things they were involved in, but they weren’t for reasons of national security. Instead, they got a free pass to America, where we put them to work on our weapons.’
‘Moral expediency.’
‘More like immoral expediency. I interviewed a few of these scientists, and they were proud of what they’d done. If people had died, that was acceptable in the advancement of their work. Watching these evil men go off to a pampered life in the States after what we found in the death camps made me sick. As both a human being and a Jew, I found the hypocrisy intolerable. While I was stationed in Germany during the occupation, I became involved with a group of European Jews seeking justice against their former persecutors. They were known as the Nokmim – the Avengers – and they took it upon themselves to root out every war criminal they could find. On several occasions I provided them with evidence that justified action against specific individuals; some were German scientists and engineers who’d been captured by the Western Allies.’
‘Was Johann Wolff one of these German scientists?’ Kilkenny asked, sensing where this story was leading.
‘Yes. In 1947 some documents were found that implicated Johann Wolff in war crimes. The evidence was thin, but enough for the Nokmim to put a death sentence on Wolff’s head. By this time, Wolff was already in the U.S.’
‘So they sent an assassin here to kill him?’
‘Not an assassin, an executioner. A Nokmim tribunal found Wolff guilty in absentia of crimes against humanity. Justice needed to be served. I was the one sent to administer Wolff’s sentence.’
‘You killed Johann Wolff?’ Nolan moved up in his seat, his face now only a few inches from Cooper’s.
Cooper nodded, a lump swelling in his throat. He closed his eyes for a moment to quell his emotions.
‘I’ve killed a few men over the course of my life, Nolan, but none haunt me like Johann Wolff. As I said, the evidence against Wolff was thin and I did not feel it was conclusive. Regardless, a sentence of death was pronounced. When the time came for me to return to the States, I was given the task of bringing justice to Johann Wolff. Through my new job in the fledgling CIA, I was able to locate Wolff in Ann Arbor. In watching Wolff, I could not imagine how this man could have been the monster described in the documents that led to his conviction. He was living a quiet life. He was in love. I struggled with myself over these contradictions, but in the end my sense of duty overrode my desire for the truth. On the tenth of December 1948, I attacked Wolff just outside his office, murdered him, and concealed his body.’
Cooper flagged down the flight attendant for another drink. He waited until she was gone before resuming his story.
‘After that, I went on with my life. I had a wife, children – all the things that I’d deprived Johann Wolff of. I was haunted by him, because I wasn’t sure that I’d done the right thing. This uncertain guilt was something I thought I’d take to my grave. When Wolff’s body was found, I decided that for the sake of my soul, I needed to know the truth about him.’
‘What did you find?’
‘I found that Wolff wasn’t what the Nokmim thought he was. I learned that he was a decent man, a brilliant scientist who had a great deal to offer. I found a man who put himself at great risk to prevent Germany from developing the atomic bomb. Wolff may have been the greatest hero of the war. And’ – Cooper’s voice cracked – ‘I found that I had murdered this innocent man, in cold blood. Wolff wasn’t guilty of any crimes against humanity, but by depriving the world of Wolff’s potential genius, I am.’
Cooper sobbed quietly for a few minutes. Kilkenny was thankful that the darkened cabin provided at least some measure of privacy. In hearing this story, Kilkenny felt like a priest in a confessional, though there was no absolution he could give to ease Cooper’s guilt.
‘The debt I owe Wolff I can never repay.’
‘Then why are you doing this?’ Kilkenny asked.
‘Because after more than fifty years, I have been given the opportunity to set a small part of this right. Wolff was a scientist, not a Nazi. He worked for the Germans because he simply had no choice in the matter. Lara Avvakum is in precisely the same position; she’s working for Orlov because he has a gun to her head. The Allies freed Wolff, but who is going to free Avvakum if we don’t do it? People like her and Sandstrom are Wolff’s heirs; they seek the truths that can change the world.’
Kilkenny nodded as the link between Cooper’s past and the present became clear.
‘I’m also doing this because I want to recover Wolff’s notebooks. They are a record of this man’s lifework, his legacy. If Wolff was as brilliant as you have come to believe, then these notebooks are proof of his genius and must be brought out into the open. In Orlov’s hands, they might as well still be buried in the ground. That’s why we have to get them back. I can’t undo what I did to the man, but maybe I can do something for his memory.’
55
Saginaw Bay, Michigan
The Sharon S cruised effortlessly over the glassy waters of Saginaw Bay, the twin Detroit Diesel engines pulsing within the fifty-seven-foot Chris-Craft Constellation. The boat belonged to Harsen Smith, a shipbuilder from Algonac and a close friend of Martin Kilkenny’s since the 1930s. While it appeared that the two friends were alone on board, Jack Dawson’s SEALs were preparing for battle on the enclosed stern deck.
‘I think we’re getting pretty close,’ Martin said.
‘Almost,’ Smith confirmed as he glanced down at the GPS receiver mounted next to the boat’s compass.
Far overhead, a constellation of global positioning satellites girded the earth, each transmitting its signal down toward the surface. By receiving signals from at least three of the satellites, the GPS receiver was able to calculate, within a few inches, the boat’s location anywhere on the surface of the planet.
Smith eased back on the throttles, and the Sharon S glided to a stop. The coordinates displayed on the GPS matched those given to Smith by Dawson.
‘We’re right where you wanted to be, Admiral,’ Smith announced as he switched off the engines.
‘Thank you, Mr Smith,’ Dawson replied. Then he stepped over to the doorway between the bridge and the stern deck.
As Harsen Smith watched the SEALs prep for their mission, Martin walked over to his friend and draped an arm across his shoulder. ‘With a little luck and some prayers, everyone might just get out of this mess unharmed.’
Smith had brought the Sharon S to a stop about a mile from shore, with her bow aimed at the point where the Rifle River emptied into the bay. From shore, the stern of the boat was hidden from view. The waters were calm, and they’d made good time cruising up the Saint Clair River from Algonac, into Lake Huron, around Michigan’s Thumb, and into Saginaw Bay. It was now 8:30 in the morning on what promised to be a hot, sunny day.
On the way up from Algonac, the seven-man squad had reviewed specific segments of their mission plan. They had covered what they could expect during their underwater approach to the target area, including water conditions, currents, and underwater topography. Lieutenant Edwards had briefed the squad on the mission plan and each man’s task assignments. Once the ideal plan was laid out, they had reviewed the contingency plan to deal with unknowns that might leave the ideal plan in ruins. Lastly, the SEALs had completed their check of weapons and equipment.
As this was a hostage-rescue mission, Dawson designated the squad Angel. The Sharon S, Dawson’s flagship and base of operations, became Heaven. The hostages, Kelsey and Elli, were identified as Halos One and Two, respectively. By tradition, the hostage-takers were known as Tangos, and the SEAL sniper team as God.
The earpiece on Dawson’s headset crackled with an incoming transmission. ‘God to Heaven. Over.’
Dawson reached down to the unit clipped to his belt and flipped the SEND switch, allowing two-way communication. ‘This is Heaven, God. Say status.’
‘God is on station.’
‘We read you, God. Heaven out.’
