Desert takedown, p.10
Desert Takedown, page 10
Nathan placed a friendly hand on Brad’s shoulder. “That’s why you’re coming in with us.”
“I-I am? W-Wait. That’s not —”
“Here’s the plan.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nathan knew the plan was rough. There were too many holes in their overall knowledge of what to expect. Plus, he didn’t want to divulge too much in front of Brad. He had to rely on his team’s ability to improvise once things kicked in. Robin had done a wonderful job getting them the full layout of the compound, but he did not know the purpose of the compound. He did not know what this doctor planned to do. And he did not know how far those working with the doctor were willing to go in order to see their purpose through. Soldiers and mercenaries were a far different challenge than loyalists and zealots.
The one thing he did know — Altman did not approve. Even if she had not said so, which she most certainly had, he would have seen it in her closed body language and her cold glower. But despite her disapproval, Nathan knew he could count on her. At least, he hoped so.
“Almost there,” Nathan said. He had been walking with Brad toward the front gate.
Robin said, “Everything looks as expected. No surprises.”
“Everything is fine and boring here,” Altman said.
Nathan fought back a chuckle. For the moment, Altman was right — her job was boring. Nathan had her back in the Land Rover, sitting and waiting. She served the purpose of reinforcements during this first phase. Once inside the compound, once he understood the true situation, he would relay through the ear-comms his needs. At that point, Altman could play any number of roles including reinforcements, sniper, getaway driver, diversion — pretty much anything they required.
Nathan felt a bit uneasy with Maggie left behind, but he expected to lose any weapons he held fairly quickly. No way would he be giving up Maggie to these racist thugs. Instead, he had a classic AK-47 that Brad kept in back of the Land Rover. It would be enough.
Brad kept his hands laced behind his head as he led the way to the gate. “Look, Mister, you don’t really need me anymore. If you’re just going to walk in there, then I don’t serve any purpose for that. Let me go. I’ve given you everything I can, and I don’t want to die.”
“If you didn’t want to die, you should never have picked up a gun in the first place.”
“I was just trying to —”
“I know what you were trying to do. But if you jump in the ring, you have to expect to take a few punches. You want to play with violence, violence is coming back at you. Now, I don’t know for sure what’s going to happen once we get in there. I can guarantee you one thing — you say one word, you make one motion, you do anything that hints in a direction I don’t like, I’m going to shoot your head off. You understand me?”
“If you shoot me, they’ll kill you.”
“That’s okay. I’ve died lots of times.”
The two men standing guard at the front gate reminded Nathan of tag team wrestlers. They were over-muscular men with buzzed hair and square, blocky heads. They wore army surplus with Nazi armbands like two hopefuls ready to become stars as the villains of the next incarnation of the WWF.
It felt a little awkward walking outside in broad daylight while holding a man at gunpoint, but in the vast open sands of the massive desert, law enforcement did not patrol often. One of the big reasons countries from Afghanistan all the way through Algeria and others were so difficult to control — too many small pockets of people spread out over far distances surrounded by a hostile and unwelcoming landscape.
But then, Nathan’s worries were not focused on how he appeared in the grinding heat of the desert. He had to worry about the Brothers Hitler in front of him.
Little Adolf stepped forward first. He was only a few inches shorter than Big Adolf, but Nathan needed some way to tell them apart. He didn’t want to look at either man long enough to notice their actual facial differences.
“What the hell is this?” Little Adolf said.
Stepping to the side of Brad and always keeping the AK-47 pointed at the man, Nathan said, “I think you all have lost something here. I’m just trying to return it.”
Little Adolf whipped out a 9mm. “What the hell?”
Big Adolf stepped over, also brandishing a 9mm. “You’re returning Brad?” He spoke slow and deep as if each word needed to be processed individually in order for him to understand.
Nathan said, “Well, really he’s just my ticket inside. I’m here to see Dr. Schumer. But if I have to, I’ll blow Brad’s head right off to make my point.”
