Himmler sat pensively, his thin fingers steepled before his lips. Then he said, "Again."
Schlacht nodded to Vogel, who proceeded to rewind the film. When it had been shown for the second time, Himmler said, "Rewind it again. I wish to show it to Festhaller." He reached over to his intercom and instructed his secretary to ask Festhaller to come to his office as quickly as possible. Schlacht knew that this polite request from the chief of the S.S. and the Gestapo would result in an almost immediate compliance. He was correct in his assumption, for not five minutes had passed, five tense, silent minutes, before Festhaller entered the office.
Joachim Rudolf Festhaller was head of the Race and Species Classifications Division of the Anthropology Department of the University of Berlin. It was he who, after the passage of the anti-Semitic Nuremberg Laws of 1935, brought it to the attention of the Party that the principles of National Socialism were not being observed in the Anthropology curricula of the universities throughout the Reich, and it fell to him, a hitherto minor and not particularly well-educated instructor at a small private girls school in Hessen, to reform said curricula. He had found a mentor in Alfred Rosenberg, the Nazi Party’s official philosopher, who shared with him an uncritical acceptance of all manner of pseudo-scientific speculations about race and biology. They had even begun to formulate racially correct positions on matters as far beyond their ken as nuclear physics and architecture.
Festhaller had persuaded Hitler and Himmler that everyone living within the borders of Germany needed to be classified according to species and race. With the extension of German military power from the Arctic Circle to the Sahara desert, from the coast of France to the interior of Russia, Festhaller had kept himself quite busy classifying people all over Europe, so busy in fact that he found himself obligated to suspend his activities at the university and work full time at S.S. headquarters in Berlin.
He regarded his solution to the problem of classifying Dr. Goebbels as his greatest moment. In stark contrast to Hitler’s Aryan ideal, Propaganda Minister Josef Goebbels was short, olive-skinned, dark-haired, and dark-eyed. After much contemplation, Festhaller created a separate classification for Goebbels, who was then officially recorded as being a Nachgedunkelte Schrumpfgermane, a dwarf-like germanic who darkened.
Himmler was wondering what Festhaller would make of Janos Kaldy.
Schlacht waited expectantly for Himmler’s opening remarks to Festhaller. He knew from long experience that the S.S. chief had a tendency to open discussions in one of two ways, either by expressing an opinion on a subject or by soliciting the opinions of others before expressing his own. If Himmler began by telling Festhaller what he believed about the subject of this impromptu conference, it would mean that he had already made up his mind on the issue and was merely calling upon a pliant subordinate to agree with him. Schlacht was hoping for the other alternative: a request for evaluation and analysis.
"Colonel Schlacht has brought me a reel of film, Herr Professor," Himmler said. "It is a record of a most unusual event involving a Gypsy." He paused, and Schlacht held his breath. "I want you to watch it and give me your opinion."
Schlacht heaved a sigh of relief as the projector was once more switched on and the film was shown for yet a third time. It is not necessary for the Reichsführer fully to believe, he told himself. As long as he recognizes that there is something here that warrants investigation, I will have succeeded; and from that point on, the logic will carry us to my final goal.
When the lights were turned back on, Schlacht was pleased to see Festhaller gaping in astonishment at what he had just seen. The Party’s race expert removed his thick wire-rimmed glasses and wiped his brow with a gray handkerchief. There was a quality to Festhaller which Schlacht found repulsive. Perhaps it was the perpetual sheen of grease and sweat upon the rolls of fat, or perhaps it was the way in which the small eyes were enveloped by the flesh of his cheeks when he smiled. Whatever Festhaller’s racial background might be, and Schlacht did not doubt that it was pure, the professor was nonetheless far from the Aryan physical ideal. But Schlacht reminded himself that this fat pig had friends in high places, and would be a valuable ally if an ally were needed. Himmler allowed the professor a few moments in which to compose himself, and then asked. "Well? Is it possible?"
Festhaller cleared his throat. "You will pardon me for asking this, Herr Reichsführer, but is there any possibility that this film has been tampered with, falsified in some way?"
