THE KILLER OF THE DARKNESS

EPISODE THIRTY-FIVE

THIRTY-FIVE

Within an hour of their arrival, they put the island under curfew.

Due to running to the aid of the dead parachutist, I would be allowed relative freedom, along with the Inspector and his sidekick, Sergeant Allum. Everyone else, butcher, baker, candlestick-maker all told in no uncertain terms, they must stay indoors until the morning.

When I got to Onehouse itself, I went straight to Joanne's. Any lingering doubt whether it would be an excellent idea to be at the house, dispelled almost straight away.

Sleepy-eyed, she fell into my arms in a flash. She led me straight to the bedroom, throwing my coat on to the floor.

As I undressed, Joanne gave a faint smile, hung her head, and pushed the thin straps of her nightdress off her shoulders. She stood for a moment in a pool of silk, one knee bent.

I thought her to be the most beautiful woman I ever clapped eyes on. And I did not feel any guilt about my wife and family far off in the distant future. I lived for the now. Joanne averted her eyes and slide under the covers.

For the first time she returned my gaze, more like a young bride on the verge of losing her virginity, than the liberated, independent woman I first met, when I arrived via the time vortex, at the beginning of the war.

I slid into the bed beside her, her satin smooth body arching to meet me. As we lay together, caressing and warming, I made no effort to change position.

With my left arm behind her, hand holding her neck, the other one found the swelling softness of her bottom and moved on to her lower hip. I lifted her weight as she wrapped her legs under and about me.

With no violence in our lovemaking, it ended with short stabbing jabs as I tried to fuse her body with mine.

Almost as soon as we finished, I drifted towards sleep. Joanne did not move, with me deep inside her, frightened to ease the legs aching with my weight in case she woke me, and if I drew out, frightened to lose the strange unexplainable strength she took from me.

I awoke as soon as the winter sunshine burst through the gap in the curtains. Bewildered, Joanne sat up as I swung my feet onto the floor.

"What's happening?"

I stopped, bent down over her, and kissed her on the forehead.

"I want to see Roome. We need to find out what the Germans are up too."

She scrambled out of bed.

"Let me get you breakfast."

"Thanks."

By the time I dressed and shaved, a smell of frying bacon emanated from the kitchen. I hoped and prayed Joanne had not used up too much of her rationing, but she acted happy, bustling from table to range with a saucepan in her hand.

"Sit down. There's porridge to start with."

Grateful, I took my place at the table; aware she went out of her way to please me.

When I had finished and started putting my jacket on, she came out from the kitchen and helped me, her face troubled.

"Take care."

"I will."

"I'm worried if they find out you're Jewish."

I laughed.

"I'm not Jewish."

"But you're circumcised."

I cupped her face and kissed her with gentleness

"Where I come from, everyone is circumcised."

She gave the impression of being puzzled.

"Where are you from?"

What do I tell her?

"I am a long way from home."

I kissed her again, frightened in case the wonderful sensation flowing through my body would end, with revelations about who I am, and where I am from. I turned and clattered off down the stairs.

*

As I walked down the hill at pace through the dark, ill-lit streets, my elation ebbed away to a sense of misgiving and apprehension. The only reason for it would be the Germans, but the whole town felt dead, as though empty. Behind the dark windows there no life showed, no sleeping bodies. Empty rooms. Joanne and I all alone in the town.

With a surge of panic, I imagined by some impossible quirk of fate we might be alone, except for the nameless 'thing'. Hiding in a room watching me, or around the next corner, or creeping up the stairs to Joanne, her face stricken with fear as its flowing gown and hood closed over her.

What did come around the next street corner, looking breathless and tired, turned out to be Sergeant Allum.

"Now on my way to you."

He said, panting.

"Well, I've saved you the trouble, haven't I?"

Allum did not laugh. There had been another development.

"We've got another body."

*

Steeling myself, I shadowed the Inspector into Michelle Taylor's shattered bedroom. A gust of icy wind through the broken window made the room's curtains flap as we entered, drawing my attention for a moment. Nothing. The darkness before dawn. As it died down, the stink filled my nostrils like a hammer blow.

