The Last Wolf (The Talisman Series)

by Stephen Ward

  Turning, he saw a figure silhouetted against the fire, his clothes torn and face filthy – Keller. Laughing hysterically amongst the carnage he seemed oblivious to any danger. Walking past the mounds of bodies, he ignored people with their hands supplicating for help. Huber saw him stop and stoop, a brief moment of stillness in an otherwise hectic scene. His friend's motive became clear soon enough as he ignored the stricken soldier's mute appeal for help. Keller raised his hand gun and finished the man without a moment's thought. Huber couldn't believe his eyes. As Keller came level with him, he slipped out of the hiding place under the truck. “Wolfgang,” shouted Huber. He looked up and said nothing, his expressionless face bereft of any sign of remorse.

  The pair quickly covered the short distance back to the relative sanctuary of the pens. Keller walked on in the direction of the submarine. “Keller!” shouted Huber, “Wolfgang” he called repeatedly but the older man continued to ignore him seemingly oblivious to both Huber and the general situation. Huber was struggling to keep up. A growing group of workers stood idly by as Keller approached. “What is being done?” he asked bluntly.

  The crew, unused to him speaking with such a harsh tone were taken aback. A breathless Huber arrived behind the group as Keller began to inspect the now almost completed vessel, eyes flitting from bow to stern, taking in every change implemented since he'd last been in the pens.

  “Still no conning tower? Explain this,” he barked at Huber.

  Stuttering, he replied, “It's main parts were too big to be cast off site so we've had to create a shift foundry in one of the old buildings in the yard. The crews will have stopped working and be taking shelter due to the aerial bombardment.”

  Keller's eyes burned into Huber's. “I see that in my absence you've made some changes. When was I to be informed?”

  Huber, mindful of what he had just witnessed thought carefully before he spoke. “You were in no fit state to help do anything. I came to check on you regularly.”

  Keller interrupted, “You came to make sure I was out of the way so you could take over and get the glory, didn't you?” Keller was now very close and Huber didn't like the direction the conversation was taking.

  “Of course not. I tried to help you but you were more interested in drinking yourself into oblivion,” cried Huber.

  Anger welled up and Keller lunged forward at Huber only to be restrained by one of the yard crew. Swinging round, he lashed out, knocking the man to the ground. “Stay down,” Keller snarled. With his knees on the man's shoulder, he smashed down repeatedly on the man's face with the butt of this gun. Other members of the crew tried to stop him but were fought off by the flailing weapon. Tears and hysterical cries filled the pen. Huber was at a loss as to what to do.. He was witnessing his friend and mentor lose his mind and become a cold-hearted killer. The crew now stood back in silence as Keller stopped and rose to his feet. Smoothing back his silvering black hair with his bloody hands, he reached into a pocket. Pulling out a handkerchief, he wiped the sweat from his brow, tears leaving bloody streaks on his cheeks.

  Suddenly, a gloved hand fell on Keller's shoulder from behind. Without a thought, he spun round and with the butt of the gun still in his hand, hit out. It was only seconds later when the man had taken his hands away from a bloody gash on his chin, that Huber recognised that it was Richter. His pale blue eyes looked through Keller as though he wasn't there. Keller ran, the echoing sounds of his footsteps receding into the distance. The shocked soldier standing at Richter's side shot off a round but the bullet bounced and sparked off a metal beam some distance away. Huber was about to chase after Keller but Richter held up a hand to stop him. Staring down at the lifeless body at his feet, he turned to the crew and holding a handkerchief to his face ordered them to get rid of the corpse.

  Richter looked down at the ground. “Hadn't you better go and look for your friend? Tell him I would like to see him.”

  The soldier and Richter walked slowly away.

  Chapter 39

  Weib's room was a welcome retreat from his workplace situated in the lower floors of the main house. Some of the tunnels below showed how the once grand architecture was in dire need of some TLC. He was unconcerned and quite satisfied as long as he had a haven to help him unwind and forget about the job he'd been tasked with. During the time he'd been there, he often wondered about what was happening back at the boat pens. Had they even noticed his absence? Not that it mattered. He had his own problems here. The torpedo prototype he'd been ordered to make was not going well and he was beginning to feel the pressure. He now realised how Keller must have been feeling for these past few months.

  Because of his advancing years his memory wasn't as good as it used to be. Remembering those old designs and schematics just wasn't as easy as it had been when he was younger. Even during his relaxation time he couldn't seem to switch off his thoughts as he mulled through various ideas.

  Weib was suddenly aware of voices and footfalls walking down the corridor. The wooden floor made it easy to hear comings and goings, and by the sound of it this was a large group. Not wanting to open the door, he removed the dressing gown hung on a nail and peeped through a pushed-out knot hole behind it. To the side of the split he could see some twelve men making their way down the hallway. Weib was used to seeing one or two people after work hours, but this seemed to indicate that something of significance was happening. Feeling that he would regret what he was about to do, his curiosity nevertheless got the better of him. Searching under the bed he found his slippers, which he opted to put on, believing they would at least keep any noise to a minimum. Opening the door quietly he slipped out, pulling the door to but not closing it fully. Then he quietly made his way down the hall.

