The truth was that it became the training ground for the Stermabeitalung and other groups involved in the growth of the National Socialists. It was their base, the headquarters from where the party would move to head the political agenda of a new Germany.
The car swung up the cobbled road towards the big old house that stood deep in the trees, a baroque four storied building that was home to Frick and his staff. Outside the small wooded area, it was surrounded by the old Russian barracks, now home to nearly a thousand Stermabeitalung, the storm troopers of the future.
As the Mercedes drove towards the house, small groups of uniformed Stermabeitalung snapped to attention and gave the traditional Nazi salute as their leader passed.
'The newspapers are reacting as we expected,' said Kragan as he watched Frick return the salute in that same arrogant way that he had seen Hitler react in the old film footage. The man was already picking up his hero's mannerisms.
'They follow the herd. That's all they're good for,' replied Frick. 'Feed them gossip and they call it news because it sells papers and makes them feel important. What the hell was Mitzer doing there?'
'It was a last minute decision. According to his secretary the invitation had been declined, but a friend called him and said they should go together and then on to a business lunch.'
'Couldn't we have stopped him?'
'We would have done if we'd known he was going. We knew his diary, always knew what he was doing. This was totally unexpected.'
'A big setback. Mitzer opened doors that we needed.'
'We'll find new ways of opening those doors.'
'Take too long. No. Let's give those people a reason for opening the doors to us. We must speed up our programme.'
'The faster we go, the more chance there is of us making mistakes.'
But Frick was beyond caution. 'No!' he ranted. 'Now we go faster. Now we cause chaos. Now we will open the doors for Germany to beg us to bring about order.'
The car pulled up outside the building and a guard came down the steps and opened the door for Frick.
'We will not waste unification,' continued Frick as he climbed the stairs, Kragan following just behind. He stopped at the top and faced his assistant. 'If Mitzer is gone, then there are others of the old ones who can help us. Spiedal, or Trimmler as he's called. And Goodenache. And the rest who are waiting to come back. Mitzer wasn't the only one who knew how to access the funds. We must find someone else who also knows. One of the Lucy Ghosts.’
Ch. 45
They were good. They had to be not to wake him.
Adam was asleep under the sun lamp, dozing while he toned up his tan. He’d finished training and had wandered into the sun room.
The room had been locked for the night, but he slipped his Visa credit card from his wallet and slid it into the crack between the door and the jamb, then clicked the Yale lock open and let himself in. There were three sunbeds, laid out side by side like mortuary tables. He closed the door and checked the controls on the middle machine.
It was a double sided contraption, one where you lay on a bank of tanning tubes and lowered the canopy electrically, which also housed a series of tubes. A sort of fluorescent sandwich with a human filling, it was effective and toned up a tan within twenty minutes.
He’d undressed, slid onto the tanner, switched on the timer and had dozed off within a minute.
Adam lived in that world of half sleep, always enough to catch up with his rest, but never enough to be surprised by those out to harm him. He believed it was Marcus who watched over him, who warned him of any danger that may be approaching.
The first warning he had was when someone gripped his arms, which were crossed behind his head as a pillow, and pulled them outward and straight.
At the same instance, another intruder had grabbed his legs and held them rigid.
'Don't move, or I cut your throat,' said a third man to his right. 'You better believe it, boy.'
Adam felt the sharpness of a knife prick into his neck. The men who held him down were strong; he couldn't see them as he was blinded by the brightly lit tubes. The rest of the room still remained in darkness.
'What do you want?' he asked. There was no emotion in his voice.
'Just wanna talk,' said the Knife. It wasn't a voice Adam recognised.
'I'm a captive audience.'
'Don't get fresh, jerk.' The Knife pricked him harder. Adam felt his skin break.
'You bleed nicely, jerk. Any more funnies?'
Adam shook his head.
'Good. Now tell me what you doing here?'
'Sun tann…' Adam stopped. His cheek was going to shorten his life if he wasn't careful. 'You mean in New Orleans?'
'You learning.'
'I'm here covering the space conference.'
'That all?'
'Yes.'
'Reporter?'
'No. I'm a special delegate. I've got to make a report for the British government.'
'Why?'
'We have a European Space Agency. We're not in your league, but we need to know what's going on.'
'You lying to me?'
'Why should I?'
'You tell me.' The Knife pushed the implement sharper into Adam's neck, the cut got deeper.
'I told you the truth.'
'We going to teach you a lesson, jerk. Don't mess with what don't concern you.'
'I'm happy to mind my own business.'
'Still going to teach you a lesson. I'm going to cut your toe off, boy. If you resist, I'll slit your throat. If you got any sense in that bonehead of yours, you'll just lie still.'
Adam knew he would do that, so he lay still. Come on, Marcus, let me take this. Damn it, help me keep still.
'Do it,' the Knife ordered the man who gripped Adam's legs.
The grip tightened round his ankles. He felt the Knife move away, down to his feet.
Then he felt the pain, sharp at first, then burning as it entwined the base of his toe. The pressure tightened, twisted into his flesh and to the bone; he and Marcus fought it and took the hurt and withstood the pain that was being cut from his foot.
'Tough bastard,' he heard the man who held his arms say.
Then it was over.
One of the men, he took it to be the Knife, punched him sharply in the side, forcing him upwards as he slammed his head into the canopy and broke one of the tubes.
They left him as quickly as they had come.
He lay still, collecting himself before he slid sideways out of the sun machine and onto the floor.
He sat up and reached for his foot.
They hadn't cut it off, just tightened a strand of barbed wire round it, twisted it tight so it cut right into the skin and some of its barbs had sliced through to the bone. Slowly he loosened the wire.
They had played with him, taken away his dignity and fucking played with him. He felt the anger build within him and he tried to control it, bring it down. Anger wasn't one of the weapons in his arsenal.
The bottle mocked him from across the floor, in the corner. A simple bottle with a red fluid inside.
A virgin's blood and piss.
He remembered they had been watching Trimmler.
He got dressed as quickly as he could. The gun was still in his brown bag and he slipped it into his belt.
He caught the lift to the eighteenth floor.
Neither Billie nor Tucker was there.
A virgin's blood and piss. They had to be after Trimmler.
A door opened across the hall and he had the Browning aimed straight at the person who came out.
'For Christ's sake!' said Billie, suddenly scared by his manner.