“So I had an idea that we could use Patient Y’s immortal cancer cells as a way to keep tissues alive indefinitely. However, these cells could note propagate complex mechanical processes, such as keep the heart pumping or the intestines digesting food. We would have to isolate just the most essential part of the human brain that contained the essence of life.
“This brought me to the pioneering work of Heinrich Kluver and Paul Bucy, who discovered the area of the brain that holds emotions. Bucy named it the ‘Limbic System.’ It is a semicircular area of dense tissue at the center of the brain. I decided to run a serious of experiments to see if I could isolate that area of the brain and keep it functioning outside of the human body. In order to do so, I needed human ‘volunteers.’ Fortunately, Herr Goebbels was able to supply me with an endless number of Jews for experimentation. After many failures, I developed a procedure in which the entire limbic system was removed intact and placed in the Patient Y medium, with electrodes attached to the brain tissue to provide a continuous low-voltage current. In this way I was able to keep this brain tissue alive for much longer than three minutes. I called this device ‘Das Maschine.’
“The next step was to determine whether this dissected section maintained its identity and consciousness. Through countless hours of sending electrical signals to the tissue and receiving electrical pulses in return, I was eventually able to ‘decode’ the messages and achieve basic communication. To test whether this device actually worked, one of my staff members would make one of the ‘volunteers’ memorize a long number of at least eight digits. After surgery and dissection, I would send signals that represented the first two digits. To my amazement, the dissected section would send back the last six digits as a response.
“But one problem remained. My experiments found that transplanting the Limbic System alone did not result in a full consciousness, but rather merely a type of primitive computation device, like an adding machine. It had the ability to take the information it was sent and perform basic processing functions. But it had no actual identity or being, no soul, if you will.
“I searched desperately throughout the other areas of the brain to locate the section which controlled upper-order thought and communication. Sadly, for a long period of time, I was unsuccessful.
“But I had a moment of luck. One of my lab assistants once offhandedly mentioned something he had seen in the works of 17th century philosopher Rene Descartes. In discussing the immortality of the soul, Descartes suggested that there was a tiny organ in the center of the brain called the ‘pineal gland’ that served as a control center. He identified the gland as the location of the soul.
“With this in mind, I went to work. Our earlier experiments involving the limbic system had not included the pineal gland. My experiment proved Descartes’ theory was correct. With the pineal gland included, the subjects in Das Maschine retained capacity for higher thought, memory, emotion, and communication.
“After months of painstaking work, we were able to achieve advanced communication. The first step was to train the subjects before dissection. After ‘planting’ them in Das Maschine, they were able to understand messages transmitted one letter at a time and send back intelligible responses.”
Hitler was fascinated. “What about the rest of the body?”
“Superfluous. The body is not what a human being is. It is more or less a vehicle for transportation. Granted, it allows certain sensory functions such as touch, sight, smell and hearing. But a person’s true essence is his intellect, while human senses are transitory and illusory. Do we really need to smell a flower? Taste food? Hear an opera, or see the sky? My answer is no. These are mere distractions that actually hamper the ability of the brain to reach its full potential.
“In the last few weeks, we have perfected a communication device, a simple keyboard, for sending messages to Das Maschine. The individual in Das Maschine sends back information that is printed from a teletype machine. We have achieved success beyond anything I could have ever dreamed of, and all in your service, mein Fuhrer!”
The room was silent as Hitler and Goebbels tried to grasp the implications of Schreiber’s words. Then Goebbels spoke up. “What about pain? Is it painful?”
Schreiber answered. “No, quite the opposite. The surgery is done under general anesthesia. Once the brain tissue is connected to a system of electrodes, pain and pleasure are controlled by a simple dial on Das Maschine.
“I have developed a method to manually control the brain tissue responsible for sensations of pain and pleasure. In fact, the dial allows for these sensations to be incrementally adjusted. It is clearly marked on the control panel of Das Maschine. At one extreme, the being inhabiting Das Maschine will experience ultimate pleasure, and at the other extreme, ultimate pain.”
