Kingdom of Darkness

  ‘And what did you think?’

  The question caught him off guard. ‘I . . . do not know. I still do not. Jul— A friend, from outside the Enklave, has told me things that contradict what I have been told all my life, but . . . Why would our leaders lie to us?’ The question was almost plaintive.

  ‘To get you to do what they want,’ Nina growled. ‘There you go, your first lesson in politics. I suppose they told you they had to hide out here because they were unjustly persecuted when the rest of the world conspired against Hitler’s Germany?’

  His reaction told her that was not far from the truth. ‘That is not what other people say, though.’

  ‘No, it isn’t. The Nazis were genocidal thugs, the most evil regime in history. Their leaders were psychopathic murderers – and they still are. They killed your brother, and they killed my—’ Her words caught in her throat. ‘And they killed my friend!’

  Even through the vent, it was impossible for Roland to miss her anguish. ‘What? They killed . . .’

  ‘They killed Macy! Kroll shot her – she’d done nothing, but he murdered her!’

  He drew away. ‘No, not Herr Kroll. He is our Führer! I do not believe—’

  ‘But she’s not here, is she?’ said Nina, wanting to scream the words into his face. She leaned away from the vent. ‘Do you see her? Do you?’

  Roland’s eyes flicked across the cell, seeing Nina, Zane at the door . . . but nobody else. ‘No,’ he admitted.

  ‘That’s because she’s dead! Kroll murdered her – because I wouldn’t give him what he wanted!’

  He shook his head. ‘No, the Oberkommando would not murder an innocent person . . .’

  ‘Your brother knew they would! That’s why he left here, why he came to warn me what they were doing – because he discovered how evil your precious fucking leaders are! What do you think he was reading about on the Internet? Kroll’s been lying to everyone here for the last seventy years. But Volker didn’t believe him, and went to find the truth out for himself. And you must at least have doubts, otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to me now.’

  ‘I just want to learn what happened to my brother—’

  ‘I told you!’ Nina growled. ‘Jaekel shot him dead – just like Kroll shot Macy. He shot her, and then they wrapped her up in plastic and hauled her away like . . . like she was garbage!’ The pain of loss clenched around her chest once more, but she refused to be silenced. ‘They’re murderers, all your leaders. They’re wanted war criminals! Volker discovered that, and they killed him to protect their secret. Why won’t you believe me?’

  Roland stared at her in silence. She thought he was about to turn and leave, that her last tiny hope was gone – but then he spoke. ‘Plastic . . .’

  ‘What?’

  ‘You said they wrapped Macy in plastic.’ Uncertainty filled his voice. ‘I saw something wrapped in plastic being put in a jeep.’

  ‘Where were they taking it?’ Zane asked.

  ‘There is a dump in some little hills. We burn trash there sometimes. They were going there.’

  ‘Then you go there,’ said Nina through clenched teeth. ‘You go there, and see for yourself.’ He blinked, about to move but then hesitating. ‘Go and see!’ she shouted, no longer caring if the guard heard her. ‘Go and see! Go and see!’

  Roland glanced around fearfully, then dropped and ran. The vent cover clanked back into place.

  ‘The guard’s coming,’ Zane warned. He quickly returned to the bed as Nina stepped down.

  A fist pounded on the metal door. ‘Silence in there! What is going on?’

  ‘Nothing,’ sighed Nina. She went back to the corner, tears rolling down both cheeks. ‘Nothing at all.’

  26

  It took Eddie and Julieta twenty cautious minutes to reach the mound where the Jeep had stopped. Twilight was now upon them, the Andean peaks to the west indistinct silhouettes against a backdrop of brooding clouds. Off to the south-west, the heart of the Enklave was picked out by numerous lights. Even without binoculars, Eddie could tell that the parade ground was full of activity.

  But his priority was discovering if his fears were justified. There was still enough daylight to show a large ditch with numerous objects at its bottom. He couldn’t make them out clearly, but a stench of mouldering rubbish gave him a good idea what he would find. The Nazis had been using it as a dumping ground. ‘Okay, I’m going for a look,’ he told his companion as he took out a torch. ‘Wait here.’

