Himmler was spending more time away from Wewelsburg. The Russian campaign continued and the American influence was beginning to tell. As a result, Hoffman was able to pursue his own researches.
Himmler’s absence suited Hoffman. He had no intention of telling either Nachten or Himmler what he discovered. He worked long into the night. An advantage of his ‘condition’, as he thought of it, was that he needed far less sleep. The main disadvantage was the distraction of the constant pulling at his mind. But a man used to living a double life – a Russian playing at being a German – was able to compartmentalise that. He could shut away the voices and images that the Vril somehow injected into his thoughts.
Even so, the notepaper in front of him was scattered with unconscious sketches of the axe-head, or runic symbols, or the intricate spiralling circular pattern that invaded his thoughts. There was another pattern too – short dashes radiating out from a central point. Was it a variation of the spiral pattern, he wondered? The problem was that while he could sense what the Vril were transmitting to him, he had no idea what it meant. The only way to put it into context would be to surrender himself to them completely – put on a bracelet and lose his mind. That was not an option.
Even so, as he struggled to keep himself free of their influence, he was only too aware that his body was changing. He was conscious that he needed to keep these changes hidden. He retired to his room when he was expected to sleep, though he needed almost none. He made a show of appearing at meal times, even though he ate and drank hardly anything and had no appetite at all.
Having a focus, something to concentrate on, certainly helped. A note on one of the inventory sheets was signed ‘GK’. Could that stand for Georg Kruger, Hoffman wondered. Was the man here back when the artefacts from the 1936 crash were catalogued? There was an easy way to find out.
* * *
‘I came here in ’38,’ Kruger told him. ‘We were still sorting through the debris to see what we could salvage. I wasn’t involved with the stuff that went to the Vault.’
‘But you worked with the Ubermensch?’
They were in the Hall of Supreme Generals on the ground floor of the North Tower of the castle. With Himmler away, they could be sure they had the place to themselves. Hoffman was leaning against one of the twelve pillars round the outer edge of the room. Light streamed in through the recessed window behind him, illuminating the black ‘sun wheel’ symbol inlaid into the floor. With its central hub and twelve jointed ‘arms’ projecting to the outer circle it looked to Hoffman like a stylised image of one of the Vril. Like the grotesque spider-like creature had been crossed with a swastika.
Kruger seemed happy enough to talk about the past. For the most part he merely confirmed things that Hoffman already knew.
‘We sorted the debris into what might have technical value and what was more esoteric.’
‘And then what happened to it?’ Hoffman asked.
‘Much of it remains in the Vault, as you know. Catalogued and archived. Including the … organic material.’ Kruger couldn’t disguise the disgust he felt as he thought of the Vril.
‘But not all. I know Streicher removed some items, back in 1938.’
‘That would be about right. Some items were deemed of historical value. I wasn’t involved with them; as you say, Streicher was responsible. There was a feeling that they were not connected to the crash. Though I always thought…’ He shrugged. ‘What I thought didn’t matter back then. I was very junior. I’d only just arrived. You’d have to ask Streicher or Meklen. They were in charge back then.’
‘And both of them are now dead,’ Hoffman pointed out.
‘This is war. It happens.’
He couldn’t argue with that. ‘What did you think? At the time, when no one listened? Because they’ll listen to you now.’
Kruger nodded. ‘It doesn’t really matter now. Probably didn’t matter back then. But I thought it was a hell of a coincidence that the craft came down on top of a previously undiscovered archaeological site.’
‘Though that would explain the ancient artefacts that were found.’
‘True.’ Kruger took out a cigarette. He didn’t light it, but jabbed it towards Hoffman as he made his point. ‘But isn’t it more plausible that the artefacts were on board the craft? That they were cargo?’
‘You think the Vril were collecting them?’ Hoffman waited while Kruger lit the cigarette.
‘It seems likely.’
Hoffman had to agree. ‘There is another possibility,’ he realised. ‘Did you consider that they might not have been collecting those artefacts, but delivering them?’
Kruger blew out a thoughtful stream of smoke. ‘No,’ he admitted. ‘That had not occurred to me. It should have done. We know the Vril have been here before, long ago. Perhaps they never left.’
‘So what did Streicher do with them? Where did the archaeological materials go?’ Hoffman asked. He had the man interested – intrigued, even. Hopefully enough to help Hoffman trace the axe-head.
‘There were several consignments sent out, as far as I remember. Not all archaeological. One consisted of anything we could salvage from the propulsion systems. That was sent to the Army Research Centre.’
