by P J Skinner
‘If we keep her asleep and put her flat on a mattress in the back of the pickup, the egg may take. It’s a big risk.’
‘It’s a bigger risk sitting around here until they come and get us.’
‘Okay, what about Vargas?’
‘We’ll have to dispose of him. I’ll help you anaesthetise the gringa and then I’ll take him outside and shoot him.’
‘I need to get ready. Give me a couple of hours.’
Becker went back inside, slamming the door behind him. Klein stayed outside, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the warm bonnet of the truck. The smell of the cigarette reached Segundo who sucked it in, wishing he had one, too. Segundo was not an educated man and he had no idea why the men were talking about inseminating a bitch when they had to get away from San Blas. However, he had heard them say that they were going to dispose of Alfredo so he had to be ready for action. He crept back to his hideaway and removed his gun from its plastic bag.
***
Quivering with fury, Kurt Becker went back to the laboratory. He was shaken by the revelation about the report. When Kleber had burnt down Roman Vega’s house, they thought that they had plugged the leak caused by his research. The Nazi presence had been glossed over by an older generation in Sierramar, who were now ashamed of their collaboration with the Nazi regime. It was not in their interest to point the finger when there were government ministers who were complicit in hiding fugitive officers in plain sight. But now, the truth was out, and their refuge had become a trap. There was only one road out and if they didn’t use it before the newspapers were published, they would never escape. He sat down and put his head in his hands, massaging his temples and trying to calm down. It wasn’t as if the report was the only problem. He hadn’t told Boris about the eggs.
He had put the first egg under the microscope with his hopes still high but they soon turned to despair. The contents were amorphous, a grey slime with no form or partition. He threw it away, washing it off the slide with a stream of saline into the plastic bin beside the counter. Using the pipette, he selected another egg and placed it in a pool of saline in the concave slide. He slid it onto the platform and peered down the lenses. The same result. His efforts were now those of a desperate man. One by one he examined the eggs under the microscope only to find that they were full of the same grey pulp. There was not a single viable egg. This was terrible but even worse was the fact that he was not the slightest bit surprised by this result.
The finger had been kept frozen for forty years in freezers prone to electricity cuts. There were a couple of occasions when he suspected that the emergency generator did not immediately take over, but, so desperate was he to maintain his position in the group and to prove his theories that he ignored the facts staring him in the face. Boris and the Schmidts had the intellectual rigor of footballs. They worshiped the ground he walked on and never questioned his judgment on anything. He had worked for a dream that would never become reality.
As a group, they had dedicated their whole lives to an idea that had as much chance of working as a chocolate teapot. Had he always known it was doomed to failure? Probably. But he wanted it to be true. He loved the order of the Reich and the importance of science and the development of the master race. Now it had become quite pointless and he had reached the end of the road. He sat down on the chair in the laboratory and cried like a little child.
CHAPTER XXVIII
Kurt Becker had managed to pull himself together. He had a plan. Not much of a plan, and he knew that it was unlikely to be a success in the long run, but a plan that might get him to Argentina. He could run away once he got there and start a new life with one of those Latin women who looked like horses with their bony faces and long hair. He needed to fantasise about one of them right now.
The door to the laboratory was locked and he was sitting on the chair with his trousers around his legs. In his hand, he held his flaccid penis dangling over a plastic pot. He shut his eyes and imagined he was surrounded by them, whinnying in Spanish. Touching him and stroking him and kissing his back. He could feel the hairs on his arm stand on end and his penis sprung to life as he disappeared into a herd of horsey women rubbing themselves against him. He masturbated vigorously, carried away in a sea of caresses. There it was, on its way, into the pot. He let out a shout. There was a knock on the door.
‘You ready, Kurt? We don’t have much time.’
Pulling up his trousers, he tightened his belt and regained his grip on reality.
‘Yes, sorry, I dropped something. I’ll be five minutes.’