He could see that both the Brothers Hitler wanted to fight. He figured that’s how they solved all their problems. But Little Adolf had brains enough to recognize that Nathan knew a few things he probably shouldn’t. He knew Brad. He knew where the compound was. And he knew the name of Dr. Schumer. Any one of those things alone would have earned Nathan a brutal beating if not a bullet. But all three together — that confused these men. They weren’t sure what the proper reaction should be, and Nazis much preferred to follow orders than think for themselves.
“Don’t move,” Little Adolf said. With his free hand, he brought out his phone and tapped on it for a moment.
While Big Adolf kept his weapon trained on Nathan, Little Adolf stepped away with his head down and his brow furrowed hard. He spoke low, but it didn’t matter. Most of his conversation consisted of words like yes, sir and uh-huh. Nathan did not think he was going to glean anything particularly useful from that conversation.
When Little Adolf returned, Nathan could see the man’s frustration mixed with curiosity.
“You can go in,” Little Adolf said. “But you’ll need to hand over the AK.”
Brad said, “Aw, come on. You think this guy came all the way here with me at gunpoint and he’s just going to hand it over to you? I don’t want to die. Just let him walk me in. There are a hundred guys in there with guns. He’s not going to do anything.”
“Then he won’t mind giving up his AK. You shut up and be a good hostage.”
Nathan said, “I don’t like Brad much more than you apparently do, but I have to say the kid’s right. I’m not giving you my weapon. Not until I’ve met Dr. Schumer. So, either get back on your phone and clear things, open the door now, or we can try to shoot each other and see who lives through the experience.”
The Brothers Hitler exchanged glances before Little Adolf surprised Nathan by making a decision for himself. “Okay. We’re going to go in. You can keep your weapon trained on Brad, and I’m going in, too. You move that AK anywhere else, and I put a bullet in you.”
Nathan had expected to be in a firefight with these fools, had expected to kill both of them, and had expected to use Altman as a flanking maneuver while trying to storm into the compound. Instead, they were going to walk him right in. He shrugged. “Seems fair.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
As he entered the compound, Nathan’s world dipped around him. He had stepped right into 1940s Germany. Long, vertical banners displaying the Nazi flag decorated all three buildings. A 1939 Mercedes Roadster had been parked to the side. The rooftop guards as well as those stomping out of the guard house were dressed in traditional Nazi uniforms. Or maybe they were German soldier uniforms. Nathan knew there was a difference but had not bothered to find out.
Great, he thought. I go to the desert to fight Nazis, and now I have to add more to my list of things to learn.
The soldier-types spread out on the left side and leveled their AK-47s at him — decidedly not vintage weaponry. Brad lifted his hands in the air, presumably to make sure nobody shot him by mistake. Little Adolf nudged Nathan toward the cherub fountain.
Nathan guessed that Little Adolf’s gun in his back was the only thing keeping the other Nazis from opening fire. Yet when they reached the fountain, he discovered he was wrong.
A man who epitomized the modern neo-Nazi aesthetic — part tattooed biker, part snarling malcontent, part shifty-eyed wannabe lawyer — stepped out of the main building. He moved with surety, down the three steps to the ground, and headed straight for them. With a swift motion, he pushed Brad aside and grabbed Nathan’s AK-47 by the muzzle. He shoved the weapon upward and yanked it free. Clearly, the man knew Nathan would not resist.
“H-Hey, Erik,” Little Adolf said. “I-I brought you this guy. Thought maybe —”
Without comment, he stepped by Nathan and thumped Little Adolf on the side of the head. “Get back outside and learn to do your job.”
Little Adolf cowered as he backed away. Nathan wanted to shake his head — all these years after losing the war and the Nazis still haven’t learned a thing. They craved superiority over everybody to such an extent that they knocked loose anybody’s ability to think for themselves. Little Adolf would never break the rules again. He would be a good little guard. But if ever something strange occurred in the future, he would be useless, unable to make a decision that fell outside the expected procedures.
