Secrets of the Last Nazi (25 page)

The team gazed closer.

Zenyalena sensed the others coming towards her. ‘Stay back.’

They obeyed: since firing at the floorboards, Zenyalena had seemed trigger-happy.

She gestured with the gun towards Pascal. ‘Well, don’t just wait: take off the papers. Show us what it is.’

Pascal duly began to peel away the stacks of loose files. He revealed a dull metal desk with a basic keyboard. There were several dials with arrows on each, and an automated teleprinter attached to one side. The whole machine was mechanical, made just like an Enigma code-making machine. It was a primitive computer. A Nazi computer.

Pascal lifted his head up. ‘I’ve found a switch.’ Pascal pressed the button, and lights appeared from the behind the keyboard. It began to buzz. Still looking down at the machine, the French colonel spoke, hesitant and unsure. ‘I… I think we have to enter data….’

‘What sort of data?’

‘I don’t know. Looks like… dates. Dates and times.’

Zenyalena’s fingers rippled around the gun barrel while she pondered what she would do next. ‘OK. Enter this: 5
^th
September 1974.’

Pascal typed in the details, then waited. The machine seemed to want more data before it could work. ‘There’s still a light on for time and location.’

‘Then put in 0830 in the morning. Location: St Petersburg.’

Pascal queried it. ‘There’s a ‘Leningrad’ – the old name for St Petersburg.’

Zenyalena nodded her approval, and Pascal entered the city name.

Then, as if the machine were alive, it started whirring. Cogs and contraptions hummed inside, clicking and connecting. For almost a minute, the mechanical computer made loud, clockwork noises as small pieces of metal buzzed, whirred, rotated and settled inside. Then the tone changed. It was the hammer of the teleprinter. A page was being typed out.

Zenyalena’s eyes flickered nervously between the machine and the people in the room. Myles, Pascal, Frank, and Glenn watched transfixed while the most primitive computer any of them could imagine began to generate its result. Only Heike-Ann ignored it, lying semi-conscious on the floor.

Zenyalena waited for the teleprinter to finish, then lurched towards it and snatched off the paper with one hand, the other still clasping the machine gun. She held the page close, not letting anyone else read it. She seemed to read it twice as if she didn’t believe it the first time. She stared at it for several seconds more, as her grip on the gun seemed to loosen.

Then Zenyalena looked up. Her eyes were different now. She looked less mad, but also subdued, as though she had been confronted with a terrible reality.

Myles wondered if he had even seen tears in the Russian woman’s eyes. He tried to speak as softly as he could. ‘What does it say, Zenyalena?’

‘Predictions,’ she replied.

‘5
^th
September 1974 – that’s your birthday?’

‘Yes,’ she said, turning the page to show them all.

Myles recognised the dates, but not the other words written in German. ‘What does it say?’

‘It says I travelled in 1998, and was injured in June 2003. The percentages are probabilities – 80% and 60% likely.’

‘And were you?’

Zenyalena nodded.

Myles scanned through the rest of the page. On the bottom line was today’s date. Beside it was a familiar symbol. A single symbol, all on its own.

†

Underneath, the words:

Zenyalena and Myles looked at each other. Both of them understood what the machine was predicting.

Zenyalena wiped her face, clearing her eyes of any sadness. ‘ ‘Plötzlich’ means ‘sudden’,’ she explained.

Glenn tried to sidle close to her. ‘Oh, come on. This is just a fairground show. You don’t really believe it, do you?’

Zenyalena clutched the gun barrel tight in her hands. ‘Stay back.’ More calmly, she motioned to Myles. ‘Myles. Do you believe it?’

Myles wondered whether to lie, but decided it was better not to. ‘Yes, Zenyalena. I do. I do now. And I see how they did it.’ He gestured towards the paper stacked all around him. ‘These records. The Nazis gathered information from all these people. Soldiers who died, Jews they murdered – all of them. There could be more than a million sheets here. Then they found out which planets were significant when they died, identified a statistical link, and used it to make predictions.’

‘Predictions like mine?’

‘Yes, Zenyalena, I reckon so.’

Glenn was still shaking his head. ‘It doesn’t make the prediction right, though.’

Zenyalena was still on edge. She turned the Spandau gun back to Glenn. ‘When were you born, Glenn?’

