The Gemini Agenda

by Michael McMenamin

  “No more than me, Herr Cockran. No more than me.”

  Cockran nodded. The brief affair with Mattie notwithstanding, he was finding it increasingly difficult to maintain his dislike for the German. This had been Cockran’s show and, to his credit, von Sturm hadn’t second-guessed him despite his initial reservations. Yet the raid was essentially a failure because Rolf was wounded, perhaps fatally, and the SS still had all the twins as well as Mattie, Ingrid and Hudson. All in all, not much to show for someone who thought himself quite good at organizing bloody mayhem.

  Worse, once they were in Regensburg and got Rolf to hospital, he had no fucking clue as to what to do next. And, unless he came up with a plan quickly, the initiative would, by default, belong to Sturm. He wasn’t sure how he felt about that. All he knew was that from Cold Spring Harbor to Boldt’s warehouse to Verschuer’s clinic, he hadn’t kept Mattie out of harm’s way. Based on what Mattie had told him, Sturm had been a lot more successful doing that a year ago. And, he ruefully reflected, it was hard to see how Sturm could do worse than Cockran now.

  Tearing up Rolf’s shirt, the two men bound up Rolf’s wound as best they could and carried him to the autogiro as Sullivan followed, providing a rear guard.

  80.

  On Ice

  Regensburg, Germany

  Friday, 3 June 1932

  COCKRAN flew the first autogiro with Rolf in the front compartment, followed by Sullivan and Sturm in the second as they cruised at a thousand feet and headed northwest, following the silver ribbon of the Danube which ran from Passau more or less on a straight line into Regensburg. The pink light of dawn had begun to appear on their right when they saw the lights of Regensburg.

  Cockran passed low over the city and saw the twin spires of the Regensburg Cathedral—St. Peter’s—which the aerodrome manager in Munich had told him was Regensburg’s most prominent feature. To the left was the city center. Further up the river, Cockran spied several modern office buildings, most of them three or four stories high, due to Regensburg’s tradition that no building be higher than the cathedral. Then he spotted a modern steel, granite and glass structure on the river directly down the street from the cathedral. It was five stories tall and technically not as high as the cathedral. But on top, a good 50 feet above the cathedral, was a huge, black revolving globe displaying the illuminated, blood red letters of I.C.E. flanked on either side by double red lightning bolts disturbingly similar to the silver ones used by the SS.

  Cockran looked to the left where the red tile roofs of houses had faded away and saw the long macadam runway of Regensburg’s air field. There were no lights but Cockran didn’t need them. As long as there were no trees or electric wires, autogiros could land anywhere, from macadam to grassy fields and everything in between. Cockran switched on the air to air microphone and spoke to Sullivan.

  “The airport is a half mile to the left. Set her down, Bobby, right where I do.” The wind had died down again as Cockran feathered the autogiro smoothly down and taxied over to the Ford trimotor Winston had hired. Sullivan did the same.

  Churchill and Rankin came over as Cockran stepped down from the cockpit. “Where are Mattie and the twins?” Churchill asked. “We expected them hours ago.”

  “It’s a long story but Rolf’s been badly wounded.” Cockran said as he enlisted Rankin’s aid with easing Rolf from the front cockpit and into the back seat of a long Mercedes touring car. When that had been accomplished, Rankin and Sulllivan volunteered to ferry Rolf to hospital while Cockran and Sturm stayed behind to brief Winston on all the previous evening’s events.

  Churchill had more or less set up camp beneath the shade of the trimotor’s huge overhead wing and the three of them sat in a semi-circle in canvas field chairs. Winston produced a wicker hamper filled with ham sandwiches prepared by the Vier Jahreszeiten hotel kitchen, a coffee thermos and a bottle of Remy Martin. Thus fortified, Cockran began the briefing, occasionally asking Sturm to add his view point. When he concluded, Cockran confessed he had been puzzling for the past few hours over what Kramer had said about the twins being kept “on ice” in Regensburg. What did it mean? Cold storage lockers? Warehouses?