The woman's remains laid out on the bed in a small lake of blood. The corpse arranged in a manner suggesting mockery of a crucifixion, body, and legs straight, with ankles crossed and arms stretched out to either side. The ruins of the face tilted downwards, in an attitude of suffering.

The torso opened from the base of the neck right down to the navel with one clean cut, the flesh parted like the doors of a display cabinet. To my untrained eye, it appeared clear much of the contents been removed.

A ghastly rope of entrails pulled out of the body and stretched to run along the base of one wall, beneath the window and back along the opposite wall before returning to the body. Large pieces of internal organ sat at the two corners of this grim border.

More disturbing than this the damage done to the front of the head. The face sliced off from the beneath it. The mask of skin laid over the groin, an unholy focus to the c*****e. The eyes removed from their sockets and set in their usual place below the face mask.

Tearing my way from the horror, Doctor Walton joined us, looking as shocked as the rest of us, at what lay before us.

Transfixed, Roome and I stood back from the scene while the doctor busied himself with various preparations.

More footsteps heard, and the German soldier who called himself, Mũller, joined us. The one in charge and the most amicable.

"Nun, wenn man das erste Mal sieht, fragt man sich, Oh mein Gott!"

When he saw our bewildered expressions, he gave us all a rough translation in English.

"Now, when you look for the first time, you think, My god!"

"The patient is indeed quite dead."

Walton pronounced. His voice hatefully calm.

"The cause of death would appear to be a deep cut to the neck, severing both carotid artery and jugular vein, indicated from left to right,"

He pointed at the neck.

"Lack of splatter suggests further mutilation is cosmetic and performed post-mortem."

He paused to remove a thermometer from the base of the body.

"Temperature of a little over 84° shows death occurred eight hours ago. There is little firm sign of rigor mortis but, given the thorough tissue damage, does not permit a clear estimate of the time of death. Internal viscera removed. The liver is set as a pillow for the head. Those are the kidneys in the room's corners. The lungs cut into strips but remain in situ. The location of the heart is not apparent."

My head swam.

"He used her liver as a pillow?"

"Indeed, he did. Quite ingenious."

"I think you have made an incorrect assumption about the time of death."

All eyes on me now as I been brave or foolish enough to question part of the doctor's diagnosis.

"How do you mean?"

He sounded aggrieved.

"Although I agree with you the internal temperature is a reliable predictor of time of death. However, the information is based on the surrounding air temperature being around average. Am I correct?"

Walton nodded.

"Yes."

"The window is smashed, and it is Siberian night out there, and the body is left open. The residual climate would have fallen much faster than normal. In this instance, enough to make time of death almost impossible to ascertain."

An uncomfortable silence followed broken only by Mũller.

"Gentleman, while we let the good doctor finish up in here, may I suggest we retire from this room to have a little talk about what went on here."

Roome and I exchanged glances. We did not need asking twice and followed the German into the living-room.

Once Mũller had shut the living-room door, I turned to him, my anger within bubbling under the surface.

"I think it's time you told us what is going on here, Herr Mũller."

"Okay."

Mũller's voice sounded flat and expressionless.

"We are developing a vengeance weapon for the terror bombing of London."

"Go on."

"As with everything in this damned war, it is given a code-word. Kirschkern or cherrystone because of its limited range. They are fired from catapult ramp launch facilities along the French and Dutch coasts. Hanna Reitsch made some flights in the modified V-1 Fieseler Reichenberg when she had been asked to find out why test pilots were unable to land it and had died as a result."

"Who the hell is Hanna Reitsch?"

Roome asked, puzzled.

"She is a German aviator and test pilot. Along with Melitta von Stauffenberg, she's flight tested many of Germany's new aircraft."

Roome and Mũller both stared at me when I had finished.

"You're well-informed, Mr...?"

"Mat Tillerever."

I replied quicker than I should have done

"Mr Tillerever."

Mũller did not look convinced about my name and I thought Roome would burst out laughing at the clear lie.

"I am Herr Mũller, but I don't pretend to know it all."

Mũller looked as if he was satisfied before carrying on.

