Contract With God Part 1

Contract With G.o.d.

by Juan Gomez Jurado.

Prologue.

AM SPIEGELGRUND CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL VIENNA.

February 1943

Arriving at the building where a large flag with a swastika was flapping overhead, the woman could not suppress a s.h.i.+ver. Her companion misinterpreted and drew her closer to him in order to warm her. Her thin coat offered meagre protection against the sharp afternoon wind, which warned of an approaching blizzard.

'Put this on, Odile,' the man said, his fingers trembling as he unb.u.t.toned his coat.

She loosened herself from his grip and hugged the package closer to her chest. The six-mile walk through the snow had left her exhausted and numb from the cold. Three years ago they would have made the trip in their Daimler with a driver, and she would have been wearing her fur. But their car now belonged to a Brigadefuhrer and her fur coat was probably being shown off in a theatre box somewhere by some n.a.z.i wife with painted eyelids. Odile composed herself and pressed the buzzer forcefully three times before answering him.

'It's not because of the cold, Josef. We don't have much time before curfew. If we don't return in time . . .'

Before her husband could reply, a nurse suddenly opened the door. As soon as she took one look at the visitors, her smile disappeared. Several years under the n.a.z.i regime had taught her to recognise a Jew immediately.

'What do you want?' she asked.

The woman made herself smile, even though her lips were painfully cracked.

'We want to see Dr Graus.'

'Do you have an appointment?'

'The doctor said he'd see us.'

'Name?'

'Josef and Odile Cohen, Fraulein.'

'The nurse took a step back when their surname confirmed her suspicions.

'You're lying. You don't have an appointment. Go away. Go back to the hole you came from. You know you're not allowed here.'

'Please. My son is inside. Please!'

Her words were wasted as the door slammed shut.

Josef and his wife looked helplessly at the huge building. As they turned away, Odile suddenly felt weak and stumbled, but Josef managed to catch her before she fell.

'Come on, we'll find another way to get in.'

They headed over to one side of the hospital. As they turned the corner, Josef pulled his wife back. A door had just opened. A man wearing a thick coat was struggling to push a cart filled with rubbish towards the rear of the building. Keeping close to the wall, Josef and Odile slid up to the open doorway.

Once inside, they found themselves standing in a service hall leading to a maze of stairs and other corridors. As they proceeded down the hallway, they could hear distant m.u.f.fled cries that seemed to be coming from another world. The woman concentrated intently, listening for her son's voice, but it was useless. They went through several corridors without running into anybody. Josef had to hurry to keep up with his wife who, compelled by sheer instinct, moved forward swiftly, stopping only for a second at each doorway.

Before long they found themselves peering into a dark L-shaped ward. It was full of children, many of whom were strapped to their beds and whimpering like wet dogs. The acrid-smelling room was stifling and the woman began to sweat, feeling a tingling in her extremities as her body warmed up. She paid no attention to this, however, as her eyes raced from bed to bed, from one young face to the next, searching desperately for her son.

'Here's the report, Dr Graus.'

Josef and his wife exchanged looks as they heard the name of the doctor they needed to see, the person who held their son's life in his hands. They turned towards the far corner of the ward and saw a small group of people gathered around one of the beds. An attractive young doctor was seated at the bedside of a girl who looked about nine years old. Next to him an older nurse held a tray of surgical instruments while a bored-looking middle-aged doctor took notes.

'Dr Graus . . .' said Odile hesitantly, steeling herself as she approached the group.

The young man gestured dismissively to the nurse without taking his eyes from what he was doing.

'Not now, please.'

The nurse and the other doctor stared at Odile in surprise, but said nothing.

When she saw what was taking place, Odile had to grit her teeth in order not to scream. The young girl was deathly pale and appeared to be semi-conscious. Graus was holding her arm over a metal basin as he made small cuts with a scalpel. There was hardly a place on the girl's arm that hadn't been touched by the blade and the blood flowed slowly into the basin, which was almost full. Finally the girl's head slumped to one side. Graus held two slender fingers to the girl's neck.

'Good, she has no pulse. The time, Dr Stroebel ?'

'Six thirty-seven.'

'Almost ninety-three minutes. Exceptional! The subject remained awake although her level of consciousness was comparatively low, and she showed no signs of pain. The combination of laudanum and datura is undoubtedly better than anything we've tried up to now. Congratulations, Stroebel. Get the specimen ready for dissection.'

'Thank you, Herr Doktor. Right away.'

Only then did the young doctor turn towards Josef and Odile. In his eyes was a mixture of annoyance and disdain.

'And who might you be?'

Odile took a step forward and stood next to the bed, trying not to look at the dead girl.

'My name is Odile Cohen, Dr Graus. I am Elan Cohen's mother.'

The physician looked at Odile coldly and then turned to the nurse.

'Get these Jews out of here, Fraulein Ulrike.'