  Speaking to workmates, he'd learnt that the building was indeed a manoir. The original tapestries and wood panelling had been changed to the more modern décor of the lower floors. He reached a lift, following a route he had become increasingly familiar with over the previous weeks. The group could be heard just ahead so he decided to hang back a little so as not to be detected. He definitely didn't want to have to explain why he was wandering around after work hours. Although he wasn't a prisoner, he felt it best to avoid that situation as he surmised they wouldn't take too kindly to being followed. The volume of the voices diminished, so hugging the wall, Weib continued furtively. Growing in confidence he turned a corner only to have to scoot back quickly. A guard stood outside the room which had attracted his attention on arrival. That had done it! Now what was he to do? As the guard turned and strode off down the corridor, he silently breathed a huge sigh of relief. Then Weib noticed a set of stairs, a narrow spiral close to the meeting room. Hesitating as to whether to climb them or not, he realised the guard was returning, leaving him no option but to go up and pray that they didn't creak under his weight. He arrived on what appeared to be a minstrel's gallery with a small balcony overlooking the meeting room. At least it was dark here, so he sat in the shadows and gingerly peered over the rail. Below he could see thirteen people sitting at a round table emblazoned with the distinctive emblem he'd noticed on the floor. Candlesticks were lit with the biggest candles he'd ever seen, all of them dripping hot wax like great stalactites. In the centre of the table on a beautiful ornate stand sat what looked like a blade, old and worn, its grey shank and tip separated by a band of gold wrapped around its middle. Quite a sight, he thought scrambling quietly for a better view. The people were seated in comfortable high-backed chairs, each one adorned with a black robe. One by one the group each donned their robes. This was like an old fairy tale thought Weib and not at all like the kind of thing you associate with real life.

  As one figure picked up the blade and raised it in the air the room hushed. Weib could now see that it was in fact the end of a spear. The room began to echo with a soft chant as the artefact was handed around the group then placed back on its stand. Below, a distinctive voice spoke. Weib knew that voice. It was Richter chanting sotto voce in a language
he didn't understand. As Richter intoned the words, the group answered almost as if they were praying.

  Weib began to feel extremely uneasy and wished fervently that he'd stayed in his room. After all, what he didn't know couldn't hurt him but now he was trapped here until the end of this performance, all because his curiosity had got the better of him. As he listened intently, the group was discussing normal items on an agenda. Hoods had been removed and he was able to see the faces of some of the men. Amazingly, he recognised many of the people. They were members of the elite, high ranking officers from all parts of the forces, and business industrialists. The group below read like a Who's Who of Nazi Germany. One man spoke up clearly, “How is your project in Lorient, Richter? Are we on schedule?”

  After a moment, Richter replied, “Indeed, we are. The submarine will be ready for its mission. However, as I've said, I'm more concerned about its weapon's design. That old fool, Weib may have been the wrong choice.”

  “Send him back to the pens, then”, said another person.

  “No” said Richter, “We can't do that. He already knows too much about the other matter. I'll give him just a little while longer.” Richter rose and prowled around the table, “He may still be of some use and it's possible he'll deliver what we need.” Weib looked over the balcony rail to see Richter staring right at him, “and if he doesn't, then I will personally make sure he never lives to tell a soul about this place.”

  Weib's blood ran cold. Whether Richter knew of his presence or not, he'd certainly given him the necessary incentive to redouble his efforts. Weib had heard quite enough and didn't want to be around any longer. Quietly, he made his way to the spiral staircase. Carefully peeking around the corner he realised to his great relief, that there was no sign of the guard. So opting for speed over stealth he made the journey back. Sitting safely in the confines of his previously comfortable sanctuary, he now knew there was little or no more time to stall. He was under no illusions that the ruthless Richter was quite likely to get rid of him anyway once the designs had been delivered.

  Hearing a creak, he looked up to see Richter standing in the doorway. “Burning the midnight oil, Herr Weib?

  “Er, yes. I've just been looking through some papers.”

  “You'd better get some rest. I think you have a busy day tomorrow and no time to waste. You know what I require,” and with that the door slowly closed behind his words, “Goodnight, Weib.”

  Shaken, Weib turned off the light and lay awake. The pale moonlight shone through the tiny window panes whilst the shadows of the trees and leaves danced on his grey blanket. It took a long time for his mind to quieten and when sleep finally came, he didn't rest well.

  Chapter 40

  Keller ran, the bullet whistling and ricocheting off the beam beside his head, knowing full well that Richter's goons, not to mention the rest of the garrison, would be after him soon. His head swam and grief had been replaced by rage. Anger at himself for not being there to help them and fury at the fact that he had no way of getting those bastards back for killing the only ones who mattered to him.

  He hid in a doorway and listened. The din of the raid outside was dying away but strangely, he didn't hear the alarm to general quarters. It would come soon enough, he thought. He wondered if he could steal a car, enlist under another name and then fight and destroy them. Anything to make the enemy feel the pain that he did.