Glenn pulled his passport from his back pocket and showed the birthdate to Zenyalena.

Zenyalena acknowledged it. ‘Good. What time?’

‘I don’t know. About eleven in the morning I think.’

‘Where?’

‘Maine.’

Zenyalena shot a look over to Pascal. Pascal understood, and dutifully entered the data.

Suddenly the machine was active again. It whirred and whizzed, as gears and cogs clunked together inside. They listened to the noise of little beads being shunted along an internal abacus, of circuits being formed, then broken, then connected again, and of life-decisions being calculated.

Then, as before, the tone changed as the printer started. Rippling her fingers on the air-cooling shaft of the gun barrel, Zenyalena invited Glenn to step forward.

Trying to pretend he didn’t care, Glenn extended his hand towards the paper. He picked it up and glanced at it. ‘I can’t read it. It’s in German.’

‘Well, show it to Heike-Ann.’

Glenn kneeled down and put the paper in front of Heike-Ann’s face. Heike-Ann – groggy and only half-awake – translated the paper. ‘It says the year you were born… a 70% chance of getting married in the year 2001. Then travel in May 2005 and November 2010. Some mention of travel for work this year. Then more stuff for 2018, 2028. Something about you retiring in 2030…’

Zenyalena called over to her. ‘Nothing for now?’

‘Just travel for work. That’s all.’

Zenyalena nodded, accepting the point. She nudged the gun sideways. ‘You.’

Frank looked round. ‘Me?’

‘Yes, you. Mr Museum Curator, or whatever it is you do. Tell me your birthday, place and time.’

Frank raised his eyebrows. ‘Er, right then. I was born in Birmingham, England. Born at dusk, on the 21
^st
of March.’

Pascal entered the data, becoming familiar with the dials and controls. Again, the machine crunched the information and the wheels inside began to rotate and tumble.

Frank peered round, sweat collecting on his forehead, while he waited for the noise to change.

Then the teleprinter started. Careful to make sure no-one could approach her gun, Zenyalena ripped the paper from the machine.

She took time to study the page, as a half-grin spread on her face. ‘Were you injured when you were six-and-a-half?’

Frank frowned, puzzled. ‘Well, yes. If you’d call it an injury. That was when I contracted polio.’ He tapped his weak leg.

Zenyalena accepted the answer. ‘Heike-Ann,’ she called over. ‘What does ‘Wassertod’ mean?’

‘It means, literally ‘water-death’ - drowning,’ murmured Heike-Ann from the floor.

‘I’m going to drown?’ Frank seemed scared. Then a flicker of laughter appeared on his face, as if the prediction might be joke. ‘Well, the machine’s half-right and half-wrong. You see, my house boat sunk just a while ago. I almost did drown, actually…’ Frank looked for support from the other faces in the bunker. ‘The machine probably got the dates a little wrong.’

But Zenyalena shook her head, her voice still deadly. ‘There’s no mistake. According to this machine, you’re going to die the same day as me. Today. So don’t think you’ve escaped.’

Frank clutched his collar and loosened the shirt around his neck. ‘Does it really say that?’

Zenyalena threw the paper towards him.

Frank tried to grab it as it fluttered towards the floor. He stared at it, confirming that the last date was today, with the ‘†’ symbol next to it. Frank turned to his friend. ‘Myles, do you think this is true?’

Myles put his hand on Frank’s shoulder. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Well, do you think I have a choice?’

‘Yes, we all have a choice. You escaped when your boat sank, didn’t you? Just don’t take a bath today. Whatever these predictions say, we can still stay safe.’ Myles began directing his words at Zenyalena. ‘Come on, Zenyalena. Can’t we all go, now? None of us wants to die.’

‘No. One of us is a traitor. And at the moment, Mr Myles Munro, the most likely person is you.’ She pointed down toward Heike-Ann. ‘Her identity pass is in her purse. Glenn: take it out please.’

Glenn bent down to their wounded assistant and, careful not to cause her any more pain than she was already experiencing, lifted her handbag away. It was easy for him to find her German police identity card. He checked it, then passed it to Pascal, who typed in the details.

Again, the machine whirred and clanked. Then the teleprinter began typing and a page of details spewed out. Glenn stepped forward to take it, then passed it to Heike-Ann, on the floor.

