Prosper Snow Series

by Shaun Jeffrey

  He sat at Wolfe’s kitchen table, the cup of tea in front of him going cold as he chewed his ragged fingernails.

  “Well I thought you were a member of some super secret organisation now. Don’t you have some James Bond gadget shit to help you?”

  “Like what?”

  Wolfe shook his head. “Tracking devices, something like that.”

  “To track someone, you need to know where they are.”

  “Well can’t you track someone by triangulating the signal on their mobile phone?”

  “We’ve checked that. The phone registered to him isn’t switched on.” Prosper recalled the prison environment, and how the inmates/test subjects were treated, and he couldn’t help thinking about the babies. What horrors were they being subjected to? He shuddered.

  The doorbell rang. Wolfe looked back along the hallway but didn’t move. The bell rang again. Wolfe pursed his lips, slowly turned. The ringing came a third time and Wolfe went to answer the door.

  Prosper rolled his eyes. Wolfe’s obsession with the number three was getting beyond a joke. Obsessive compulsive disorder was the clinical term.

  A couple of minutes later, Wolfe walked back into the kitchen laden down with supermarket shopping bags.

  “Are you too proud to shop with us mere mortals, having to have your food delivered?”

  “It’s just easier. Do you know how much time you waste in supermarkets queuing at tills?”

  “Enlighten me.”

  “I read it was almost fifty three minutes a month. Add that up for a lifetime and it’s a lot of wasted time.”

  Prosper watched as Wolfe started unpacking. “I’m surprised you don’t have someone to do that for you too.”

  Wolfe snorted and opened a cupboard to stack the tins he took out of the bags. Prosper wasn’t surprised to see that the tins were in rows of three, and stacked three high.

  “You should try it. Just think with Natasha being pregnant, it beats having to trawl round the shops.”

  Prosper narrowed his eyebrows and stroked his chin. Then he slapped his palm down on the table, slopping tea out of the mug and making Wolfe jump.

  “That’s it!” Prosper jumped up.

  “What?”

  “That’s how Klement will stay off the radar. He’ll order anything he needs off the internet.”

  “Well it’s easy enough. So how will that help you find him as I’m guessing he won’t be using his own name, and he’ll have some bogus account?”

  Prosper pinched his lower lip between finger and thumb. “Well he’s got lots of babies to feed now, so he’ll be ordering more baby food and formula milk. I just need to cross check any supermarket online accounts that contain large quantities of these things.”

  “And how are you going to do that? They must deliver baby food to hundreds of places.”

  “Each supermarket that does home deliveries must have a central database. I’ll just contact the supermarket and have them send the info through to me.”

  “It’ll take hours to go through a list like that. Even longer to check them all out.”

  “Can you think of anything better?” When Wolfe didn’t respond, Prosper took out his mobile phone and started making calls.

  Prosper perused his emails via Wolfe’s computer. He had gone through channels at work to gain access to the supermarkets info – although he hadn’t told the company what he was looking for – and had them forward the results to his email account. He didn’t fully trust his new employers, so he wasn’t going to divulge his theory just yet, at least not until he had something to back it up.

  He had asked for details of anyone purchasing large quantities of baby food, but as Wolfe had said, there were hundreds of results.

  “Told you it was useless.”

  Prosper snorted loudly. There had to be something he had missed, something that would help. He leaned back, lips pinched as he tried to think. He stared at some of Wolfe’s paintings on the wall, the dark swirls forming strange shapes. One of the shapes reminded him of a skull, and it triggered a memory. The photograph on Klement’s desk had been of a man wearing an army uniform with a skull and crossbones insignia on the peaked cap. There had to be a reason why Klement had the photo on his desk. He tried to think. Something niggled at the back of his mind. Something about German’s in particular. Something about an experiment that proved a relationship between obedience and authority. He took out his notebook and flipped through the pages until he found a reference to the Milgram Experiment. Underneath it he had scribbled: Nazi war criminal, Otto Adolf Eichmann.

