The Hidden Genes of Professor K

by Gabriel Farago

  ‘Unfortunately, his escape has a price: he cannot take his wife and daughter with him. Left behind, they remain in France and continue to stay at the Ritz, under the same roof as the man who can destroy them at will, and would do so without hesitation, given the slightest reason to act. Ironically, that reason was right there under his very nose, so to speak, isn’t that right?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Señora Gonzales.

  ‘Enter, SS Sturmbannfuehrer Wolfgang Steinberger, a powerful, strikingly handsome man, who serves in the prestigious Leibstandarte SS Adolf Hitler, Hitler’s personal bodyguard. Trusted by Göring and feared by everyone else, he was called in by the Reichsmarschall personally to investigate the theft.

  ‘Thorough and ruthless, Steinberger methodically interrogates all the guests and the entire Ritz staff all over again, one by one. He succeeds where the notorious Abwehr, the secret police, has failed. While questioning one of the barmen, Steinberger discovers that the man is Jewish.

  ‘Steinberger knows that the fear of pain is more powerful and persuasive than pain itself. Threatened with immediate deportation to a concentration camp, the barman capitulates and decides to talk …’

  Jack pulled his little notebook out of his pocket, took off the rubber band holding it together, and opened it.

  ‘What Steinberger discovered, and where this discovery ended up, is perhaps the most intriguing aspect of the whole affair,’ said Jack. ‘The barman admitted his involvement in the theft of the skull and pointed the finger at José Gonzales as the instigator. He even told Steinberger where the skull was hidden and directed him to it.’ Jack turned towards Señora Gonzales. ‘Am I right, so far?’ he said.

  ‘Yes,’ whispered Señora Gonzales.

  ‘Now comes the really interesting part,’ continued Jack. ‘Instead of informing the Reichsmarschall of his discovery, returning the stolen skull and claiming the credit, Steinberger does something surprising – nothing. He keeps quiet about it all. In fact, he goes one step further. He covers it all up and silences everyone who knows about the affair. The barman disappears; case closed. In doing this, the Sturmbannfuehrer has taken a huge risk. The question is, why? Perhaps you would like to tell us why, Señora,’ said Jack, ‘because so far, I’ve told you nothing new, have I?’

  ‘I would like to speak privately to my grandson for a moment.’ Señora Gonzales began to sob, unable to hold back the tears. She walked over to Isis. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘Forgive me. The truth can hurt more than we care to admit, and time alone cannot heal all. Hidden corners of our lives cannot stay hidden forever. Sooner or later, we must face the sins of the past. I only wish it wasn’t so. You must believe me,’ she said and slowly shuffled away. Surprised, Isis stood up and, leaning on Lola’s arm, followed her grandmother into the room.

  42

  After a few minutes, a composed Señora Gonzales – walking arm in arm with her grandson – joined Jack on the terrace again. Lola followed soon after.

  ‘Forgive me,’ said Señora Gonzales. ‘Often there’s a lot more hidden in the dark corners of our lives than we realise or care to admit.’

  Jack nodded. Lola shot him a meaningful look and sat down next to him.

  ‘After my husband’s arrest and all the dreadful accusations,’ began Señora Gonzales, ‘I didn’t know what to do. People were afraid to talk to me. I was terrified, with no one to turn to for support or advice. I felt abandoned and terribly alone. I was so young; so inexperienced; so vulnerable. And then there was Mercedes, my little girl to think of … All too much.’

  Isis reached for her grandmother’s hand.

  ‘Naïvely perhaps, or desperate more likely, I turned to the one man who I believed could help me,’ continued Señora Gonzales. ‘I pleaded with the handsome officer who held my fate in his hands to protect me. No, I did more than that,’ whispered Señora Gonzales. ‘Foolishly, I threw myself at him. Suddenly, I was no longer alone. Then one thing led to another and we became lovers. We fell in love, or so I thought at the time … I was wrong.’ Señora Gonzales paused and stared at something in the distance only she could see.