  He started into the pit before switching on the light to keep it hidden from any observers. The first thing he saw was charcoal and ash; the Nazis had been burning their garbage. But it was not a regular event, as more had since been thrown in, the circle of light finding broken furniture, crates and pallets, shredded tyres. They were not what he was looking for, though. He reached the bottom of the hollow . . .

  Plastic glistened in the beam. He froze as he made out the shape wrapped in the translucent sheeting. Definitely a human body. A woman.

  ‘What is it?’ Julieta called.

  ‘Stay there,’ he ordered, breathing faster as he approached. He still couldn’t pick out any detail through the plastic . . . but what he could see made him more and more reluctant to take another step.

  Blood had run down the inside of the sheet, dark smears marking where it had congealed. A gunshot wound, from the amount – but who was the victim?

  He reached the body and brought his torch to the head. A face was vaguely visible through the wrapped layers, although too distorted to identify. Was the hair red? The plastic made it hard to tell even that much, colours muted beneath it.

  Eddie crouched beside the figure. There was only one way to know.

  He propped the torch on a broken crate, then with deep foreboding began to unwrap the sheeting.

  It unfurled as he pulled at it. The body shifted slightly, the head tipping back. That meant the death was recent; rigor mortis hadn’t set in. He tried to keep focused on that bit of cold scientific fact rather than succumb to emotion, but he couldn’t stop himself from tearing ever harder at the plastic. His heart raced as he ripped away the last piece to reveal the woman’s face—

  It wasn’t Nina.

  A flash of pure, joyous relief – instantly overwhelmed by shame and guilt for the feeling. It wasn’t Nina, but he still knew her.

  Macy’s frightened eyes looked lifelessly up at him, her expression telling him that she had died in pain. He stumbled back.

  ‘Eddie?’ called Julieta, alarmed. ‘Are you okay?’

  He heard her descend into the pit. ‘No, stay back,’ he warned as he forced himself to return to Macy. Jaw clenched, he gently touched her cheek. Her skin was cold. ‘Oh God . . .’

  He brought his hand to Macy’s eyes and carefully closed them. It did not lessen her look of fear, but now she at least appeared to have found some small amount of peace. He retrieved the torch and turned his attention to her body, tugging away more bloodied plastic to reveal a single gunshot wound. Fairly large calibre, the military part of his mind noted, probably nine millimetre. Fired from very close range, judging from the traces of gunpowder. She had been looking right at her killer when he pulled the trigger . . .

  His breath caught. Macy had only just started her life, choosing her own path for the first time, promise and discovery before her – and now it was over. Everything that she had been and ever would be, stolen from the world.

  His vision shimmered with tears, but grief was already being forced aside by fury. The people who had done this were going to pay—

  Someone touched his shoulder. He spun, raising a fist before realising that it was Julieta. She flinched back. ‘Sorry,’ he said, but the burning rage did not subside.

  She peered timorously at the body. ‘Is it . . . your wife?’

  ‘No.
But she’s one of my friends. Her name’s Macy, Macy Sharif.’ He looked down at the shrouded corpse again, repeating her name as if in requiem. ‘Macy Sharif.’

  Julieta whispered a Spanish prayer, making the sign of the cross – then suddenly stopped. ‘Someone is coming!’

  Eddie snapped off the torch and crouched, pulling her behind a rusted sheet of corrugated steel. A torch beam jittered above, then angled down as its owner reached the edge of the dumping ground. Eddie watched through a hole in the metal. The light swept over the garbage, fixing upon Macy. A moment’s hesitation, then the man clambered into the ditch and moved towards her.

  The rage returned. Eddie started to take out his gun, but changed his mind. A shot might be heard – and he also had an irresistible urge to kill the Nazi with his bare hands, to hear bones break and feel the windpipe crush as he broke the bastard’s neck . . .

  The intruder reached Macy’s body, stepping around it to get a clear look at the face. He was only ten feet from the Englishman, and didn’t have a weapon at the ready. Eddie knew he could reach him before he had time to react. He moved out from his hiding place, crossing the few steps to his target.