  Prosper turned back to the computer and clicked through to a search engine. Then he wrote Otto Adolf Eichmann into the search bar, selected ‘images’ at the top of the screen and pressed return. When the results appeared he recognised Eichmann as the man in the photograph on Klement’s desk, a sinister Bing Crosby.

  “This was the photograph Klement had on his desk,” Prosper said. He then entered Milgram Experiment into the search engine so that he could relate to Wolfe what the experiment was about. After that, he performed another search on Eichmann and started to read:

  On the advice of family friend Ernst Kaltenbrunner, Eichmann joined the Austrian branch of the NSDAP—member number 889 895—and of the Schutzstaffel (SS). He enlisted on April 1, 1932, as an SS-Anwärter (Candidate). He was accepted as a full SS member that November, appointed an SS-Mann (Man), and assigned the SS number 45326.

  He progressed through the ranks, and was eventually promoted to the rank of SS-Obersturmbannführer (Lt. Col.) Eichmann was originally a member of the SD (Sicherheitsdienst or Security Service), and went on to head Gestapo Section IV B4 (responsible for Jewish affairs) where he helped plan and implement the Holocaust. At the end of World War II, Eichmann was captured by the U.S. Army, who were unaware of Eichmann’s true identity as he presented himself as "Otto Eckmann." Early in 1946, he escaped from U.S. custody and hid in Altensalzkoth, an obscure hamlet on the Lüneburg Heath, for a few years. In 1948 he obtained a landing permit for Argentina, but did not use it immediately. At the beginning of 1950, Eichmann went to Italy, where he posed as a refugee named Riccardo Klement.

  On May 2, 1960, Eichmann was apprehended by Israeli secret agents in Argentina, where he had been hiding under an assumed name, and was smuggled back to Israel to stand trial for his crimes. After a highly publicized trial in 1961, Eichmann was sentenced to death and executed in 1962.

  “That explains where he got his name from,” Prosper said. “He used Otto from Otto Eckmann and Klement from Riccardo Klement.”

  “So what’s his fascination with Eichmann?”

  Prosper wrung his hands together and then wiped them down his thighs. “Perhaps it’s because of Eichmann’s obedience to authority. He’s a role model of sorts. He claimed he was only guilty of following out orders, which exonerated him of the crimes themselves. In the same way, Klement can claim he is only following out orders in the nature or nurture experiment. That he can kill because it’s been sanctioned by people with authority.”

  “If that’s the case, he’s more fucked up than I thought.”

  “That goes without saying.” Prosper had another idea and he went back to the email containing the names of the people that baby food had been delivered to. He entered the name Riccardo Eckmann in the search box and pressed return. “Got you,” he said when the name came up.

  Taking a leaf out of Sam Rivers’ book, Prosper brought up Google Earth and then input Eckmann’s address, zooming down to Street View to get a closer look.

  The property was a detached Victorian house set back from the road and bordered by a wall with a metal gate at the entrance, through which he could see a short shingle drive. There were no vehicles in the drive, but there was a garage attached to the side of the house, designed to look like a miniature of the main building. Horse chestnut trees were dotted around the front garden; throwing shadows across the gabled front of the building and making the leaded windows seem ever darker and m
ore imposing. In the apex, Prosper could see what looked like a security camera.

  Wolfe leaned forwards and peered at the screen. “What do you think?”

  Prosper looked up at Wolfe, his eyes narrowed. “Now we go and get him.”

  “What’s this ‘we’? You need your agent buddies for this one.”

  “No, I need someone I can trust.”

  Wolfe held a hand up. “I’ve done enough to help. I told you before I can’t afford to get involved in anything dodgy.”

  Prosper exhaled slowly. He knew he was asking a lot. “What’s happened to the Wolfe I used to know? The one who was always pushing boundaries? The one who didn’t just seek out thrills, he thrived on them?”

  “He’s grown up.”

  “Bollocks.”

  “Look Prosper, I’ve got a profitable business going on.”

