The Nuremberg Puzzle

by Laurence O'Bryan

  “That’s going to spread panic,” said Sean. “Do you think this is connected to Jerome and Eleni?”

  “Your friend Jerome was about to publish an academic paper on genetically matched medicine. Did you know that?”

  “I heard about it. Eleni was afraid he’d never get it published if they moved. You think that’s got something to do with this?” He waved at the TV.

  “A pharmaceutical company is doing this type of research here in Nuremberg, Herr Ryan.”

  “You think they’re involved?” The idea was crazy. If such research got into the wrong hands, racists on every continent would be interested it. There could be mass slaughter.

  Kurt spoke softly now. “I don’t know. Perhaps this is simply an accident. A worker at the research facility may have broken their protocols.” He stood, looked out the window.

  “What’s the name of this company?”

  “Nufaben. Their research laboratory is a few miles from here.”

  “Have you investigated this place?”

  “No, I have had no reason to.”

  “How do you know what they do?”

  “A cousin of mine works there. She says they operate seven days a week. Their security is the tightest she has ever seen.”

  “Are your colleagues blaming Nufaben?”

  “No. People are blaming an imported virus.”

  “I’d like to see this facility.”

  “I thought you might say that.” Kurt put his hand in the pocket of his black three-quarter-length jacket. He seemed to be looking for something.

  26

  Henry Mowlam, duty officer for MI5’s central London monitoring desk, was on weekend duty. It was a full working day for him that Sunday. There had been a number of incidents. An ISIS-affiliated terror suspect, who had been questioned the previous day, had given details of a plot to attack a night club in central London. He had only cooperated after his decrypted online messages had been shown to him. Arrests were taking place as a result.

  But something else had caught Henry’s attention in the last few minutes. A demonstration had begun in front of the German embassy in Belgrave Square in the city centre.

  He logged on to the live link with the MI5 video link screen. He could see and hear what was going on, as if he was standing over the crowd. Many demonstrators carried placards in Arabic and English saying WHO IS KILLING US? There were other messages too. A woman in a hijab, which covered her hair, was carrying a black flag. She was shouting something in Arabic. He clicked a key to take a picture of her, then fed it into the database. She came up as a Syrian refugee seeking long-term residency in the United Kingdom, because a sibling had already been granted it. She was also associated with a mosque on his watch list.

  “Foolish,” he murmured. He gathered still images of several other demonstrators and got similar results.

  He ran a wider network search. All the people he’d selected were also family members of people who had died in the German virus outbreak.

  He lifted the phone. “Take a look at the Belgrave Square news feed. Translate audio please.”

  “Okay.”

  The translator did her job quickly. Text came up at the bottom of the video. What sounded like shouted slogans in English and Arabic were mostly the same message: “Get our families out of Germany. God is great.”

  The question all this raised was: why were so many people of a similar origin dying in Germany? And if, as MI6 had suggested, there was an infection loose among the refugee community there, what would be the impact on the United Kingdom, with its large refugee population, particularly in London?

  Henry leaned towards the screen. He read a briefing note from an MI6 officer in Munich. It had popped into a corner.

  The situation in Bavaria is of serious concern at this time. A move by the Bundespolizei to place the city of Nürenberg under quarantine will be passed to the Federal Ministry of Health (Bundesministerium für Gesundheit) for an emergency session, late today, Sunday. Of immediate UK concern, is the escalating number of casualties (43 at this time), the number of victims hospitalised, and the likelihood that infected individuals may have already boarded flights to the United Kingdom. ID/passport numbers of all those infected are provided in the attached list.

  Henry scanned the list, then emailed it to the Border Agency duty officer. He would have to make the decision to escalate and request that the United Kingdom Health Defence Committee be convened.

  He turned to the second screen on his desk. It was scrolling through a series of messages from the Metropolitan Police concerning the incident at the German Embassy. He composed a message to the duty officer.

  Incident File 65876/876334/A

  I recommend a chemical incident unit, and arrest units, be deployed at this time for the protection of the German Embassy/London and the security of the United Kingdom. Emergency Quarantine Directive HM765745/3 applies to this incident.

  He sat back before pressing the send icon. His chair squeaked. The forced detention and quarantine of individuals, and the deprivation of all normal rights of movement, travel and association was a serious matter, for which he would have to account in full within hours.

  He pressed the send button, then began saving the files he had been looking at earlier, reports of racist incidents and recent deaths in the Federal Republic of Germany. As he saved them he was struck by the fact that there were so many to choose from.

  How many years had it been since such a broad range of racially motivated attacks had taken place in Germany? Major Finch would be interested in all this.

  The red telephone on his desk warbled. He picked it up.

  “Yes, Major Finch,” he said. He smiled to himself.

  “What the hell’s going on, Mowlam? I’ve just had a call from the Prime Minister’s office.”

  27

  Sean took the face mask that was being held out towards him. It was made of see-through plastic.

  “You think we’re in danger?

  “No, but let’s be prepared.” Kurt patted his jacket pocket. “I have another one.”