  Emerging from one corridor, he heard his name shouted, “Huber” he snarled to himself. “Isn't it enough that the man wants the glory for himself?” Dodging around a corner, he waited for Huber to walk by as he remained unseen in the darkness. Speeding off down the hall, he made for a side entrance where he would slip out and never be seen again.

  “Where are you going, Keller?” he heard and saw Richter blocking his way. Instinctively he ran in the opposite direction but two guards grabbed him and wrestled him to his knees. “There's so much hate in you, isn't there?” said Richter quietly. Slowly the officer circling him, holding the hard tip of the gun barrel squarely against his forehead. “I'm willing to forgive this little incident. I can help you get what you want, but the question is, how far are you prepared to go to achieve revenge? Are you content with just killing a few soldiers or do you want to play a part in the ultimate package?” The hypnotic quality of his voice had a calming influence on Keller's troubled and tumbling mind.

  “I want them to suffer,” blurted the man fighting back tears.

  “Of course you do, that's why I am going to give you what you want, but first you must be willing to make more sacrifices.” The officer knelt beside Keller and whispered in his ear, “Let me help you. You don't need anyone else, just trust in me. I'll make sure you get your revenge. Now come with me,” and he held out his hand to help Keller up. Leading him down the hall, past the guards, Richter raised his hand and the rifles lowered. The side door lead out onto the concourse between the different pens. As they emerged, thick black smoke filled the air obscuring the sun. A chimney on the far side added to the atmospheric confusion with a plume of sparks. From within came the sounds of flatting hammers and presses. Once inside the structure, Richter reached into his pocket and pulled out a necklace, silver in colour, worn and tarnished. All around the hot sparks of furnaces glowed red and orange, white hot sheets of metal gleamed as they were pressed with holes or cut to size by massive machines. The heat took away their breaths. In front bubbled a huge vat, men dripping with sweat manned the furnace and stoked it with huge lumps of coal, some as large as the shovel itself.

  “What are we doing here?” shouted Keller but Richter held up his hand for silence. Placing the necklace on a red hot metal bar, the purpose unknown, a design suddenly became visible.

  “What's that”” queried Keller. Richter held up his signet ring and the same sun-shaped wheel design was now glowing white hot in front of them. “This is what will help grant you your desire but are you sure you're willing to make the ultimate sacrifice, Wolfgang?”

  Richter took Keller's hand, holding it palm down. “Take it. Pick up the necklace,”His calming voice once again breaking through the turmoil in Keller's head.

  After a long pause, There was a vile smell of searing flesh and Keller felt a sickening pain as he held the glowing hot chain and watched blisters in the shape of the sun erupt on his palm. Richter spoke words Keller couldn't understand but somehow understood what he had to do. With a last glance at the officer, he made his way over to a nearby ladder. For the first time since that awful day everything was perfectly clear. Looking down at the necklace he still held in his hand,, he felt no pain. He knew that in this way he would make a difference – for the good of the Reich – for the memory of Sabine and Petra. Richter was correct, he didn't need anyone else, just a sense of purpose and that purpose was revenge. Scaling the ladders running up the side of the wall he didn't notice the soot covering them or the blown out windows. He stopped to see Richter standing below watching, his face impassive but his lips still moving as he continued to intone secret words.

  Keller resumed his ascent to the access platforms high above the work area. He could feel the heat of the furnace through the grated catwalk, the soles of his shoes sticking to the metal. A man before him looked at him questioningly but stood to one side without a word. Keller's memories flitted across his mind, Sabine, smiling contentedly as they lay on the lawn outside their house, the sound of a soft singing voice filled his head. Petra loved to sing and would spend hours humming as she brushed her dolls' hair. But he realised the memories were just that. They were gone. Feelings of love changed to those of hate and loathing once again as the infernal heat continued to increase around him. Now the stink of gasses coming from the gaping furnace below filled his nostrils and stung his eyes. Still, he knew what must be done. Richter was absolutely right. The white hot bubbling metal below him seemed almost comforting as he continued walking towards the end of the catwalk until his toes overlapped the edge. Below he could just spy Richter, his eyes dead
but transfixing him with his gaze. Looking at the necklace one last time, gripping it tightly in his fist, he breathed the two names that had brought him to this and stepped off the edge.

  Huber had followed the two men and then chased up the gangway after Keller. He lay on his stomach just managing to reach Keller's arm before he dropped away. With his eyes burning and hair singed he attempted to pull Keller clear, screaming, “Wolfgang, What are you doing? You have to live. Petra and Sabine wouldn't want this.”

  Keller stared fixedly at his old friend and muttered, “I know what I must do,” and swung his body forcing Huber to lose his grip. As he fell, their eyes made an unbroken contact until Huber had seen him disappear into a red and orange flame - a hiss - then nothing!

  Huber rolled onto his back lying there sobbing drily. After a long time he came to his senses. Descending the ladder he walked on past dumbstruck workers who stood shocked at what they'd just witnessed. Oblivious to them, he just had to find Richter.

  Chapter 41

  Those words sent a chill through Forrester. This was impossible. First he was trapped on a World War Two U-boat, stuck on the ocean floor and now this! Fear turned to disbelief. Surely it could only be lack of oxygen making him hallucinate.