The Reich Device (5 page)

Kessler snapped back to reality as a drip of tar landed in Nico’s eye.

‘Arghhh! Arghhh! Please!’ Nico snorted snot and tears.

Yes, he could live for now.

Pleased with his morning’s work, Kessler headed back to the car. So, Mayer was working on something secret, skulking around the city after dark, and keeping things from his own staff. Interesting, very interesting – it was clearly time to pick up Professor Mayer – catching him in the act on one of his nocturnal strolls.

E
instein reflected quietly on his friend’s work as he added his final comments to the margins. It was magnificent, a work of pure genius. The pencil notes were just finishing touches. It was a groundbreaking piece of science; but it was also dangerous, very dangerous.

Einstein looked up from his desk and smiled. ‘Well, well, well, Gustav… your mathematical proof is beyond compare. You should publish it of course.’

Mayer stopped pacing up and down the study and exhaled. ‘Albert, are you mad?! I don’t think the world is ready for this. At least not now, not with things as they are in Germany.’ Mayer rubbed his forehead, and shook his head. ‘No Albert, this is a bad idea.’

Einstein’s expression suddenly hardened. ‘You
must
let the whole world know of this new carbon technology and its application to propulsion systems. This represents a step-change in human capabilities.’

Mayer whispered in a harsh tone. ‘Albert, people
are
disappearing, and who knows what the National Socialists would do with this technology? They
cannot
have this… they
must not
have this technology.’

Einstein sat firmly, with his arms crossed. ‘That is
precisely
why the world should know. It would be dangerous for any one individual, or nation, to keep this a secret. However, think of the future. It is worth the risk: the chance to alter the course of human history for the better.’

‘Or to destroy… total annihilation!’ Mayer reeled at the thought of handing his work over to the Nazis, but Einstein was also right. On the one hand, it could do a great deal of good for mankind: creating new lives and futures, spawning commerce and industry. There was more – much more! Mankind
could
literally reach for the stars. However, the alternatives were devastating.

‘Albert, what if the technology got into the wrong hands?’

‘With this device, and appropriate modifications, it could enhance existing weapons. Rockets could go into space and be used to target anywhere on the planet in an instant.’ Einstein rubbed his chin, choosing his words carefully, ‘… Or used to find new ways to unlock the energy of the atom. You’ve heard the rumours about the heavy elements like uranium… ’ Einstein furrowed his brow and, rubbing his temple, he exhaled, ‘… or something much worse. A new weapon based on the limitless and uncontrolled release of energy from your device itself. An army would be truly invincible. The destruction of one’s enemies would be assured. The owner of your device, with a few adjustments and upgrades, could simply dominate the planet.’

Mayer gasped. ‘My God, my God! There are plenty of madmen out there with world domination in mind… Stalin… you’ve heard the rumours of mass murder in the Soviet Union. Then, there’s Herr Hitler.’

‘Gustav, then we are in agreement. The political situation is too unstable to risk one group, or nation, having exclusive access to this knowledge.’

‘But what should I do?’ Mayer conceded. ‘Human nature has a habit of turning ugly; the risks are too high.’

Einstein shrugged. ‘You have a simple choice my friend: share this knowledge on the international stage so that stewardship of the technology becomes the responsibility of all nations; or admit the idea is just too much for mankind right now and bury it. Hide it away forever.’

‘Albert, knowledge can’t be undone… I… I would have to burn my notes, destroy the manuscript. Dispose of everything, so there was no trace or record of my work.’

‘Yes, you would,’ Einstein nodded.

‘But that would leave only one source of information: me!’ Mayer shuddered at the notion. Would he talk if he was tortured?

‘Gustav, going public is the correct course of action. Think of all the good it will bring; it is new science, a frontier. You must publish your manuscript.’

‘No, it’s not safe. The Nazis are controlling every printing press in Germany. We would be picked up by the security forces in an instant.’

‘Then we should go to a mainstream publisher overseas. Write it up in English and ensure they publish it quickly. It
can
be done.’

‘Albert, no! Besides, what makes you think it would be any different elsewhere? We don’t know how long the reach of the Nazis will stretch.’

