Children of the Dusk (34 page)

The existence of tabun, a new, highly lethal chemical weapon, was not news to him. Word of the nerve gas had filtered through the Abwehr's channels and corridors, but along with that had come a warning: tabun was so unstable and so deadly that even the most ardent nationalists among the scientists treated it with wary respect. One miscue, and a commander could wipe out his own force rather than that of the enemy.

Being neither chemist nor physician, Erich did not fully understand the science behind the gas, but he did recall his Abwehr briefing: tabun was an organophosphorous compound which inhibited the action of the body enzyme, cholinesterase, and caused uncontrolled muscular contractions. Apparently, very small amounts resulted in paralysis, prostration, and death.

"After my men have taken body counts to determine gas-kill percentages, the Jews will bury the evidence," Hempel said. "I will get rid of
them
with the final bomb, and radio home to Berlin." He reached again for his pipe. Inhaled. Exhaled. "Yes, it's good enough. But I must confess that more than anything I long for a good cigar."

He removed the pipe from his mouth and stared at it intently.

"I wonder what your father would make of this," he said. "Did you know that he created a limited-edition cigar in my honor?
Rittmeister
, he called it, which of course is what I was at the time. He and I often sat in the tobacco shop, enjoying a cigar, a few cognacs. Reminiscing about the Great War, and about good German boys bewitched by Jewesses." He looked at Erich and shook his head, as if at a favorite but recalcitrant nephew. "It broke my heart to hear him go on about you, Erich. It really did. I told him I'd take care of you. As I do all my boys. There isn't
anything
I wouldn't do for your father." He gave Erich a knowing look. "Or he for me."
 

The man was deranged, over the brink of insanity, Erich thought. At this stage, killing him would be a kindness to Hempel and to humanity. He could do it here and now. Strangle him with his bare hands.

Why, then, did he not by now have Hempel's neck in his hands?

Because, unless he planned it right, it would be considered murder?

That was part, but not all of it, he told himself. There were other, more profound problems to be solved before dispatching the major. Like regaining control over the camp, and over the shepherds.

In the deepest part of his being, he could feel how torn Taurus was between her bloodlust and her desire to serve her former master. Somehow he had to break the hold the Zana-Malata had over her and over the other dogs.

He would need the trainers for that, as well as Solomon and the rest of the Jews. Until then, the death of the major would have to wait.

Hempel slipped an arm across Erich's shoulders and, contemplative, guided him toward the water's edge. Erich tried not to think of the pain in his hip and mind. Escape and vengeance: those were all that mattered now.

"How lucky we are to live in such a time as this!" Hempel swept an arm toward the box under the Storch's wing. "The day, Gefreiter, will come--and soon!--when
one
man," he lifted an index finger, "will control the world's destiny. One responsible, highly trained individual...," he paused for theatrical effect, "such as myself."

He held up both hands as if begging an enthusiastic audience to cease their applause. "I know, I know. You're wondering if I am worthy of such a challenge. I have asked myself that question many times. I am not always the man of action some people take me to be. In fact I am as committed to introspection and self-evaluation as any other officer of my caliber. Objective analysis--that's what sets men apart from women and Jews! I have assessed this situation with open eyes, and I tell you, the opportunity exists
here
for us to make a major moral contribution, not just to the world as we know it, but to all of history." He peered at the aircraft with an apparent sense of destiny. "The tides of men...you know what I mean." The timbre in his voice abruptly changed and he shook his head slightly, as though having awakened from daydream.

"So you're going to attempt to overthrow Madagascar," Erich said. "Now,
before
base camps are established."

For a moment Hempel appeared nonplussed and then gave Erich a loving, almost paternal look. He glanced around, as though to assure himself that no one else was within hearing range. "Had I fifty men such as myself I would attempt it. The balance of power in a backwater nation such as this could be tipped for the better with such a small fine force--but," he shook his head, "you know what abysmal men Reichsführer Himmler fettered me with for this operation. Not worth the price of the uniforms they wear." The smile, having wavered, returned. "Though they do have endearing qualities, especially the younger ones."
 

