The Reich Device (9 page)

The world was about to change forever.

M
ayer sat, slumped against the table in the interrogation room. He slowly lifted his head as Kessler entered the room. He blinked, unable to focus. His head throbbed with a mixture of thirst and fatigue. The bags under his eyes and a day’s worth of stubble were testament to his ordeal. An uncomfortable pain in his bladder registered as the door slammed shut.

Kessler walked briskly to the desk and punched the Professor hard on the jaw. Mayer spiralled to the floor, his head spinning, with the fresh taste of blood in his mouth.

Kessler spoke in a matter-of-fact sarcastic tone. ‘Good morning Professor. A fine morning don’t you think?’

Floundering, Mayer groped for the chair and, slowly, painfully, hauled himself back onto the seat.

Kessler landed another blow.

Mayer found himself lying on the floor again; this time coughing blood and sputum.

‘Yes, a fine morning indeed!’ Kessler dragged Mayer back to the chair, dumping him like a sack of potatoes at the table. It was all part of the show as far as he was concerned.

‘No time for idleness this morning Professor. There is work to do; now where were we?’ Kessler pulled a face of mild amusement.

‘Ah, yes! Visits to Berlin and your work at the University! Tell me again about your work. Tell me about the work you are doing now.’ He suddenly reverted to a calming tone. ‘You may answer Professor… ’

‘I work on fuels and the math… ’

Kessler delivered a harsh slap across Mayer’s face. ‘No Professor! I said tell me about the work you are doing now!’

‘My work at the University is on high-octane fuels and the propulsion of rockets. You can check this with my colleagues here and in Berlin. I have published many papers in this field of research.’ Mayer looked inwardly, mustering his resolve.

Sound authoritative and convincing. Stay alive! The Wehrmacht
must not
know,
cannot
know…

‘Go on!’ Kessler paced impatiently.

‘In the last year we have been working on a new fuel that would be more stable. One that is very powerful, but safe to handle.’ His eyes flickered involuntarily around the room, and despite his thirst, beads of sweat started to form on his brow.

Kessler read the signs.

So the Professor is trying to give an answer, but also lying.

Or was it just fear? Kessler wasn’t sure.

‘Continue,’ demanded Kessler, with genuine curiosity this time.

‘Well… ’ Mayer paused, choosing his words carefully. ‘The safety aspect is quite important. We want to make a fuel that is safe to handle. For example, so that it can be put into oil drums and transported on trucks without the risk of fire or explosion…’
So far so good, at least no punch in the face.
Mayer continued, ‘However, to get fast acceleration the fuel also needs to be volatile and burn quickly. These properties are often mutually exclusive. A fast-burning fuel is usually unstable and explosive, not safe. So our work is trying to move forward with new, safer fuels.’ Mayer prayed that the story sounded convincing.

‘I see, an interesting idea… ’ Kessler lashed out. Mayer absorbed the punch this time, rocking back on the chair. Bruising erupted on his face. More blood trickled from his mouth and nose. Mayer coughed to clear his airway in readiness for the next blow.

‘Very interesting Professor, but we are not quite there yet are we?’ Kessler switched to his patronising tone. ‘For example, what does the phrase
Delta Pi
mean?’

Mayer stiffened, his heart missed a beat; did Kessler have his manuscript, or was it a lucky guess? Coughing to hide his concern, Mayer tried to buy some time.

Think! The story needs to be more elaborate. Christ! If Kessler has another physicist to hand, he will be checking the answers!

Another scientist could easily discern if the explanation was too simplistic and unconnected to the notes on the paper. He needed to give some new and accurate information on the physics of propulsion; something that would stand up to scrutiny but, equally, send his adversary into a dead end. It needed to be more elaborate, but plausible. He
had
to throw Kessler off the scent. Mayer steeled himself.

‘
Pi
is a mathematical constant. We use it for calculating the rate of burn of fuel.
Delta
is a common notation for
the rate of change
. In this case, it is the rate of fuel consumption.’

Mayer gave a factually correct answer.

Kessler paced the room considering the reply.

So… he is telling the truth this time, but also being evasive?

Kessler trusted his gut instinct, it was usually always right. It was time to give the Professor some clarity of thought; something to give the prisoner a little more motivation.