  “And why’s that? Because you cashed in on that business with the Oracle. What did I get out of it?”

  “You got something that money can’t buy. It brought you and Natasha closer.”

  Prosper swallowed. “Friend to friend, I need your help. If not for me, think of those babies. Who knows what that sick fuck’s doing to them.”

  Wolfe ran a hand through his hair, his teeth gritted. “That’s a low shot.”

  “So are you going to help?”

  Wolfe nodded. “But this is the last time. After this, I’m opting for the quiet life.”

  “You? Quiet life? Never. Come on, let’s go.”

  Wolfe drove slowly past the property. Hidden behind the darkened glass of the vehicle, Prosper stared at the house but couldn’t see anything untoward.

  “Park at the end of the road.”

  Wolfe did as he was asked and then killed the engine. Prosper pulled his gun out and turned it over in his hand, the metal cold against his skin.

  “I take it that’s not a toy,” Wolfe said.

  Prosper looked across at his friend, shook his head, then put the gun back in its holster before exiting the vehicle.

  The sky was grey, giving everything a depressing demeanour. He glanced along the road, the detached houses all set back from the road, allowing the residents more privacy.

  He walked towards the house. The wall stretched all the way across the front and was about five feet high. He glanced both ways along the road but couldn’t see anyone.

  “Give me a leg up,” he said as he grabbed the top of the wall.

  Wolfe crouched down, laced his fingers together, and boosted Prosper up. Prosper sat on the top and stared across at the house to make sure no one was looking out at him. He turned back, was about to reach down to give Wolfe a helping hand when his friend scrambled up without any assistance.

  Prosper dropped down onto the other side. Wolfe landed beside him.

  There were a couple of trees between Prosper and the house. The security camera was angled towards the gate, so it wouldn’t detect them where they were, and he couldn’t see any other cameras.

  He withdrew his gun again.

  “What if this isn’t the right house?” Wolfe’s gaze fixed on the gun. “We don’t want any … accidents.”

  “Of course it’s the right house. I’m just making sure I’m prepared.” Prosper still had difficulty accepting Wolfe’s change of persona. At one time, his friend would have been all gung ho, but since his already vast fame and fortune had spread, he seemed to have had a personality transplant. He was toeing the line for the sake of his reputation.

  A lawn stretched towards the house, the grass of which had been recently mown. There was a door visible on the side of the house, protected by a small porch, and five windows, two on the lower floor, and three on the first floor.

  Prosper launched himself across the grass and pressed his back up against the house. His pulse throbbed, and he stood puffing slightly. Wolfe charged across the lawn and slammed into the wall next to him.

  Adrenaline coursing through his body, Prosper crept along the wall towards the first window. When he reached it, he cautiously peered inside the house. He could see a room furnished with a leather settee, a sideboard and a glass topped occasional table with a mug on the top.

  Prosper tiptoed to the next window and again, peered inside the house to see an old fashioned kitchen with a range. A table and four chairs occupied the middle of the room, surrounded by cupboards, and a large fridge freezer. In a small annex, he could see a washing machine, tumble dryer and dishwasher. Stacked on top of one of the units was a pile of baby food tins and powdered milk formula.

  He continued to the door and tried the handle, but the door was locked.

  “Now what?” Wolfe asked.

  “Now we have to get inside and check the place out.” Prosper continued to the door underneath the porch and turned the handle. The door was locked.

  Six frosted panels were inlaid in the upper half of the door. Prosper licked his lips, then slipped his jacket off. He placed the jacket against one of the panels, then smashed it with the handle of the gun, wincing at the loud sound. Glass tinkled musically onto the floor inside the house. Prosper pulled his jacket back, shook the glass out of it and then reached inside, crouching down so that he could grab the lock and turn it.

  He then opened the door and entered the house, trying to be as quiet as he could, the gun held out in front.

  A short carpeted hallway stretched before him. Three doors were visible. Two were open. At the end was a staircase that turned a corner half way up where there was a narrow, rectangular window with a stained glass pattern with inlaid blue, red and yellow glass.

