and buried a skewer to its hilt in Rothmann’s thigh, keeping the other pointed at Gwen. “But that still wasn’t enough for you. Malcolm…Malcolm.” Her voice cracked. “Your sister shot him in the heart.”
Rothmann was biting his lip, but he didn’t have the nerve to speak.
“I couldn’t do it myself.” Marion’s eyes were damp. “So she made me watch.”
I gave her a bit of time. I suspected the conditioning had stopped her grieving for her lost twin until now. I felt a strange empathy for the woman, multiple murderer though she was. I had been struggling enough with what had been done to my brain, but she had obviously been through much worse.