Bad for them. Good for the rest of us.
Erik stepped before Nathan and bared his teeth. Like a posturing ape, he set his fists against his hips to widen his shoulders and present himself as a larger, meaner beast. Nathan scratched his jaw and waited.
“When the time comes,” Erik said, leaning in so only Nathan could hear him, “I’m going to have such fun tearing you to shreds.”
Nathan tried not to back up and instead endured the man’s bad breath. “I’m guessing that time isn’t now. You want to take me wherever you’ve been ordered to take me?”
“Keep talking. You’re just making it worse for yourself.”
Nathan held back another reply. The more he talked, the more Erik would continue to threaten. Nathan didn’t want to spend the entire afternoon standing there, trading pointless jibs.
Satisfied that he had won the standoff, Erik turned away and headed toward the main building. “Follow me.”
Stepping through the doorway, Nathan once again felt as if he had shifted into another world. The opulent wealth on display belonged in an English estate owned by one of the Royals. Fine woods, immaculate crystal, and swirling marble created a framework for incredible paintings, posh furnishings, and handmade Turkish rugs. Every inch of the place had to have been imported at great cost.
The air chilled Nathan’s skin — central air-conditioning. A tangy aroma drifted from a kitchen he could not see. Beethoven’s Sonata No. 11 in B-flat Major piped through speakers tastefully concealed in the corners of every room they walked through.
They entered a drawing room, and Erik led the way to a narrow door in the back. This opened to Erik’s office — slightly bigger than a walk-in closet. He had a metal desk circa 1935 and a portrait of Adolf Hitler on the back wall. His laptop sitting on the desk looked so out of place then it jarred a grin out of Nathan.
Erik gestured to the chair as he sat behind the desk. He tapped away at his laptop for a moment. “You’re probably wondering why you’re still alive.”
“The thought had occurred to me,” Nathan said, wondering if cameras and audio equipment recorded every word. “Somehow I don’t think using Brad as a shield protected me too much.”
Erik chuckled. “Not in the least. In fact, if it had been up to me, you would never have made it into the compound. I think you’re smart enough to realize that we knew something happened at the main camp. Something bad. Communications with our people there are limited but gave us that much information. Before all went dead.”
“Everything goes down, and then one of your Land Rovers is on the move. You have a tracker on it?”
“You don’t think we would trust Brad with anything, do you?”
“You knew we were coming all along.”
Closing his laptop — the Nazis loved to keep records of everything — Erik sat back and folded his hands on his broad chest. “Dr. Schumer told me that anybody who could single-handedly take out an entire camp full of young, energetic trainees has got to be something special. You don’t look too special. But I can see why he thinks you might make a good candidate.”
“Well, now, that’s where things get interesting. I came here to meet Dr. Schumer, and it sounds as if he’d like to meet me, too.”
“We’ll get there. Perhaps. First, I have to do my job.”
Nathan gripped the chair, ready to bolt to his feet for a fight. But when Erik did not move, Nathan put a few pieces together. “You’re in charge of security around here.”
“That’s right. Nobody gets to see Dr. Schumer until I okay it.”
“Why would you ever let me see Dr. Schumer then? I just killed a dozen or so of your men. Why am I still standing?”
“Those aren’t the right questions. If Dr. Schumer wants you as a candidate, then so be it. But my concern is not that you killed all those men — they can be replaced — rather, I want to know why you did it. I want to know who put you up to it.”
Crap. Nathan could never give that information. Erik had to know it. Which meant that Nathan would have to endure a long, slow process of torture until he was killed. Then, when he came back to life, the big questions and the bigger problems would begin.
The corner of Erik’s mouth twitched. Already, he envisioned whatever twisted pain he intended to inflict on Nathan. It registered all over his face. Especially in the way Erik failed at keeping his expression unreadable.
