The Ben Hope Collection: 6 BOOK SET

by Scott Mariani

  One of the guards opened a door, and the other pressed his hand against Adam’s back and shoved him through it.

  He stumbled. ‘Watch it, Hitler boy,’ Adam muttered over his shoulder. The guard looked at him as though he could happily have shot him dead and left him where he dropped. He shoved Adam again, harder this time. Maybe provocation wasn’t a wise option.

  Then Adam stopped and looked around him at the place he’d just walked inside. His jaw dropped.

  The cavernous space was built with the same stone blocks as the chamber he’d arrived in yesterday, but it was twenty times as large. The ceiling soared up like the roof of a cathedral, great archways overhead connected by a system of metal galleries and ladders. A huge, tattered swastika banner hung against the stonework. Sixty-five years ago, this place must have been swarming with German soldiers.

  As a gust of wind ruffled his hair, Adam realised that the giant hall was open to the elements and bright with the first natural light he’d seen since the alleyway in Graz. He turned to see where it was coming from.

  And found himself staring out over a rocky valley that stretched as far as the eye could see. Eighty yards from where he stood, a vast stone arch opened up to the outside like the mouth of a cave. At first he thought the leafy green veil hanging over the entrance was vegetation, but then it hit him that it was military-style camouflage netting designed to conceal it from prying eyes.

  Now he understood what the place was. He was standing inside a hollowed-out mountain. The sheer scale of it made him dizzy.

  After a long career in science, Adam was no more a history expert than he was a linguist – but he’d learned enough about World War II from his background reading on Hans Kammler to know that the Nazis had built hundreds of hidden underground bunkers, experimental research stations and factories around occupied Europe, constructed by armies of forced labourers transported from Auschwitz and the other death camps. He’d read that some historians believed not all of those secret facilities had been found. It looked as if they’d been right.

  Adam could barely imagine the construction project for a place like this. It would have been like a scene from ancient times, the building of the pyramids. Tens upon tens of thousands of workers labouring fifteen hours a day for months, even years. A huge mass of human ants driven back and forth by their masters, worked until they dropped dead with their shovel or pickaxe still in hand, while more doomed souls arrived under armed convoy from the camps each day to take their place. How many must have died here, nobody would ever know.

  Between the mouth of the cave and where he stood was an aircraft, its fuselage and wings streaked red with corrosion. He stepped away from the guards and walked underneath one of the rusty wings. He’d seen this type of plane in documentaries. It was the infamous Luftwaffe Me 262 jet fighter, the revolutionary plane that could have won the war for Germany if its development hadn’t come so late. But this one seemed to have some very strange engine modifications visible through its nose canopy – modifications whose function he could only guess at.

  What had they been doing in here? Adam swallowed. He already knew the answer, but it was too incredible to contemplate.

  The guards interrupted his thoughts, moving him on at gunpoint through more corridors. They stopped at a door and one of them knocked. A voice answered, and they went in.

  Adam was surprised to find himself stepping inside a pleasant office. Classical music tinkled softly in the background. Behind a mahogany desk sat a sandy-haired man in a smart suede jacket. He stood as Adam was shown inside, and walked up to him with a smile. The guards left and shut the door.

  Adam studied the man warily. He wasn’t like the three hardcases who’d brought him from Graz, or the brutish guards. In his early forties or thereabouts, he was handsome in almost a dashing way, with a high forehead and twinkling grey eyes that hinted at high intelligence and a careful, logical mind.

  ‘My name is Pelham,’ the man said. The accent was English, educated, upper class. Adam’s blood chilled as he recognised the voice. It was the one that had talked to him on the phone the day Rory was taken.

  ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you at last, Professor Connor,’ Pelham went on. ‘Or should I say, Professor O’Connor? You haven’t been the easiest of men to find, changing your name like that.’ He motioned to an open drinks cabinet behind the desk. ‘Would you like a drink?’

