The Marks Of Cain Part 42

But Amy's face was set in that determined expression. She insisted: 'That's the big mystery, isn't it? Why the Holocaust? That's what this is all headed towards, isn't it?'

Angus was still silent, but Amy was fired up: 'Tell me this is it, Angus. Tell me. Tell me. Hitler could have used the Jews as slave labour and he had plans to put them in some homeland, in Russia or Africa, right? But then suddenly he changed his mind.' She gazed at Angus. 'Suddenly he decided he had to kill them. All of them. Even if it crippled overextended and destroyed the German war effort. Why did he do that?' Hitler could have used the Jews as slave labour and he had plans to put them in some homeland, in Russia or Africa, right? But then suddenly he changed his mind.' She gazed at Angus. 'Suddenly he decided he had to kill them. All of them. Even if it crippled overextended and destroyed the German war effort. Why did he do that?'

Angus was quiet, then he sighed.

'Yes. Sort of. It does explain the Holocaust. Maybe. Who knows. I only mentioned it to Eloise...' His expression darkened. 'Because I felt sorry for her. The last Cagot in the world. She was in pain. She deserved a little explanation for what was happening.'

'So what is it? What did Fischer find?'

'Can't f.u.c.king tell you. Because I have no proof. I never make a statement without proof. I am a scientist.' He gazed their way, angrily. 'Why not cut me some. Eh? My boyfriend is dead Because I have no proof. I never make a statement without proof. I am a scientist.' He gazed their way, angrily. 'Why not cut me some. Eh? My boyfriend is dead and and Eloise's blood is also on my d.a.m.n hands. Enough. Eloise's blood is also on my d.a.m.n hands. Enough. Enough. Enough.'

'You won't tell us.'

'No. Because I don't know for sure. Because I don't know for sure. I never did the f.u.c.king Fischer experiments. But...but if Kellerman was right, there is a man who can maybe help I never did the f.u.c.king Fischer experiments. But...but if Kellerman was right, there is a man who can maybe help. That's what Nathan was saying.'

The switchback moods of the Scotsman were bewildering. He was now staring ahead. David followed his gaze along the austere coast. He could see buildings, the spire of a church, brightly painted houses. Another surreal German town perched on the desert coast, overlooking the brutal sea.

David returned to the conversation.

'What man?'

Angus slowed the boat as they began their approach to the port. And said: 'n.a.z.i. Cancerous old n.a.z.i named Dresler, who worked with Fischer at Gurs. Knew Grandpa Kellerman. And as you heard just here on the boat Dresler knows. Dresler knows.'

Amy said: 'Please explain. Knows what?'

'Herr Doktor Dresler fled here from Europe, in the 1990s. He was uncovered somehow. Don't know how. So he came here. Good place to hide, Luderitz, million miles from the next kartoffelsalat kartoffelsalat. And he already knew the Kellermans.'

'And?'

'Remember. Rewind. Go back.'

'Sorry?'

'In 1946 Eugen Fischer got in touch with his old friends, the Kellermans, and told them what he had found at Gurs. And naturlich naturlich the Kellermans were...very excited by the news of what the Germans had discovered.' The boat was slowing. 'But the Kellermans had no proof they didn't have the actual data. So they have been waiting for genetic science to catch up with the Germans for six decades.' Angus smiled, laconically. 'They take a long view, these dynastic Jews. They've been waiting since the Babylonian Captivity, you might say. Anyway the Kellermans had hopes of the Diversity Project at Stanford but the Kellermans were...very excited by the news of what the Germans had discovered.' The boat was slowing. 'But the Kellermans had no proof they didn't have the actual data. So they have been waiting for genetic science to catch up with the Germans for six decades.' Angus smiled, laconically. 'They take a long view, these dynastic Jews. They've been waiting since the Babylonian Captivity, you might say. Anyway the Kellermans had hopes of the Diversity Project at Stanford but that that folded.' He blinked as water splashed the boat. 'Then GenoMap kicked off and so they basically took us over, and used us. To repeat the Fischer experiments. Then Dresler was coaxed south, he came to live here in the 1990s and he was able to help, with lots of info. People to bloodtest and so forth. Routes to explore. And eventually...the Cagots.' folded.' He blinked as water splashed the boat. 'Then GenoMap kicked off and so they basically took us over, and used us. To repeat the Fischer experiments. Then Dresler was coaxed south, he came to live here in the 1990s and he was able to help, with lots of info. People to bloodtest and so forth. Routes to explore. And eventually...the Cagots.'

He looked at David.

Amy asked: 'But...how can Dresler help us now now?'