‘We can go to England.’

‘What? But how?! I can’t even get to the main street without being questioned or followed!’ Mayer sagged.

Einstein stood and touched his friend gently on the shoulder. ‘
You
can’t go, but
I can
.’

‘Albert, you would do that for me?’

‘Yes, I am reasonably well known, and would be missed by friends in the international community; some with significant political standing. The Nazis would have a hard time explaining my disappearance.’

Mayer shook his head. ‘No Albert, I should not put you in danger. I am sorry, I cannot ask this of you.’

‘There is a meeting of the Physics Society in Oxford. We could present your work there… ’ Einstein paused to let his friend digest the information. ‘It is a big decision, only you and I know about this technology.’ Mayer did not need reminding, they both knew things were at a pivotal point. ‘But, once we present this theory… this new technology, there will be no going back… ’

Both men stared at each other, firm lines etched on their faces.

Einstein finally broke the silence.

‘Gustav, be brave. The world’s media will be present in Oxford, and the paper could be delivered simultaneously to governments around the world.’

‘Alright… alright. I agree.’ Mayer closed his eyes and prayed that he had made the right decision. Then another realisation hit home. ‘Albert, the authorities here will pick me up as soon as this goes public. I need to get out of Germany!’

‘Yes, and where would you hide for the rest of your life? No, the Nazis will have no power over you once the information is published.’

Mayer’s face drained to an ashen grey colour. ‘If I follow that logic, the moment after the press release I would make no difference to them. I could be murdered all the same.’

The click of the door latch and a sudden crack of light announced Professor Mayer’s emergence on to the street. He pulled up his collar and, clutching his leather satchel close to his chest, headed up the street in a strange zigzag. He kept to the shadows, and with his stomach churning, tried to get a good pace going, despite the rain. Taking a precautionary detour, rather than the direct route home, suddenly seemed like a bad idea.

After a few hundred metres, he glanced back down the street: a lone figure followed.

A Brown Shirt?!

Bile moved up into his gullet, and a burning sensation filled his chest. He erupted in sweat, despite the chill and increased the pace to get round the next street corner. He stopped, and, using the cover of a hedgerow, squinted back down the hill into the drizzle; but it was no good. The figure was too far away to tell. Was it a Brown Shirt or not? He risked waiting a few more seconds.

No, not a Brown Shirt, but a tall man in a dark grey overcoat. Even worse! Gestapo?

Mayer turned, lengthening his stride along the pavement, and with his heart pounding, nausea filled his belly. After a hundred metres or so, he risked another look over his shoulder. The figure had just turned the street corner!

Mayer took the next left. Still sweating and with his throat on fire, the pain in his chest got worse. Regardless, he broke into a jog. It was a bad decision – the pain intensified – and the left turn narrowed quickly into an alleyway, strewn with rubbish bins and old packing crates.

What would he say if the authorities stopped him here?

A fresh wave of crushing discomfort filled his rib cage. His mouth went dry as he fought against rapid shallow breathing. Mayer collapsed into a doorway clutching his chest. The rain intensified to a heavy shower. He closed his eyes and tried to take deep breaths, regretting his decision to be out on the street at night.

More deep breaths, in, out… slowly… slowly.

His head started to clear. He listened to the rain clattering off assorted metal dustbins. It was impossible to hear anything else, but the weather was somehow comforting. His heart rate began to steady. He stood up, using the doorway for support, and poked his head around the wall.

Thank God! He’s gone. No sign of anyone.

Mayer squinted into the lashing rain. There was no point hanging about.

He stepped onto the narrow cobbles, and stumbled to the far end of the alleyway. He glanced around the corner.

All clear
.

He moved quickly onto the pavement, walking, then almost jogging at times, for two blocks parallel to the main street.

Breathing heavily, he peered around the next corner.

A patrol!

Mayer dashed backwards for a few metres and, falling off the kerb, he landed hard into the gutter. Pain shot through his shoulder. Still clasping his satchel, icy rainwater flooded down his back. His diaphragm gave a spasm. He coughed.

Ignoring the discomfort, he gingerly placed the satchel upright on the relative dry of the pavement. He rolled over onto his belly, and started to get up.