  ‘Looking back,’ she continued, ‘I don’t think the dashing major was in love with me at all. He was in lust with me, relishing the power and control he had over me. Deep down he was a cold, ruthless man without pity or compassion. Blinded by love and gratitude, I suppose, I couldn’t see any of this. Quite soon, however, I would – in the cruellest way imaginable.’

  Señora Gonzales paused again, and pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve. ‘The precious skull retrieved by my husband – he didn’t consider it theft because you cannot steal what is yours, he used to say – was hidden in a secret compartment in our suite at the Ritz. In hindsight, this was as reckless as it was foolish and put us all in danger, but José didn’t see it that way. Several rooms at the hotel had secret compartments concealed behind the panelling. Only senior hotel management at the highest level knew about them. It was the way guests kept their valuables safe.

  ‘Take Laura Mae Corrigan, for example, a glamorous widow and one of the richest women in America. She occupied the Imperial Suite until she was evicted by Göring, who took it over. She lived at the Ritz during the war and hid all her precious furs and jewellery in one of those secure places, well out of Göring’s rapacious reach. Had he known about her treasures, he would have made her an offer impossible to refuse. Instead, the stunning jewels survived the German occupation safely hidden behind the armoire in Mrs Corrigan’s dressing room. The whole place was a hotbed of skulduggery and intrigue, all of it under one roof. We were all sleeping with the enemy, literally speaking.’

  Isis squeezed her grandmother’s hand. It was a gesture of encouragement and support for someone she loved dearly, struggling to explain a painful past.

  ‘If the major had exposed me, the consequences would have been severe. Not just for me, but also for my child and my friends, who were bound to be implicated somehow,’ said Señora Gonzales.

  ‘Göring was a ruthless madman, capable of anything. Little did I know that the major was the same, if not worse. He was consumed by ambition. Steinberger despised Göring and had an agenda of his own. It all had to do with breaking the French Resistance, and taking the credit for it.

  ‘He did what he did, not to help me but out of ambition and spite. He didn’t want to be the one who gave the crazy Reichsmarschall his exotic toy back. Instead, he kept a close eye on Göring and was reporting directly to Berlin on how Hitler’s second-in-command was running the war in France. He was, in fact, Hitler’s spy. Of course, I knew none of this at the time. I was young, naïve and in love.’

  Isis glanced at her grandmother, a look of astonishment and surprise clouding her wan face. It was obvious she had heard none of this before. Señora Gonzales turned towards her grandson and said, ‘It’s easy to forget that even an old woman like me was young once …’

  ‘But there’s more,’ interrupted Jack. ‘Isn’t that so?’

  ‘Yes, there is.’

  ‘Shall I?’

  ‘Please.’

  ‘Steinberger and his brother, Erwin, Göring’s physician, both stayed at the Ritz,’ said Jack. ‘The Sturmbannfuehrer closed the investigation and your affair blossomed, in secret. A few months later, he moved you into a lavish apartment close by and Petit Moineau, the bellboy, became your trusted go-between—’

  ‘How did you find all this out?’ interrupted Señora Gonzales, shaking her head. ‘And so quickly?’

  ‘A little sparrow told me. Would you care to tell us what happened next?’

  Haunted by painful memories, Señora Gonzales covered her face with her hands. After a while she whispered, ‘I fell pregnant,’ her voice barely audible.

  ‘What?’ cried Isis, her voice shrill and quivering with emotion. Lola walked over to her and put her hand on Isis’ arm to calm her.

  ‘I gave birth in the apartment,’ continued Señora Gonzales. ‘It was a difficult birth. Fortunately, the major’s
brother – a doctor – and a German midwife were present. Without them, I may not have pulled through. Mercedes had a beautiful little brother. Then everything changed.’

  ‘In what way?’ asked Jack.

  ‘The major became cold and distant and kept away from me. He shunned me. I don’t think a newborn baby fitted into his plans. He used the apartment for clandestine meetings. All kinds of agents were coming and going at all hours and kept reporting to him and his cronies. I think they were trying to infiltrate the French Resistance. I overheard conversations …

  ‘At first, I was confined to bed for quite a while. After that, I rarely went out. During this difficult time, I only had one friend who came to visit me regularly: Madame Petrova, the celebrated ballerina. Anastasia was wonderful. I think the only reason she was allowed to visit me was because of her liaison with one of the major’s aides.

