A few moments later, as the pain-numbing heroin coursed through his veins, he reclined on the chaise longue. While science and mathematics spoke to the mind, art, literature and music spoke to the soul of mankind. A universal language that could inspire greatness. Overcome by the rich orchestral tones, he closed his eyes and dreamed the sweetest of dreams.
Of a different world. A different childhood. One in which he didn’t have to join the Hitler-Jugend because there would be no need for children to do the work of men. To martyr themselves for their fathers. How very sweet. And in this different, better world, his father would come home each evening after teaching at the university, greeted with a warm kiss from his wife Berthe and big hug from his son Ivo. The smell of Aprikosenkuchen baking in the oven would swirl around the three of them like a heavenly apricot cloud. Sweeter, yet. And, later, freed from the onerous burden of fulfilling his father’s dream, Ivo wouldn’t have had to become a physicist. He could follow his own passions and inclinations. Perhaps become an art historian. Yes, very sweet indeed.
‘Is there anything that I can get for you?’
On hearing Angelika’s voice, Ivo opened his eyes. Breathtakingly lovely, she stood in the doorway, a concerned look on her face.
His beautiful dark angel.
When Angelika was just a small child, she had begun to exhibit vicious tendencies, deriving pleasure from the pain of others. First insects. Then small animals. Then other children. Since her mother had abandoned her, Ivo had full responsibility for raising the child. Faced with a thorny dilemma – to institutionalize Angelika or to keep her with him, he settled for the latter. Which meant that he had to find a way to channel her homicidal urges. To teach Angelika how to kill judiciously. While he was not always successful, he’d done the best he could.
Blut und Ehre. Blood and honour. And family. The holy trinity.
‘I am fine. Thank you for checking.’ Patting the Schnauzer’s head one last time, he smiled wistfully and said, ‘Take Wolfgang with you, please. You know what must be done.’
Ivo watched as the docile little beast obediently trotted after the beautiful Angel of Death.
Although he had every confidence that das Groß Versuch would be successful, there was always the possibility of a calamitous error. That was the reason why the board members of the Seven Research Foundation would observe the proceedings via CCTV from the safety of an off-site location. Because of his terminal illness, his death a certainty, Ivo was the only one among them who would be physically present for the Vril generation. On the off-chance that something went wrong during das Groß Versuch, he had every confidence that the board members would continue their fathers’ work. Committed, they would discover what went wrong and make the necessary adjustments so that, next year on the heliacal rising, they could attempt the experiment again. But, this year, the honour was his alone.
Staring at the ceiling, Ivo imagined himself as the Rücken-figur, that solitary figure in a Caspar David Friedrich painting, always seen from behind, gaze set on the horizon.
He closed his eyes, the moment too sublime for words.
Dein Reich koimme. Thy kingdom come. On earth as it is in heaven. The fate of the Reich linked to one particular star in the heavenly firmament.
Very soon now.
77
0538 hours
Having committed the Grande Arche building plan to memory, McGuire promptly headed for a door located thirty feet away from the exterior entry. The placard read ‘escalier’. Beneath that was the international zigzag symbol for ‘stairs’. The commando wordlessly opened the door and entered the stairwell, Cædmon following right behind him.
They went down four flights of steps, descending into the bowels of the building. Exiting the stairwell, they traversed another dimly lit corridor lined with office suites, left and right. All of the doors were closed; each had a security keypad above the door knob. A uniformly designed rabbit warren. Although the chance of running into someone at that hour was remote, Cædmon nonetheless slid his right hand under his jacket. Ignoring the burst of pain in his upper arm, he grasped the Ruger’s gun handle, suddenly wishing they’d had more time to prepare for the mission.
McGuire came to a halt in front of a closed door with a polished bronze plaque engraved ‘SEVEN RESEARCH FOUNDATION’. The shiny surface reflected their joint image. He keyed in a security code, the door unlocking with a soft click!
Pulling a military-style torch from his Go Bag, the commando smirked and said in a hushed voice, ‘Come on, Jonah. Time to gut the whale.’
As he stepped across the threshold, Cædmon, worried they might have tripped a silent alarm, slid the Ruger P89 pistol from its holster and thumbed the safety lever to the ‘off’ position.
Nerves jangling, he scrutinized the shadowy antechamber, searching for a surveillance device. Relieved when he didn’t see any, he released a pent-up breath.
‘Nice joint,’ McGuire said as he shined the torch around the room.
Boasting a sleekly modern design, the reception lounge was a notch above the typical office suite. Behind the curved reception desk, cascading water sluiced over a floor-to-ceiling copper panel. Off to the side, four leather chairs were grouped around a square-topped table on which there was an abstract marble sculpture and a few glossy magazines artfully arranged. A large Dufy canvas hung on the wall. A cheery Fauvist seascape, it was an unexpected splash of colour in an otherwise monochromatic setting.
The commando elbowed him. ‘According to the architectural plan, there’s supposed to be a door leading to the laboratory. Where the hell is it?’
‘My guess is behind the waterfall. At least that’s where a door should be located.’
The designated point man, McGuire strode towards the water feature and peered behind the sturdy copper frame. Nodding his head, he disappeared behind the panel.
Gun tightly gripped in his hand, Cædmon stepped around the faux wall. McGuire, the torch protruding from his mouth, stood in front of an intimidating black door with a security keypad inlaid above the knob. Unlike the door on the other side of the office, this was a bullet- and fire-resistant, galvanized steel entry.
Shining his torch at the numeric pad, McGuire keyed in the third, and last, hacked security code.
The lock softly popped. Removing the torch from his mouth, the commando pushed down on the polished steel handle and eased the door open a few scant inches. Just far enough for him to peep through the crack and scan the environs beyond.
‘Coast is clear,’ he whispered, swinging the door open and making his exit.
Ruger at the ready, Cædmon stepped cautiously into the research facility, the steel door automatically closing behind him. He glanced about, stunned.
It was as though he’d just entered another world.
Designed as a spacious three-storey atrium, the lofty space very cleverly fooled one into thinking that it was an airy, light-filled courtyard when, in fact, it was a subterranean bunker. An ethereal one, at that, with abundant white marble, polished chrome and alternating banks of clear and frosted glass. The illusion was further enhanced by potted Areca palm trees and towering rubber plants.
Directly across from them, the centre of the mezzanine resembled a collegiate study hall. There were seven identical tables each outfitted with flat-screen computer monitors and ergonomic roller chairs. On the far side of the mezzanine there was a capsule-like lift. From the architectural blueprints, Cædmon knew that there was an enclosed stairwell in the atrium’s northwest quadrant.