The nurse grabbed Odile's elbow and with a rough push positioned herself between the woman and the doctor. Josef rushed to help his wife and struggled with the hefty nurse. For moments they formed a bizarre trio, pus.h.i.+ng in different directions without anyone gaining ground. Fraulein Ulrike's face grew red from the effort.

'Doctor, I'm sure there's been a mistake,' said Odile, fighting to get her head past the nurse's broad shoulders. 'My son is not mentally ill.'

Odile managed to free herself from the nurse's grip and turned to the doctor.

'It's true that he hasn't talked much since we lost our house, but he's not mad. He's here because of a mistake. If you let him go . . . Please let me give you the only thing we have left.'

She placed the package on the bed, making sure she didn't touch the body of the dead girl as she carefully removed the newspaper wrapping. Despite the dimness of the ward, the golden object cast its glow on the surrounding walls.

'It's been in my husband's family for generations, Dr Graus. I would rather have died than give this up. But my son, Doctor, my son . . .'

Odile began to cry and fell to her knees. The younger doctor barely noticed since his eyes were transfixed by the object on the bed. However, he managed to open his mouth long enough to destroy any hope the couple had left.

'Your son is dead. Go away.'

As soon as the cold air outside hit her face Odile regained some strength. Holding on to her husband as they hurried away from the hospital, she was more fearful than ever of the curfew. Her mind was concentrated solely on getting back to the far side of the city, where their other son was waiting.

'Hurry, Josef. Hurry.'

They quickened their pace through the steadily falling snow.

In his hospital office, Dr Graus hung up the phone with a distracted air and caressed the strange gold object on his desk. Minutes later, when the sirens from the SS vehicles reached him, he didn't even look out of the window. His a.s.sistant said something about fleeing Jews, but Graus paid no attention.

He was busy planning young Cohen's operation.

Main Characters Clergy FATHER ANTHONY FOWLER, agent working with both the CIA and the Holy Alliance.

FATHER ALBERT, ex-hacker. Systems a.n.a.lyst with the CIA and liaison with Vatican intelligence.

BROTHER CESaREO, Dominican. Curator of Antiquities at the Vatican.

Security Corps for Vatican City CAMILO CIRIN, Inspector General. Also Head of the Holy Alliance, the Vatican's secret intelligence service.

Civilians ANDREA OTERO, reporter for the newspaper El Globo. El Globo.

RAYMOND KAYN, multimillionaire industrialist.

JACOB RUSSELL, Kayn's executive a.s.sistant.

ORVILLE WATSON, terrorism consultant and owner of Netcatch.

DR HEINRICH GRAUS, genocidal n.a.z.i.

Personnel on the Moses Expedition CECYL FORRESTER, biblical archaeologist.

DAVID PAPPAS, GORDON DURWIN, KYRA La.r.s.eN, STOWE ERLING and EZRA LEVINE, a.s.sistants to Cecyl Forrester MOGENS DEKKER, chief of security for the expedition.

ALOIS GOTTLIEB, ALRYK GOTTLIEB, TEWI WAAKA, PACO TORRES, LOUIS MALONEY and MARLA JACKSON, Dekker's soldiers.

DR HAREL, physician on the excavation.

TOMMY EICHBERG , head driver.

ROBERT FRICK, BRIAN HANLEY, administration/technicians NURI ZAYIT, RANI PETERKE, cooks

Terrorists n.a.z.iM and KHAROUF, members of the Was.h.i.+ngton cell.

O, D and W, members of the Syrian and Jordanian cells.

HUQAN, head of the three cells.

1.

RESIDENCE OF BALTHASAR HANDWURZ.

STEINFELDSTRAE, 6.

KRIEGLACH, AUSTRIA.

Thursday, 15 December 2005. 11:42 a.m.

The priest wiped his feet carefully on the welcome mat before knocking on the door. After tracking the man for the past four months, he had finally discovered his hiding place two weeks ago. He was now sure of Handwurz's true ident.i.ty. The moment had come to confront him.

He waited patiently for a few minutes. It was noon and Graus would be having his customary midday nap on the sofa. There was hardly anyone in the narrow street at that hour. His neighbours on Steinfeldstrae were at work, unaware that at Number 6, in a small house with blue curtains at the windows, a genocidal monster was peacefully dozing in front of his TV set.

Finally the sound of a key in the lock warned the priest that the door was about to open. The head of an elderly man with the venerable air of someone in an advertis.e.m.e.nt for medical insurance appeared from behind the door.

'Yes?'

'Good morning, Herr Doktor.'

The old man looked the person who was addressing him up and down. The latter was tall, thin and bald, about fifty years of age, with a priest's collar visible under his black coat. He stood on the doorstep with the rigid posture of a military guard, his green eyes observing the old man intently.

'I think you're mistaken, Father. I used to be a plumber, but now I'm retired. I've already contributed to the parish fund, so if you'll excuse me . . .'