The German policewoman read through it, not reacting. Then finally, as she reached the bottom, her eyes smiled. ‘It says next year I’ll have another baby.’

Zenyalena darted forward. ‘Show it to me.’

Lamely, Heike-Ann lifted the page for the Russian. Zenyalena scanned down the list of dates. The last line, with the ominous † beside it, was way off in 2041. Heike-Ann would survive.

Zenyalena called to her side. ‘Pascal – where were you born?’

‘Paris. Do you want me to enter my details?’ Pascal seemed to be the only member of the team keen to know his future. The Frenchman eagerly turned the dials, setting up the machine to predict what was to come.

They waited in silence while the mechanisms inside did their work. Another full minute of clockwork clanking. Then the page printed out. Pascal went to take it but Zenyalena stopped him. ‘No, leave it Pascal,’ she ordered.

Pascal looked unsure but knew, at gunpoint, he had to obey.

Zenyalena turned to Myles. ‘Englishman - carry it to Heike-Ann, please.’

Myles glanced an apology to Pascal, then picked up the page. It seemed much longer than the other predictions. Myles handed the sheet to Heike-Ann.

Heike-Ann scanned the page. ‘It says lots of things. It says you were dishonoured… received new wealth… Then travels this year. Also, this month, lots of extra courage and good luck. Then – tomorrow – disillusionment and…’ Heike-Ann’s words trailed off. The German didn’t want to read out the conclusion.

Myles took the sheet back and studied it himself.

The last line was tomorrow’s date, some words in German, and the ominous symbol:

Myles looked across at Pascal. He didn’t need words.

Pascal understood. The Frenchman just looked down at the paper to confirm the date. ‘Tomorrow?’

‘Yes, Pascal. That’s what it says. ‘Death from multiple causes.’’

Zenyalena tossed her head back. She let her hair brush on her shoulders, as if she was beginning to care about things much less. ‘Seems like dying’s about to become quite popular.’

Myles pointed down at Heike-Ann. ‘Look, Heike-Ann needs treatment. And she’s pregnant. Forget this machine and let’s get her some help.’

‘That’s not what the machine says,’ said Zenyalena coldly. ‘The machine reckons Heike-Ann doesn’t need any help. Her and Glenn are the only ones going to get out of here. You should help Frank, Pascal and me instead – we have only hours to live.’

‘Nonsense, Zenyalena. We can all get out of here alive. We just have to climb out.’

‘Don’t you even think about it, Myles. No-one gets out of here until I say they do.’ She pitched the gun towards him. ‘Myles - when were you born?’

Myles was about to answer when Zenyalena interrupted him. ‘No. Wait. I don’t trust you. Show me your passport.’

Myles conceded, trying to be calm. From his back pocket, he lifted out his passport and handed it to Zenyalena.

Zenyalena looked at it, frowning in scepticism. ‘This is you?’

‘Yes. Of course it is.’

‘You’re older than you look.’ She checked the details again, half-smiling to herself. Still holding the machine gun, she gestured towards him. ‘Show me that – the page of predictions for Pascal. Pass it to me.’ Zenyalena received the teleprinted paper on Pascal and held it in the same hand as Myles’ passport. ‘Well, well. Looks like you’ve got a twin.’

‘A twin?’

‘Yes. You and Pascal. Both born on 29
^th
January, same year.’

Myles and Pascal looked at each other. Pascal asked first. ‘What time?’

‘Ten-to-five in the evening, in Britain. You?’

‘Ten-to-six. Evening also. But Paris is an hour ahead. So it’s the same time. Exactly.’

Zenyalena called out to Pascal, reading from Myles’ passport. ‘It says here he was born in Southampton.’

Pascal’s eyes turned down in sympathy. He knew what the machine was about to say: Myles would share the same fate as him.

The cogs and wheels whirred again. Myles heard metal grind and tumble, imagining the complicated mechanics inside.

The teleprinter switched on, hammering letters onto the page. Even though the type was in German, Myles could understand the dates, reading line by line as the machine printed.

Myles scanned through it, realising he had led a life almost identical to Pascal’s

It showed the date he had been dishonoured –
correctly.

It showed the date he had found ‘new wealth’ –
correct again, when he was given the Oxford lectureship in military history.

Then tomorrow’s date, with the same deathly symbol next to it.