The Vengeance of the Tau, page 32
“You expected this,” Rothstein said before Blaine had finished his story. They were still standing in the cellar that held the works for Nineteen’s irrigation system.
“I feared it, thanks to you.”
“Me?”
“You tipped me off without even realizing it yourself. You said you lost me after the shootout with the Twins at the hotel in Izmir. That meant somebody else had to be behind the attack in Germany.”
“What attack? I don’t know what you’re talking about!”
“That’s the problem, Rothstein. Someone else was shadowing you all along, mirroring your moves. Waiting. And you played right into their hands.”
“And you’re saying they have the White Death? Impossible! A lie!”
McCracken slid forward and froze Rothstein with his stare. “The killings were no lie. Would you like to take a stroll with me and count the bodies? Eleven women were killed here tonight. It’s your fault, Mr. Rothstein. You used these women, and it cost those eleven of them their lives.”
“I didn’t know. How could I?”
“You didn’t bother to. Fanatics like you are convinced your vision is so pure that nothing can stop it from being attained. But it never happens. Sometimes you stop yourselves. Sometimes you get stopped.”
Rothstein tried to look strong. “And you are going to stop me, of course.”
“No, I think I’ll leave the rest of that task to someone else. …”
Blaine and Johnny moved to the side to allow Tovah to wheel her chair forward. It was all her bony hands could do to manage the effort. A shawl covered her legs. A 9mm pistol rested atop it.
“Tovah!” Arnold Rothstein gasped.
“You lied to me, Ari,” the old woman accused.
“Only to spare you.”
She shook her head. “No. Again, to spare yourself. You began planning this forty-five years ago. Everything else was just a stepping-stone. And what you have sown the seeds for, what you have done to us—to our people—without realizing. …”
“What?” Rothstein raised, dumbfounded.
“You really don’t get it, do you?” Blaine asked him. “It’s right here before your eyes and you can’t see it.”
“Help me. Let me make amends. Tell me!”
As Blaine told his story, Arnold Rothstein sank to his knees and began to sob.
“Leave us,” the old woman told those around her sternly ten minutes later.
Blaine led the way toward the stairs.
“Tovah,” her brother pleaded, “part of what I did was for our own good, the good of Israel. I know you cannot see that now, but you will. I could have fashioned a world without fear for us. I could have ensured the safety and sanctity of our borders until the end of time.”
“And which end is that now, Ari? We have shared many, seen many. Tonight must come another,” the old woman said, and raised the pistol.
Blaine and the others were halfway up the steps by then and none of them looked back.
“Tovah, you must listen to me!”
“Ari,” Tovah muttered. “My poor Ari …”
Sal Belamo was the last one out of the underground structure, and Blaine lowered the doors after him.
“Listen to me, Tovah. Please lis—”
Rothstein’s words vanished behind the sealed door. The next sounds reached their ears as dull thuds.
A gunshot, followed by one more, and then another.
“Let’s go, Johnny,” Blaine said. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
The mansion high up on the Bokelberg where McCracken had met the toymaker and encountered the Tau was situated off by itself, with the nearest other Villen only vaguely in sight. There would be at least two dozen guards patrolling the grounds tonight, two or three times as many as the night Blaine had come here before. He was certain of that much, just as he knew that a frontal approach to the house was out of the question. How to get inside, then?
The idea had come from Sal Belamo, the necessary equipment obtained after a single phone call Tovah had suggested they make. The helicopter that was now closing on the house was part of that equipment. It was equipped with silent-running capability and infrared sighting that allowed the pilot to fly without lights. Because “silent” was a relative term in this case, it was arranged that an emergency repair crew would be jackhammering away at the road just down the street.
From a hundred and fifty feet above the house, McCracken could see little of the grounds below. He kept his focus on the roof as the chopper circled and tested the wind. To prevent being spotted from ground level, he had donned black clothes, gloves, and boots, and had smeared blackout cream all over his face.
McCracken checked his watch. Right on cue, Sal Belamo’s construction crew went to work. It was time.
Blaine dropped the black nylon line from the belly of the chopper. It uncoiled swiftly like a snake and dangled a few feet from the roof’s surface, swaying in the night. McCracken took one last deep breath and hoisted himself out onto it.
The slide came easily, except for the stinging pain it brought back to his bandaged hand. He covered the distance in less than four seconds and hit the roof with a thump.
The sloping roof was formed of slate. McCracken eased himself to its rear, where the congestion of guards below was somewhat lighter than the front. He removed his pack from his shoulders and took from it pylons and black nylon cord. Then he knelt down and set about the task of wedging the pylons into the roof with a small hammer.
When this task was completed, he slid the nylon cord into the pylons and then ran it through the proper slots in his vest. He was now ready to rappel the short six-foot drop to the window through which he planned on gaining entry. McCracken stuck the handle of his glass-cutting knife in his mouth and eased himself off the roof. Popping the lock would have been simpler, but Blaine suspected that an elaborate alarm system would be triggered should any latch be opened.