Himmler looked at Schlacht for a response, and the Colonel shook his head vigorously. "Absolutely not, Herr Professor. I myself was present at the events you just saw, and the film was shot and developed under my supervision."
Festhaller nodded and pursed his lips contemplatively. He knew Schlacht quite well, professionally, of course, not personally, and he had no doubts about the Colonel’s devotion to the awesome task of the racial purification of Europe. "In that case, Herr Reichsführer, I can only reply that it is impossible but obviously true."
Himmler’s face betrayed nothing. "Any speculations, Herr Professor?"
Festhaller’s brow furrowed as he replied, "There are analogues in nature, Herr Reichsführer, imperfect but perhaps useful. What we have here is apparently some sort of spontaneous genetic mutation, affecting the cell structure of this creature down to the molecular level of the cells. The Gypsies are, of course, a lower life form, sub-human like the Jews, but we don’t really know very much about their physiologies. Their physical similarity to humans has protected them from the type of research necessary for an understanding of their biological structures. I have often considered vivisection as…"
Himmler brought Festhaller’s attention back to the matter at hand. "What are the analogues you referred to?"
"Well, common things such as the metamorphosis of the caterpillar into the butterfly or the tadpole into the frog."
"But this transformation," Schlacht broke in, "is periodic and appears to reverse itself."
"Are you certain of this?" Festhaller asked.
"Reasonably certain," Schlacht replied. "Not absolutely certain. All we are positive of at the moment is that the change occurred. We do not know how or why."
Festhaller nodded again, assimilating this. "We must study this creature, of course, dissect him if need be."
"I would advise against that, except as a last resort," Schlacht said, turning to Himmler. "We may never have such a specimen to study again, and it would be a great loss to our science were we to kill him unnecessarily."
"He must be classified," Festhaller muttered. "I tend to believe that he is not a Gypsy at all, but rather some other form of lower pseudo-human, like the African Negroes or the Red Indians of America. Perhaps we should simply list him, temporarily at least, as a Lycanthropos."
"Again, Herr Professor?" Himmler asked, cocking his head in Festhaller’s direction.
"A Lycanthropos," he repeated. "It’s a Greek word. Literally, it means ‘wolfman.’ Lycanthropia has been recognized by some psychologists as a personality disorder which..."
"This is not a personality disorder, Herr Professor, if I may be so bold as to say so," Schlacht observed.
"No, no, certainly not, certainly not," Festhaller agreed quickly.
"Gentlemen." Himmler said with a tone of finality, "we must do the following things. First, Schlacht, you must find this man once again. That should not present too great a difficulty, should it?"
"No, Reichsführer." Schlacht replied. "I have already formulated a procedure for his apprehension."
"Good. Then he must be studied." He stood up behind his desk, and Schlacht remarked to himself, as he so often had when dealing with Himmler, how incongruous it seemed for so small and delicate a man to possess so much power. "As you both know, we have already begun our experiments in eugenics. The extermination of racial inferiors must go hand in hand with our efforts in selectively breeding the master race, recreating that Aryan people which once dominated the globe before they were polluted and d
egraded by the Slavs and the Jews. For this, an extension of our understanding of genetics is of vital importance. We may stand to learn quite a bit about the process of gene mutation from this creature."
Schlacht took a deep breath. Now is the time, he thought. "Reichsführer, there is another significance to this creature, one which is considerably more important than the eugenics program."
Himmler’s eyebrows raised quizzically. "Indeed?" Now that he had chosen to accept at face value what Schlacht had told him, he was receptive to anything else his subordinate might have to say.
"Yes," Schlacht said. "As you recall from my report, this Kaldy managed to kill two dozen heavily armed men with his bare hands. He tore them to sheds, in fact."
"As you reported," Himmler agreed, his face and tone as unrevealing as ever.
"On the night he broke out of the RagoczyPalace, one of the guards emptied a machine gun into him." Schlacht paused for dramatic effect. "Kaldy wasn’t even scratched."
Himmler’s expressionless eyes glimmered slightly. "Yes," he mused. "You noted that. Uninjured by the guards."