The systematic administration of pain always worked.

Kessler grabbed the Professor by the wrist and twisted his arm to expose the inner part of the wrist, with the main artery facing uppermost. The skin is always thin and tender here, and sensitive to pain; with the added bonus of a major blood vessel just beneath the surface to add to the victim’s anxiety.

Kessler tightened his vice-like grip. Mayer instinctively pulled back, but it was pointless. For good measure, the orderly came in behind the chair and pressed down firmly on Mayer’s shoulders. Clearly a well-rehearsed routine. Mayer broke into a fresh sweat, with his heart racing.

Kessler produced a cigarette lighter with his free hand; the robust kind that ran on petrol. A spark soon produced a nice hot flame. Kessler studied the flame for a second or two, then moved the lighter closer to Mayer’s wrist.

Mayer stiffened, and pulled back, snorting through blood-soaked nostrils, his eyes wild. ‘Arggghhhhhhhhhhhh!… Arggghhhhhhhhhh!… Arggghhhhhh!’

Kessler counted in his head to the smell of burning flesh…
one… two… three… four… five
.

Click
: the lighter closed.

Kessler smiled. The timing was perfect; just enough to raise a nasty blister, and burn deeply into the skin; but above all, to allow the victim to register the pain, scream, and then register the pain all over again. Kessler surged with satisfaction.

‘Now we begin to understand the burning of fuels, Professor. How are your equations working now Professor?’

The lighter was reapplied. ‘Arrrghhhh!… Arrrrgghhhhh!’

Kessler took a long, slow, deep breath, and released his grip. Mayer recoiled to protect his injured arm, gritting his teeth against the pain.

‘Now that I have your full attention Professor, I would like you to decipher this document for me.’ Kessler placed the last mud-stained page of the manuscript on the table and waited for Mayer’s reaction.

‘What is it?’ Mayer kept a blank expression, but his eyes flickered involuntarily.

Kessler said nothing. He just shook his head in disappointment and sparked up the cigarette lighter. Mayer gritted his teeth, and tried with all his strength to hold back his injured wrist; but it was impossible against Kessler’s superior might.

‘Arrrgghhhhhh! Arrrrggghhhh!’ Mayer screamed. Flesh sizzled.

Kessler spoke with mocking sympathy. ‘Focus… focus… Professor. I want to help you, but I can only do that if you help yourself.’ It was just another routine method for getting inside the victim’s head; another gem for the Interrogator’s Handbook.

‘Now tell me what is written on this paper.’

Mayer slowly took the page, his arm throbbing, eyes watering, and a dampness forming in his groin. The smell of urine mixed with burnt flesh.

‘This page,’ he coughed up some blood. ‘This page,’ he muttered again. ‘Appears to be some calculation… err… ’

Buy some time! Give Kessler something, but just stay alive!

‘… It looks like some simple gas calculations.’ Mayer lied as he firmly fixed Kessler’s gaze. The two men looked each other in the eye for several seconds.

‘A pity, such a pity.’ Kessler shook his head. He then nodded to the orderly, who promptly left the room and returned seconds later with a hack saw.

Mayer gasped. An involuntary burst of urine dampened his trousers.

‘Now we are going to play a little game. The rules of the game are simple.’ Kessler spoke calmly. ‘If you answer my questions truthfully, you will get to keep your fingers. If not…’ Kessler paused to let his victim soak up the new horrific information. ‘Well, each time you lie, you will lose a finger, and so on and so forth until they are all gone.’ Kessler gesticulated with his hands for effect.

‘Do you understand the game, Professor?!’ hissed Kessler.

Mayer nodded.

‘So Professor, my first question… ’ Kessler picked up the hack saw and held it up to the light, pretending to inspect the blade. He turned the saw over slowly and feigned adjusting his grip, making a show of his new toy.

Kessler signalled to the orderly, who immediately grabbed Mayer firmly by the shoulders as before. Kessler pulled out the Professor’s good arm. After all, why leave a working arm when you can double the agony? Pleased with the decision, Kessler tightened his hold as Mayer fought back.

Good… good… it looks like the prisoner will provide some sport.

‘Now Professor, please answer my next question. Remember, I will accept only your first answer to each question; only one chance to keep each finger – simple.’ Kessler smiled as he placed the blade in position.