Two Brown Shirts appeared on the street corner.

Mayer dropped flat into the gutter, lying motionless, the cold water soaking through his shirt.

The Brown Shirts looked tall and athletic; each man wore a pistol, and held a large cosh. Predatory eyes systematically scanned the junction for any signs of disturbance. One of the men produced a flashlight.

The beam edged down the street towards his position. Mayer pressed himself as low as possible against the kerbstone, ignoring the gurgling rainwater washing through his clothing.

The patrol paused as the light picked up his silhouette.

Mayer screamed and buried his face into the cobbles. Paralysed by the torch beam, his body turned to jelly.

Suddenly, he heard something.

Whistling? Yes, someone is whistling a tune?

Mayer raised his eyes slightly from the gutter and, holding one hand to shield his vision from the bright light, he took in the scene perplexed. The tune – he recognised it.

It’s a Long Way to Tipperary?

The grey-coated figure stood whistling on a street corner, opposite the Brown Shirts. They turned to meet his gaze. The grey-coated man stepped casually into the street, still whistling as he sauntered towards the patrol. The man suddenly threw his coat back and in one fluid movement, the nearest Brown Shirt dropped to the floor.

Mayer gasped.

The Brown Shirt momentarily coughed blood around the knife protruding from his neck, and then went limp.

The second Brown Shirt dropped his torch. It clattered on the cobbles, but somehow remained alight, casting a spotlight over the deadly scene.

Mayer gulped in air, transfixed by the spectacle.

The whistling continued.

The remaining Brown Shirt fumbled for his pistol and, realising he wasn’t going to make it, turned to run.

The thud of the second knife struck home. The Brown Shirt stopped sharp, shuddering as the blade penetrated his back. He keeled over face first onto the wet cobbles, motionless.

Mayer rubbed his eyes, blinking. He rubbed them again to clear the rainwater from his face.

The grey-coated figure nonchalantly placed a boot on the first Brown Shirt’s chest, and recovered his knife from the man’s throat. He wiped the blade clean on the corpse. He wandered over to the second body, collecting the second blade. He flipped up his coat, and stowed the weapons.

Mayer gulped back his terror and wretched into the gutter as the grey-coated man turned towards him.

The man simply stood there and, with a tip of his nonexistent hat, resumed his tuneful rendition of the Tipperary song.

The man’s voice suddenly commanded clearly in well-spoken German through the rain. ‘Go home.’

The Tipperary song resumed, drifting away into the night as the man disappeared around the street corner.

Mayer lay stunned in the gutter.

What just happened? My God!

He waited, shivering. Would the man come back? He decided to stay put for another ten seconds. He counted in his head.

Nothing.

He rolled to his feet, grabbing his bag as he stood. He hobbled to the far end of the street, and turned the corner like a frightened rabbit. He found himself back onto the main road. Recognising the location, and with no sign of the mysterious figure, Mayer turned downhill, heading for home and the University campus as briskly as he could manage.

Mayer moved down the path into the courtyard outside the Physics Department, still clutching his now sodden leather satchel. He glanced back and forth, shaking as he fumbled with his keys. The door suddenly gave, he slipped inside the lobby, being careful to close the door. He leant against the woodwork, taking deep breaths, thankful to be off the street and out of the rain. Then, overcome with a sudden dread, he ran up the stairs to his office.

Mayer threw his soaking-wet coat onto the hat stand, and heaved the leather satchel onto his desk. He slumped, dripping into the chair, numbed by the evening’s events. Who was the grey-coated figure? Why did he kill the Brown Shirts? What did he want?

Mayer rubbed the flats of his palms across his face, massaging some warmth back into his cheeks. He stared at the leather satchel. Did his manuscript have anything to do with it? Maybe?

Finding a sudden resolve, Mayer opened the bag, and gently removed the completed scientific paper. It was a work of art, a thing of beauty. He caressed the pages, marvelling at the elegant equations and logic steps, this really was a milestone that would change the world. He had been so careful, and the last few days had been well spent meticulously re-typing the pages that Einstein had marked for corrections. It
was
perfect.