"In the last year, German scientists transformed the V-1, into the Reichenberg by adding a small, cramped cockpit at the point of the fuselage was ahead of the pulse jet's intake, where the standard V-1's compressed-air cylinders used to be fitted. The cockpit had basic flight instruments and a plywood bucket seat. The single-piece canopy incorporated an armoured front panel and opened to the side to allow exit and entry. The two displaced compressed-air cylinders replaced by one, fitted in the rear in the space which accommodated the V-1's autopilot. The wings fitted with hardened edges to cut the cables of barrage balloons, and a broader-chord forward support pylon for the pulse jet. The Luftwaffe initially, proposed a Heinkel He 111 bomber, would carry either one or two Reichenbergs beneath its wings, releasing them close to the target. The pilots would steer their aircraft towards the target, jettisoning the cockpit canopy before impact and bailing out. It had been estimated the chances of a pilot surviving such a bailout were less than one per-cent due to the proximity of the pulse jet's intake to the cockpit, until they appointed a new director to the project, where figure has gone up by quite a substantial amount."

"And this Reichenberg is what we found on the beach?"

Roome asked. The blood had drained from his face, while we had been listening to Mũller.

"Yes. In conception, it represents a fundamental, radical departure from anything known before."

"What do you mean?"

"What crashed on your beach, can be launched underwater from a U-Boat, and take to the air when and wherever it wishes, and continue to transfer from each element at will."

"And who helped you develop this sort of technology?"

I jumped in.

"The new director provided us with the know-how to develop such a machine."

My heart started to beat fast. The reason I had been sent back in time began to reveal itself in its true form. My nemesis had taken on a human form.

My mouth felt so dry, I could not form the words for the next question.

"What is the name of this director?"

"Herr Finsterkeit."

Mũller burst with pride, but Roome would have been a blind man not to have seen the worried expression on my face. He did not say anything. He knew better not too. It would come later when we were on our own.

I thought I had better move the conversation on.

"What about the pilot?"

As I asked the question, Doctor Walton appeared from the bedroom.

"Exactly, what I wanted to tell you."

We all turned towards the doctor.

"Evidence points to the fact the pilot suffered severe brain damage in the crash."

We all exchanged glances in concerned horror.

"There were small bits of brain tissue scattered on the cockpit."

He paused while we took it all in.

"And the vehicle is armed."

It was now Mũller's turn to be the centre of interest.

With a sudden prickling of my scalp, I pointed at the German soldier.

"What the hell is the craft armed with? Please, don't tell us it is armed with an atomic weapon."

"No. Worse."

"Worse? What the f**k can be worse?"

In the awful silence it came to me all unexpectedly.

"f**k me, not biological?"

It took a second before Mũller, tight-lipped, replied.

"Yes."

"What the f**k have you done?"

"In the nose cone of the Reichenberg, is a refined toxin developed in our laboratories back in the Fatherland. A fantastic and shocking weapon compared to which the mightiest Atomic Bomb, the American's are trying to develop, is child's toy. Six ounces of the toxin, distributed throughout the word, would destroy every man woman and child alive on this planet today. No flight of fancy or Nazi Propaganda. This is fact."

Mũller's voice sounded weighted with heavy emphasis, his face still and sombre.

"Send a piloted Reichenberg, to a designated target in London and with no more than a gram of toxin on board, by the evening seven million Londoners would be dead. A thimbleful in the water reservoirs and London would become one vast sepulchral house. If God does not strike me down for using the word 'ideal' in this connection, this is the ideal form of germ warfare. The toxin oxidizes after twelve hours exposure to the atmosphere and becomes harmless. Twelve hours after Germany releases a few grams of the toxin over England, it could send its soldiers in without fear of attack by either the toxin or the defending soldiers. For the defending soldiers would be dead. And the civilians, the men, the women, and the children. They would all be dead. All dead."

I felt numb.

"Don't you think you should check this out?"

Mũller weighed his answer with caution.

"You can come with me, Mr Tillerever, and show me where the Reichenberg is being stored."

I looked at Doctor Walton.

"In the garage next to my surgery."

I turned back to Mũller.

"Have we been exposed to this virus?"

"The virus attacks the central nervous system. The effects are horrific, the results always fatal. The fact you are all still alive is encouraging."