“That reminds me of something, Ernst. The last member of the expedition is due to arrive at the base tonight, right?”
“Anika Klein arrives tomorrow morning,” Neuhaus corrected.
“Okay. I’m sending Gunther Rath to Greenland the day after that. I don’t know how big our search window will be, so I want to get working as quickly as possible. Thank Werner for me on the excellent job he’s done setting up the base. It went better than any of us predicted. Tell him that, as soon as Rath arrives, he will be taking over command of the operation. Once Rath’s there, we’ll find some pretense to evacuate all non-Geo-Research people from the base.”
“Yes, Herr Raeder.”
“Neuhaus learned who Mercer met with?” Gunther Rath asked as soon as Raeder hung up the phone.
“A nobody named Elisebet Rosmunder. Her son was part of the search for the missing C-97.”
“Considering what’s at stake, is it wise to leave her alive?”
Raeder couldn’t believe he’d heard correctly. “Jesus, Gunther! Why the hell would you ask that? This whole operation was designed so no one gets hurt, and you casually suggest we kill an innocent woman. What are you thinking?”
Rath gave no physical reaction to the quick rebuke. “Klaus, this operation goes beyond what we’ve ever done before. We are more in my old world than your new one. We need to go to extraordinary lengths to protect ourselves. You may have convinced Kohl’s board that removing evidence from the Pandora cavern is just a business decision, but we know that’s bullshit. Saving the company a ton of money doesn’t negate the immorality of your plan.”
“Immorality is a far cry from cold-blooded murder,” Raeder countered. “No matter how much money we save Kohl, I would never condone such an act.”
“She’s a loose thread. In this situation she could prove to be dangerous to us.”
“Haven’t I taught you anything, Gunther? Early on, your tactics were what we required to get what we want. But those days are long past. Despite what you think, our plan to clear out the Pandora cavern is a business decision, pure and simple. We are not going to resort to violence. There’s no need for it.”
Raeder saw that Rath still looked unconvinced yet said nothing. He had conditioned Rath for unquestioning loyalty and wondered why his orders were now being questioned. His answer came quickly.
“I can’t go to Greenland until early next week,” Rath said. “The Party’s holding an executive committee meeting in Essen Sunday night. I have to attend.”
The corners of Raeder’s mouth turned downward in annoyance. Gunther Rath had made tremendous progress shedding his criminal image. He favored Savile Row suits, dined at fine restaurants, and had even given up his proclivity for prostitutes to settle down with one woman. Yet all of Raeder’s efforts to make him give up his most dangerous trait — interest in the Nazi Party — had failed. For as long as they’d known each other, Rath had been an active member of the fascist organization and worked tirelessly for the cause. Just recently he’d been promoted to an executive committee near the very top of the neo-Nazi movement.
Rath’s belief in fascism had its roots in his youth. His father had been a sergeant in the
Unrepentant for what he’d been a part of, Rath’s father had raised his son to believe that what the Nazis had done had been fully within their right. Beginning in his teens, Gunther Rath had strived to restore the fascist nightmare that once dominated the Continent.
In a bizarre twist of irony, Klaus Raeder knew from the now-burned corporate records that the gold Kohl AG had used in the Pandora Project had come from a plunder squad similar to the
“You were away for a meeting early this week,” Raeder admonished. “What could have changed in the past few days to necessitate another gathering?”
“That was an action-council meeting,” Rath said stiffly.
Raeder shook his head slowly, his eyes filled with patronizing amusement. “Action council, executive committee — you sound like a bloated group of left-wing rebels. I’ve never heard of an organization that meets more and does less.”
Had this come from any other man, Gunther Rath would have mauled him, but he respected his employer too much. He also had to agree, in part. The neo-Nazi Party spent more time quibbling among themselves than taking their message to the streets. Still, it was difficult to hold his tongue or his fists.
“Harassing Turkish immigrants and salting Green Party rallies with your thugs is good for a few headlines,” Raeder continued to mock, “but at this pace it’ll take you a thousand years just to build your Reich. For Christ’s sake, Gunther, give it up. Fascism will never come back. People won’t give up freedoms like that again. They’re too comfortable today to be impressed with fiery oratory and flag-waving spectacles. Besides, Nazism was a personality cult, not a real political movement.”
“That was the mistake,” Rath challenged. “Hitler made it a personality cult, and when he could no longer sustain the cause, it collapsed.”
“The
Raeder climbed the stairs to the master suite on the third floor of his villa. The fury Rath had directed at him was not lost on the industrialist. In the marble shower with its multiple water jets, Raeder wondered if his old friend was the right person for this particular job. Rath’s loyalties, divided between Raeder and the Nazi Party, had the same goal in this particular instance, but Rath was acting as though his interest and thus his tactics lay with the Party — proof being his suggestion to kill Elisebet Rosmunder. The corporate Rath never would have made such a proposal.
Stepping from the shower, Raeder realized that Gunther had never questioned one of his orders. He was thinking like a Nazi thug and Raeder worried that, once his special-projects director reached Greenland, he would become even more defiant. When this operation was over, he hoped Rath would again return to normal. But for as long as it took to erase part of Kohl’s Nazi past, Raeder would have to keep a tight rein if he wanted to avoid bloodshed.
GEO-RESEARCH STATION, GREENLAND
Mercer was sitting on his bed, going over the computer maps from their survey, when the dormitory’s main door crashed open. Though his room was at the far end of the structure, he felt a noticeable temperature drop.
“Mercer! Mercer!” Marty Bishop shouted. “Are you in here?”
“Back here,” Mercer called.
“Thank God. Igor’s dead.”
Stunned by those words, Mercer’s guts gave a hollow slide. Igor dead? Injury or even death wasn’t unheard of in the dangerous world of polar exploration, but Igor Bulgarin? He was the most experienced person in the camp. Somehow, Mercer was not surprised it was the big Russian. Coming on the heels of their discovery of Major Delaney yesterday and Mercer’s findings this morning, he knew something was very wrong with this entire expedition. It being Igor who died seemed like the appropriate third link in a chain of bizarre events.
Quickly, before his thoughts became clouded, Mercer set aside his personal feelings of loss and suspicion. There would be time for that later. His relaxing, don’t-need-to-be-in-charge vacation was over. Marty’s coming to