He dropped off the roof and dangled briefly in front of the window before sliding over to the left of it. Pressed against the house, he held himself steady with his left hand and worked the blade along the frame with his bandaged right hand, gritting his teeth against the pain as he sliced through the putty holding the glass into place. He managed to do a little more than half the window before switching to the right side, and he used his left hand to complete the job. After a few more seconds of work, the lines of cuts were on the verge of joining up with each other.
Afraid of what would happen if the glass popped inward and shattered, McCracken maneuvered so that he was directly in front of the window. He affixed a pair of handle-equipped suction cups to the glass, and only then did he finish cutting through the window. He tugged slightly on the suction cups, and the glass came back with them. He lowered the large pane cautiously in through the now-vacant space. He set it to the side of the frame and then climbed into the room.
Blaine moved straight for the door of the darkened room and pressed his ear against it. Footsteps were approaching, a patrolling guard not in any particular rush. Blaine turned and pressed his back against the door. Gazing into the deep part of the room now, something about the far wall grabbed his eye. He slid away from the door and reached back for his flashlight. Its narrow beam found the wall and began tracing its length.
The wall was taken up completely by a map of the world that stretched from floor to ceiling. McCracken had never seen a more complete one. Major cities and their populations the world over were highlighted. Then, as he gazed at it closer, he realized it wasn’t a map at all.
It was a battle plan.
The cities highlighted were the centers of the world’s commerce and government. The White Death released randomly within them would cause chaos and panic on an unthinkable level as millions of innocent people were blinded. It would be done simultaneously, every part of the world thrown into total disarray at the same time. The chaos would feed off itself.
Until someone stepped in to restore order.
McCracken moved closer to the map again. It did not reflect the vast changes in the old Soviet Union, or even the reunification of Germany. The city populations were significantly off as well, the figures more consistent with a decade ago, or even longer ago than that. Those who had drawn it had been waiting a very long time for what seemed at last to be within their reach.
He scanned the room further. Flat wooden tables were arranged haphazardly, apparently at random. Other maps, more focused and detailed, were spread upon them. On some the folds were still present. This room was evidently a planning or command center, and it had recently been the center of much activity.
Blaine glided back to the door and pressed his ear against it. Nothing. The guard must have been at the other end of the hall. McCracken moved his hand to the knob and turned it. The door gave, and he cracked it open enough to make sure the guard would notice when he came by on his rounds. Then he stepped back and pressed himself against the near wall.
The footsteps returned down the corridor seconds later, a shadow sliding through the crack in the door when the guard stopped before it. Blaine watched a hand push the door slowly open, and then a figure entered wearing a black uniform with the insignia of the Nazi SS upon its shoulder.
McCracken sprang before the guard was all the way inside. He clamped a hand over the man’s mouth and slammed his head backward against the wall. When the guard continued to struggle, he smashed it again until he felt the skull give. The guard’s eyes glazed over. He slumped downward, dragging a trail of blood behind him.
Blaine closed the door and pulled the body into the center of the room. It took under three minutes to replace his own clothes with the SS uniform. The fit was tight, but good enough. McCracken had no illusions that the guise would hold up to close scrutiny; he was merely looking for any edge that would lead to more freedom of movement. He finished tightening the belt and wiped the blackout cream from his face before stepping into the corridor.
He was on the mansion’s third floor; the toymaker’s workshop was on the second. He headed down the main stairwell, crossing paths with no one. On the second floor, the door to the toymaker’s workshop was open. A radio was badly tuned to a station that played old German music. He recognized the pungent scents of model glue and molded plastic from his previous visit here. The toymaker’s head was resting on his worktable next to the radio on the other side of the room. McCracken’s first thought was that he might be dead. Approaching closer, though, he heard the old man snoring, lost in a deep sleep. Blaine continued on toward the far-right-hand portion of the room, toward the sheet-covered collection of models that Tessen had steered him away from in his last visit here. McCracken pulled one of the sheets back and instantly understood why.
The models, still in progress and reeking of strong glue, were of a number of cities. They weren’t marked yet, but Blaine easily recognized London, Washington, and Tel Aviv from their distinctive skylines. These were by far the toymaker’s largest and most intricate creations, each taking up the size of a Ping-Pong table. Removing the rest of the sheets would undoubtedly reveal more cities from all across the world, not re-creations this time, but predictions of things to come. Years of work had gone into them and, ironically, they seemed at last on the verge of completion. All that was missing from London and New York were the bodies, the depictions of chaos and bloodshed in the streets below. But they would be added soon enough, once the White Death was released to wreak havoc throughout the world. The old man would have his pictures, his videos. And he would be busy for years to come, because these cities marked only the beginning.
McCracken came to the models of Washington and Tel Aviv and froze. Apparently, in these two cases the toymaker hadn’t been able to wait, and the resulting sight was bone-chilling. The old man had outdone himself. Even in miniature, the panic, the utter desperation of cities caught in the merciless grip of the White Death, was clear. Cars had smashed into each other. Small figures writhed and clawed at the air. Blaine could almost hear the screams.
