William Dietrich: Blood of the Reich

“The beam only persisted one second before a circuit blew.”

“Best second of my life.”

“Do you feel guilty?”

“Are you kidding? The guy lived way past a hundred. I should be so lucky.”

She shook her head. “Did you know Raeder was planning to have sex with me?”

“You’re joking.”

“He also told me DNA proved I’m his great-granddaughter.”

“What!”

“He raped Keyuri way back in 1938. It wasn’t Hood. It was Raeder who made the baby.”

“Oh, Rominy. Man, I’m sorry. This is sick. Those guys were animals. And Jake, what a dirtbag. We’re not all like that, trust me.”

She sat on his bed. “I know guys aren’t all like that, Sam. But I don’t think my grocery aisle method works very well.”

“Your what?”

“I’ll explain someday. I just wish it hadn’t gone so far with Jake.”

“I heard you ended that relationship rather emphatically as well.”

“Yes.” She looked sad. “I don’t regret it… but it’s not easy to kill someone, Sam.”

“Just remember, it would have been easy for him to kill you.”

She nodded, but she wondered if that was true. She hoped not, even after all that had happened. Emotions don’t conveniently evaporate, they just burn holes and leave scars.

He raised an eyebrow. “Well, are we still friends?”

“Sam, you almost died saving my life.”

“I just half saved it. You finished off Barrow.”

“And the staff shattered. Odd that no one mentions it.”

“Not odd. Predictable. You can bet there’s a lot they’re not telling us, just like we’re not telling them. You don’t take over a seventeen-mile doughnut without a lot of inside help. You don’t get away with having nothing in the media unless the big dogs have all pledged not to bark. Can you spell ‘conspiracy’?”

“They don’t believe me any more than I believe them.”

“Then that’s it.” He took her other hand. “Over. Fini. Kaput. We beat the bad guys, Rominy, at least the ones we could identify. End of story, for us. The cops say they can’t find any surviving neo-Nazis. Yeah, right. The physicists claim everyone on their team is clean. It’s like the whole thing never happened.”

“Almost.” She looked away from him, staring at nothing. “I had to play-act to find you. I broke out of my room. Snuck through corridors. Are we prisoners?”

“Let’s find out.”

“What if Nazis are still out there?”

“There’s no magic staff. There’s no Shambhala, unless we spill the beans and somebody drains that lake. No Vril, unless scientists rediscover it on their own. No more blood locks, unless there’s one nobody told us about. Nobody needs us anymore. This is where we live happily after. Right?”

“I hope.”

He looked at her worriedly. “What’s bugging you, girl? I want to go home with you, and maybe finish my degree.”

She knew he wanted to be more than just friends someday after all they’d gone through together. And so she shivered, remembering the tender touch of Jake Barrow. And the warning of Delphina Clarkson, or was it Ursula Kalb? Stay away from men, that’s my advice.

No woman’s body had been reported among the casualties.

So Rominy was taking relationship advice from a Nazi now?

“I hope we really can get away, Sam. Stolen clothes, no passports, no money.”

“Trust your tourist guide. It just so happens I stashed our spare clothes, papers, and cash in a cubbyhole. If we can sneak out to the collider site before dawn, we can retrieve enough stuff from a manhole to keep going. We’ll look for a red-eye to America, with cheap seats and cranky stews.”

She smiled. Hope came from action. “Will it work?”

“If we hurry.”

And then came a rap on the door. “Herr Mackenzie? Medication time.”

“Ah, crap,” he muttered. “Now? I’m already dopier than a big league ballplayer.”

“She’ll report me!” Rominy hissed.

He pointed. “Get under the bed.”

She slid under on slick linoleum, feeling absurd, and peered out as a German-speaking nurse entered. There was a clack of heels, not rubber soles. No blaze of room light. Just a click, like a door locking. Footsteps to the window to close the blinds. A blue plastic bucket set on the floor.

Rominy listened to them talk.

“I’m not scheduled for medication, nurse.”

“I heard talking. You alone, Herr Mackenzie?”

“You heard the TV.”

“I help you sleep, I think.”

“I sleep too much already.”

“Doctor orders.”

Her voice was oddly muffled. Rominy felt trapped.

“What’s the bucket for?” Sam asked. “And why the face mask?”

“I have cold. Here, antiseptic cloth.”

“It stinks. Hey!” He jerked.

“Relax, no? Take away pain.”

Sam thrashed, then slowly stilled. Silence. The nurse seemed to be waiting, bent over the bed. No one else had entered the room. What was going on? If Rominy revealed herself, there’d be an uproar. She’d just have to wait it out. Of all the bad luck.

Or was it bad luck? Why had this nurse come in the middle of the night, right after Rominy had entered Sam’s room for the first time in two weeks? Had this medical worker been waiting for Rominy to come? The American had finally left the protection of her own locked room. Slipped through the hospital without escort. Not encountered another soul. Had someone followed? And locked her in here? Closing the blinds, leaving the lights dim?

The silent TV strobed with dim light.

Rominy peered out. An IV pole being wheeled to Sam’s bed. Mackenzie had gone silent, which was hardly characteristic. Was he drugged?

“It’s all about blood,” the nurse murmured. A loop of plastic tubing drooped.

Twisting, Rominy looked out at the nurse’s ankles.

She was wearing low leather pumps.

The American’s heart began hammering. Liquid began pattering into the plastic bucket. She twisted to see. Now the tube was red.

“We keep, just in case,” the nurse murmured.

Keep it for what? Lost cities and secret doors? Something was terribly wrong. Could she bolt for the door? She shifted to crawl out from the far side of the bed.

And suddenly a grip as hard as Prussian iron seized Rominy’s ankle and she was jerked out from under Sam’s mattress like a rag doll, spinning on the floor. The strength and violence of it was shocking, yet sickeningly familiar. A woman in a nurse’s dress similar to Rominy’s clamped the ankle of the American like a vise, eyes malevolent, mouth covered by a gauze mask.

“You think I let you go, little mouse?” the nurse said. “I listened to your breathing like a cat.”

The woman had a cloth in her hand that smelled of some kind of ether or chloroform. Rominy twisted and kicked, flopping like a fish.

“I have been waiting. Waiting for reunion.” It was the voice of Delphina Clarkson, or rather Ursula Kalb. “You think you can have your blood if we can’t, American witch?”

For one terrible moment, Rominy felt paralyzed. Fear froze her. Panic turned her mind blank. Then that voice again, that ghost she’d heard at the supercollider. So what have you learned?

Fight!

Rominy lashed out with her other leg and struck the side of the woman’s knee. Kalb shrieked as the leg bent and then toppled, cursing in German. The Nazi scrabbled toward her, mask askew, and tried to get a cloth to Rominy’s face. The American pivoted on the floor like a demented break-dancer, kicking and punching. She hit the blue pail and it went over, spilling blood that made a crimson fan across the linoleum. Ursula fumbled under her jacket and brought out a gun with a sausage-fat silencer. “Stay still!” she hissed. “Or I shoot!”