  No one had any answers. They had landed at 5:00 a.m. By 6:30 a.m., Sullivan and Rankin returned to say that, an hour after the critically wounded Rolf had been admitted to hospital, a young surgeon advised them that, while he had removed half of Rolf’s badly damaged small intestine, he had a better than even chance for survival unless infection set in. At 7:00 a.m., Bobby’s two Apostles arrived from Passau with an ample supply of ammunition in their motorcar for the Schmeissers, Thompsons, Lugers and even Cockran’s Webley revolver.

  In the distance, the Danube glistened as the rising sun shown off the twin towers of the Regensburg Cathedral. The black glass exterior of the I.C.E. building sat between the river and the church. A Council of War began beneath the large wing. Ironic, Cockran thought that their rescue aircraft was built by a man—Henry Ford—whose photograph adorned Hitler’s desk and whose own anti-Semitism was second to none in the Nazi party.

  Churchill took a puff on his cigar and a healthy sip of brandy. “Bourke, you’re a lawyer as was your father. I know the continental system is not based on the common law but do we now have enough facts to go to the authorities in Regensburg for their help?”

  Cockran didn’t know the answer and was about to say so when Sturm intervened. “It will be risky to contact the authorities with any inquiries about the clinic,” Sturm said, “given the fire there last night and the men we killed. But I don’t see anything else we can do.” Sturm paused, took a sip of coffee, and continued. “There is a certain police detective, a Kapitän Bloem, who might prove useful.” He shrugged. “Or, after last night, he might arrest me. I’ll wear the SS uniform for whatever advantage it affords but there are no guarantees.”

  Cockran nodded. On ice…He had never doubted Sturm’s courage and his willingness to go to the police over an SS kidnapping took a lot. But what the hell would they do if going to the police didn’t work? Visit all the cold storage warehouses in town?

  On ice…on ice… Why would Germans like Verschuer and Mengele use an American idiom with Gustav Kramer? Why? Then it hit him. English was not an easy language to learn. Idioms and metaphors were always the most difficult, almost an initiation rite for foreigners. Outsiders need not apply until they had mastered them. Mengele and Verschuer spoke English but that was not sufficient to make them insiders. Yet both he and Verschuer had used the same idiom. Germans might understand the “on ice” idiom — if it were explained to them — but coming up with it was a different story. Only an American would have done that. Not a German. Not an Englsishman. An American.

  Cockran sat straight up in his chair. Of course! What an idiot he had been! It all became clear. An American! Wesley Waterman! I.C.E.! “On ice.” Just tell them we’ll be keeping the twins safely on ice. Mengele and Verschuer had been parroting what they had been told. The I.C.E. building! If he was right, Mattie, Ingrid and the other twins were being held captive in the I.C.E. building sitting right there less than a mile distant in front of them, across the Danube and next to the Regensburg Cathedral and the City Center.

  Cockran turned to Churchill and Sturm. “Let’s hold off on Bloem. I have an idea.”

  Cockran then briefly explained to the assembled Council of War the basis for his conclusion which was met with uncomprehending stares from Sturm, Sullivan and the other two Irishmen. But Churchill only smiled and took another puff on his cigar. “Herr Sturm, you may not be aware but my mother was an American and I am the product, so to speak, of an English-speaking union. As such, I can assure you that Britain and America are two nations divided by a common language. I believe my young American friend is correct and I urge you to act accordingly. Sgt. Rankin and I will re-fuel our aircraft at once. We will be ready to depart for Vienna on a moment’s notice when you return with the American hostages. God speed, my young friends and dread naught. All will be well.”


  81.

  You’re Alive!

  I.C.E. Building

  Regensburg, Germany

  Friday, 3 June 1932

  MATTIE McGary sat in the darkness, a black hood over her head, her hands and ankles bound. They had brought her to this room only a few minutes earlier. She had no idea where she was or how long the hood had been on. It seemed like hours, but she couldn’t be sure. The SS had been waiting for them when they emerged from the tunnel with the Andersen twins. Mattie had no chance to bring her Walther automatic into play—and it was just as well, for all the good it would have done her. She and Ted were quickly disarmed and they had taken her camera also. They had been outnumbered by the four SS who captured them and bundled them into two dark Mercedes motorcars waiting beside the bus Rolf had hired.