‘Where’s that?’
Kruger shrugged. ‘Some island on the Baltic. They set it up after the crash, once they realised von Braun’s work actually had some potential. Peenemunde, I think it’s called. Run by the Army Weapons Office, though the Luftwaffe are also trying to get in on the act, as you can imagine.’
‘It’s where they are developing the A4,’ Hoffman said. He had heard of the place. The A4 was a ballistic rocket, also known as ‘Vengeance Weapon 2’, or just V2 for short.
‘Then some stuff went to Messerschmitt. There was an idea it could help with new aircraft engine designs.’
‘And the artefacts?’ Hoffman prompted.
Kruger shook his head. ‘Don’t recall. Several places, I think. Museums and so on, depending on what it was. We did show the items to the Ubermensch,’ he added. ‘In case there was anything important we’d missed. Once it had agreed to help us, of course. Just before we crated everything up and shipped it off, that I do remember. It would have been in late 1938, I suppose.’
That fitted with the note Hoffman had seen saying Streicher had removed the axe-head in October 1938. ‘Did it pick anything out?’
‘Again, I couldn’t say.’ Kruger was apologetic. ‘But you could check the film.’
‘I’ve looked at all the films in the archive.’
‘Ah, but not all the films are in the archive,’ Kruger said with a smile. ‘The films we made of the Ubermensch being interrogated and trained, those are in my office. Including the film of it examining the artefacts.’
* * *
There was no sound on the film. The first time through, Hoffman saw nothing remarkable. It was taken in the Vault. One of the long tables filled the foreground, covered with artefacts laid out neatly and labelled. The angle was such that it was difficult to distinguish the artefacts, but one of them looked as though it could be the stone axe-head that Hoffman was looking for.
The Ubermensch, dressed now in the uniform of an SS officer, walked slowly across the frame. The image flickered occasionally as it had before, flashing up glimpses of how the Ubermensch appeared in the still photographs. It examined the artefacts, even picked one up. Hoffman leaned closed, but he could see that the Ubermensch had picked up something far smaller than what he was after – a flint arrowhead perhaps? Several had been found and catalogued.
He ran the film again. And again.
The fourth time through, he saw it. He rewound it, played it through once more. The Ubermensch reached out, and picked up the arrowhead or whatever it was. But there was a hesitation. A change of direction. Again the angle didn’t help, but the Ubermensch reached out for an object, hesitated, moved its hand to the side and selected instead the object next to the one it had initially reached for.
It had been about to pick up the axe-head. Then it changed its mind – not wanting to draw attention to the one item on the table that it was interested in. Hoffman was certain of it. He froze the film, with the Ubermensch’s hand hovering above the artefact he was now sure must be the stone axe. He stared at the frame for several seconds before letting the film continue. Freeze it for too long and the film would melt under the hot light of the projector.
Relaxed now, having found what he was looking for, Hoffman nearly missed the more important clue in the film.
He was standing up, turning to shut off the projector when he saw it. Behind the Ubermensch, on a table at the back of the Vault: a wooden crate. The lid was propped against it. A bundle of straw on the table beside it. And on the front of the crate, a label with writing stencilled across it.
Another run of the film, and Hoffman stood as close to the screen as he could get without masking the crate. It was close enough to make out the writing on the label: ‘Sonderauftrag Linz’.
So the artefacts had been crated up and sent to the Special Commission set up in 1939 to establish a Fuhrermuseum in the name of Adolf Hitler in the Austrian city of Linz. These must have been the first artefacts delivered to the commission, selected when its formation was still being debated. Hoffman knew that Speer was still working on plans for the museum. Eventually the museum would house artwork and artefacts looted from across Europe. But for now, the collection was curated by the Dresden Picture Gallery.
* * *
Back in his room, Hoffman put his notebook on his desk. He had actually made no notes during the film. Instead, he realised, he had sketched a detailed drawing of the circular, spiralling pattern. It took up a whole page of the book. He took hold of the page, about to tear it out and throw it away, when his eyes settled on a particular tile behind the washstand further along the wall.
He couldn’t have replaced it properly, he realised. Gently, Hoffman prised the tile from the wall, and pulled out the roll of cloth behind it. He stared at the photograph curled inside the material. Brushed the tips of his fingers across the young woman’s face. Yes, he must go to Dresden, he thought.
And after that, eastwards, to Russia. He wanted to go home.