He became a man of action, cleaning up the redundant eggs and throwing away the evidence of his failure. Opening the fridge, he found that the remnants of the finger, with its macabre nail, were still where he had left them. He searched for the metal tube in which it had been stored for the last forty years and cleaned the inside with strong acid and sterilizers. Then he filled it to about half way with formaldehyde. With great reverence, he picked the finger up with a pair of forceps and dropped it into the liquid which rose to up the tube. He topped it up with formaldehyde and screwed on the lid.
Slipping the tube into his pocket, he continued to ready the lab for the insemination. He felt strangely content. Sam was ovulating already so it wasn’t a stretch to imagine what would happen if some fresh sperm was added to the equation. There was an even chance that the child would be a boy. By the time he grew to adulthood as a blond, six-footer instead of a dark, short man, questions would be asked, but Becker would be long gone. He added the stirrups to the operating table and covered it with a clean towel. The pot of sperm was on the side ready for use. There was no point slowing down the spermatozoa by putting it in the fridge. They lived for forty-eight hours inside the human womb. He opened the door.
‘Boris?’
‘Yes, Kurt.’
‘We are ready.’
***
Sam counted down the hours. Every minute that passed took them closer to safety but also increased the immediate danger that Klein and Becker posed. They could come for her at any moment and she was afraid of Boris Klein and what he might do to her. She wanted to make a break for it but Alfredo had suffered some sort of collapse and was whimpering under his blanket. She wondered if it might be delirium tremors but it was as likely to be terror.
‘Alfredo, are you okay? We need to make a plan,’ she said.
‘They are going to shoot me.’
‘Don’t be silly. Why would they do that?’
‘Because they don’t need me anymore. They only kept me in case they needed more fresh fingers. Now that they are planning to leave, they only need you.’
‘They’ll kill me, too, when they discover that I'm already pregnant.’
‘Oh God, I hadn’t thought of that. I don’t want to die. I want to marry Gloria.’
Sam, who on a bad day considered that marrying Gloria was a fate worse than death, said ‘And you will. Segundo’s going to rescue us. Hang in there.’
But her optimism was fake. How would Segundo find the hill? He had thrown the aerial photograph back at her without looking at it. They were going to die. There was no way out of their cell. The shaft in the ceiling was far too high to reach. Even if she put the chair on the table. And the door was metal with a massive lock. No wonder Alfredo had given up. Come on Sam, think. And then she saw it. The bed. Alfredo’s bed was more of a camp bed but hers had a frame. It was rusty but sturdy. What if they put it on its end?
‘Alfredo! Help me.’
Sam dragged the bed into the middle of the room. It was heavy and squealed as it was dragged.
‘Help me lift the end.’
‘What’s the use?’
‘Don’t you see? If we put the bed end up, we can reach the shaft. Then we can haul ourselves out.’
Alfredo peered upwards. He smiled.
‘Sam, you are a genius.’
‘Come on, then.’
They lifted the
bed and levered it onto its end. Then Alfredo pushed the table alongside it.
‘You go first,’ said Sam. ‘You can pull me up from outside if I can’t manage.’
Alfredo stepped from the chair onto the table and up onto the top of the frame while Sam held it steady. His head and shoulders disappeared into the shaft.
‘I can see the sky,’ he said. ‘Give me a minute.’
‘Hurry up. They might come at any time.’
Alfredo pushed his arms up into the shaft and jammed his elbows on top of the wooden frame holding it open. Grunting, he pulled himself up far enough to get one of his knees wedged into the bottom strut. Scrambling to avoid slipping back down, he forced himself higher up the shaft and both his legs rose into it. There was a scuffling sound and then silence.
‘Alfredo?’
‘I’m out. Come on, your turn. Quickly.’
The door rattled as Klein inserted the key in the lock. Sam managed to get herself balanced on top of the end of the bed and reached upwards, desperately feeling for a hand hold. Someone grabbed her legs.
‘Get down from there.’
She was trapped. Sam lowered herself down onto the floor.
‘Where is Dr Vargas?’ said Becker.
‘I don’t know. He left,’ said Sam.
‘Boris, go and get Dr Vargas. He can’t have gone far.’