  Adam glared at him. ‘I’d like to see my boy, you sonofabitch.’

  Pelham shrugged, reached for a decanter and a glass and poured himself a measure. ‘There’s no reason why this should be an unpleasant experience for either of us,’ he said. ‘But suit yourself. Here, take a seat.’

  Adam remained standing.

  ‘My employer regrets that he can’t be here personally to greet you. Unfortunately, his schedule just doesn’t permit it.’

  ‘Well, that’s a shame. I’d have liked to meet this guy. Give him my regards. Who is he?’

  Pelham smiled. ‘Afraid I can’t say.’

  ‘No, I didn’t suppose you could. Where’s Rory?’

  ‘Actually very close by. Closer than you might imagine. You’ll be seeing him soon, I promise. And please rest assured that he’s been very well looked after here.’ Pelham smiled. ‘Your son’s a fine boy. You should be proud of him.’

  Adam was palpitating with rage. The man’s smooth charm just made him angrier.

  Pelham smiled reasonably and sat at the desk. Setting down his glass, he laced his fingers together and leaned forward. ‘Now, let’s waste no more time. There’s been enough delay already. It’s thanks to our difficulty finding you that we first had to approach your colleagues, Drs Goodman and Miyazaki.’ He frowned. ‘Regrettably, they were of little assistance. We had to let them go.’

  ‘Murdering bastard. They were my friends.’

  ‘It’s all down to you now, Adam. May I call you Adam? I hope you understand the degree of trust we’re placing in you, and that you’ll co-operate with my employer’s wishes. In a very real sense, what we’re offering you here is the opportunity of a lifetime. A chance to achieve something quite extraordinary.’

  Adam leaned across the desk, so that his face was just a few inches from Pelham’s. ‘What the fuck am I doing in this place?’

  ‘Please don’t play games with me, Adam,’ Pelham said softly. ‘You already know exactly what you’re doing here. You’re going to make the Kammler machine work for us.’

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Lenny Salt was pretty pleased with himself.

  As he drove out of Laugharne as fast as the old Vauxhall would go, heading away from the coastline through the maze of winding lanes that criss-crossed the countryside like a spider’s web, he had a big smile on his face. He reached out and patted the camera on the passenger seat. Nice work. He’d got some great snaps of the Red Scarf Man. That would teach Them to send some spook out to trick old Lenny Salt. Information on Kammler? Lenny smiled. Yeah, right. As if these people could tell him anything. Nobody knew more about Kammler than the Kammler Krew.

  He thought about the man he’d photographed, magnified up close in the long lens. Probably mid to late thirties, in good shape. Almost certainly ex-military. Those guys all had that look about them. MI5 or CIA? he wondered. Then again, what did it matter which agency he was working for – it was all part of the same evil global fraternity.

  Them. Lenny thought about Them a lot. The bastards were all in it together.

  He’d seen this whole thing coming, for a long time. Had anyone listened to him? Had they fuck. And now look what had happened. Michio and Julia dead, and it was only a question of time before They got to Adam as well.

  It’s not paranoia when they’re really out to get you, he thought. That was one of his favourite sayings, and it never failed to make him smile to himself, because he knew he was way too smart ever to let them catch him. He’d been too clever for Red Scarf Man today, same as he’d been too clever to let himself be duped by that girl last y
ear, that German or whatever she was, the one calling herself Luna.

  Luna – what kind of stupid made-up name was that?

  Lenny grinned to himself at the memory of how he’d fooled her. Same system he’d used today. Agree to the meet, watch them from a vantage point, take the pictures and slip away. Know your enemy. That was another favourite saying of his, one he took seriously. This was war. It was a matter of survival.

  As soon as he got back to the caravan he was going to download the pictures onto his laptop with the others: all the people who’d ever tried to follow him, lure him or pinch his ideas. He was still working on a lot of the names, and of course most of them were phoney anyway – that was the way They worked. But he had all the faces memorised, and he was always watching out for them, everywhere he went. More enemies would come for him in the future. He was certain of that – but he’d be ready for them.

