by Mathew Carr
“I don’t give a damn.”
“Most degenerates have the same blood type. As do Jews and Asiatics. Dr. Foulkes believes your skull shape and facial features show Indian heritage, is that correct?”
“Go to hell.”
“The Indians of South America originally came from Siberia you know, so there is a direct connection to the Lemurian Root Race there. Fortunately Miss Claramunt also has the same blood type, which makes the two of you an ideal combination for our next experiment. Would you like me to tell you what it is, Mr. Lawton?”
“I don’t give a damn.”
“You will look at me, Mr. Lawton!” Weygrand was standing directly in front of the chair now, so that it was impossible for Lawton not to see him. He stared down at the Austrian’s feet as Weygrand explained what happened to blood that was extracted and left standing in the open air. After several hours, Weygrand said, blood began to change its consistency and formed three distinct layers. The bottom layer consisted of the red blood cells that distributed oxygen through the body. The second was formed by a combination of white blood cells and platelets, which helped fight infection and also contributed to coagulation. The top layer consisted of a mixture of water, salts, and proteins called plasma, whose function was not yet clear.
“One of our areas of inquiry is blood loss,” Weygrand went on. “We’ve found that even when our subjects receive traumatic injuries it isn’t the loss of blood that kills them. They die for some other reason. The anarchist Tosets, for example, had actually lost far less blood than some of our other subjects when he died. We believe the subject died of shock, due to circulatory collapse resulting from a lack of oxygen in the blood.”
“A fascinating theory,” said Lawton.
“It is,” Weygrand said. “And now you are going to help us prove it. You see, we are investigating the possibility that plasma carries oxygen into the blood and that it may help treat hemorrhagic shock—precisely the kind of shock that our soldiers are likely to experience on the battlefield. This has been the main purpose of our experiments so far. Before the Russian, we used dogs to inflict injuries on our subjects. Now we shoot them—and then we give them plasma.”
“What genius,” Lawton said.
“More than you can imagine, my friend. So let me explain what we intend to do now. First we shall extract Miss Claramunt’s blood. We will then leave it standing. When the plasma is fully formed we will separate it through a pipette and give you a direct plasma transfusion, using Acacia B gum as the anticoagulant. This is the first time we’ve ever done this.”
“I’m honored.”
“I’m glad to hear it.” Weygrand’s bulbous eyes gleamed. “Because in order to test our theory, we need a battlefield simulation.”
“He means we have to shoot you.” Klarsfeld said. “In the left shoulder.”
“We will of course bandage you up,” Weygrand explained. “As we did with the Russian. But as you can imagine it will be painful. And your chances of survival are not good. Even if you do, well…” He nodded at Klarsfeld’s driver, who began to undo his straps while Klarsfeld pointed the parabellum at Lawton’s head.
“Get up,” Weygrand said.
Lawton did as he was told. He looked down at Esperanza, who was trying to turn her head in the wooden box.
“Take your clothes off,” Weygrand said.
“The hell I will.”
Klarsfeld sauntered over toward Esperanza. “You know what I did in the Congo when the natives didn’t bring back enough rubber?” he said. “I shot their wives and children. The same with the Herero when they refused to give us information. It worked every time.”
Esperanza let out a whimper as he pressed the Parabellum against her right thigh. “Take your clothes off or we’ll do it the other way around. And you can watch your lady friend bleed. First the leg and then the arm. Let’s see how she reacts to shock.”
Lawton stared back at the cold blue eyes and began to undress, until he stood naked in front of the chair. He was pleased that Esperanza could not see him, as Foulkes and Weygrand weighed him on a scale, and proceeded to measure his skull with a tape and the same kind of caliper that he had seen in Foulkes’s study. Lawton had not undergone a physical inspection since his army medical, and he had been able to keep his underwear on. He had even felt some pride as the doctors examined his muscles and congratulated him on his physical condition. Now he felt like a trapped beast as Foulkes wrote down his details on a clipboard and commented on his brachycephalic skull, his apelike jaw, and degenerate ears. Klarsfeld and his driver watched with amusement as Foulkes photographed him from the front and side. Finally the humiliation was over and Klarsfeld’s driver escorted him back to the chair and strapped him down once again.