“You look quite good in that uniform, Mr. McCracken,” a voice called from behind him.
Blaine turned around slowly.
“You didn’t go for your gun. I’m disappointed,” said Hans Tessen. “Take the pistol out slowly with two fingers and toss it toward me, please.”
McCracken did as he was told. The pistol clanged against the floor and slid the Nazi’s way.
“Congratulations on a brilliant acting job,” Blaine told him.
Tessen kept his gun steady, a smile brewing on his lips. “I was quite good, wasn’t I?”
“I should have killed you myself.”
“But we were allies, were we not? Don’t forget that I saved your life in Izmir. From the Tau, of all forces.”
“To further your own interests, of course.”
Tessen nodded, beaming. “And why not, Mr. McCracken? So strange life is, so theatrical.”
“Correct me if I’m wrong: you’re one of the leaders of this bunch. Yes?”
“If by ‘bunch’ you are referring to a Nazi movement that now spans all corners of the globe, yes, I am.” He stiffened his chin. His crew cut gleamed in the naked light of the room. “Ever since the end of the war, I have worked toward the day that is almost upon us. A day, I regret to tell you, you will not live to see.”
“Not a sight I would cherish.”
“Oh, but it will be one to behold. Our destiny achieved at long last. We were not wrong in our aims in World War II; we were merely ahead of our time. Time has finally caught up with us.”
“You’re dreaming.”
“Apparently so is a very large segment of the population of your country. That is where our literature has been shipped from, where our swastikas have been sewn and molded, and where a huge portion of the funds that helped sustain our dreams has originated.” Tessen came a little closer, one of his hands sliding affectionately over one of the toymaker’s World War II models. “Look around you, Mr. McCracken. Look at the world. The economic structure is on the verge of collapsing. The middle class has been lumped into the lower class. People are poor. People are angry. They crave order, anything that can give them back what they feel rightfully belongs to them. In every country, not just the U.S., support for our movements has been overwhelming, because order is what we offer. The anger and frustration that has allowed our movement to flourish again here in Germany is being mirrored all over the world. Our people are out there and they are ready, they are committed. They go by different names in different corners of the world—the Ku Klux Klan, the German People’s Union, the African Resistance Movement—but they stand for the same thing, and they are waiting for the chance we can give them. We will rise back to power because the world will want us, need us.”
Blaine fixed his gaze briefly on the nearly completed models. “Not all the world, apparently.”
“We know where our enemies are, Mr. McCracken. This time they will be neutralized before they can lead the resistance against us.”
“Neutralized with the White Death you now have in your possession.”
Tessen’s smile continued to glow. “I prefer to say back in our possession, and that is precisely why we so desperately required your services. Not to disappoint, you performed wonderfully. You brought us to the White Death. We never could have done it without you, so you see that, more than anyone, you deserve to wear that uniform.”
“The maps that fell into my hands and Hazelhurst’s …”
“Copies made from documents opened up with the reunification of the two Germanys. A terrible oversight on our part, but eventually a blessed one.”
Blaine was nodding. “Because Rothstein’s revived Tau had already removed the White Death from your chamber, and only because of Hazelhurst’s dig did you become aware of that fact.”
“Thanks to your participation, of course.”
“You were in Kansas, at the air force base.”
“Not me, one of my men. We followed you from the time you ‘escaped’ from this house the first time. Unfortunately, the man who trailed you to the United States left the area of that air force base before you turned the tables on your captors. But he had found what I had sent him for, and with the identity of the Tau leader shockingly clear, it was an easy guess as to where the White Death was stored. Of course I don’t have to tell you this; you came to the same conclusion yourself.”
“You never were able to come up with the formula yourselves, were you?”
“But Rothstein was all too happy to fill the void. What we found at that kibbutz was five times the contents of the crates. Five times!” Tessen gloated. “Strange, isn’t it, that we could not act to achieve our destiny until vast reserves of the White Death were available to us? Thanks to Rothstein, that came to pass. And thanks to you, we found Rothstein.”
“So in pursuing its vengeance, the Tau ends up aiding the rise of the Fourth Reich.”
“And why not? The symbol of the Jews helped give birth to the Third. It’s only fitting that the work of the Jews gives rise to the Fourth.”
Again Blaine looked back at the toymaker’s latest models. “Except it’s not going to be only the Jews this time, is it?”
“We have learned from our mistakes, Mr. McCracken. Far more than ethnicity will determine who our enemies are and whom we destroy.”
“The thing that doesn’t figure here is that when your comrades were dying horribly after the war, you must have known the White Death was to blame.”
“We were scattered, running for our lives. By the time we had reorganized sufficiently, the killing had stopped and the entrance to the chamber the Jews had found had been sealed again.”
“Yes, by them.”
“Only we didn’t know about Rothstein. We assumed that our greatest secret was safe again, waiting for us to come and retrieve the reserves to join a new and vast supply.”
“Which might never have happened …”
