The Vengeance of the Tau (41 page)

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 …”

“If not for the Tau’s return,” Tessen completed. “And then you brought us to them.”

“And now you have the White Death.”

Tessen nodded. “Right here, stored in tanks concealed in a secret subbasement. The tanks have been waiting for it for years. Too bad your mission to destroy it has failed.”

Blaine shook his head. “That wasn’t my mission at all.”

“Please, McCracken,” Tessen scoffed, “spare me.”

“Sorry. Not part of my mission, either. My mission was to find out where you stashed the White Death to make sure it doesn’t live beyond you.”

Tessen was about to respond when gunshots rang out on the grounds of the estate. Rapid fire intermixed with horrible, twisted screams.

“No,” the Nazi muttered, moving toward the window but keeping his eyes fixed on McCracken. “No …”

Blaine held his ground. “You didn’t get all the White Death, Tessen. I found two boxes of explosive devices loaded with it, ready for use. Don’t worry, I’ve already destroyed all of them, except for the ones I thought I might need.”

The screams outside continued, joined by fresh ones from the mansion’s first floor. Glass shattered. The sounds of pounding, desperate footsteps shook the walls. Louder screams followed, lessened, and then became sporadic along with the gunfire. Tessen’s face was a frozen mask of agony. He swung from the window.

“This can’t be!”

“You underestimated your enemies yet again, Tessen. Must be a Nazi trademark.”

“But I can still kill you!” he ranted, fighting to steady his gun Blaine’s way.

“Maybe. Still leaves you just a frightened old man, though. The future of
any
Reich ends here, no matter what happens to me.”

“Then take that to your grave!”

Tessen’s hand started back on the trigger.

A shot rang out.

The pistol flew out of the Nazi’s hand and shattered the window. He crumpled to his knees, holding his wrist.

“Took you long enough, Indian,” Blaine said to Johnny Wareagle, who stood in the room’s doorway.

“It was more difficult slipping past the exterior guards than I expected, Blainey.”

Blood sliding down his chin from where he had bitten his tongue, Tessen gazed beyond the big Indian at the tight pack of men gathering around him. All of them had thick goggles dangling around their throats, removed from their eyes because there was no longer a need for them. Downstairs and on the grounds beyond, all sounds of resistance had ceased. Tessen knew that even if he yelled out, there was no one left to hear him. He fixed his eyes on a fat, balding man who had advanced ahead of the Indian.

“Who?” he half muttered, half mouthed.

“This is Wolfgang Bertlemass, Tessen,” McCracken explained, “chief administrator of the Document Center and watchdog committed to making sure his country does not fall into the hands of animals like you again.”

“We have had enough of your kind,” Bertlemass accused Tessen, leading the others past Wareagle into the room. “All of us Germans have. And look, Nazi, not all of us are Jews.”

But Wolfgang Bertlemass was a Jew. And back at Nineteen, Tovah had explained the reason behind his role as permanent watchdog, along with his lifelong commitment to the Document Center: Bertlemass was one of the original members of the Tau! Accordingly, he had been all too happy to help them in their efforts following Tessen’s raid on the kibbutz. Bertlemass had supplied the helicopter and equipment, but only on the condition that he and the group he had founded could have a hand in the end. Blaine had agreed without hesitation. The final demise of the Nazi movement deserved to be at the hands of Germans. History had come full circle. The past had at last been atoned for.

Bertlemass and his people, few of them young, most of them carrying at least distant memories of World War II, enveloped Tessen and lifted him to his feet.

“You will watch us set the explosives, Nazi,” Bertlemass spat out. “You will watch your dream die before you do. And I have a message from someone who knows much about death at your hand from a day long ago.”

Tessen looked up at him.