At that moment the guard appeared, pushing Alfredo ahead of him with a gun, back into their cell.
‘I’m sorry, Sam. I guess I’m a dead man.’
‘No, I won’t let them. They can’t shoot you for no reason.’
‘Save yourself. Don’t do anything stupid. Cooperate with them for now. You’ll get your chance to escape.’
‘Don’t kid yourself, you have no chance of getting away,’ said Klein.
‘It’s time,’ said Becker, ‘I am sorry, Alfredo. The sands have run out. It won’t hurt, you know. Don’t struggle and it’ll be over in a second.’
‘Come with me Dr Vargas. We’re going for a nice walk in the woods.’ Klein grabbed Alfredo’s arm and pulled him towards the door. Alfredo managed to reach over to Sam. He hugged her close and whispered to her. ‘Tell Gloria I love her.’
Klein pushed him out into the corridor. ‘Come on. We haven’t got all day.’
CHAPTER XXIX
Boris Klein had not held a man at his mercy like this for many years. He smiled in anticipation and caressed the pistol in his hand. Shoving Alfredo in the back, he pushed him out of the entrance towards the forest.
Alfredo was frantic. All he could think about was Gloria and the purposeless of his life until he'd met her. He had finally found a reason to live just when he was about to die. The irony made him sigh deeply. One of his last breaths. He didn’t want his last thought to be regret. There was only one thing to do. He was going to make a run for it. Better to be shot trying to escape than on his knees. He looked for the opportunity to make a break for it. They moved deeper into the trees. It was almost dark and the wet branches brushed his face.
‘Stop here.’
He stopped. It was now or never. He tried to run but he couldn’t.
‘Kneel down.’
His legs buckled. It was as if his muscles had gone on strike. He fell to his knees awkwardly as his shoe got caught in the root of a tree. The birds stopped singing. He heard the safety catch being taken off.
‘How did you find us anyway?’ asked Klein.
‘It was a combination of things. Ramon Vega’s report started us on the trail and then we got confirmation from the widow of Rolf Kaufmann. She showed us photographs of your group in Nazi uniforms.’
‘Silly old bat. Her husband was a bit of a monster. He liked little girls.’
‘And you don’t?’
‘That’s your last joke, Dr Vargas. I’ll give it to you free. Do you want a minute to pray?’
‘I don’t believe in God.’
Boris Klein steadied himself on the mossy ground. He lowered the pistol to the nape of Alfredo’s neck. Alfredo shut his eyes at the touch and tried to picture Gloria. It was so unfair. The damp crept into the knees of his trousers and he could see a beetle pulling a moth into a hole. Time stood still.
***
Sam heard Alfredo shuffling towards the exit. ‘Please,’ she said to Becker, ‘you don’t have to kill him. He can’t hurt you in Argentina.’
‘I’m sorry. He knows too much.’
Sam sobbed in grief and frustration. She sank to her knees on the floor. They weren’t going to make it. Last minute rescues were for the movies. Becker looked down at her in sympathy.
‘Can you manage to get up and come with me or do you want to wait for Boris? This won’t hurt. The procedure is a little uncomfortable.’
‘I would prefer it if I never saw Boris again,’ said Sam with bravado she did not feel. Then she remembered.
‘Can I get some underwear out of my bag?’
‘Okay,’
Grabbing her rucksack, Sam searched around at the bottom of the bag and her fingers closed around the plastic Taser. She slipped it into her trouser pocket and followed Dr Becker into the laboratory. It was too warm in there, making her feel suffocated. The white walls were flecked with dirt and blood.
‘Can you lock the door, please? I couldn’t bear for Klein to see this. I don’t want that man looking at me naked.’
‘Fair enough. I wouldn’t either.’
Dr Becker locked the door.
‘Sit down for a minute while I check that we are ready to go.’
Sam tried again, pleading.
‘Please, can’t you stop him? Stop Boris? Don’t let him shoot Alfredo.’
‘I can’t stop Boris. No one can control that man. He's an animal.’
‘Alfredo is my friend.’