  ‘Then the baby developed a fever and was rushed to hospital. The major’s brother arranged it all. I was kept away and wasn’t allowed to visit my son. It was as if I didn’t exist. I was a virtual prisoner in the apartment. Miserable, unhappy and terribly alone.

  ‘Soon after that, the major was recalled to Berlin. He had to leave Paris in a hurry and we had a dreadful row …’ Señora Gonzales paused, and kept staring vacantly into space.

  ‘What about?’ prompted Jack after a while.

  ‘About me, us, the sick baby, what would happen to me and my daughter, the future …’

  ‘What did happen?’

  ‘Just before he left, the major moved me back into the Ritz with Mercedes.’

  ‘And the baby?’

  Señora Gonzales covered her face with her hands again and for a while, just sat there in silence. ‘I never saw my baby again,’ she whispered. ‘I don’t know what happened to him. The major told me to forget about the baby and never speak of the child to anyone if I wanted to live safely at the Ritz with my daughter. The threat was obvious, and he wasn’t the kind of man you would cross.’

  ‘And the crystal skull? What happened to it?’

  ‘The major took it with him. He left Paris with his brother and I never heard from them again.’

  ‘And then?’ said Jack.

  ‘Mercedes and I continued to live at the Ritz until the end of the war. So did my friend, Anastasia. Then the liberation came and my situation, and hers for that matter, became untenable.’

  ‘In what way?’

  ‘We were considered “horizontals”, collaborators who had slept with the Germans and sided with the enemy. And in a way, I suppose, it was true. Fortunately, Anastasia had excellent connections. She was a survivor with a wonderful sense of humour. Do you know what she said to a self-righteous woman in the bar who accused her of being a traitor?’

  ‘What did she say?’ said Jack.

  Señora Gonzales managed a little smile. ‘My heart is French, but my ass is international,’ she said. ‘We left Paris soon after that and travelled to London. Then, with the help of friends, I got in touch with José in Mexico. He came over and we were a family again. My life improved after that …’

  ‘What a story,’ said Lola, breaking the awkward silence.

  ‘Did you hear from the major after the war?’ asked Jack.

  ‘No. Everything was so chaotic. I had no idea what happened to him, until I read your book and realised that Sir Eric Newman living in Australia was Sturmbannfuehrer Wolfgang Steinberger, the father of my lost child.’

  ‘Is that why you asked Isis to get in touch with me?’ asked Jack, quietly.

  ‘That was certainly one of the reasons. After Mercedes was murdered and Isis discovered that dreadful skull hidden in the Elms’ family home, I realised it wasn’t over. The past was closing in, as it often does. Unexpectedly, and with a relentless momentum of its own. There are so many questions left unanswered, with many a dark thread linking us to the past. I believe everything here is somehow connected. The brutal murders, the skull’s mysterious reappearance, your book, you, us – everything. I’m at the end of my life, but I must find out how, and why, before it’s too late.’

  ‘I understand,’ said Jack.

  ‘I hope you do. And I hope you will continue to help us find the truth.’

  Jack closed his little notebook. ‘I will,’ he said.

  ‘Regardless of danger?’ asked Isis.

  ‘I’m used to living dangerously,’ said Jack.

  ‘I know. The Disappearance of Anna Popov told us that. That’s the other reason we approached you.’

  Barely able to suppress his excitement, Jack realised that another great story had just found him, and all he had to do was to follow the breadcrumbs, and his gut.

  Part III

  The greatest disease in the West

  ‘The greatest disease in the West today is not TB or leprosy; it is being unwanted, unloved, and uncared for. We can cure physical diseases with medicine, but the only cure for loneliness, despair, and hopelessness is love.’

  Mother Teresa, A Simple Path: Mother Teresa

  Auschwitz: June 1942

  SS Sturmbannfuehrer Wolfgang Steinberger opened the silver cigarette case presented to him by Himmler, lit a cigarette – Turkish, his favourite – and listened to the camp orchestra play a cheerful medley of Viennese tunes. Inhaling deeply, he enjoyed the familiar nicotine rush and prepared himself for the chaos that was about to erupt. The next train was due to reach the gates at any moment. It was thought that having music playing to welcome the terrified new arrivals packed like cattle sent to slaughter into the boarded-up, windowless carriages, would calm them and make them easier to control on arrival at the greatest extermination machine the world had ever seen.