Esperanza was sobbing now, as Weygrand and Foulkes returned to the counter. A moment later Foulkes crossed Lawton’s line of vision, wheeling a small table carrying a bottle and tube. Foulkes ordered Klarsfeld’s driver to gag Esperanza, and even after she fell silent, Lawton could hear her sounds of protest through the gag, and he knew the catheter was being attached to her arm.
“Time is eleven o’clock,” Weygrand said. “Extraction of subject A has begun.”
Foulkes was standing in front of Lawton now, looking down at Esperanza with the same detached fascination that he had seen in so many photographs. Klarsfeld and his driver also watched her in silence. At 11:20 Weygrand announced that the first bottle was full and Lawton heard him moving around beside her once again. “Subject has fainted. Pulse rate 40.”
“Jesus Christ,” said Lawton. “What kind of creatures are you?”
Foulkes glanced down at him with the same lofty indifference and then continued to regard Weygrand with a faintly reverential expression.
“We have enough for now,” Weygrand said. “I suggest we return at three to perform the centrifuge on subject B, depending on the condition of our sample.”
Foulkes waited till Weygrand and the others had left the room, and then walked in front of Lawton once again. “You know I’ve often thought it would have been better if the Irish had disappeared during the famine,” he said. “And epilepsy is such an awful illness. All that dread and heartache—it’s no kind of life, is it Mr. Lawton?”
Foulkes looked genuinely concerned now, and then he walked out of Lawton’s sight. A moment later the light went out and Lawton found himself in darkness that was darker than anything he had ever seen, as the footsteps echoed down the corridor.
30
It was impossible to make out any objects in the room, but even though Lawton could not turn his head he could hear the faint sound of Esperanza Claramunt’s breathing. He tried to lift his bare feet, but the straps were bound so tightly that they began to cut into his ankles.
“Esperanza, wake up!” he hissed.
There was no answer, and then he heard a faint murmur.
“Esperanza?”
Again there was no answer. Lawton was shivering and trembling now, and he let out a low sound that was somewhere between a moan and a growl as he rocked backward and forward and strained against the straps. Once again his arms and legs were held fast. He was still tugging uselessly against the straps when he noticed that the chair had moved slightly from the rocking motion. It was only then that he realized that the board to which the chair was attached was not fixed to the floor. In that moment it occurred to him that there might just be something he could do. He began to rock backward and forward and side to side now in a more controlled and purposeful manner, until he felt the chair moving toward Esperanza’s. Even that tiny movement required enormous effort and concentration, but it was enough to make him continue. Once again he called Esperanza’s name and this time he heard an answering moan through the gag.
“I’m coming toward you!” he whispered. “Can you hear me?”
There was no answer, and he sensed that she was only barely present. He continued to rock the chair, pausing only to call her name or listen out for footsteps. It wa
s clumsy and painstaking work, and it was made even more difficult by his inability to see or move his head. He was also conscious of the risk of overbalancing and tipping the chair over. At last he felt her chair alongside his own, and he was able to touch her bare arm with his little finger. He continued to rock and shuffle forward till his right hand was pressing against her left.
She felt cold and still as he groped for the buckle on the other side of her wrist, but his hand was held so tightly that he could only touch the metal with the outside of his little finger.
“Can you move your hand?”
Once again there was no answer, then he felt her fingers moving.
“I want you to reach for my strap. Can you feel the buckle?”
He heard what sounded vaguely like a noise of affirmation. As he had hoped, her wrist was not strapped down as tightly as his, and he felt her fingers crawling over his wrist like a spider’s legs as she reached for the end of the strap.
“That’s it!” he said. “Push it through now.”
He felt her fingers and thumb fumbling with the strap, and then her fingers slipped away from him.
“Try again!” he said. “If you don’t we’re going to die here.”
