Meyer-Hofmann AG

32

Michael needed to know what Von Klitzing was up to, and a trip to visit his troops in their Austrian barracks would give him the perfect opportunity.

Von Klitzing was going to collect him at the club. From there, they would drive the hour and a half to Ellmau. That would be his biggest test. Should Von Klitzing guess that Hofmann was no longer in control, Michael was sure that it would not end happily. He was still able to speak fluent German, but had no idea how. The main problem was Hofmann’s thought processes. They were so different from his own, that Michael doubted his ability to impersonate the man. It would all depend on how well Von Klitzing knew and remembered Hofmann. Michael decided that bravado was the best policy, and he greeted Von Klitzing with a ticking off.

“We said we would meet at 8:00 am.”

Von Klitzing was taken off-guard, as he had never seen himself as being a subordinate to anyone. Hofmann was one of the few men he had ever accepted as his superior.

“I apologise, Herr Hofmann. We were delayed by traffic.”

Michael got into the car without saying any more. Heinz was driving, and, as usual, there was no greeting, but the saw haircut made it obvious who it was.

“Tell me, Von Klitzing, how ready are we?”

The question was as ambiguous as Michael could make it, and his intention was to chase it around for next two hours, leaving as much of the talking to Von Klitzing as possible.

“I am not sure what you mean, sir?”

“What has the company done to prepare itself for its mission?”

“I have done my best, sir, but it has not been easy. I have been searching for you and the other board members for years, but I have had little support on other fronts. Only Dr Ecker has been of any real help to our primary goal. He has taken his father’s work so much further, it is incredible. With the things that he has achieved combined with your leadership, I am sure we can be more confident of our ultimate success.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael was able to feed on Hofmann’s broken memories, but they gave him only a fragmented picture of what they were planning. “Look, Von Klitzing, you are going to have to help me. My memory is still not completely restored. I need to know everything that you have been doing.”

This pleased Von Klitzing. It was an opportunity to give his new boss his version of events. But he was keen not to give away any of his surprises in the car.

“Professor Furtner just started the ball rolling with his research; Dr Ecker has turned much of it into reality. I think you are going to like what you see, Herr Hofmann. I have never lost sight of our real goal—the Führer’s words still echo in my mind. ‘Don’t give the people what they think they need, give them what they need!’ I have been busy myself, making arrangements for the birth of a new Political Party. As well as grouping our forces to make a decisive strike against our enemies.”

“What have you done, exactly?”

“Herr Hofmann, if you don’t mind, would it be all right if I explained this once we have reached our destination? It will be far easier for you to understand, when you have seen our preparations with your own eyes.”

In truth, Michael needed a break. Desperate not to give away his real identity, he saw a few minutes of silence as a salvation.

“Very well.” He turned his head to the car window and watched the Austrian scenery go by. Michael hoped for some time to think.

The car left the motorway and started to make its way up into the Austrian Alps. Watching a signpost for Kitzbuehl zip past them, Michael remembered a ski trip he had made there with Lisa and their friends only two years earlier. Austria was just as beautiful without the snow, and as they drove past the lift station in Ellmau, he wondered where the Meyer-Hofmann facility had been built.

After leaving the main road, it wasn’t long before they reached their destination. Entering an exterior fence through a military-style checkpoint, they drove for a good ten minutes through more rolling countryside before they pulled up in front of a small pillbox-style building. Michael was more than a little disappointed.

“Is this it?”

“Don’t let outward appearances deceive you, Herr Hofmann.” Von Klitzing gave Michael one of his superior faces. Michael was tempted to reprimand him, but thought better of it.

Give him his moment, he thought.

They entered the flat whitewashed building through a large heavy steel door, to be greeted by a single table and chair. A young man in a dark grey military uniform welcomed them with a nod. His hand had hovered over his sidearm until recognising Von Klitzing. Now, he stood at ease with a swift kick of his heels. Von Klitzing nodded back and led Michael around the youth towards a door at the back of the room. Michael looked back at the young guard, who seemed remarkably similar to the one he had dispatched at the club in Munich.

At first glance, the door looked like it led to a back room in the building. Only when an audible ping alerted them to the arrival of a lift, did Michael’s heart start to beat faster. The wooden door slid back into a wall recess, and an enamelled steel door took its place before also sliding silently to the side, letting the men enter the elevator. The machine was state of the art, a mirrored interior and four black backlit floor buttons hinted at the size of the Meyer-Hofmann research centre. Von Klitzing punched in the fourth underground floor and leant back against the elevator wall. He tried to hide it, but Michael could tell that Von Klitzing was inspecting him. The man’s eyes bored into Michael’s face, searching for the truth or a sign of Hofmann’s acceptance. Michael decided to give him the praise that he craved.