He rested the blade lightly on Mayer’s little finger.

Mayer stiffened at the coldness and touch of the blade and hyperventilated through clenched teeth. Sweat trickling down his face. Small uncontrolled bursts of urine came from his bladder.

Kessler spoke as if he was bargaining for the price of sausages at a market stall. ‘Please explain
Delta Pi
and the other mathematical symbols on the page. One symbol for one finger, agreed?’

Mayer took a deep breath. He needed to keep a clear head, and give a technically plausible explanation. He needed to speak with conviction.

‘Fuels are liquids which, unlike gases, cannot be compressed. Liquids occupy a finite space. In our case, this space is the fuel tank of a rocket. When the fuel burns, the residual volume of fuel remaining in the fuel tank will steadily decrease. That is, the fuel will be gradually used up. The
Delta Pi
relates to the shape of the fuel tank. The tanks are long cylinders. They need to be this shape to fit inside the rocket.
Delta Pi
describes the rate of decline of fuel in the cylindrical fuel tank over time.’ Mayer spoke with all the academic authority he could muster, and waited for the pain.

‘I see,’ Kessler drew the hack saw blade across the Professor’s little finger. It cut to the bone and blood oozed from the flesh wound. He always liked to verify the quality of the information he was receiving. He moved the blade back to take another cut.

‘It is the truth,
Pi
measures diameter! The diameter of the fuel cylinder! So that we can calculate the volume of fuel used!’ Mayer howled as the next cut went through the bone. Blood spurted from the open wound as the finger dangled on a sinew of the remaining flesh. Kessler twisted the partially severed finger and ripped it viciously away from the stump.

Mayer screamed. ‘The truth! It’s the truth! I am telling you! Please!’

Blood pulsated from the stump onto the edge of the table. Kessler ignored it and moved into position for another cut. He put the blade against the next finger and, pressing down, the blade started to bite.

‘My next question for the next symbol. What is it? Explain what it is for? See I am being fair. Two questions for one finger, Professor.’ He put more pressure on the blade. ‘You may answer… ’

Mayer was just about to speak, but was interrupted by an urgent knock on the cell door.

A voice called through the closed door. ‘Herr Commandant! Herr Commandant! Forgive my intrusion, but there’s an urgent phone call for you. It’s Berlin!’

‘I am busy! Take a message.’ Kessler turned back to his prisoner.

‘Herr Commandant! Sorry, you do not understand… the phone call… it is Admiral Dönitz… in person… sir!’

Kessler sighed and, pulling open the door, he looked the office clerk up and down.

‘Admiral Dönitz you say?’

‘Yes… err… yes, Herr Commandant, sir… waiting on the telephone now, sir.’

‘Very well, I will take the call in my office,’ Kessler conceded; he would have to take the call. One does not keep an Admiral of the Reich waiting.

‘You!’ Kessler pointed at the orderly. ‘Clean him up, dress his wounds.’

Confused by the sudden change in the Professor’s fortunes, the orderly snapped his heels together as he stood to attention. ‘Yes, Herr Commandant!’

O
liver Heinkel walked briskly from the New York subway and headed towards Rockefeller Plaza. The square consisted of a collection of new buildings, in the heart of New York. This included one of the world’s largest tower blocks: the Rockefeller Centre. The tower was meant to impress with its art deco facade and attention to detail, and it did. The building was an amazing centrepiece to a state-of-theart civil engineering project.

The top floors were still being finished off, although the lower floors were now occupied by big businesses. These included investment banks, the offices of various international chemical companies, and of course the oil business that had made Rockefeller his fortunes. Rumour had it that the construction of the plaza and the associated buildings was the largest and most expensive building project ever financed by the private sector; or rather, financed by one man, John Davison Rockefeller.

Rockefeller was the richest man in the world. He owned the Standard Oil Company and its subsidiaries to more or less control the entire global production of oil. He also managed copper and smelting industries around the globe, and had interests in the US Steel Corporation, as well as the railways. He used his great wealth to obtain shareholdings in major financial institutions; including America’s National City Bank, and insurance companies like New York’s Equitable Life. The Rockefeller influence even extended to the Federal Reserve.