For a moment he thought she had passed out, and then the cold, delicate fingers worked their way back across his wrist and pushed the strap up through the metal loop.
“Good girl! Now open it!”
Lawton felt her struggling to ease the leather strap out through the prong. At one point she had nearly succeeded, then her fingers fell back and the strap sank back down.
“Come on! Push the damn thing!” he growled.
Once again she gripped the end of the strap between her thumb and forefinger and pushed it upward. For a moment he thought she would fail again, but then the strap came loose and he slipped his hand free. He almost tore the strap from his other wrist, before he pushed the box on his head back on its hinges and undid the strap around his chest. He reached down and unstrapped his feet and suddenly he was standing upright once again on his own two feet and ready to fight.
* * *
He stumbled toward the counter and used the wall to guide his way back toward the door, till he reached the light switch. He turned the light back on and went over to get his clothes. When he had dressed he leaned over Esperanza’s chair. She was sitting with her eyes closed, and she did not open them when he unbuckled her straps. No sooner had he tilted back the wooden box and untied her gag than her head fell to one side. He slapped her lightly on the cheek till she straightened up and looked at him with a desolate expression.
“It wasn’t Ruben,” she said, in a tired, sad voice. “It was Arnau.”
“This isn’t the time for that. Can you stand?”
“I don’t know.” She pushed down on the arms of the chair and tried to lift herself up, and then sat back down again. “It’s my legs. They’re like water.”
“Stay there for now.” Lawton had felt briefly hopeful and optimistic but now he was beginning to feel trapped once again. The clock on the wall gave one o’clock, which left two hours before Foulkes and the others returned. He looked around for a weapon. At the far end of the counter he saw a lantern and a microscope, and in the corner beyond it he noticed a large can of paraffin. None of these objects were much use, and he began to look with growing desperation through the cupboards and drawers.
Most of them were filled with bottles, vials, rubber tubes, and an array of syringes, needles, and catheters, but another contained an array of scalpels and other surgical instruments. He was still looking through it when he heard Weygrand’s high-pitched nasal voice. He grabbed a curved amputation knife and ran over to the light switch. He had barely had time to switch it off when the door opened and Weygrand turned it back on again.
Lawton was still pressed against the wall with the door turned toward him, and now he slashed downward with the knife. Weygrand shrieked and dropped his cane as Lawton reached around the door and grabbed Zorka by her collar. She opened her mouth as if to scream, but he wrenched her into the room and slammed the door shut, pressing the knife against her throat even as Weygrand reached for his stick with his good hand. Lawton brought his bare foot down on Weygrand’s fingers, and kicked the stick away from him.
Weygrand was still holding his wrist, and a little puddle of blood was beginning to form on the floor. Lawton reached down and picked up the stick. As soon as he held it he realized why Weygrand had been so keen to retrieve it. The cane was heavier than it should have been, and he separated the stick from the silver handle to reveal a cane-pistol with a drop-down trigger, of the type that English gentlemen used in the last century to defend themselves on the streets. He had often heard of such weapons, but had never seen one, and now he pointed it directly at Zorka’s catlike eyes.
“Do exactly as I say,” Lawton ordered. “Or I swear to God I shall kill you both.” He looked down at Weygrand. “Get up,” he ordered.
“I’m bleeding!” Weygrand whined incredulously. “I need a bandage.”
“Sit down.” Lawton pointed toward the empty chair. “Miss Claramunt. Can you strap this bloodsucker’s feet?”
Esperanza hauled herself to her feet with obvious difficulty, and knelt down to tie the straps around Weygrand’s ankles. As soon as she had finished she turned away and retched.
“The she-wolf can take your place,” Lawton pointed with his gun toward the vacant chair. Zorka meekly sat down and buckled the straps around her ankles as Esperanza limped over to the autopsy table and sat down.
“What are you doing here?” Lawton asked. “You said you weren’t coming back till three.”
“Foulkes doesn’t like women to come into the laboratory while we’re working,” Weygrand said. “But Zorka wanted to see you.”