Schlacht leaned forward and spoke in hushed, almost conspiratorial tones. "Invulnerable, Reichsführer. Invulnerable."
Himmler nodded, intrigued by the direction Schlacht was leading him and slightly amused by his subordinate’s melodramatics. "Continue, Schlacht, by all means." Himmler sat back down behind his desk.
"Consider it from this perspective, Reichsführer," Schlacht said enthusiastically. "It is reasonable to assume that whatever it is that happens to Kaldy, whatever explanation there is for it, it must be chemical, basically chemical. If we can unravel the chemical process which causes this to happen to him, perhaps we can isolate it. And if we can isolate it, perhaps we can replicate it!"
Himmler leaned forward. "Replicate it? What are you..." And then S.S. Reichsführer Heinrich Himmler allowed himself to smile, and there was a quality to that smile which caused even Helmuth Schlacht to step back a pace. "Replicate it! Induce it?"
"Yes!" Schlacht said. "Induce it, control it, seek to learn to eliminate the attendant madness."
"And if the chemical process involved can be replicated and induced," Himmler mused, "we could subject some of our own men to the process."
"Yes, yes, precisely, precisely!" Schlacht nodded. "An invulnerable army. Our enemies brought to their knees by invulnerable German warriors."
Himmler began to laugh. "We would have to make certain, of course, that we can make them invulnerable without turning them into werewolves!" Schlacht joined in his laughter.
Festhaller coughed, a prelude to saying, "Herr Reichsführer, the research and experimentation as such a project would require...well, it will take years."
Himmler’s laughter subsided and then he shook his head. "Do not misunderstand us, Herr Professor, and do not allow my humorous whimsy to mislead you. I no more believe in werewolves than I do in golems, vampires or poltergeists, and I am as likely to believe in true invulnerability as I am to believe the Brothers Grimm. But it is clear that there is some process at work here, some doubtless chemical process, which renders this Gypsy very difficult to injure, and which causes a rather drastic physical change. A basic principle of National Socialist science is that anything which can be observed can ultimately be understood. Was it not just such reasoning which led the Führer to uncover the conspiracy of the Jews?"
"Oh, yes, certainly," Festhaller agreed.
"So if we can discover the biology of this phenomenon, it may enable us to alter the course of the war quite dramatically in a very short period of time. But," and he turned to Schlacht, "I am not willing to commit too much of our limited resources to a project which is so, shall we say, theoretical. The final solution to the Jewish problem is our number one priority, and the maintenance of internal security in the conquered territories must come second, and, of course, the conquest of Russia has not been proceeding as quickly as we had expected."
"I understand perfectly, Reichsführer," Schlacht said. "I have a suggestion to make, if I might. My cousin, Louisa von Weyrauch, is able to converse with Kaldy’s companion in some barbaric Alpine tongue they both know. She can assist me in interrogation. Her husband, Gottfried, is a trained physician and has studied psychology. If there are psychological factors involved, he may be able to discover them, and he can also see to the physical well-being of the prisoners for as long as we choose to keep them alive. If I can have the services of some research scientists, chemists and biologists, I think that I will have an adequate team for the basic research."
Himmler frowned. "That might be difficult. We have many projects underway at the moment, and there is, of course, a need for chemists in the munitions industries..." He thought for a moment. "But this discovery of yours interests me, Schlacht. Perhaps Dr. Mengele can spare one of his chemists for a short time."
"I would appreciate being allowed to participate in this project," Festhaller said quickly.
"Of course, Professor, of course," Schlacht responded. "Your participation is assumed." Festhaller smiled contentedly as Schlacht turned back to Himmler. "It is difficult to say what we will learn or how quickly we can make progress, especially if we have only one research scientist working on the project, but the sooner we begin…"
"Understood," Himmler nodded. "I shall instruct Mengele to send you one of his chemists, and you will continue to use the RagoczyPalace as operational headquarters. I shall see to it that appropriate laboratory equipment is delivered to you there."
"Herr Reichsführer," Festhaller said, "I am flying to Auschwitz this evening to confer with Dr. Mengele on his studies of the Lusatian Sorbs. I would be more than happy to convey your instructions to him."
