The Valhalla Exchange - Jack Higgins [36]
He was a supreme example of a certain kind of scientist, a man totally dedicated to the pursuit of his profession with a fervour that could only be described as criminal. For Wiedler, the end totally justified the means, and when his Nazi masters had come to power he prospered mightily.
He had worked with Rascher on low-pressure research for the Luftwaffe using live prisoners as guinea pigs. Then he had tried spare-part surgery, using the limbs of prisoners where necessary at Geghardt's sanatorium near Ravensbriick where Himmler often went in search of cures for his chronic stomach complaint.
But it was as a member of the SS Institute for Research and Study of Heredity that he really came into his own, working with Mengele at Auschwitz on the study of twins, first alive and later dead, all to the greater glory of science and the Third Reich.
And then Bormann had recruited him. Had offered him the chance of the ultimate experiment. In a sense, to create life itself. A challenge that no scientist worth his salt could possibly have turned down.
'Where are the rest of the staff?' Bormann asked.
'In the rest room, having their evening meal.'
'Five nurses. Three females, two males, am I right?'
'That is correct, Reichsleiter. Is there anything wrong?'
'Not at all,' Bormann said tranquilly. 'It's just that in these difficult times people tend to panic and make a run for it. I just wanted to make sure none of your people had.'
Wiedler looked shocked. 'None of them would think of such a thing, Reichsleiter, and besides they'd never get past the guards.'
'True,' Bormann said. 'So - it goes well, you say. Are we ready yet?'
'I think so, Reichsleiter. You must judge for yourself.'
'Let's get on with it then.'
Wiedler took a bunch of keys from his pocket, selected one and moved to a door at the other end of the laboratory. Bormann, Rattenhuber and Scheel followed. Wiedler inserted the key in the lock, the door swung open.
Music was playing, Schubert's Seventh Symphony, slow, majestic, the sound of it filling the room. Wiedler led the way in. They followed.
A man in flannel slacks and brown shirt was sitting at a table under a hard, white light, reading a book, his back towards them.
Wiedler said, 'Good evening, Herr Strasser.'
The man called Strasser pushed back his chair, got to his feet and turned and Martin Bormann gazed upon the mirror image of himself.
Rattenhuber's startled gasp had something of horror in it. 'My God!' he whispered.
'Yes, Willi, now you know,' Bormann said and held out his hand. 'Strasser, how are you?'
'Never better, Reichsleiter.'
The voice was identical and Bormann shook his head slowly. 'Not that I can tell with certainty. I mean who knows exactly how he speaks, but it seems all right to me.'
'All right?' Scheel said indignantly. 'Reichsleiter, it's perfect, I assure you. Three months we've worked, day and night, using the very latest in recording devices, using tape instead of wire. Here, we'll demonstrate. When I switch on the microphone, say something, Reichsleiter. Anything you like.'
Bormann hesitated then said, 'My name is Martin Bormann. I was born on June the 17th, in Halberstadt in Lower Saxony.'
Scheel ran the tape back, then played it. The reproduction was excellent. Then he nodded to Strasser. 'Now you.'
'My name is Martin Bormann,' Strasser said. 'I was born on June the 17th, in Halberstadt in Lower Saxony.'
'There, you see?' Scheel said triumphantly.
'Yes, I must agree.' Bormann tilted Strasser's chin. 'I might as well be looking into the mirror.'
'Not quite, Reichsleiter,' Wiedler said. 'If you stand side by side, a close examination does indicate certain features as not being quite the same, but that doesn't matter. The important thing is that no one will be able to tell you apart. And there are scars, not many, it's true,