“Did she now?”
“Dammit man, can’t you give me a bandage?”
“A little bleeding won’t hurt you. Just think of it as an experiment.” Lawton turned to Zorka. “So you wanted to watch me? These things please you, do they?”
“It’s not true!” cried Zorka. “He made me come. I don’t know what they do here!”
“Of course you don’t. Like you didn’t know what was in that cigarette.” Lawton wiped the knife on Weygrand’s trouser leg and slipped it into his belt. “Do you have any spare bullets for this?” he held up the cane gun.
Weygrand shook his head, and Lawton looked through his jacket pockets. There were no bullets, but he was pleased to find his cigarette case and lighter. He lit a cigarette and filled his lungs. “Zorka told me that you really can read minds,” he said. “Do you know what I’m thinking now?” Weygrand said nothing. “I’m thinking that it wouldn’t be a bad thing to let you bleed to death. But I’d much rather see you dangling from the end of a rope.”
Weygrand looked at him with a cowed expression as he walked over to the counter and took a roll of bandage from one of the drawers. “How many men are guarding the building?” he asked.
“Only one,” Weygrand replied.
Lawton laid his weapons on the ground and quickly bandaged Weygrand’s wrist. It was only now that he put his boots on, and knelt down to tie his laces. He picked up the gun and knife and walked over to Esperanza.
“We’re leaving,” he said.
“In her state?” said Weygrand. “She can hardly walk.”
“He’s right Harry,” Esperanza said. “Save yourself.”
“We’re going together.” Lawton stuck the knife in his belt and led her by the arm toward Weygrand. “Undo your straps,” he ordered. “Anything else and I’ll shoot you dead.”
Weygrand leaned forward and unstrapped himself.
“Now her.” Lawton nodded at Zorka, and Weygrand undid her straps.
“Stay just in front of me,” Lawton ordered. “Otherwise it’ll be the bullet for one of you and the knife for the other. Turn around.” He prodded Zorka and Weygrand toward the doorway and they walked out into the corridor. Even before they reached the
grille he heard voices shouting up from below and he paused and peered down into the gloom.
“Listen carefully,” he said. “I’m going to get help. But you need to be silent now. Otherwise all of us will die. Do you understand?”
There was a murmur of assent and the voices fell silent before a woman called, “God bless you, Señor” in a soft, hopeful voice.
They walked on toward the closed doors, where Lawton unhooked Esperanza’s arm and told Zorka and Weygrand to stand still. He was walking just in front of them now, with the knife in one hand and the pistol in the other as he inched one of the doors open. The chapel was silent, and he closed the doors once again and ordered Weygrand to kneel on the floor.
“Why?” Weygrand asked nervously. “What are you going to do?”
Lawton handed the pistol to Esperanza. “Hold this against his head,” he said. “If he moves shoot him,” he said. “And if I say anything I also want you to shoot him.”
Esperanza nodded and rested the barrel against the back of Weygrand’s polished black hair. Zorka looked at Lawton expectantly, as he pointed toward the stairs. “You’re coming with me. When I tell you, call the guard in. Anything else and I’ll cut your throat. Is that clear?”
“Of course, Harry. Whatever you say.”
Lawton ignored the sarcasm and took her by the arm. The entrance to the chapel was slightly ajar, and he could not see the guard as he walked slowly and carefully through the pews, with his hand on Zorka’s wrist. It was not until he reached the door that he gave her a nod.
“Señor,” Zorka called. “I need you.”
“Señora?”
Lawton heard the footsteps coming up the little step. The guard had barely stepped inside when he let go of Zorka’s wrist and kicked the door shut. The guard tried to unhook the shotgun, but Lawton slashed him across the throat with a scythe-like motion. The guard let out a gargling sound and tried to staunch the wound with his hands, but his eyes were glazing over as he dropped to his knees and toppled over. Zorka had one hand over her mouth and she stared at Lawton with fascination as he wiped the knife on the guard’s shirt.