  They weren’t going to get him. No chance. Not him, not wily old Lenny Salt. Always one step ahead, always on the move, untraceable, checking his emails from a different library or cyber-café every day, always paying cash and giving false names to the farmers whose bits of land he rented. Then, every couple of months, or whenever he felt the heat, he’d move on.

  And now that Red Scarf Man was sniffing around, it was going to be time to pack up and relocate again. Away from west Wales, maybe up to Scotland this time. Or perhaps Cornwall. Plenty of places to hide away there, and there was always a hippy retreat or new-age healing camp where you could buy a bit of hash.

  After half an hour’s drive Lenny was deep in the countryside. At the end of a long, twisty single-track lane he stopped at a farm gate, got out of the car and opened it, drove through and stopped again to shut it behind him. Cows looked up from their grazing and eyed the Vauxhall lazily as it bumped through the field. Across the other side, he reached the next gate and passed through into the wooded area where his camp was.

  A few yards further up the track, half-hidden behind a sprawl of gorse and brambles, was the old Sprite caravan. He’d bought it cheap, in cash, from a secondhand dealer in the Peak District just before he’d left Manchester. As soon as he’d got it, he’d sprayed it with military surplus drab-olive paint to help it blend into the rural environments where he planned on spending the rest of his days. Home might be a box on wheels, but he liked to keep it nice and tidy.

  Lenny got out of the car and walked over towards the caravan, avoiding the tripwire that was carefully stretched between two trees and attached to an alarm circuit. His hidden cameras watched him from the foliage.

  Next to the caravan was his folding table, his deck chair and the barbecue that he grilled his food on. He fancied some sausages tonight. He climbed the aluminium steps to his front door, took the keys from his pocket and undid the two heavy steel padlocks to let himself in. It was hot and stuffy inside, and he pushed open the windows to let some air circulate.

  Still grinning to himself at having fooled Them yet again, he stepped over to the fridge and pulled out a can of Old Speckled Hen. Cracked the ring and raised the can in a toast to his cleverness.

  ‘I’ll have one of those too,’ said a voice behind him.

  The can dropped out of Lenny’s fingers and hit the vinyl floor with a hiss of foam.

  Lenny spun around.

  The man from the castle walkway in Laugharne was standing in the doorway.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Adam gaped dumbly at Pelham, as if he’d been slapped.

  ‘That’s right,’ Pelham said, clearly enjoying the look on his face. ‘It’s here. I wasn’t joking when I said you were being given an incredible opportunity, Adam. You should be honoured. Welcome to the inner circle.’

  ‘You found it.’ Adam’s voice was hushed with awe.

  ‘It was found. Not by me. I’m just a man with a job to do, the same as you. Mine was to find someone who could make it work. We failed twice. Now you’re here, we’re not going to fail a third time.’ He cocked his head. ‘Are we, Adam?’

  Adam was too stunned to formulate a reply.

  ‘Good. Now, enough talk. I want to show you something that very few people have seen in more than half a century.’

  Adam was still speechless as Pelham led him out of the office. The guards were standing outside the door, weapons dangling at their sides. They stood to attention as their boss strode out of the doorway and followed, pointing the guns at Adam’s back. Pelham led the way back towards the hangar, past the corroded hulk of the Me 262 and over to a doorway on the far side of the huge space, where he stopped and gave a sharp command. One of the guards produced a large key and unlocked the door.

  On the other side of it was a large circular chamber, fifty yards across. Light streamed in from holes in the rough dome of a ceiling and Adam could make out the marks of picks and chisels in the craggy stone walls. He shivered as he thought of the doomed concentration camp slaves who had carved this space out of the solid rock of the mountain under the watchful eyes and cocked weapons of their Nazi masters. The smell of death was soaked deep into the walls of this place.