Nathan put out his hand. “Hold on. Before you wet yourself in excitement, I’ve got something to say.”
With false magnanimity, Erik said, “I’m happy to listen.”
“Not you.” Nathan looked upward. He still had not spotted where the cameras were, but he gambled they were there. “I came here to see Dr. Schumer because of the work he is doing regarding Immortals. I’m pretty sure you’ll want to talk, Dr. Schumer. I’m guessing you’re the one listening. If not, you should be listening to this. I should think it’s obvious by now — how one guy like me was able to take out your entire camp. It wasn’t too hard. After all, I am an Immortal.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
The sudden rush of activity left Erik fuming. Four men moved into the cramped office, removed Nathan, removed Erik’s laptop, and restored the room as if nobody had been there — all with the speed and precision of a Formula One pit stop crew. Nathan heard Erik’s frustrated complaints as one of the men remained behind and closed the door.
Stuck shoulder-to-shoulder with two barrel-chested men wearing gray suits and Nazi party pins, Nathan had no choice but to keep moving with them. Unless he wanted to fight. But considering that he expected Dr. Schumer to be waiting at the end of this sudden extraction, Nathan figured it best to go along peaceably.
They marched their way to the opposite end of the building. The wealthy grandeur of the rooms diminished into a practical laboratory environment. Sterile and cold. The air-conditioning had been jacked up high. Turning down a corridor that could have been found in most hospitals, they stopped at an elevator wide enough to hold several people and a gurney.
On the second floor, the men escorted Nathan through a series of halls until they reached an unassuming wood door. A brief knock. An “Enter.” One of the men opened the door and gestured for Nathan to go in.
Once Nathan crossed the threshold, the man closed the door, leaving Nathan alone in the freezing office. The room had a meticulous and antiseptic look. Modern furniture cleaned to perfection dotted the dark carpeting sparsely, leaving most of the space empty. Beethoven’s piano played just enough to make the room feel even emptier. In a weird way, the entire room was the most high-class prison cell he’d ever seen.
Of course, he wasn’t really alone. Somebody had told him to enter. And with the click of a desk lamp that somebody presented himself. An elderly gentleman sat behind the desk, bracketed by two miniature Nazi flags on either desk corner. He looked thin, frail, yet projected a stern and demanding demeanor like a frightening teacher who had no fear of students, their parents, or punishing both if necessary. Small wireframe glasses rested on a hawk nose that had been broken at least once.
They stared across the room for a moment. Sizing each other up. The man gestured to the only other chair — an all-metal piece that looked like an upside-down question mark. Comfort had not been part of its design. Nonetheless, Nathan sat.
“Am I correct in assuming that you are Dr. Schumer?”
With a creaky yet powerful voice, the man said, “I am. And you claim to be an Immortal?”
“I do. You can call me Nathan.”
Dr. Schumer crossed his arms and sat back. Nathan felt as if he had been caught stealing sweets and wondered how long it took a person to perfect that look. Some parents had it. Some teachers. But it did not strike him as a look that came naturally to people. One had to practice.
Dr. Schumer said, “You were hired to find me. Do you know why?”
“I was hired to destroy the training camp.”
“Anybody who knew about that camp, knew about me. Whether or not they told you so, you were hired to find me. I suppose, since they didn’t tell you about me, that the real question is do you think they intended for you to kill me or help me?”
As casually as he could sound, Nathan said, “Considering they had me kill every single one of your Nazi friends at the training camp, I don’t think they intended for me to be nice to you.”
Dr. Schumer wagged a bony finger as if noting an astounding point. “It is up to me, then, to change your mind.”
“I don’t see that happening. I am curious why you let me come in this far. I’ve told you I’m an Immortal. You seem to know what that means. Since I can’t be killed, how do you plan to stop me from finishing the job?”
“Let us be a little more honest with each other. If you truly are an Immortal, it’s only temporary. You lose your second soul, and you’re just as mortal as everybody else here.”