  He pointed at Sean. “If I’m asked, I’m simply showing you where this factory is.”

  Only in Germany, thought Sean, would you get away with visiting a factory as a Sunday afternoon outing.

  “Can you call in to see if there’s been any progress on finding Jerome?”

  Kurt didn’t reply, but when they were on the street he took out his phone, made a call and spent a few minutes asking rapid-fire questions. When he was finished, he turned to Sean.

  “Very little has been done on the investigation of your friend’s disappearance. Most of our personnel are helping out at the hospitals or enforcing a quarantine order on the relatives of those who are dying in the outbreak. The numbers are increasing. I will have to go in and join my colleagues as soon as I get back.”

  There were few people on the street.

  “Where is everybody? The city feels deserted.”

  “I believe people will be at home mostly, watching TV or following the situation at the hospitals online.”

  Sean shivered. A cold wind was blowing. Its gusts carried an icy edge from Siberia.

  “Why are you taking me to this factory?”

  “You will understand when we get there,” said Kurt. He stopped at a black Audi A6. It had darkened windows and a silver line down the side.

  “Your undercover car?” said Sean.

  “My partner’s vehicle,” said Kurt.

  Fifteen minutes later, after passing through the centre of the city, then heading east, they arrived at the edge of a modern industrial estate. There was a plan of the estate below the word Gewerbegebiet on a bulky plastic noticeboard. It looked as if it could withstand a snowstorm.

  Kurt pulled up beside it.

  “That part,” he pointed at a section of the map shaded in green, “is where Nufaben have their headquarters. The whole area has high security. The best place to see the facility is from the end of this road
.” He pointed ahead. In the distance the road went straight to a dead end.

  The road ended in a square concrete open area, where vehicles could turn. There was a wire mesh blocking access to fields of stunted grass on three sides, where buildings had yet to be put up. The place had an air of unfinished business.

  Kurt rolled the car to the edge of the roadway, pointed down to the left, where the ground fell away, and the roof of a large industrial building could be seen in the distance. Beyond the building, there was a wood of tall, thin trees. The building was in the shape of a square.

  He turned to Sean. “I suggest you get some pictures.”

  Sean didn’t answer. He opened the door, went over to the fence and stared down at the factory. He used his phone and snapped the buildings below them. A thin wisp of smoke emanated from a stubby black chimney in one corner.

  28

  The smart phone lying on Vanessa Sheer’s bed buzzed. She had been preparing an email for the heads of all divisions within the bank. Ensuring a calm reaction to whatever happened to the financial markets on Monday was essential.

  Xena was on the other end of the line.

  “Where will we meet?” Her tone was abrupt.

  “I’ve been waiting for your call.”

  There was a hesitation at the other end.

  “I was busy.”

  “Meet me at the Nufaben facility in one hour. I will send you a map. You are still in Nuremberg?”

  “Yes.”

  She copied a map into the secure message app, then pressed the end call button. Then she pressed the message self-destruct button. The image that had been sent to Xena would delete itself in thirty seconds.

  She stood, began texting on the encrypted messaging system. There could be no mistakes at this point. All the loose ends had to be tied up properly.

  29

  “That smoke will be from the heating system.” Kurt was standing beside Sean.

  “Are those guard posts?” There were two small concrete buildings below the perimeter fence, half way down to the other buildings.

  “Yes, but most of the security is electronic these days. Perimeter sensors will tell the security manager within half a second if anyone, or anything, comes within ten metres of the facility, perhaps less.”

  “What are those rows of buildings?” To the right, beyond the perimeter fence of the compound, were rows of long, single story, flat roofed buildings. There were four rows of five buildings.

  “Those were built for gastarbeiters, guest workers. There are mostly Syrians living there now. Two hundred can live in each building. The rooms inside hold four people, so families can be reunited. They don’t mix Syrians with the Afghanis or the Libyans any more. Too many fights. Most of the men work in the factory on low-level duties or in other factories nearby. They get minimum wages and are discouraged from joining our unions. This is what the riots are really about.”

  One of the furthest buildings, near the road, was a blackened shell.

  “What happened there,” said Sean.

  “The reception building for refuges was burnt down a few weeks ago. It hasn’t been rebuilt. Nufaben tell us the camp is full and that all health and safety regulations are adhered to. But the security company that guards the camp failed to report the fire for thirty minutes. The building could not be saved by the time the fire trucks got here.”

  “But there are half-built blocks?”

  “Yes, but it’s unlikely the camp will take any more refugees.”

  “I’ve seen enough.” Sean headed back to the car.

  As Kurt drove slowly out of the estate, he glanced at Sean. “You will be able to identify the buildings from satellite images?”

  Sean didn’t reply.

  “I did my research Herr Ryan. You wrote a paper about patterns in satellite images.” He slowed as he turned a corner. “You identified unmarked Nazi era mass graves near Munich. This means you have access to the best satellite imaging systems.”

  Sean kept staring straight ahead. So that was why Kurt had suggested coming. He wanted people outside Germany to know what was happening here. The U.S. National Reconnaissance Office Lacrosse satellite, which crossed over Western Europe every three hours, provided high resolution radar, optical, infrared and ultraviolet images to security cleared organisations. His institute was one of them.