“This is impressive, Von Klitzing; is it all your work?”

Von Klitzing nodded, a sly smile creasing his face.

“Tell me, what have you got down here?”

“I would rather show you, sir. If that is all right?”

“Yes, that’s fine.”

Michael wanted anything other than a surprise, but his sense was that he needed Von Klitzing’s trust, and stroking his ego could not hurt.

The fourth-floor button lit up simultaneously with the customary ping, and the elevator door swished open. Other than that, any change in their location had been imperceptible, until the open door revealed a brightly lit white corridor. Michael was all too aware that escaping this place would be almost impossible. Pressing his right heel firmly down in his leather boot, he sent a message to Hofmann. The drawing pin Lisa had attached to his heel pressing deeper into his foot’s hard skin sent a painful message to his opponent. Von Klitzing moved deliberately down the hall to another waiting guard, whilst Michael did his best not to limp after him. It was the identical guard from the facility entrance. He stood in front of two pea green swing doors, and the faint smell of vinegar permeated from behind them. When one burst open, Dr Ecker rushed towards Michael with a boisterous greeting.

“Great to see you, Herr Hofmann!” Ecker clicked his heels and nodded his greeting.

“The pleasure is all mine, Dr Ecker. I hear you have lots to show me?” Michael also nodded, but felt unsure about the heel clicking. He could feel Von Klitzing’s eyes on him and wondered if that was a mistake.

“You have already met the guards, I take it?”

Michael was puzzled by the answer, turning to take another look at the young man standing at attention against the wall. The doctor followed his gaze.

“This is Klaus. He is one of our 240 second-generation clone soldiers.”

“The boy upstairs as well?”

The doctor nodded, a satisfied look on his face. The information took Michael by surprise, but he tried not to show it.

“I started a full-blown cloning process over thirty years ago. I wanted to create a super soldier, stronger, quicker, more obedient. This young man is part of the second generation. He is only eighteen years old, but can already take on and beat the first-generation soldiers, like Heinz, your chauffeur. There is also now a third generation, who will top the second, and a fourth in the pipeline.”

“How many do you have in total?”

“Over 600, 50 first generation, 240 second, and more than 300 third generation.”

“That’s amazing, Dr Ecker, and you are able to do this while our enemies struggle to clone sheep!”

“It wasn’t easy, Herr Hofmann. The 600 are the result of more than 3,000 attempts. When we started, only one in one hundred was successful. Now we have a success rate of one in twenty. “Come, let me show you where it all happens. In here, we have our prospective mothers.”

Ecker turned and held one of the swing doors open for the men to pass through. Following Von Klitzing into what appeared to be a vast hospital ward, Michael found himself staring down rows of beds, all occupied by young women. The men made their way down the middle aisle, the doctor gesturing right and left as he walked, explaining the process. The women seemed to be strapped in their beds, the bed sheets tucked so tightly around them, only their heads were showing. An occasional nurse would move from one to another, administering tablets or tucking an unruly mother deeper into her soft jail.

“All of the mothers are artificially inseminated before being moved to a ward. They remain on the ward for the entire gestation period. It’s the best way to control the pregnancy.”

Michael looked at the pale faces in the beds before him, hardly one over the age of twenty. They all watched him go past with undisguised contempt.

“Where do the women come from?” He struggled to keep the emotion from his voice.

“Care homes, orphanages, the streets. You would not believe how difficult it is to find ethnically acceptable candidates.” Dr Ecker sighed. “Eastern Europe has opened us more opportunity, but we have had to compromise some of our beliefs in the interests of the project’s success.”

There were over twenty beds in the ward, which ended with another double swing door. The men pressed on through into another long hall. Electric sliding doors on both sides allowed entry into small laboratories, visible from the hall through large windows. Technical staff in lab coats busied themselves around test tubes and microscopes. In one room, an operating theatre lay dormant, the stirrups attached to the bed painting a clear picture of its purpose. Leaving the hall and entering another hospital ward, Michael could see that the patients here were more heavily sedated than in the first room.

“We are farming stem cells here, Herr Hofmann. The women have also been artificially inseminated, but we take out stem cells before the eggs become fully formed embryos.”

“Stem cells? I thought your expertise was DNA, Dr Ecker?”

“You have been away for a long time, Herr Hofmann. Stem Cell research is a natural extension of my work on DNA.”

The majority of the women slept in their beds. It couldn’t be much after midday outside, but it was unlikely that any of them knew that. All were being fed a mix of drugs intravenously, and none of them noticed the men’s presence.

“Isn’t it dangerous?”

“The embryos do not survive, but most of these women would be able to reproduce without trouble, were they given the opportunity.”

“We keep them here for six months to a year before disposing of them,” Von Klitzing informed him.