Hitler frowned. “You are saying that I won’t be able to walk, talk, eat, feel a gentle breeze in my face, or experience any other sensual pleasure. It will feel like prison!”
Schreiber responded, “On the contrary, with proper calibration you will feel wonderful. Of course, we could leave the machine on its ultimate pleasure setting, however, the experience on this setting is so overwhelming you will not want to even maintain contact with the outside world, and may even be too much for an extended period of time. We will find the setting in which you feel fantastic, but are still able to function at an optimal level.
“In any case, as you are well aware, ordinary physical pleasures are fleeting. I understand your current medical condition only allows you to walk short distances. Goebbels told me that one of your greatest pleasures in life had been your long walks at Berchtesgaden. They are no longer possible. Nor are the pleasures you had experienced speaking in front of giant rallies at Nuremberg. What I am offering with Das Maschine is both eternal life and eternal pleasure. If anything, it will be totally liberating, a worldly Garden of Eden.”
Hitler responded. “But what will I be without my ability to speak?”
Schreiber paused for a moment. “This may be a possibility in the future. The American corporation ‘Bell Labs’ has developed what they call a vocoder, which can make sounds approximate to vocalizations in response to input from a keyboard. We should be able to take recordings of your speeches and integrate them with Das Maschine, however, this will take time.”
“What about vision, and hearing?”
“We have not yet perfected inputs from a camera and microphone, however, we have learned from our experiments that some processing is necessary from the occipital lobe in the back of the brain. We will make sure to include tissue from that area so that when we have perfected this technology, we will introduce it as a separate module.”
Hitler sighed. Ever since the German army’s defeat at Stalingrad, he knew the war would eventually be lost. Furthermore, his physical condition had deteriorated since the assassination plot at Wolf’s Lair which he miraculously survived. He was, in short, a wreck of a man. His tremors and shuffling gait made it clear to even his most loyal followers that he was living on borrowed time. Now that the German Army was losing battle after battle, the war front was approaching his doorstep. Soon, the Russian Army would be in Berlin. He faced the terrible prospect of capture and disgrace by his most hated enemy, Stalin.
Hitler thought to himself. “How could it be that after achieving the impossible I would have such a horrible end? I nearly conquered the world. But now I am cornered like a rat by enemies approaching from all sides!”
For some time, Hitler had resigned himself to fact that only suicide could save him from utter humiliation. But Dr. Schreiber’s breakthrough offered a second chance. He would have the power to shape his own fate, and could yet live to see his dream of the Nazi Party ruling the world. And through Broder’s Strain program he would enjoy wreaking sweet revenge on his enemies. There would be a Fourth Reich. A world populated by Super-Aryans and ruled forever by him. All of his achievements to date seemed miniscule compared to this new vision.
Hitler said to
Dr. Schreiber, “Still, how can I condemn myself to prison in a box?”
Dr. Schreiber smiled. “Just the opposite. You will not even realize that you are part of Das Maschine. You will have total vitality and clarity, without the weakness of a physical form which will ultimately break down and return to the dust. You will have the strength of your youth and the wisdom you have gained building Germany into a Juggernaut. You will truly be God-like, living in a constant heavenly state of existence.”
With these words, Hitler’s decision was made. Hitler told Goebbels he had authority to do whatever was needed. Then he turned and dismissed Dr. Schreiber, swearing him to absolute secrecy.
Goebbels and Hitler spent the next two weeks developing a plan. Hitler named it “Project Valhalla,” after the Norse myth that described the kind of heaven Hitler planned to create for himself. In the Nordic version of heaven, when heroes die in battle, they are gathered to a great hall ruled by the king of the pantheon of gods, Odin. There, the heroes dine with him and the other gods forever.
The plan was perfect, except for one detail. In order for it to work, Goebbels and his family would not be able to accompany Hitler into exile. Goebbels would have to sacrifice himself and his family for the greater cause of Nazism. Hitler knew that of all his followers, only Goebbels could be trusted to supervise the staged suicide of Hitler in the Fuhrerbunker and its subsequent cover-up. If all went according to plan, there would be no endless search for Hitler by his numerous enemies.