  That had been the last time that Mattie saw Hudson and Rolf, their hands bound behind them, before the hood was put over her head. The same had been done earlier to Ingrid and the Andersen twins who were pushed into the back seat of one Mercedes before Mattie and Ingrid were placed in the other. Mattie could not see but she heard the laughter when Hudson had said “I’m a U.S. Army officer. I demand to see the American Consul.” Ted’s demand had been cut off by abrupt burst from more than one submachine gun followed by the cries of their helpless victims Rolf Heyden and Ted Hudson. After the SS had killed them, Mattie was in shock as the Mercedes had rolled onto the road. Despite Ingrid being seated beside her, they weren’t allowed to talk. And, once they reached their destination — wherever that was — she and Ingrid had been separated after they had been taken into an elevator up several floors. Mattie couldn’t tell how many.

  Just then Mattie heard a door open and someone else entered the room. She heard the scraping of a chair on the floor and somebody sitting down. The door closed and the room once more grew silent. The door opened a second time and Mattie again heard someone enter and, as before, there was the scraping of a chair and the sound of someone sitting down.

  She felt hands on her wrists and then the cool metal blade of a knife as it severed her bonds. “You may remove your hoods now,” a German-accented voice said in English.

  Mattie did so and gasped at the bound figure seated beside her, the handsome, all-American face of Ted Hudson. Beyond him she could see the drawn blonde features of Ingrid.

  “Ted! You’re alive!” Mattie said. “I thought they had killed you. Where’s Rolf?”

  “Dead. The Nazi bastards gut shot the poor kid.” Hudson replied, his face grim.

  Mattie took in her surroundings. The chairs she, Ingrid and Hudson were sitting in had straight backs and no arms. Their feet were all bound as were Hudson’s hands but Ingrid’s hands, like Mattie’s, were now free. They were lined up in front of a large, immaculate walnut desk. Behind the desk were large plate glass windows which looked out over a cityscape Mattie did not recognize. Behind her were two SS guards, each holding a submachine gun.

  “Where are we?” Mattie asked.

  “Beats me,” Hudson replied. “Judging from all the red tile roofs, I’d say we’re still somewhere in Germany.”

  “Regensburg,” Ingrid said in a dull, low monotone. “This is my husband’s private office. This building is the headquarters of I.C.E. for all of southern Germany. The first and second floors contain a manufacturing facility where I.C.E. produces punch cards for use in the I.C.E. calculating machines. The next two floors contain offices for white collar workers, anywhere from engineers, to accountants. The fifth floor contains only my husband’s office.”

  “Not so, my faithless wife. Not so. Dr. Verschuer, please explain.”

  Mattie watched in amazement as the tall, bulky figure of Wesley Waterman walked into the room. Freshly shaved, he was clad in a Saville Row dark blue chalk stripe suit, crisp white shirt and a blood red tie. A small white enamel pin with a black swastika, adorned the left lapel. Verschuer, two paces behind Waterman, was followed by an enormous, bald SS guard bringing up the rear, 300 pounds of muscle over a black-clad frame easily four inches over six feet.

  Verschuer stepped forward and stood beside Ingrid. “Most of the fifth floor was vacant the last time you visited Regensburg some six months ago. Now, it duplicates all of our facilities at my clinic near Passau. The scale is much smaller but we can comfortably house ten patients here.”

  Mattie watched as the silver-haired, violet-eyed Verschuer walked past them and stood facing them behind the large desk. Before seating himself, he bowed to Mattie. “Fraulein McGary, I presume? We’ve not been formally introduced although we were shipmates on the Graf Zeppelin. Allow me,” he said, with a sweep of his hand. “I am Doktor Otmar Freiherr von Verschuer, Director of the Institute for Hereditary Biology and Race Hygiene in Berlin.”

  Sitting down in the desk chair, Verschuer smiled, leaned back and steepled his fingers. “Whatever are we to do with you, Fraulein McGary? You do seem to pop up at the most inconvenient times.” Verschuer opened a desk drawer and pulled out Mattie’s Leica. “Cold Spring Harbor and now Passau. Always with your trusty little camera.” He stood up and walked around the left side of the desk to where Mattie was seated. “I understand you showed interest in my collection of eyeballs, Fraulein. Is that correct? Probably took photographs of them with this little toy, didn’t you?”

  Mattie said nothing.