"Fine, Herr Professor. That will expedite matters." Himmler turned back to Schlacht. "When do you anticipate recapturing the Gypsy?"
"On the first night of the next full moon, if all goes as planned, Reichsführer," Schlacht replied. "That will be about a week from today."
"Good," Himmler said, rising to his feet as an indication that the meeting was at an end. "Herr Professor, I suggest that you accompany Colonel Schlacht when he returns to Budapest. And Schlacht, keep me very closely posted." He snapped his arm up and said, "Heil Hitler."
"Heil Hitler." Schlacht and Festhaller responded. Then they left Himmler’s office, Festhaller to see Dr. Mengele and Schlacht to spend a few hours at the bar in the Hotel Kempinski. Between the nervousness of anticipation, the tension of the meeting and the elation resulting from his success, he needed a drink very badly.
Besides, he thought as he strolled down the Kurfurstendamm toward the Kempinski, I have to take some time to think. Now that I’ve committed myself to capturing Kaldy, I have to figure out a way to do it.
CHAPTER FIVE
The Lusatian Sorbs were a singularly unfortunate people. Of course, no people who came involuntarily under the rule of the Third Reich could be described as fortunate, and many suffered more greatly than the Sorbs, the Jews and the Gypsies in particular; but in early 1944, the Lusatian Sorbs had the misfortune to draw the special attention of Dr. Josef Mengele and Professor Joachim Rudolf Festhaller, and that was misfortune enough for anyone.
The Lusatian Sorbs, also known as the Wends, were an island of unassimilated Slavic culture in the heart of the German state of Prussia, and they had maintained their ethnic identity through five hundred years of German rule. This had been an unimportant fact to the Christian princes of the medieval First Reich, and the military aristocracy of Bismarck’s Second Reich had given it no thought whatsoever; but to the pagan racists of Hitler’s Third Reich, the Sorbs were an internal parasite to be analyzed and studied, to be enslaved and exploited, ultimately to be relocated and exterminated.
Dr. Josef Mengele was not thinking about history as he bent over the bound figure that lay upon the operating table in the hospital building at the concentration camp at Auschwitz. He was wondering why this particular Lusatian Sorb, one Wladjechslaw Plocharcyck, had
blond hair and blue eyes.
"Spontaneous mutation?" he muttered pensively. "Or possibly some small element of Aryan blood, brought to the surface by chance."
"Pardon, Herr Doctor?" his assistant asked. She was a petite young woman, strikingly beautiful in more a Mediterranean than Nordic manner, with high cheek bones, aristocratic features and jet-black hair pulled tightly back into a bun.
Mengele sighed. "Sometimes, Petra, I fear that all my research is futile. The Untermenschen have been absorbing Aryan blood and have been polluting the Aryan gene pool with their own genes for centuries in this part of Europe, in Prussia and Poland and the Ukraine." He shook his head. "I sometimes doubt that we’ll ever be able to straighten it all out, filter out the lower elements, isolate and propagate the superior ones. The task seems impossible,"
"If that is so," Petra Loewenstein said with a smile, "then we are all doubly blessed by having you researching the problem."
He returned her smile with a perfunctory one of his own, accepting her compliment and then dismissing it, and then frowned again. "I’m quite serious, Petra. We come across blond-haired, blue-eyed Slavs. Are they mutations, are they true Aryans who have lost touch with their own pasts, are they exhibiting recessive characteristics in their own genetic structures?" He sighed again and shook his head. "Ah, well. Only fools fret and whine while there is yet work to be done." He nodded to Petra and said, "Proceed." The young chemist lifted the hypodermic needle up to the light and flicked it with her finger to drive any air bubbles to the top, and then depressed the plunger slightly to eliminate any air which had risen to the needle tip. Then she thrust the needle into the arm of Wladjechslaw Plocharcyck and emptied its contents into his bloodstream. She glanced at her watch. "Time, 1432 precisely." She wrote the time down in the open notebook which lay upon the nearby desk.
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