  The man turned as he heard a noise, but too late—

  ‘No!’ cried Julieta. ‘It’s Roland!’

  Eddie had already grabbed him, arms clamping around his head and upper chest. One sharp twist would be all it took . . .

  ‘Please, no!’ Her voice was a scream. ‘Don’t hurt him!’

  ‘He’s one of them,’ he snarled.

  ‘No, he isn’t! I love him! Please, let him go!’

  Roland squirmed helplessly in Eddie’s grip, struggling to breathe. ‘You speak English?’ His prisoner managed a terrified nod. ‘You do anything I don’t like, I’ll kill you. Understand?’ Another feeble twitch of the head. ‘Okay.’

  Eddie released his hold and shoved Roland to the ground. He shone his torch at the panting youth’s face – feeling a shock of recognition. He was the twin of Volker Koenig, indistinguishable from the man who had been gunned down in Los Angeles. His eyes were wide with fear.

  Eddie felt no sympathy. Macy’s had been the same. He drew the gun, making sure the young man could see it. ‘You’re Roland Koenig?’ he demanded, ignoring Julieta’s frightened protests.

  ‘Yes,’ gasped the blond. He peered past Eddie. ‘Julieta? Is that—’

  ‘Shut up,’ Eddie snapped. ‘You’re talking to me.’ He gestured with the torch at Macy’s body. ‘Who did that? Who killed her?’

  Roland didn’t dare look away from him. ‘I do not know. She was taken to the Oberkommando, but – but I do not know what happened to her. I was not there.’

  ‘Then what the fuck are you doing here now?’

  ‘I was told Macy was here. I did not believe it, but she said I should go and see, and – and she was right. It is true . . .’

  ‘Who said? Who were you talking to?’

  ‘Dr Wilde. She—’

  ‘Nina?’ Eddie exclaimed. ‘Nina Wilde?’ Roland nodded. ‘You spoke to Nina? When?’

  ‘Not long ago – about twenty minutes, twenty-five?’

  The Englishman felt a rush of relief. Nina was alive!

  But the Nazis had murdered Macy; they could kill Nina too. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘In the Kerker, the prison. There was a man with her, but I do not know who he is. The other man, the Arab, he was not there.’

  ‘The man with her now – was he young? Loads of curly hair?’

  He nodded. ‘He was hurt. There was blood all over him.’

  Julieta came closer. ‘Please, let him go.’

  Roland looked up as the torchlight’s spill illuminated her face. ‘Julieta!’ Even with a gun aimed at him, he smiled. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘I came to find you,’ she replied, kneeling and taking hold of his hand. ‘I had not seen you for days, and after what happened to Volker, I was worried.’

  His smile vanished. ‘Dr Wilde said that . . . Volker is dead. Is it true?’

  Julieta glanced at Eddie, reluctant to answer. Roland turned back towards the Englishman. ‘Yeah. Your brother’s dead,’ Eddie told him.

  ‘But—’ The young man looked at Julieta again, as if hoping for a denial, but none came. ‘No . . .’

  Eddie remembered the youth’s earlier words. ‘Nina told you to come out here. Why?’

  It took a few seconds for Roland to compose himself enough to reply. ‘I did not believe that Herr Kroll had killed her friend. Dr Wilde . . . challenged me to see for myself. I thought that if she was lying about Macy, then she must also be lying about the other things she said.’ He turned away, downcast. ‘She was not lying.’

  ‘No, she wasn’t. And I’m not lying either: I’m going to get her out of there, and I’m going to kill anyone who gets in my way. Are you going to get in my way?’

  Though afraid, Roland still found enough courage to look Eddie in the eye. ‘No, I am not. I do not know what to think any more. All I want is to be sure that Julieta is safe.’ He faced her. ‘I will take you back home.’

  She shook her head. ‘No. Roland, we have to help him rescue his wife. You have to help him. For Volker.’

  He looked between them, unsure what to do. ‘At least show me where this prison is,’ said Eddie.

  Julieta held Roland’s hand tighter. ‘Please, Roland. Something bad is going on. Help him stop it.’

