James Becker - Echo of the Reich

“There are a few other things we know about Die Glocke. It was obviously reasonably portable. After it was manufactured, it was taken to yet another of the Nazis’ underground complexes at an airfield to the west of Breslau. That was on the first of November nineteen forty-three, and as far as I can gather it first became operational in May nineteen forty-five, with catastrophic results. According to one set of records, seven scientists were responsible for conducting that experiment, and five of them died shortly afterward from what appears to have been a massive dose of radiation poisoning. The following month, or possibly in July of the same year, they held a second test run, when the scientists were wearing protective clothing, but again some deaths-we don’t know how many-occurred soon afterward.

“But by this time, the Soviet forces were beginning their inexorable advance toward Berlin, and in November nineteen forty-four the device was moved to the tunnels that lie under Furstenstein Castle, along with the scientists who were still working on it. But even that proved to be only a temporary relocation and a month later, on the eighteenth of December nineteen forty-four, the Bell was moved for the last time within Europe, to the Wenceslas Mine, near the village of Ludwigsdorf, which is now known as Ludwikowice.”

“Which is where we’re going,” Bronson commented.

“Which is where we’re going,” Angela echoed.

“But I thought you said that it wasn’t there-this bell thing, I mean. You said it wasn’t found at the end of the war.”

“That’s exactly what I said,” Angela agreed. “Nobody knows where Die Glocke ended up. On either the seventeenth or the eighteenth of April nineteen forty-five, the device was removed from the tunnels of the Wenceslas Mine. It was taken to a nearby airfield, loaded onto a six-engined Junkers Ju-390 transport aircraft, and simply vanished. There were a couple of reports from South America that described sightings of an aircraft that could have been the Junkers, but to the best of my knowledge after April nineteen forty-five, the bell itself- Die Glocke — has never been seen.

“And that’s why the fact that this German named Marcus used the word Laternentrager, which is meaningless in almost any other context, set my alarm bells ringing. If his group has managed to find Die Glocke and get it working, there’s at least a possibility that it could be used to create a genuine nuclear weapon, though that would involve a lot more than just a centrifuge, or, at least, a kind of dirty bomb that could kill by irradiation or by dispersal of radioactive particles.”

Angela glanced at Bronson.

“And that’s why I came out here, so that I could tell you everything I know, everything that I’ve managed to find out about it, and hopefully between us we can find some way of stopping him from deploying it. I know the Olympics start in just two days, but unless we have some idea about what this weapon is and what it can do, I don’t see how we could convince anyone in London that there was a real and believable threat to the city. And the Wenceslas Mine was the last place that Die Glocke was known to have been operating, so that’s where we need to start looking.”

25 July 2012

Klaus Drescher knocked on the door of Wolf’s study and then walked in.

“I’ve had a call from Oskar,” he said. “I think he was afraid to call you.”

Wolf grunted his displeasure. “I presume that he has failed to find Bronson?”

“You assume correctly,” Drescher confirmed. “He did as you requested. He organized a watch through the local police, for both patrol cars and surveillance cameras, but so far there has been no sighting of either the car or Bronson. Of course, that situation might change at any moment.”

“I hope that’s not all Oskar has done.”

“No. He’s organized three teams, a driver and an observer in each one, and they’ve been on the road almost continuously, searching the area around this house and steadily moving further afield. They’ve seen absolutely no sign of Bronson or the car, and I think they’re running out of ideas.”

Wolf nodded but didn’t reply for a few moments. Then he glanced up at Drescher.

“I suppose there’s one other possibility that we haven’t considered. I still don’t think Bronson would have returned to Britain. I’ve given Georg details of the car so that he can put the team in place at Dover, at the ferry port, and also at the exit from the Channel Tunnel. They’ve seen nothing so far. So if Bronson isn’t somewhere near this house, trying to work out how to get inside it, and he hasn’t crossed the Channel back to England, there’s only one other place that he might have gone.”

Wolf gave a rueful smile before he continued speaking.

“And it could be my fault,” he added.

“What do you mean?” Drescher asked.

“After the execution, I talked to Bronson for a few minutes before my men drove him back to the station car park. I mentioned the Laternentrager to him, just in conversation, and I know that he noticed it, because he asked me what the word meant.”

“But that’s ancient history, and not really relevant to what we’re doing.”

“I know,” Wolf agreed, “but if Bronson decides to investigate the meaning of that word, we both know what he will find out. Enough has been written about Die Glocke for him to discover what happened at the Wenceslas Mine in nineteen forty-five. And if he decides to try to pick up that trail, he might think that a visit to the site where it all began would be a good place to start.”

“But there’s nothing there,” Drescher objected.

“We know that, but Bronson doesn’t. I think it’s worth a try. Give Oskar a call and tell him I have new orders for him. He’s to keep two of the teams searching in this area, but he himself is to proceed at once to Ludwikowice and check the Wenceslas Mine. And if Bronson is there, the mine can become his tomb.”

25 July 2012

Bronson was staring ahead through the windscreen of the BMW. What had started out as a simple but irritating case of vandalism and damage in northeast London had suddenly taken on a nightmarish quality. Not only was Bronson himself in deep trouble, abandoned by his superiors in Britain and with a warrant issued for his arrest on firearms charges, but he was also guilty of two killings, one the murder of an undercover German police officer.

But even that paled into insignificance compared to the threat to London that Angela had just outlined. If she was right, and he had the uncomfortable feeling that he couldn’t fault her logic or the conclusion that she had drawn, then they were facing the very real possibility of a terrorist attack on the streets of Britain’s capital city to rival the 9/11 atrocity in New York. He had no idea how many people a dirty bomb could kill, but if the device were to be triggered during, say, the opening ceremony of the London 2012 Olympic Games, the death toll would be at the very least in the thousands, possibly in the tens of thousands.

And at that precise moment, he had no idea what he could do about it. He knew that if he contacted Curtis, or even went straight to Davidson, his claims would be dismissed as the ravings of a bent copper simply trying to save his own skin, because he would have absolutely no proof of any sort to back up a single statement that he made. He couldn’t go to the German authorities because he guessed that by now the Berlin police, and possibly every force in Germany, would be looking for an ex-English copper named Christopher Bronson who was wanted for the willful murder of a policeman. They might already have a video film or still photographs of him committing the crime, and possibly also the Walther pistol with his fingerprints all over it.