'Because. If what Nathan said is right, then Dresler also knows what the doctors did after the war. He knows the lot.'

'After the war? What does that mean?' the war? What does that mean?'

A shrug.

'Angus!'

The Scotsman slowed the dinghy further. Sea birds wheeled behind. He gazed at Amy, then at David: 'The n.a.z.is discovered DNA during the war.'

David was so stunned he felt the boat wobble beneath him. He gasped: 'DNA?'

'Yup. They'd been onto it a while. Fischer, and so forth: he got the first intimations in Namibia, studying the Khoisan Khoisan and the Basters. Then he clinched the proof at Gurs. But that's not key to what I'm saying. It's what the n.a.z.is did with this technology. Because of what they and the Basters. Then he clinched the proof at Gurs. But that's not key to what I'm saying. It's what the n.a.z.is did with this technology. Because of what they then then found, found, within and between human genetic variation within and between human genetic variation that's the key. It was a discovery so...' Angus shrugged. 'I mean that's the key. It was a discovery so...' Angus shrugged. 'I mean allegedly allegedly I don't have proof, and probably never will now but it was a discovery I don't have proof, and probably never will now but it was a discovery allegedly allegedly so devastating that it led to the Holocaust. And it was so devastating that it led to the Holocaust. And it was so so powerful it gave the n.a.z.i doctors leverage after the war.' powerful it gave the n.a.z.i doctors leverage after the war.'

'I still don't get the whole picture...'

Angus tutted, impatiently, but explained. 'At the end of the war, the n.a.z.i doctors from Gurs had one bargaining chip, which they could swap for their lives and freedom. And that bargaining chip was the Fischer results. The rumour is they hid the data somewhere...inaccessible. In Europe is my guess. Probably in central Europe, as the Allies pressed in on the shrinking n.a.z.i empire.' He eyed the shallowing waters, then went on: 'The Allies couldn't imprison them, or try them, let alone execute them. In case one of the other doctors revealed the results.'

Amy interrupted: 'So the doctors were freed. Exonerated. Fischer became...professor at Freiburg, in 1945, despite everything he'd done.'

'Yes.'

'So this doctor in Luderitz? How does he fit in?'

'Well, if what poor Nathan said is right, Dresler knows where the results are hidden.'

David felt the surge of excitement. Angus raised a hand.

'Sure, it is compelling...But remember the n.a.z.is must have hidden the data somewhere wildly inaccessible. Plenty of people have tried to find it. Who knows though.' Angus paused. 'Maybe we will?'

David was curious.

'We? You're coming along?'

He ran his fingers through his red hair. Eyes bright. 'K, I confess, you got me, it's a fair cop. I'm piqued. I'm intrigued. You shoot, you score. Maybe Dresler does does know. And if so... know. And if so...I want to know too. I spent five years on this, I want to know if my hunch was right, about the Jews, Hitler, the Holocaust, the Basters.' I spent five years on this, I want to know if my hunch was right, about the Jews, Hitler, the Holocaust, the Basters.'

He leaned and flung a rope as the dinghy b.u.mped into the pier. 'But first we have to go see Dresler. And torture the truth out of him.'

43.

Simon walked nervously down the cobbled high street. Autumn in the Bavarian Alps was quiet. The ski shops were shut; and tourists were few, mainly hikers huddled over big maps, flapping in the breeze. It was a cold and greyish day and the kitsch, gilded streets were largely deserted.

But he still felt nervous. He'd have preferred the anonymity of a hotel in a big city, but didn't dare use credit cards or show his pa.s.sport: so he'd chosen here, Garmischpartenkirchen, as a compromise. Suzie and he had been here on holiday years ago.

Suzie.

Suzie and Conor.

Suzie and Conor and Tim.

He was lodged in a cold austere cottage, in an ugly new development, in the silence of the Alps, just above the little town. But every minute of every day he'd felt the need for information. An overwhelming need.

So he'd spent half his time in the little town, on payphones to Sanderson and Suzie, or sitting in the internet cafe, with its tinkling bell above the door, and the wall full of red pennants for Bayern Munich FC.

He greeted the girl at the till; she smiled, with a polite nod of recognition, and returned to her magazine. Selecting a terminal amongst all the other dusty, unused terminals, he opened his webmail account. He could feel his own nervousness, like a bad taste in his mouth. Was there any news from Tim? About Tim? David and Amy? What about his wife and child? What about his wife and child?

There was just one email of interest. There were two unread unread emails but there was just one email he emails but there was just one email he wanted wanted to read. He didn't want to read that other message. Because he knew it was the communication about Tim, from Tim's captors. The email Sanderson had warned him about. to read. He didn't want to read that other message. Because he knew it was the communication about Tim, from Tim's captors. The email Sanderson had warned him about.