Dr Becker looked at her with his cold blue eyes but she saw no pity there.
‘There is nothing I can do. You are lucky to be alive. If we didn’t need you, you’d be dead, too. Now, take off the clothes below your waist and get up on the operating table.’
Sam sat down and took off her shoes and socks. She hung her jeans over the back of the chair and slipped out of her knickers. Time stood still. She couldn’t help it, she was listening for the shot. Run Alfredo, run, give yourself a chance. Please. And horribly, there it was, a single shot. It seemed to reverberate around the room. She wailed and put her hands over her ears as if it would shout out the truth of the sound.
‘Alfredo. No!’
‘I’m sorry, Sam. There was no choice.’
‘There was plenty of choice. You could’ve left him tied up for someone to find later. You are a murderer.’
‘So many deaths. What’s one more to add to the list?’
‘And me? Am I next? The mother of Hitler? It would be like shooting the Virgin Mary?’ she said.
‘Calm down or I’ll have to put you to sleep for the procedure.’
He moved her clothes off the chair and onto the counter behind him. Sam stood there rigid with fury and impotent rage. Trying to think logically, she considered the options. Without knowing it, he had moved the unit out of her reach. The man was about to discover that she was pregnant and that could only mean one thing. He would murder her, and if he didn’t, Klein would or worse, he would rape her first. She had seen the way he looked at her. Becker would probably give her an overdose of anaesthetic when he discovered her secret. She would never wake up. That was appealing. She couldn’t believe these were her last moments on earth. It was so mundane somehow.
‘I’m afraid. I can’t take any more today. Can you please make me sleep?’
‘Okay, if that’s what you want. I’ll give you some air and gas. Some light sedation should be sufficient.’
He pulled an ancient trolley with a squeaky wheel up to the operating table and turned some valves on a couple of tanks.
‘I need you to lie down now and put your feet in the stirrups. That’s right. Shif
t your bottom along towards me. There we go.’
He might have been prepping her for a smear test.
‘Are you ready? Okay then, breathe deeply.’
***
There was a loud bang and Alfredo fell forward into the leaves as his legs gave way. He waited for bright lights or tunnels to appear. To his disappointment, he was right about the absence of heaven. He could only see darkness. Then he could feel the leaves in his mouth. Had Boris missed? Was he still alive or was this the last sensation he was to feel on earth?
‘Dr Vargas, are you alive?’
He knew that voice.
Segundo? ‘Yes, I think so.’ He raised himself up on his hands, the palms of which were splattered with blood. Disgusted, he wiped them on the leaves making them bloodier. He couldn’t move his legs. Was he injured? And then he realised that Boris Klein was lying on top of them, half of his head missing. He grunted as he pulled his legs free of the bloody corpse and stood up to face his saviour, who appeared to be covered in leaves and twigs, like a forest sprite.
‘That was close. I didn’t see you both until you almost trod on me as you walked past.’
‘I thought I was a goner. Thank goodness you're here. We have to rescue Sam.’
‘I have to rescue Sam. You have to wait outside.’
***
Dr Becker removed Sam’s legs from the stirrups and pulled her up the operating table, putting her on her side for safety. He put her clothes beside her in the nook between her thighs and stomach so that she could get dressed without getting off the trolley. He looked at his watch. She should be coming around any minute. He would need Boris’ help to get her into the truck and securely tied down. Where was he anyway? The shot had echoed around the laboratory at least ten minutes before. Perhaps he was hiding the body? Becker fussed around the laboratory, cleaning away the evidence of their project and sealing it in a large black rubbish bag. They would have to take this with them and dispose of it down the cliffs outside Lago Verde.
Sam moaned and thrashed around. He went to her side and held her down so she would not roll off, taking advantage of her comatose state to admire her from close up. It’s a pity she was so unapproachable. She was an attractive woman in the prime of her life. No wonder Boris was salivating around her. If he had been younger, he would have been tempted himself. He stroked her leg, lingering on her soft skin and thinking about those Argentinian women who were waiting for him. His hand explored her body in a leisurely way.