  Verschuer stepped forward and, without warning, slapped Mattie in the face with the open palm of his right hand and then swung just as hard with the back of his hand, her head rocking from side to side with the force of his blows, blood trickling from a split lip.

  “Answer me when I speak to you! Or would you prefer I have the SS teach you some manners?” Verschuer said, pointing to the SS giant who had accompanied him.

  Mattie watched the bald giant nod his head and grin. She could taste the copper flavor of her own blood and felt it trickling from her split lip. “Develop the film yourself, you bastard.”

  “I’ll do better than that, bitch,” Verschuer replied, venom in his voice, as he once more slapped Mattie hard across both sides of her face. Then he dropped her Leica to the floor and smashed it with his heel, picked it up and unrolled the spool of film. He then reached over to Mattie’s photographer’s vest and began roughly removing the film cartridges.

  Mattie watched as he unrolled and exposed all her new film cartridges, none of which had been used. Verschuer then walked behind his desk and over to Ingrid where, without a word of warning, he slapped her even harder than he had Mattie. Like her, Ingrid did not cry out.

  “And you have caused us problems as well, Frau Waterman. You betrayed your husband and caused him a not insignificant amount of worry.”

  “Aren’t you going to slap me as well, you punk?” Hudson said through gritted teeth. “Or don’t you pick on people your own size? Is hitting helpless women more your style?”

  “Slaps are for women only, Major Hudson. Men deserve steel.” Verschuer opened the desk drawer again and pulled out a small leather case which he opened. Mattie could see the glint of sun off surgical steel in the array of razor sharp scalpels which lay before him. He picked up a scalpel and held it up to the sun. “You are still a man, Major Hudson. For now.”

  He snapped his fingers peremptorily and signaled the two guards to come forward. “Take Frau Waterman and Fraulein McGary to Observation Room B and strip them. Follow the usual procedure for Dr. Josef’s sperm migration studies for twins. Make it quick. Four men only. Two different blood types to service each woman. Bind them securely. They’re not sedated.”

  “Wait, Otmar,” Waterman said as he gestured toward the giant SS guard who had followed Verschuer into the room. “Let Max be one of the two for my wife. Mengele said Max has never lost a sperm migration contest. My money’s on him.”

  Verschuer laughed. “So is mine.”

  Mattie watched as Max’s face broke into a broad smile and Waterman turned to Ingrid. “Max won’t disappoint, my dear. Since you prefer fucking Germans, I’m sure you’ll fin
d him to be more than a match for your last German lover.”

  Ingrid lifted her chin and gave Waterman a withering stare. “I doubt that very much. Men with bellies like you and Max invariably have trouble seeing their small dicks without bending over. Perhaps that’s why you prefer teen age girls. They have no basis for comparison.”

  The two guards freed their feet and lifted Mattie and Ingrid up from their chairs and prodded them in the back with their Schmeissers as they pushed them from the room, Max following behind. Mattie took one look back over her shoulder and shuddered as she saw Verschuer beside Ted, his scalpel poised above him, the sunlight glinting off its shiny surface.

  “As I was saying, Major Hudson, whether you remain a man depends upon you.” Verschuer paused. “And, of course, how satisfying—and truthful—I find your answers to my questions. Don’t disappoint me.”

  82.

  Are the Twins There?

  I.C.E. Building

  Regensburg, Germany

  Friday, 3 June 1932

  ENGLISH is a strange language. Herr Churchill is correct. Its idioms are a mystery to me.” Sturm had said on their way into town. If Cockran’s idea didn’t prove correct, Sturm said, he would visit Kapitän Bloem. And failing that, he promised that a Nazi Gauleiter by the name of Vokshul would be receiving an unpleasant visitor.

  It was 7:45 in the morning. As they paused at the bridge in the Mercedes Churchill had hired for them, the Apostles behind them in their Opel, the I.C.E. Building began to stir to life. The building took up most of the block. It was a modern design, the corners of the building curving around, no sharp edges. It had a dark gray granite trim running in wide bands beneath the large windows. The glass was tinted gray also. The front entrance faced away from the river and opened onto a small square. The rear of the building faced the Danube. The loading docks there looked designed to do triple duty—trains, trucks and boats. A freight car, its doors open, was on a rail spur adjacent to the loading docks. Thirty yards further up, a truck backed into the dock and men started to unload.