Don't watch it, Simon. Really. Don't watch it.

So instead he clicked on the other unopened email. It was from David Martinez. He read it twice, absorbing the very serious information, writing some notes in his pad. Then he stood and went to the girl at the till. She charged him a few cents and he paid the money.

The doorway swung open to the street. He stared over the shops and houses at the grey Alps beyond. They were a row of snowy faces, white and sombre: like a jury of elders looking down at his guilt.

Tim. The email about Tim?

The email about Tim.

It was becoming too much. He had managed to avoid opening the Tim email for three days now, and each time he came here it got harder, and harder, to resist clicking on it and watching, to resist the terrible temptation: the desire to know, to behold the worst.

He couldn't resist any longer.

Twisting on a heel, he stepped back inside and, with an embarra.s.sed nod at the cybercafe girl, he returned to the screen.

He sat down, and opened up his webmail account. He clicked on the email.

Subject: Your brother.

He steeled himself. Dry mouthed.

The email was empty except for an icon. An icon that linked to a little movie. It buffered for a second, then cleared: and there was Tim. Sitting in a chair. Half smiling at the camera with his chubby face. Nervous.

It was the video of Tim.

A masked man was standing beside Simon's brother.

The captor spoke.

'That's right, Tim, look at the camera. Say h.e.l.lo to your brother.'

'h.e.l.lo!'

Tim was waving. Anxiously.

The masked man nodded. And said: 'You have something to say to him?'

Tim's smile was crinkled. He was probably hearing the voices again. Tim spoke through the voices.

'Sorry Simon but h.e.l.lo. How are you. I am sorry the men are detaining me, we have been detained. Rather wrong. What can I say. h.e.l.lo.'

The masked man said: 'Good. What else, Tim? What else do you want to say to Simon?'

'The dog. Gusty. They want me to mention Augustus. Do you remember when we went to the stream with Augustus, we were happy then weren't we? Doubtless. Because I understand why, doing everything like this.'

Tim swallowed. The masked man waited. Simon's mad older brother gazed right at the camera.

'Simon can you tell Mother I'm sorry for what I did, stabbing her was wrong. So very wrong I understand. Mummy?'

Simon felt the p.r.i.c.kle of tears; he fought them.

His brother's face was fat and vulnerable.

'Just wanted to say I remembered the football, too, and I believe we had a nice time when we were boys and if I ruined it, thus, because it was my fault my fault. Then if if...sorry Mum. Tell Mum sorry Simon, OK? Thank you.'

The masked man leaned closer to Tim and said quite loudly: 'Tim, do you know why we are here? Talking to Simon?'

Tim shook his head.

'I went to Oxford and after that it was very different. Believe me I undoubtedly...something happened.'

Tim turned and looked at the masked man. 'I no longer want this. Why are we here?'

'We're here because your brother won't tell us. We want him to tell us everything. Give us David Martinez and Amy Myerson. Tell us where they are. Tell us what he knows. Hand himself over...or else he will suffer just as you are about to suffer.'

Tim attempted a dreadful courageous smile. He was trying to smile, bravely, for Simon.

The pathos was unbearable.

Another man moved behind Tim. He had a rope and a piece of wood. A looped rope and a piece of wood?

The first man spoke calmly through his facemask. He had the faintest trace of an accent.

'So, Tim, I am so very sorry we have to do this but it is because of your brother, he doesn't care about you. So say goodbye to Simon, your brother who doesn't care.'

The man slipped the garrotte over Tim's head.

Tim began to choke, almost at once. His legs thrashed out, kicking and sc.r.a.ping, heels squeaking against the floor. The garrotte was tightened further, and harder. Now Tim's face was going pink, then red, then almost blue.

The impa.s.sive man, standing right behind, just kept the garrotte tight, saying nothing. And then the killer released the garrotte, and Tim gasped, and gasped. He was still alive. Tim was still alive. still alive.

The first man leaned towards the camera.

'Next time we kill him.'

The screen went dead.

Simon stared at the blackness. He pushed back the chair, and turned away, ready to go to go anywhere, just anywhere else; he hurled some euros at the puzzled girl and then he strode out onto the cobbled street. He needed the fresh air to stop himself screaming.

Tim...

A police car was slowly rumbling along the cobbles of the main street. Heading uphill past the Gasthof Fraundorfer. Heading in the direction of the chalet.

Simon watched the car. Then he remembered David's information. He turned the other way, and started running.