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'In 1940.'
'Yes.'
'Which makes him about seventy now,' Bradley observed. 'Yes.'
'Anything else?'
'Yes. This Wilson is very strange. According to Stoll, John Wilson
is a man obsessed. He cares for nothing but his work and has few
scruples when it comes to doing it. That is one obsession. There are
others.'
Pialowicz glanced around him, at the ruins of the church, saw
nothing that he hadn't lived with for a long time, so returned to the
subject.
'He does not smoke, does not drink, and claims that his exceptional
youthfulness is due to some kind of lifelong diet. Also, he is obsessed
with extending his life span and, according to Stoll, is convinced that
any kind of extreme emotionalism, such as love or s.e.xual pa.s.sion,
encourages the aging process. Regarding his own s.e.xual drives, he
claims to relieve them as functionally as humanly possible. And,
finally, while not sharing Heinrich Himmler's insane notions of an
Aryan Super Race, he certainly believes and is striving for the creation
of a race of geniuses, devoted to science of which he will naturally be
the leader. For that reason, he treats his own health and his work as the
base material for research, medical and scientific. In other words, he is
a man so objective, he is scarcely human at all... Very strange, yes?' 'Yes,' Bradley said. 'Very strange.'
He glanced back through the arched doorway of the annex and saw
other intelligence officers at other tables, interviewing other suspects,
collaborators, and allies. The sunlight outside was beaming in through
the stained-gla.s.s windows, which had remained unharmed, casting
striations of many colours over worn, hara.s.sed, and sometimes jubilant
faces. Big guns thundered in the distance and some people looked up.
The battle for Europe had moved on from this destroyed town and was
continuing elsewhere.
'So in 1940,' Bradley continued, 'Wilson was still located in
k.u.mmersdorf, south of Berlin. Do you know if he's still there?' 'No,' Pialowicz said, 'he is not. About three weeks ago Wilson's