The brutality of Von Klitzing’s comment shocked Michael and again tested his metal. He fought the need to scream out loud and run around the ward, releasing the poor souls. The need to protect them struggled with the knowledge that he could do nothing.

“What are you doing with the stem cells?”

“All manner of things. These cells can be modified to create any type of human tissue, from the skin to brain matter. I have used them to heal and enhance injured soldiers, as well as to treat one of our committee member’s damaged liver. Soon, I hope to be able to repair torn cartilage with the help of a nano scaffold, which we inject into the damaged area. Stem cell research will be mankind’s salvation.” He said this as a matter of fact.

Leaving the ward, the men reached a second elevator, and Von Klitzing pressed the call button.

“This is amazing, Gentlemen. I am very impressed! How are we using this research to our advantage?”

Both men looked at each other before looking back at Michael.

“That would be your job, Herr Hofmann,” Dr Ecker said and laughed.

“I do, however, have some recommendations, should you be interested,” Von Klitzing interjected.

The lift door opened, and the men took it to the floor above. Another hospital ward was behind the third-floor lift doors. This one was inhabited by three men in their thirties.

“These are our sons, Herr Hofmann. They have all been given two injections of the viral solution and are responding well to the treatment.”

Each man sat on the side of his bed, as a male nurse read to them from a large file.

“The nurses are recounting dates and experiences from their grandfathers’ lives.” It reminded Michael of his process and the feeling it had left him with—of being drowned. All he held dear was washed from his memory like dirt from a windscreen.

This is more brutal than any physical torture.

He could see the fear in the men’s faces as they slowly succumbed, and strangers were introduced to their bodies.

“When will they be ready?”

“Only a matter of days now. Maybe the beginning of next week.” Ecker shrugged his shoulders. “Better not to rush these things.”

Michael knew Hofmann’s plan was to replace certain board members with these men. He knew that they would be more focused than their predecessors and full of the enthusiasm of youth.

“I need them in place as soon as possible, Dr Ecker. It is high time the world felt the force of the real Meyer-Hofmann!”

The remark had stung, but neither of the men let it show. Michael allowed himself an inner smile nevertheless. Back in a lift, they were deposited in the large second-floor barracks. A similar room could be found at a military facility anywhere in the world. Rows of neatly made dark green bunk beds, separated by tall steel lockers, lined the whitewashed walls. The vinyl floor was polished to an unnatural gloss, so that you could see your face in it. Only every other fluorescent strip light was on, and there was no sign of life.

Von Klitzing had taken a back seat to Ecker up until this point, but he suddenly became very animated, coughing loudly to get the other men’s attention, keen to get back into Hofmann’s favour.

“This is one of our main barracks, Herr Hofmann. The other one is on the first floor.”

“Very impressive, Herr Von Klitzing, and where are the men?”

“The majority are on the first floor. The second floor housed the older troops who have now been stationed abroad.”

“Abroad, where abroad?”

The men came to a stop in the middle of the barracks, Dr Ecker taking the opportunity to take a seat on one of the bottom bunks.

“Herr Hofmann, I have put two strategies in place that I think will make a large contribution to the cause. I have arranged for some large banks to experience some liquidity problems at our convenience. It should not take more than one bank failing to trigger the next financial crash and destabilise the world’s financial institutes further. I believe that if we can create another market crash, it will remind the general public that they cannot trust their current governments and banks with their futures. The ground will be ripe for the creation of a new National Socialist Party. You, Herr Hofmann, should be its leader; your speech on the balcony of the Rathaus proved that to me. Hitler himself would have been proud!”

“That is very kind of you to say, Herr Von Klitzing, but we would probably be better to start with someone who is already known in the political community.”

“Do not underestimate yourself, Herr Hofmann, and do not overestimate the voting public. They are all greedy, selfish lemmings; dangle a big enough carrot in front of them, and they will follow you!”

Michael took a moment to digest the information.

Did he really think he could cause a stock market crash?

“I also believe it is time we deal with the Jewish problem. But we can only do that when they have lost the Americans’ support. I plan to create an atrocity in the Middle East on a scale that has not been seen before. It will be apparent to the world who was responsible, a war crime committed by the Jews.”

Michael had been so absorbed with Von Klitzing’s plans, he had unconsciously taken the weight off the drawing pin stuck into his heel. Without warning, he found himself fighting Hofmann for control, desperately pressing his heel down hard into the floor, whilst, at the same time, trying to understand what it was that Von Klitzing was saying.

“What do you have planned?” He managed to get the words out and buy himself time.

“With your permission, we will provoke an attack on Iran by the Jews. They are so trigger-happy, it won’t be difficult. We have a contact within the Mossad and evidence that the Iranians are virtually ready to become a nuclear power. The Israelis cannot allow that to happen; they will attack Iran. When they do, I have men on the ground in Iran, who will expand the attack, making it catastrophic for the entire region.”

