Eden's Gate by David Hagberg Page B

calculating look. “You don’t miss much, do you?”
    â€œDiving into a flooded bunker to retrieve something is only part of it. I want to know who’ll be coming after me when it’s over, and why. It has to be more than diamonds.”
    Speyer was silent for a long time. But then he nodded. “The Nazis were doing human research, genetics. They supposedly created some monsters.”
    Lane gave him a skeptical look.
    â€œI don’t mean bogey men. I mean monstrosities. And the present German government, as well as everyone else who knows anything about the program, called Reichsamt Seventeen, doesn’t want to
dredge it up again. The program was ten times worse than the gas chambers, and a thousand times worse than even Josef Mengele. Inhuman beyond belief.”
    Even for you, Lane wanted to say. “And they used diamonds as a catalyst.”
    â€œA lot of diamonds.”
    â€œWhat happens afterwards?”
    â€œTo you?” Speyer asked.
    â€œThat’s a start.”
    â€œYou’ll get paid off, and then you’ll have to make a decision. Either go off on your own or come with us.”
    â€œWhere might that be?”
    â€œEden,” Speyer said.
    Lane laughed. “Okay, assuming I buy into your Eden, wherever it might be, what about the Russians? Once they figure out what we’ve brought up they’ll want a share.”
    â€œWe’re going to kill them.”
    â€œThey still have a long reach.”
    â€œIt won’t matter. We’ll be beyond it,” Speyer said with supreme confidence.
    â€œWhy not kill me, too?”
    Again Speyer hesitated for a long time. “Because Eden won’t be the end of it. There’ll be other projects. If you prove out on this one, I’ll have further use for you. As you so astutely pointed out at the ranch, I’m not a man who throws away valuable assets.”
    â€œNo, I don’t expect you are. But I think your friend General Mann is right. You are playing a dangerous game. The Russians are not nice people, and they have very long memories.”
    Speyer threw back his head and laughed. “That’s rich,” he said. “That’s very rich.”
    Â 
    The evening was lovely. Lights from the Lincoln Memorial sparkled in the reflecting pool. Straight up the Mall the Washington Monument rose into the night sky, and beyond it the mass of the U.S. Capitol building was like something out of Gibbon’s Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire . There was still plenty of traffic on Constitution Avenue and Alternate 50. Some pleasure boats were on the river. Lane drove a Lincoln Town Car, Baumann and Speyer in the backseat. He came down Bacon Drive as far as traffic was permitted, and parked.
    There were a few other cars parked here and there, and a Capital
City Tours bus had pulled up to the west of the entry. The passengers were getting off while the driver walked away and lit a cigarette. The imposing statue of Lincoln sat serenely behind the thirty-six columns.
    â€œKeep your eyes and ears open, and your mouth shut,” Speyer said.
    â€œThey’d be fools to start anything here,” Lane replied. “Too public.”
    â€œDon’t count on it. They have diplomatic immunity, a privilege we do not enjoy.”
    Lane opened the car door for them. Speyer got out and Baumann slid across right behind him.
    â€œWatch your sight lines,” Baumann warned.
    They started up the stairs, Speyer in the lead, when three men came from inside. They wore suits and ties, but the one in the center was much better dressed. He obviously had a sense of fashion unusual for a Russian. The other two looked like typical Russian muscle.
    Speyer picked up on it immediately. “Mr. Lukashin,” he said.
    â€œYes, and you’re Helmut Speyer,” the Russian said, his English barely accented. They shook hands.
    â€œThank you for agreeing to meet on such a short