  The satellite weighed fifteen tons and orbited three hundred and ninety miles above the Earth’s surface. Its potential for agriculture, urban planning, and tax gathering was enormous. It had other uses, too. Digital images permitted the generation of data to assess the number of people attending demonstrations for instance.

  If he requested a series of images for the Nufaben buildings and the guest worker buildings, he would be able to track any changes to the facility over time and the location of similar building patterns.

  “Drive me to their front gate.”

  “Why, Herr Ryan?”

  “I’m going to ask them a question.”

  Kurt turned the car left at the next turn. Two minutes later they were at the front of the facility. He switched off the engine nodded towards the redbrick guardhouse, which watched over the high, wire mesh gate barring the road.

  Kurt shrugged. “Go ahead.”

  Sean walked to a glass panel in the wall of the guardhouse. It opened as he came near. He couldn’t see more than a shadow inside, but the voice, in German, that barked at him made it clear his presence was considered suspicious.

  He looked inside the guard post. Two heavy set men, with graying crew cuts, were staring back at him, grim-faced.

  “I am here to meet Jerome Ruzibiza. Can you tell him I’ve arrived, please?”

  The two men looked at each other. One of them picked up a smart phone and started tapping. He pressed something, put the phone to his ear, listened, then, after about half a minute, he closed the line.

  “He is not here.” There was no suggestion to leave a message or come back later, but he’d found out what he wanted.

  “You are finished?” said Kurt, when he got back in the car.

  “Yes.”

  “I will drop you back into the city.”

  An urge to leave, to get away from the city immediately, came over Sean. He resisted it. He had to find out more about what had happened to Jerome and Eleni. He owed it to them. He shook his head. What the hell was it about this city that made him so uneasy?

  He looked out the window as they passed the rows of guest worker buildings.

  “Why did Hitler pick Nuremberg for his rallies?”

  “It’s the old capital city of the Holy Roman Empire. And his favorite church, the Frauenkirche, is here.”

  They had left the industrial estate behind and were held up at a traffic light as a tram crossed the road in front of them, clanking loudly.

  “I didn’t know he was Catholic.”

  Kurt turned and looked at Sean.

  “That’s how he was brought up. Some say he never left the church. They didn’t kick him out. I heard he kept a picture of his mother by his bed until the end. She was Catholic, too. You do know his first international treaty was with the Vatican.”

  “So that’s why he had his early rallies outside the Frauenkirche?”

  “I expect so. You know there’s a curse attached to the Frauenkirche, Herr Ryan.”

  “What curse?”

  “I was told the story when I was young. They say that if anyone disturbs the spirits there, the devil will suck them down into hell.”

  Sean shook his head. “Who believes in curses anymore?”

  A clattering sounded from above.

  “Look,” said Kurt. Flying above the street, in formation, was a line of dark gray helicopters. There must have been ten of them.

  Kurt slowed, stared. “They are here to enforce the quarantine zone and to transport victims.” He sounded very matter-of-fact.

  Cars beeped. Kurt started moving again.

  “What a nightmare.” Sean felt another urge to
go to the airport, to leave Nuremberg to its troubles.

  “This is the worst thing that has happened here in decades.” Kurt paused, then continued. “The BfV will be here soon.”

  “Who?”

  “Our domestic intelligence service. If you see a lot of men with sunglasses, you will know who they are.”

  “Surely, it can’t be that easy to spot them.”

  “Believe me, it is.”

  They passed a set of high iron gates. Sean stared at them. They had a square symbol with what looked like an arrow inside it on the front of the gates.

  “What’s that place?” he said, turning as they went past.

  “It’s an old Nazi era orphanage. It’s closed a long time.”

  The gates had thick chains locking them.

  “They carried out human experiments there. It was covered up for decades.”

  “Bastards.”

  “Where will I drop you? At your hotel?”

  “No, at the Frauenkirche. I’d like to see the dig going on there that Jerome told me about. He said there’d be a lot of bodies under it.”

  Kurt slowed for a traffic light. He turned to Sean. “I wish our history was different, Herr Ryan. In 1936 Hitler made a speech there, about the future being German, and that we’d been given the right to rule the world.” He sighed.

  “He was an evil fantasist.”

  “He knew how to press people to his will. He was a magician, Herr Ryan.”

  Kurt drove into a car park, stopped. There were notices around them about what was verboten.

  “It was said for many years that his rise to power was a miracle. I think the German people wanted that miracle. And when the Catholic priests told their congregations, every Sunday, that it was their duty to follow their Führer, few argued.” He pointed at a doorway in a high brick wall. It had a green sign with the word Ausweg on it. “I have to report for duty. If you take that door, you will be on the street leading to the Frauenkirche. What is your plan for later?” He looked at Sean, as if concerned for him.

  “I might go to the end of conference dinner tonight,” said Sean. As soon as the words came out of his mouth he knew it wasn’t going to happen. He didn’t want to have to lie about how he was feeling to anyone.