"You have no plans for an immediate attempt on the mainland?"

Hempel either did not notice or chose to ignore Erich's tone. Lifting his gaze toward the larger island, a sense of imperious longing in his eyes, he said, "See where the massif rises to an apex?" He pointed toward the line of beige cliffs that jutted high above the swell of greenery along the shore. "Beyond that, the jungle is broken into small, sunken pockets surrounded by walls of limestone. I've flown over them three times, and each time I'm more impressed with just how cut off from the rest of the world those pockets really are. No way in or out except along narrow waterways--though I understand that a labyrinth of tunnels where underground rivers used to flow is also supposed to exist."

He looked at Erich and again put an arm across his shoulders. Erich stepped away from the embrace.

"That topography provides us with ideal testing conditions," Hempel continued. "Sometimes I think it was divinely ordained that we come here to Madagascar, you and I. Your rapport with the slave laborers, my science...and," he added, "my military strength. Himmler himself could not have created a better melding. So here's my actual plan."
 
He relit the pipe. "We identify a dozen--no,
two
dozen villages in those isolated jungle pockets. I come in low," he made a flying motion with his hand, "barely above the massif. For accuracy, you see. No sense wasting ordnance by neutralizing jungle rather than the Natives.
 
Meanwhile, we station the dogs to block all avenues of escape. We don't want to endanger any of our own people, should the gas drift. After a few minutes, you and your Jews will go in, calculate the bomb-to-kill ratio, and bury or burn all evidence. Pity we don't have anybody around who could perform autopsies on the ones who're still twitching. The results would be of value--"

He gave Erich an amused look and added, "Don't worry. I've enough gas masks for your detail. Except for a few Jews we will dispose of as an example, I don't plan to eliminate any of your slave laborers until the experiment's been completed and I'm ready to report back to Himmler. The Jews and their military dupes may have stayed my hand when we gassed the enemy at Ypres, but this time I'll demonstrate the effectiveness of my ideas
before
we implement them in a crisis. The battlefield's no place for gas warfare...too many preventative measures exist! The
civilian
population--that's where we must hurt those who would harm the Reich!" He crabbed his fingers and pretended to reach for Erich's testicles. "Right down there where their gonads grow." He grinned. "You want a homeland for your Jew friends, Gefreiter?" Hempel pulled himself up straight, his chin set in triumph and his eyes uplifted in proud forbearance. "Fine. After the initial experiment is concluded and the Reichsführer has made me one of his trusted lieutenants for my efforts, I'll eradicate Madagascar of its former inhabitants--and without firing a shot. I'll give you and your Jews a land you can populate without further contagion."

"And your Zana-Malata?" Erich asked sarcastically. "You'll eliminate him as well? I thought perhaps he was the one holding your leash."

"We have an arrangement, he and I. I admire his abilities, and he admires my strength. He helps to further our plans to ensure the progress toward perfection of an Aryan world in the knowledge that he will be provided for, and his enemies eliminated. Our syphilitic is of this land, but he holds no love for the people who have exiled him to this rock. Even a Jew lover such as yourself can appreciate that...or have I misread you?"

"Let me get this straight." Erich fought to maintain a calm posture. "After all the preparation and plans, what you want is to turn Madagascar into Sachsenhausen."

Hempel grinned. "Unless a simpler solution to the Jewish question can be found."

"Such as?" Erich's head was pounding, almost as much from the sun and his hangover as from the effort of keeping himself from making the futile gesture of breaking the major's neck with his bare hands.

"Don't look so distressed, Gefreiter. I will demonstrate how easy it is to kill, even when it is someone you know."

Calmly, he unholstered his Mann, released the safety, and cocked the pistol at Taurus. In the split-second before Erich could react, Hempel swiveled around, leveled the gun at Pleshdimer, and with a, "Sorry, Wasj," shot him through the chest.