  ‘I . . . Very well,’ he said, with a deep sigh. ‘I will show you. But Julieta, you cannot come with me.’ She tried to object, but he raised a hand. ‘Please. I love you, and I do not want anything to happen to you. I did not think before that you would be hurt if you were caught in the Enklave, but now . . .’ A grim glance at Macy’s body. ‘Wait for me; I will find you.’

  She nodded reluctantly. ‘I will wait at the ruin. And . . . you will take care of him?’ she asked the Yorkshireman.

  Eddie was in no mood to make promises, especially concerning the people who had killed Macy, but he tipped his head slightly. ‘We’ll see.’

  He lowered the gun and backed up so Roland could stand. The young couple embraced, then kissed, speaking in Spanish. Roland sounded more fluent in that language than in English; meeting Julieta had encouraged him to focus his linguistic skills. ‘All right, get a bloody room,’ muttered Eddie. The pair unwillingly separated. ‘Julieta, get going – but take these, and watch out for trouble.’ He gave her the binoculars.

  ‘What kind of trouble?’ she asked.

  ‘Explosions, shooting, screaming, that kind of thing. If you see any, get out of here, fast. I’ll watch out for your boyfriend.’

  The two kissed again, then Julieta said, ‘Te amo,’ before making her way back out of the pit.

  ‘Te amo,’ Roland called to her, watching her retreat until she was lost to the shadows.

  ‘Christ, young love,’ Eddie said impatiently. ‘Come on, then.’

  Roland climbed out of the ditch. Eddie gave Macy’s still form one final look. ‘You’re not going to stay here,’ he told her quietly. ‘I’ll make sure you get a . . . a proper burial.’ He felt his throat clench again; he caught himself. ‘And the people who did this are going to pay. All of them.’

  27

  The young man led Eddie towards the heart of the Enklave. Even though it was now dark, they used the sparse vegetation to stay concealed as much as possible. ‘All right,’ said Eddie, ‘I need to know this place’s layout. Where’s the prison?’

  ‘It is on the far side of the compound, past the Kinderhaus,’ Roland replied.

  ‘The what?’ He knew the two parts of the compound word – child and house – but wasn’t sure if it meant what he thought.

  ‘The children’s building, there.’ Roland pointed at a large white-painted structure beyond the barracks. ‘I
t is where I grew up. Where we all grew up.’

  ‘All the kids live in one building?’

  ‘Yes. I was surprised when Julieta first told me she lived only with her father and mother.’

  ‘Wait, you mean you didn’t live with your mum and dad?’

  ‘No, I was born of one of the Zucht-Frauen.’

  ‘What are they?’

  ‘There are nine at the present time, I think? Six of them are Kindermädchen; they look after the children and teach them useful skills, like cooking and how to make clothes.’

  ‘What about the other three?’ Eddie asked, with the distinct feeling that he wouldn’t like the answer.

  Roland hesitated. ‘They are kept in a ward for . . . breeding.’

  The Englishman stopped. ‘You mean they’re prisoners? They’re, what, literally breeding stock? Jesus!’

  ‘Only those who are not totally obedient to the Reich . . .’ The youth trailed off under Eddie’s glare.

  ‘So women who don’t do as they’re told get locked up to become baby machines? What happens to men who—’ He already knew. ‘They’re just fucking executed, obviously. Like your brother.’

  Roland could no longer meet his gaze. ‘I . . . I cannot believe he is gone.’

  ‘Yeah, he’s gone. He was shot in the fucking street by that scar-faced bastard Jaekel. So, is that how it was? He was the free-thinking, troublemaking brother who didn’t like what Kroll and the other Nazi shitehawks were doing and died trying to stop it, and you were the good little boy who always did what he was told, however fucking evil it was?’

  ‘I never did anything evil!’ the youth protested. ‘I just . . . never doubted what our leaders told us.’

  ‘Now’d be a good time to start. You need to pick a side, son. The people who killed your brother, and Macy, and about twenty million others – or people like me who’re trying to stop history from repeating itself. Who’s it gonna be?’