Fortunately for Hitler, Goebbels was completely on board. When he discussed the plan with his wife Magda, she readily agreed. Magda told her husband that this final sacrifice was the ultimate honor they could receive, and would immortalize them in the history of Nazism as the greatest disciples of the Fuhrer, having died to ensure the escape and rebirth of their great leader, Adolf Hitler.
5
It was an unusually humid day as Mary Fletcher and her two children, Bobby and Jane Elizabeth, approached the clear blue waters of the Mediterranean Sea. With miles of sandy beaches and a sprawling boardwalk lined with restaurants, cafes, and video arcades, Netanya was a tourist trap that drew giant crowds all summer.
Mary loved Israeli beaches, but, as on this day, the bustle at the center of the beach could be overwhelming. She had once described the scene in a letter to her best friend in Wisconsin.
“The Israelis play a beach game called Makklot. Two players are armed with enormous ping pong paddles, though there is no table or net. In this vicious game they use a black ball, a bit larger than a golf ball and made of extremely hard rubber. I don’t know what the rules are, but one thing is for sure, every few minutes the ball goes astray and hits an innocent bystander, like me, on the head. Why, it is my impression that the object of the game is to hit sunbathers.”
As they moved their way through the mass of beachgoers, Mary told her children, “I think we’d better set our blanket on the other side of the beach, away from the crowd.”
Bobby, the older sibling, complained. “Do we have to? Those boys already asked me to join them in beach soccer!”
Mary stared back at Bobby with an admonishing look. “Well, young man, I thought you promised your sister you would play with her first?”
Bobby looked toward his little sister, who adored her older brother, and nodded in agreement.
He shouted to the boys, “Yotar meuchar,” meaning “later” in Hebrew. Bobby, like his father, had a knack for quickly picking up languages.
Mary decided she would do some reading and sunbathing while her children played in the sand. Bobby announced that, as Americans, it was their patriotic duty to build a sand model of Washington D.C. on the Israeli shore.
Mary put sunscreen on Bobby and Jane and sent them off closer to the sea where the sand was more suitable for building. She then laid down on a blanket with a book and lemonade with mint she had bought from a kiosk on the boardwalk. All were having a wonderful time as a moist breeze rose up from the sea to provide some cool relief from the sun.
About an hour later, the loudspeakers from the lifeguard station began rumbling. Mary was half asleep. Knowing very little Hebrew, she assumed that a lifeguard was warning a child to stay within the zone marked for swimming. Bobby was nearly fluent in Hebrew; however, he was too engrossed in the construction of the Washington Monument to pay any attention to the warning.
The other sunbathers nervously retreated from the shore and toward the beach parking lot. In the distance, a small black rubber boat with five men landed on the beach. The men wore black-and-white patterned keffiyehs, Arab headscarves, that hid all but their eyes. They were dressed in worn green khakis with black combat boots. Each carried an AK-74 assault rifle.
Mary was woken by a blast of automatic rifle fire. Rising, she saw one of the terrorists running in the direction of her children.
Mary screamed out to Bobby, “Take Jane and get behind the boat! Hurry!”
About one hundred feet from the newly constructed sand city laid the wreck of an ancient wooden rowboat. Following his mother’s command, Bobby grabbed Jane and made a mad dash. They nearly reached the boat as the terrorist opened fire. A cloud of sand was kicked up into the air and rained down on the children. Luckily, the spray of bullets fell short of their mark.
Mary instinctively shouted at the terrorist to distract him. He turned and looked in her direction, giving the children a few vital seconds to slip behind the hull.
Seeing that the children had found refuge behind the boat, the terrorist decided that Mary, being completely exposed, was now an easier target. He took careful aim with his AK-74. This assault rifle, the successor to the legendary AK-47, was known for its remarkable accuracy over long distances. A rarity in the Middle East, it had been acquired covertly from a corrupt Afghani intelligence officer.
