Read Online The Coldest War by Ian Tregillis - Free Book Online

head, as if dazed. “How many?”
    Klaus became substantial again. “We left Arzamas with eight,” he said. He unbuttoned his shirt and peered at the gauge on his harness. Defusing Reinhardt’s threat hadn’t taken much charge, but the old battery had seen better days. They all had. “We have a few left.”
    Reinhardt’s pale eyes shone with a strange reverence when he saw Klaus’s harness. Almost unconsciously, his hand went up to touch the battery. The reverence became hunger. Lust. “Give them to me.”
    And then Klaus knew, knew beyond any possibility of doubt, why they had come here. Why Gretel had engineered this reunion. He saw the piles of electronics, heard the desperation in the other man’s voice, and knew.
    Gretel had come here to make Reinhardt dance.
    â€œWe need them,” Klaus said.
    Reinhardt leapt from his chair again. “Do you even realize what you have? Have you forgotten the meaning of that harness? How can you appreciate what you’ve never missed? Without those batteries, you, and me, and her—” Reinhardt jabbed a finger toward Gretel. “—are nothing . But with them, we are gods.”
    The passage of time had transformed this once-fearsome weapon of the Reich into a desperate, pitiable man. If Klaus didn’t loathe Reinhardt so much, he might have felt sorry for the fellow. Maybe he did anyway. “We’re not gods, Reinhardt. We never were.”
    â€œPlease,” said Reinhardt, his voice barely a whisper. “Just one.” He stared through the one unobstructed window, down to where the children played. Klaus could imagine what he had in mind. It was sickening.
    â€œWe can give you more than that,” said Gretel.
    The two men looked at her. She leaned back on the crate, legs kicked forward, stretching. The hem of her stolen skirt revealed her ankles, bony as always but now dark-veined with age. With two fingers she reached into her blouse and produced a folded piece of dark blue paper.
    Reinhardt whispered, “Is that what I think it is?”
    Gretel unfolded the paper and held it up for them both to see. It was a blueprint, a jumble of spidery white lines. One of the secrets of the old Reichsbehörde, rendered as cobwebs on cobalt.
    â€œAnnotated in the doctor’s own hand,” she said.
    â€œNow I understand.” Reinhardt stepped forward, hand outstretched. His old swagger had returned. “You want me to build replacements for you.” He wiggled his fingers.
    â€œNo.” Gretel tore the battery blueprint in half.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” Reinhardt clutched his head in dismay. “God damn you mongrel whore! I need that!”
    â€œNow, now,” said Gretel, wagging a finger at Reinhardt. “Don’t be greedy.” She tore the blueprint again, oblivious of his cries of rage and despair. He fell to his knees. A neighbor pounded on the adjoining wall.
    â€œRelax,” she said. “Have you forgotten how in the past I delivered your heart’s darkest desire?”
    Klaus thought back to poor dead Heike. He shuddered.
    â€œBut this you’ll get in pieces,” she continued, fluttering the blueprint scraps. “In the meantime … I need two favors. Little things. You might even enjoy them. Each errand will earn a piece of the blueprint in the post.”
    Reinhardt stared up at her. “I hate you.”
    She stood. “Where do you keep your stationery? I need a pen, paper, postage stamps, and a pair of envelopes.” Gretel gestured at the piles of discarded equipment crowding the flat. “And, Reinhardt? You’ll need a camera.”
    10 May 1963
Walworth, London, England
    â€œAnother,” said Marsh.
    He rapped his knuckles on the bar. Once, twice. The boards were damp with liquor he’d spilled; his fingers came back smelling of whiskey. Circlets of condensation riddled the bar. Like the rings of a tree telling