  The major’s dog, a handsome Doberman, knew the routine and calmly watched the steam train roll slowly into the camp like a wheezing monster crawling into its lair. Soon, all hell would break loose.

  After the wooden sliding doors were unlocked and opened by the guards, the major’s men went to work. ‘Juden raus!’ they barked. ‘Schnell; schnell! Rechts; links; schnell!’ and began to herd the terrified wretches out of the foul carriages, as snarling dogs – fangs bared – pulled furiously on their chains. Women and children were lined up on the left, the men on the right. The selections were about to begin.

  That morning, the major was only interested in one thing: twins. His brother, Dr Erwin Steinberger, was carrying out secret medical experiments with Dr Mengele at Birkenau, a sister camp next to Auschwitz, and they urgently needed more twins. Walking slowly along the crowded platform, the major looked at the sea of terrified faces staring at him.

  No luck with this lot, he thought, when he noticed two young girls cowering behind a woman at the back of the long queue. The major stopped and pointed to the girls. ‘Come here,’ he said, the tone of his voice friendly. Slowly, the frightened girls came forward. It was impossible to tell them apart.

  Dr Steinberger couldn’t believe his luck. The Abramowitz twins, Lena and Miriam, were exactly what he needed. He had been looking for a suitable specimen for over a year, and had examined hundreds of twins in the hope of finding the right ones. The experiment he had been planning for so long could finally begin.

  Dr Steinberger opened his briefcase and pulled out the precious Aztec codex he had bought in Paris the year before. De Medicina, he thought, carefully unfolding the long piece of animal skin with its beautiful illustrations, his fingers trembling with excitement.

  ‘What do you think?’ he said to Dr Kozakievicz, watching him from across the room. The only reason Dr Kozakievicz, a Polish Jew, was still alive was because of his extraordinary mind. As one of Europe’s most gifted scientists – specialising in cancer – he had been highly sought after by universities, hospitals and pharmaceutical companies for years. Born in Krakow in 1902, he studied medicine in Heidelberg. There he met Sidney Faber, another Polish Jew, who lived in New York. Exceptionally bright, passionate and mutually fascinated by the old foe, cancer, the two young doctors became close friends. After
finishing his studies, Faber returned to the US, where he became the first full-time pathologist at the Children’s Hospital in Boston. Simon Kozakievicz returned to Krakow, where he continued his research into cancer and treating brain tumours. The two friends stayed in touch and exchanged ideas and research findings over the years.

  Dr Steinberger knew this gifted doctor was in a league of his own and was determined to harness his talent and his knowledge to advance his own research and reputation. To ensure Dr Kozakievicz’ unconditional cooperation, his wife and daughter had been kept alive in the camp. As long as he cooperated, they would remain that way.

  The horrendous medical experiments at Birkenau were in breach of every moral code, and everything a decent, ethical medical practitioner stood for. Unscientific, capriciously experimental and cruel in the extreme, they explored fanciful and far-fetched theories, mainly aimed at proving the superiority of the Aryan race; it was the Hippocratic Oath turned upside-down.

  Dr Steinberger, however, had a different agenda. Genuinely interested in science, he used the unprecedented opportunities the concentration camp offered to conduct medical experiments that in any normal university or hospital environment would have been unthinkable. He was looking for a cure for cancer, and would stop at nothing to pursue this aim in every way possible, regardless of the human cost involved.

  Fascinated by the history of medicine and diseases, he firmly believed that the answer he was searching for might well be found buried in the past. For years, he had trawled through ancient texts and historical records looking for clues. And then, quite unexpectedly, he had stumbled across an ancient Aztec text in Paris. He was convinced that destiny and fate had guided him to De Medicina, as the codex was called, and that hidden in the text was the important clue he had been looking for, waiting to be discovered. He was about to find out if this was in fact so.