criminal was found dead, apparently of a heart attack, in a small house in the town of Krieglach, only 35 miles from Vienna.
Born in 1915, Graus became a member of the Nazi party in 1931. By the beginning of the Second World War, he was already second in command at the Am Spiegelgrund Children’s Hospital. Graus used his position to conduct inhumane experiments on Jewish children with so-called behavioural problems or mental deficiencies. The doctor stated on several occasions that such behaviours were hereditary and the experiments he conducted were justified since the subjects possessed ‘lives not worth living’.
Graus vaccinated healthy children with infectious diseases, performed vivisections, and injected his victims with different mixtures of the anaesthesia he was developing in order to measure their reaction to pain. It is believed that close to a thousand murders occurred within the walls of Spiegelgrund during the war.
After the war, the Nazi fled, leaving no trace except for 300 children’s brains preserved in formaldehyde. Despite the efforts of the German authorities, no one was able to track him down. The famous Nazi hunter, Simon Wiesenthal, who brought over 1,100 criminals to justice, remained intent until his death on finding Graus, whom he called ‘his pending assignment’, hunting the doctor tirelessly throughout South America. Wiesenthal died in Vienna three months ago, unaware that his target was living as a retired plumber not far from his own office.
Unofficial sources at the Israeli embassy in Vienna lamented that Graus had died without having to answer for his crimes, but nonetheless celebrated his sudden demise, given that his advanced age would have complicated the extradition process and trial, as in the case of the Chilean dictator Augusto Pinochet.
‘We cannot help but see the hand of the Creator in his death,’ stated a source.
3
‘He’s downstairs, sir.’
The man in the chair shrank back a little. His hand trembled, although the movement wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone who didn’t know him as well as his assistant.
‘What’s he like? Have you investigated him thoroughly?’
‘You know I have, sir.’
There was a deep sigh.
‘Yes, Jacob. My apologies.’
The man stood up as he spoke and reached for the remote control that regulated his environment. He pressed down hard on one of the buttons, his knuckles turning white. He had already broken several remotes and his assistant had finally given up and ordered a special one made out of reinforced acrylic that conformed to the shape of the old man’s hand.
‘My behaviour must be trying,’ said the old man. ‘I’m sorry.’
His assistant didn’t respond; he realised that his boss needed to let off steam. He was a humble man yet very aware of his position in life, if those traits could be said to be compatible.
‘It pains me to sit here all day, you know? Each day I find less pleasure in ordinary things. I’ve become an insignificant old idiot. When I go to bed each night I say to myself: tomorrow. Tomorrow will be the day. And the next morning I get up and my resolve has vanished, just as my teeth are doing.’
‘We’d better make a start, sir,’ said the assistant, who had heard countless variations on this theme.
‘Is it absolutely necessary?’
‘You’re the one who requested it, sir. As a way of controlling any loose ends.’
‘I could just read the report.’
‘It’s not just that. We’re already at Phase Four. If you want to be a part of this expedition, you’ll have to get used to being around strangers. Dr Hocher was very clear on that point.’
The old man pressed a series of buttons on his remote control. The blinds in the room came down and the lights went out as he sat down once again.
‘There’s no other way?’
His assistant shook his head.
‘Very well, then.’
The assistant headed for the door, the only remaining source of light.
‘Jacob.’
‘Yes, sir?’
‘Before you leave… Would you mind letting me hold your hand for a moment? I’m frightened.’
The assistant did as he was asked. Kayn’s hand was still trembling.
4
NEW YORK
Orville Watson was nervously drumming his fingers on the bulging leather portfolio on his lap. He had been sitting on his well-padded rear end in the reception area of the 38th Floor of Kayn Tower for the last two hours. At 3,000 dollars an hour, anyone else would have been happy to wait until Judgement Day. But not Orville. The young Californian was growing bored. In point of fact, the fight against boredom was what had made his career.
His college studies had bored him. Against his family’s wishes he had dropped out during his second year. He had found a good job at CNET, one of the companies on the cutting edge of new technologies, but once again boredom had set in. Orville was constantly hungry for new challenges and his real passion was for answering questions. By the turn of the millennium, his entrepreneurial spirit had prompted him to leave his job at CNET and start up his own company.
His mother, who read in the newspapers each day about the failure of yet another dot-com, objected. Her worries didn’t deter Orville. He packed his 300-pound frame, blond ponytail, and a suitcase full of clothes into a dilapidated van and drove right across the country, ending up in a basement apartment in Manhattan. Thus Netcatch was born. His slogan was ‘You ask, we respond’. The whole project could have remained nothing more than the crazy dream of a young man with an eating disorder, too many worries, and a singular understanding of the Internet. But then 9/11 happened, and straight away Orville understood three things that it had taken the Washington bureaucrats much too long to figure out.
First, that their methods of handling information had been obsolete for thirty years. Second, that the political correctness brought on by eight years of the Clinton administration had made it even more difficult to search for information, since you could only count on ‘reliable sources’, which were useless when dealing with terrorists. And third, that the Arabs were turning out to be the new Russians when it came to espionage.