As Mary turned to escape, three bullets ripped through her back. She fell to the ground, writhing in pain. With her remaining strength, she managed to crawl a short distance away from her children, hoping to create a further distraction.
The terrorist broke into a run toward Mary, shouting “Allahu Akbar!” As he approached his victim, Mary was near her last breath. He stood towering over her. Mary looked at him. Her eyes seemed to scream, “Haven’t you done enough?”
The terrorist raised his AK-74 and shouted, “Jewish whore! Allahu Akbar!” He then brought the gun’s stock down with all his strength onto her head, crushing her skull. After staring with much satisfaction at his handiwork, he remembered the children behind the boat. He turned and ran in their direction.
From behind the boat, Bobby and Jane had watched the violent murder of their mother. Bobby thought to himself angrily, “Where is my father? He could have done something!” Jane, on the other hand, was hysterical. She could only think over and over again about the brutal attack on her beloved mother she had just witnessed.
As the first terrorist, apparently the leader of the group, approached the boat, the other four terrorists followed his lead. The beachgoers, now a relatively safe distance from the attack, had watched Mary’s death by bludgeoning in abject horror. Now, hearing the cries of her innocent children, they felt helpless.
Shlomo Mizrachi was watching the events unfold from the parking area. A short, stocky, middle-aged man, he had run the beach’s most popular ice cream stand for the last decade. Born in Morocco, Shlomo had moved to Israel in 1943 and fought in Italy as part of the British-organized Jewish Brigade in World War II and later in Israel’s War of Independence. Upon discharge he got married and worked menial jobs. After being called up to fight the 1956 Sinai Campaign, he moved to Netanya and set up an ice cream stand near the beach. Later he saw action in the Six Day War. In the Yom Kippur war, Israel’s most recent conflict with the Arabs, he served in the Hagah or Civil Defense.
Though out of shape and hardly combat-ready, Shlomo was not the kind of person to stand by and watch children being harmed. He pulled out from underneath his popsicle freezer the WWII-issue Enfield No. 2 Mk
I revolver which he had kept as a memento. Though he never envisioned himself as a warrior, watching the terrorists approach the beach had given Shlomo a rush of adrenaline which he had not experienced since his army service. He knew we would never shy away from fighting Israel’s enemies, no matter what the odds. With reckless abandon, the stocky grandfather of three dashed in the direction of the terrorists. As Shlomo ran he shouted to the crowd with desperation, “There are children behind the boat!”
Not far from Shlomo’s ice cream stand, Zelda Steiner reached for the pistol in her purse, a .25 caliber, eight-shot Beretta Jetfire. She had just celebrated her seventieth birthday. Having grown up in Radziejow, a small town in Poland, she was twenty-two years old when the Nazis invaded her country. Within four years, the Nazis had murdered her entire family, including her husband, an accountant from the nearby village of Alexandrow, and her two children. She survived Auschwitz and made her way to Israel after the war, marrying Yitzhak, a sabra, or native-born Israeli. She became a mother again and eventually had three sons, two daughters, and eight grandchildren. As a member of Kibbutz Lavi, she ran the cooperative dairy for over thirty years. After her husband passed away, she retired to a small apartment near the Netanya beach to be closer to her grown-up children and grandchildren.
Zelda Steiner understood that the terrorists intended to butcher the two children hiding behind the boat. In her mind, these Jihadists were no different than the Nazis. Zelda knew what she had to do. She took the Barretta from her purse and followed closely near Shlomo.
While the lead terrorist was far ahead and closing in on the boat, Zelda and Shlomo were only about a hundred yards behind the four terrorists following him. The two fired a few rounds, causing the terrorists to drop to the sand and return fire. The lead terrorist spun around and spotted Zelda and Shlomo. He screamed in Arabic, “Jewish scum!” and changed directions, charging the two courageous Israelis.
Agent of Vengeance Page 4