  The air smelled slightly of faeces and sick. Prosper wrinkled his nose.

  He cocked his head slightly, listening for any sounds. Not hearing anything, he started along the hallway, trying to move as quietly as he could. Wolfe followed close behind.

  When he reached the first open door, he peered into the room beyond, which contained a flat screen television attached to the wall, a long settee and a row of bookcases.

  Nothing in the house stood out as particularly out of place, and certainly not enough to sound alarm bells in his head, and for the first time he questioned what he was doing. If he was wrong about this, then he could kiss his new job goodbye. He could perhaps kiss it goodbye anyway, going out on a limb, or at least without the company approval.

  God, what was he playing at?

  Casting aside his reservations, Prosper moved deeper into the house when a noise caught his attention. He halted, held his breath. Wolfe came up behind him. Prosper put his hand up, making Wolfe pause.

  A baby screaming, the sound very faint, muffled. Where was it coming from?

  Prosper moved forwards, trying to trace the sound. He approached the closed door, put his head against it and cupped his hand around his ear to cut out any other noise.

  He tested the handle. The door was unlocked. As he opened it, the stench hit him and the sound grew louder. Padding on the rear of the door soundproofed it to an extent. A set of steps led down to the cellar.

  Taking one careful step at a time, Prosper started to descend, the smell growing worse.

  The screams grew louder, generated by more than one mouth. Prosper knew the sound of babies crying could be pitiful, but this … this was something more.

  At the bottom of the steps, he found himself in a corridor that stretched the length of the house. The walls were a clinical white, harsh illumination provided by florescent lights in the ceiling.

  Wolfe grabbed Prosper’s shoulder. “You should just call this in.”

  The babies’ screams continued from somewhere up ahead. Prosper looked at Wolfe and shook his head. “I think they’ve suffered enough.”

  Increasing his grip on the handle of the gun, he continued along the corridor. A cold sweat coated his back, his mouth dry, heart drumming away as he tiptoed towards the source of the noise.

  When he reached the door where the screams originated, he hesitated, wiped his brow and tried to swallow. Then he grabbed the door han
dle and pushed open the door.

  CHAPTER 53

  Klement turned his head and glared at Prosper.

  The baby on Klement’s lap screamed, its face flushed. The air smelled of faeces. A couple of the other babies crawled around the floor, crying incessantly. Projectors in the ceiling displayed images of violence and bloodshed on each of the walls, a landscape of decapitation, war and violence.

  “This is seriously fucked,” Wolfe said from behind Prosper.

  Prosper pointed his gun at Klement. “Put the baby down and step away.”

  Klement laughed and stood up, holding the baby to his chest. “I don’t know how you found me, but you’re not going to stop me, Mr. Snow.” He started walking towards the door.

  Prosper tensed his finger on the trigger. “Stop or I shoot.”

  “And risk killing the baby? I don’t think so.”

  Prosper gritted his teeth. Klement was right. He watched as the man walked past him.

  “You can’t just let him go,” Wolfe said.

  Klement increased his grip on the baby, one arm around its neck, squeezing, making it scream louder. “My work. All this. It’s too important.”

  Prosper kept the gun trained on Klement and stepped aside. “Just put the baby down. If you want a hostage, take me.”

  “I prefer my little protégé.”

  “It’s just an innocent baby.”

  “Is it? And how would you know? That’s what all this is about. Nature or nurture, remember.”

  The baby scratched Klement’s face, leaving small red lines, its wail an ear-piercing shriek.

  Prosper lowered the gun. “Okay, let’s just talk about it. Don’t do anything stupid.”

  “Stupid. Ignorant. Bliss. Happiness. Sadness. Sorrow. Pain.”

  “He’s cracked,” Wolfe said.

  Prosper shot him a warning glance.

  “Well he is,” Wolfe mumbled.

  Prosper crouched down and put the gun on the floor, then he stood up straight and put his hands up. “Look, I’m unarmed. We can talk. Just stop hurting the baby.”