David Gibbins - The Gods of Atlantis

‘It’s an extraordinary coincidence,’ Jack said. ‘Dillen called me and said he returned from Troy to a barrage of emails and phone messages from Schoenberg saying he had something of great importance he wanted to tell. Dillen said that in the past, Schoenberg had always been trying to pin him down on matters of great importance, usually some tiny contentious detail in a translation. But the odd thing this time was that he specifically wanted to see me.’

‘Maybe not so odd after all,’ Hiebermeyer said. ‘If we know about him, Saumerre might too and could have got to him first, somehow persuaded him to draw you in and reveal what you know.’

Jack clicked on his iPhone, checking his directory. ‘Dillen’s sent me his address in British Columbia.’ He turned to Heidi. ‘Your second thing?’

She grasped her stick and leaned forward, speaking in a low voice. ‘I know how to create a vaccine against the bacterium, which will make it far less dangerous as a potential weapon. We scientists knew that the bacterium would never be as deadly a threat as the virus.’

Jack gasped. ‘Go on.’

‘That was my job just before I left the laboratory to join the Lebensborn. They were all worried about themselves, the scientists and their SS handlers, about getting infected. They couldn’t find a treatment for the flu virus, but they set me to work on the bacterium. I’d been a top biochemistry student before the war, you know, and had spent a postgraduate year at Oxford. That’s where I acquired my English. After the war for many years in England I carried out research for the Ministry of Defence, where my speciality was antidotes for biological weapons they thought the Russians might use. I never revealed anything about the Alexander bacterium, because I just wanted to forget all about that bunker and I was fearful that leading anyone to it would result in contamination and expose the world to a deadly plague. But I carefully recorded all of my research data so that I could resume the work some time in the future if necessary. There was only one component missing.’

‘Go on,’ Jack said.

‘The Alexander bacterium. One would need a fresh sample to prove that the vaccine works, and as far as I know only the one marker-sample was saved by Himmler’s people.’

Jack thought hard. ‘Could you still do it now? Could you perfect it?’

‘I still have very close colleagues working in high security government labs who would relish the task. I would gladly tell them all I know. My science became my life after the war, and it’s still what keeps me going. And in answer to your next question, yes. I know where they found the bacterium. Schoenberg knows too, because he was there, part of the Ahnenerbe team who were supposedly looking for Atlantis but in reality were scouring the world for the bacterium mentioned in the ancient sources. They needed icy-cold freshwater places, where the water runs over limestone. They found it in Iceland.’

‘ Iceland,’ Jack exclaimed. ‘Do you know exactly where?’

She reached into her pocket and handed him a slip of paper. ‘This is what my Hungarian told me. He was very proud of being a trained diver and had been on that expedition. It was very dangerous for them, with their primitive equipment.’

Jack paused. There was one thing he needed to know, to be sure that all of this was true. ‘Your Hungarian,’ he said slowly. ‘When he woke up the next morning after telling you everything, he must have berated himself. He would have sworn secrecy to Himmler. If you’d told anyone else and he’d been fingered, that would have been the end for him. He was getting nothing out of you after you’d met Ernst. Why didn’t he concoct some reason to have you dealt with by the Gestapo?’

Heidi gave Jack an unfathomable look. ‘Because I kept seeing him. I knew that if I didn’t, I was doomed. All the time I was with Ernst, the Hungarian was still my lover. I saw him while Ernst was on the Russian front, and while he was in Berlin. The Hungarian knew that Hans was his son. The last time I saw him was in that house at Plon on the second of May 1945, only a few hours before Ernst arrived on his way to the U-boat. I never saw either man again. Within days, weeks at the most, both were dead.’

Jack glanced at the paper, reading the details, then carefully folded it and put it in his pocket.

‘Okay.’ He stood up ‘I have to ring Costas. And set up a flight to British Columbia. But before that, Maurice, I need you to ring your friend Major Penn. Heidi’s innocent act with that researcher may have put Saumerre off for the time being, but after Auxelle’s death, I suspect that everyone who knows anything about this will be eliminated as soon as they cease to be useful. I know Penn was desperate to do something after his sergeant was murdered, and I got the impression that he was frustrated not to be the one to take care of Auxelle. But providing round-the-clock protection for Frau Hoffman is as important as it gets.’

‘I’m sure he’ll be happy to oblige.’ Hiebermeyer took out his phone, then stood up, suddenly looking tired. ‘I’m going to take Tante Heidi home,’ he said. ‘Then I’ve got a pregnant wife to attend. Hope you don’t mind.’

Jack put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. ‘You know what I think.’

‘Aysha,’ Heidi said, suddenly beaming. ‘I can’t wait to meet her.’

‘Sevety-two hours,’ Jack said, looking at Hiebermeyer. ‘Then we’ll be planning that expedition to find Akhenaten’s treasure in Egypt.’

‘Promise?’

Jack looked at his friend’s face, remembering what he had gone through in the bunker, something he had volunteered to do in Jack’s place. ‘You can count on it. But meanwhile, the clock’s ticking. I need to visit Professor Schoenberg. And I need to think about diving again.’

Near Tofino, Vancouver Island, British Columbia

T he de Havilland Canada DHC-2 Beaver banked and swept low over the treetops, the roar of its single Pratt amp; Whitney 350 h.p. propeller engine intensifying as they dropped below the level of the surrounding hills. Jack was in the co-pilot’s seat, having just relinquished the controls to the woman beside him, a Canadian bush pilot who had considerably more experience than he did at landing on the edge of the Pacific Ocean. He pressed the microphone on his headset. ‘Thanks for that. I haven’t flown a Beaver since I got my pilot’s licence when I was at school in Canada.’

‘Best plane ever made,’ she replied, flashing him a smile. ‘Built in 1946, and still going strong. Out here, the people living in these remote bays wouldn’t be able to function without us. The last road along this coast ended twenty kilometres back.’

The aircraft levelled out for its approach. To the right, beyond the forest, Jack could see the distant peaks of the Coast Mountains of mainland British Columbia, and to the west the glistening expanse of the Pacific. It had been an exhilarating half-hour flight north from the fishing port of Tofino, complete with the spectacular sight of humpback whales breaching on their migration towards the waters off Alaska. Jack turned to Costas, who was sitting in the back gripping the pilot’s seat, looking like a wartime pilot in his headset and aviator sunglasses. ‘You good?’ he said.

‘Better now that you’re not flying. I always hated roller coasters.’

‘It’s called tactical flying.’

‘It’s called being rusty.’

Jack gestured at a book with a swastika on the cover that Costas had been reading, and a pad where he had been jotting down notes. ‘You missed the whales.’

‘I was boning up on this guy we’re visiting. What he and his colleagues in the Nazi Ahnenerbe were up to in the late 1930s. It makes for pretty unsavoury reading.’