An expression of absolute surprise crossed the Kapo's face before he fell. Erich watched the man twitch and the ground around him darken as blood seeped into the sand. Then he heard Misha let out a gurgle that contained more pain than joy and Taurus began to bark.

"Erich!" Solomon shouted, breaking through the bushes at a run.

He had covered half the distance before he stopped. "I thought he...you.... I couldn't see." He stared at Erich.

"Never mind
see
, Jew," Hempel said. He aimed the pistol at Solomon. "The question is, how much did you hear?"

"L
et's go, Jew."

Hempel waved the pistol around in what seemed to Sol to be a far too casual manner. Sol tamed his instinct to duck. It was one thing to be shot by Hempel deliberately, another to be caught by a stray, careless bullet.

He glanced at Erich, who stood beside the Storch, facing Taurus, and wondered if Bruqah had told him, too, that Miriam was safely tucked away in the crypt and close to giving birth. His own conversation with Bruqah had of necessity been brief, and mostly composed of a vehement objection to her removal from the proximity of the corpsman and the medical tent. But that had given way quickly to gratitude that Bruqah was taking care of her.

"Walk!" Hempel prodded Sol in the back of the neck. "And you, Gefreiter, follow us."

Sol turned and trudged toward the path to the compound, Hempel close at his heels and uncharacteristically silent. As they approached the gate, the guards saluted with newfound enthusiasm. Trainers and guards alike looked away as Sol passed. He looked back to see how they reacted to Erich and found that, somewhere between the Storch and the camp, Erich had slipped away.

"Stop here," Hempel said, as they reached the inner gate that led into the Jewish quarters. "
Gef
--" He glanced over his shoulder and reddened as he discovered Erich's absence. Regaining his composure with effort, he said, "I have an announcement to make."

Hempel had uttered no word since his instructions to Sol and Erich. Unnerved, Sol looked at where the Kalanaro had fried himself upon the wire the previous night, and wished that the feeling of horror that had settled into the small of his back would resolve itself. He could see the African among his friends, chattering happily as though having returned from a successful hunt. Searching for a way to make sense of what he'd seen, Sol wondered if the white mud with which the Kalanaro had smeared themselves had something to do with the man's apparent imperviousness to electric shock.

"Gather your Jews over there." Hempel pointed to the open space where the Rosh Hashanah Service had been held and where, tonight at sundown, they had planned to hold a Yom Kippur Service.

While the Jews gathered--those of them who could be found within the compound--Hempel sent a runner for Johann, the wireless operator whom he had apparently pre-selected as his new adjutant.
 
When the young Aryan corporal reached his side, the major assumed the same stance as when he had stripped Erich of rank, and held up his hand for silence.

"Your rabbi here," he pointed at Sol, "has, not for the first time, overstepped his boundaries. I would have shot him on the spot, but a better idea occurred to me. I have heard rumblings of your intention to hold a religious service tonight, with or without permission."

He would have made a fine actor, Sol thought, as Hempel paused.

"Let it be clear to you that I forbid you to hold your Service," Hempel went on, obviously enjoying the drama of the moment. "In order to ensure that you take me at my word, I have my own new tradition to announce. Consider it my way to celebrate Yom Kippur. From now on, for each transgression, no matter how small, at least one Jew will be killed."

He paused again, looked around, and once more pointed his pistol at Solomon. "Shall I, after all, shoot your beloved rabbi, or is there one of you who will volunteer as his replacement? I frankly had other plans for him, but I could be persuaded to change my mind."

No one moved.

"The oldest among you, perhaps? Or the youngest?" Hempel looked around, like a butcher on a buying trip at the local abattoir.

A breathless silence seized the prisoners, during which Solomon heard the major tell Johann, "With so many to choose from it's like being a boy in a brothel, don't you think?"