  Running around the circumference of the chamber was a circular metal walkway, with a rail at chest height. Adam stepped to the rail and peered over the edge. His eyes widened. The centre of the chamber was an abyss, a round vertical shaft about fifteen metres across that plummeted straight down further than the eye could see. A rusted iron gangway led across from the edge of the chamber to a steel cage housing an open-sided industrial lift, the kind Adam had seen in pictures of old mines. Pelham walked briskly across the clanking gangway, opened a mesh door, and Adam followed him wordlessly into the lift. One of the guards accompanied them, and the other went over to a switch panel on the wall.

  As the lift groaned downwards and the craggy shaft walls rolled by, Adam saw that the guard was looking down at his feet, fingering his weapon a little nervously. Nobody spoke. Down and down. Adam estimated they must be hundreds of metres inside the mountain. There was no ventilation down here, and the air was thick and foul.

  The lift touched down and they stepped out into a circular gallery like the one above. A single arched passage led off it, lit down its length by age-yellowed lamps. Pelham led the way. The passage widened steadily, then came to a dead end.

  Facing them, glowing dully in the lamplight, was a giant steel door. It filled the entire wall, tall and wide enough to drive a Panzer tank through. It looked to Adam like the entrance to the world’s biggest bank vault. The rivets stamped into its edges were the size of baseballs, and six massive steel deadlocks cut deep into the rock. Painted onto the door’s matt grey surface was a sign with a skull-and-crossbones image and the words ‘VORSICHT: GEFAHRENZONE’ in stark red letters.

  The danger warning was loud and clear. Whoever had put that door in place must have known what terrible forces were to be contained behind it. Adam wondered if his captors had even the slightest idea of what they were dealing with.

  Pelham gave a command to the guard. The man nodded, unslung his weapon and handed it to his boss. Stepped towards the huge door, dusted his hands and took a grip on the giant metal wheel, crusted with age, that was connected by a system of gears to the bars of the deadlocks. The guard braced his feet apart, paused a beat and then grunted with effort as he put his strength behind the lock. The wheel turned with a squeak, and the deadlocks began to draw back. Another turn, a few more inches.

  Standing there with his mouth open and watching the locks slowly grind back across the door, Adam suddenly realised he hadn’t breathed for about a minute. His heart was firing like a machine gun. Pelham watched his face, and a little smile curled at the edges of his mouth.

  Adam gulped. He was about to witness something incredible, legendary. Something he’d spent years studying from afar, within the confines of his safe little world, relying solely on his own scientific knowledge and the sketchy evidence of a handful of witness accounts. The mythical Kammler machine. The lost Grail of super-esoteric science. Here he was abo
ut to lay eyes on it for the first time.

  Now he knew that Michio and Julia had stood on this spot, not so very long ago. Had they felt the way he was feeling now, quaking with terror and yet, somewhere deep inside, burning up with excitement?

  The thought screamed at him from inside his head. Can I make this thing work?

  The deadlocks had reached the end of their travel. The guard stepped away from the wheel, wiping the rust off his hands, then leaned his weight into the huge door and pushed hard. It began to open.

  Adam felt Pelham’s hand on his shoulder, and walked towards the dark doorway. The air wafting out of the shadows smelled dank, and Adam shivered with the cold that suddenly tingled up and down his body.

  Then Pelham flashed a torch, found the handle of a switch and yanked it. Lights flickered into life and Adam’s jaw dropped open.

  He’d held an ingot of solid gold created inside a nuclear reactor. Watched the child-sized Honda ASIMO robot conduct a symphony orchestra. Stood inside a particle accelerator a mile underneath the ground as electrons slammed into one another at the speed of light. Witnessed the afterglow of a gamma ray burst when a giant star collapsed in on itself and a black hole was born. But he’d never seen anything like this before.

  Under his feet, electric wires snaked like pythons towards the device in the middle of the vault. He followed them towards it.