“How do you plan to do that?” Michael was winning the fight but needed more time. He too sat, pressing his heel hard into the floor whilst letting out a sigh. “Sorry, Herr Von Klitzing. I must take the weight off.”

“The Israelis will hit nuclear research targets. We will hit their nuclear power plant in Bushehr. We plan to cause a nuclear disaster that will make Chernobyl look like spilt milk in comparison. Even the Americans will have to distance themselves from the Jews.”

Michael nodded as if agreeing with Von Klitzing’s reasoning. He winced as the pain drove Hofmann back into his unconsciousness. He began to rub his back as if it were giving him pain, hoping to hide the internal battle he was in.

“Are you all right?” Von Klitzing asked.

“I’m fine. Please, continue.”

“My men have smuggled several mobile AT-2 units over the Iraqi border into Iran.”

“AT-2?”

“It’s a surface-to-surface guided anti-tank missile we got from some Russian connections.”

“What is its purpose?”

“Two or three direct hits should be enough to penetrate the core of the nuclear plant. We have twenty missiles, and the men’s orders are to use them all.”

“If it works, what will happen?”

“Difficult to say. At least, a massive radiation leak. Maybe even a thermal runaway.” Von Klitzing smiled, proud of himself.

Michael knew what a thermal runaway was, but he let Von Klitzing explain.

“A thermal runaway is an exothermic reaction. The reaction produces heat that, in turn, creates more heat. The whole plant’s radioactive materials would be consumed. The entire area would be contaminated. With luck, the whole region would be made uninhabitable.”

“The radiation will contaminate a massive area, kill hundreds of thousands.” Michael could feel himself shaking with fear.

This could not be real. He struggled to stand and was helped up by Von Klitzing.

Were these men so demented that they would do this? Michael felt the need to flee the building, but there was no escape. Instead, he stamped down on the drawing pin and roared his approval.

“Brilliant! Brilliant, Von Klitzing, and your men are in position?”

“Yes.” Von Klitzing’s answer was matter-of-fact and came with hardly a blink before he continued. “Then we support another Arab uprising; that is the real goal. If we are lucky, the Jewish nation will be destroyed before the Americans can prove that Israel was not responsible. We have a weapons arsenal in Jordan, which will get the job done. It includes tactical nuclear devices the Russians developed for use on the battlefield. Three or four and Israel is history. We have already found the fanatics who will use them at the start of the conflict.”

“You have all this in place?”

“I do. Our men are made up of first and second-generation clones, as well as 200 well-trained and well-paid mercenaries.”

I need to get out of here, warn somebody, stop this! Michael started to panic.

Von Klitzing had expected to be smothered with plaudits. He was the only one at Meyer-Hofmann who had his eye on the ball. Hofmann must see that, congratulate him, give his okay, let him set the wheels in motion.

“This is extraordinary, Herr Von Klitzing. After studying the files, I was convinced the Company had become corrupted by these times, lost its vision. It seems I was wrong. You are to be commended. You have single-handedly saved us. We must leave immediately. I must make plans.”

Von Klitzing was visibly elated, his chest puffing out like some demented cockerel. Now it was Dr Ecker’s turn to become animated.

“But, Herr Hofmann, I still have much to show you.”

“It will have to wait. We can come again, soon! Von Klitzing, let’s go.”

Back in the car, Michael searched his mind, for a way of delaying Von Klitzing’s plans.

“What is the time scale, Von Klitzing?”

“That depends on you, sir. We are almost ready to go in the Middle East. It would take maybe a few weeks to get our support staff out there, and the weapons distributed to our allies?”

He could see that Von Klitzing would have pressed the button tomorrow if he had the authority. Michael was only grateful that he was such a stickler for the command structure.

“I want to get the political process in place first. Your actions will leave a massive void in world politics. It will be apparent to the public that their governments’ foreign policy has failed. We should have a working alternative ready to step into the breach as soon as the first shots are fired. We will start with your political plan, collect suitable candidates, and prepare the markets for a crash, and then we poke the Israeli Government.”

“But, sir, that could take anything up to a year, and our troops are already in theatre. Our allies are impatient to move!”

“They will have to wait. The quicker we achieve our political and economic goals, the sooner we can change tack and go after the Jews.”

That disappointed Von Klitzing. He had been banking on Hofmann’s dream of military involvement to push the Jewish plan forward.

That is a mistake. Who knows if the opportunity will ever come again? Hofmann is wrong; we should carry out both plans simultaneously. If Hofmann doesn’t like it, then Hofmann is not the right man for the job.

Von Klitzing started to plot an alternative strategy.