Syndicate, Part 4
Eibar, Euskadi – April 16, 1995, 9:00 AM
Anders woke up in an unfamiliar room.
“He's awake,” Alberto Garcia-Diaz said.
“Anders, it’s me,” Angela said, waving in front of his face and handing him a cup of water, “Drink it. You haven’t had any water in over 36 hours. Your shoulder’s going to be fine. The round went through nice and clean.”
“You shot me, Angie!” Anders said.
“Yes, I did,” Angela said, “You didn't give me much choice. You were going to shoot Pavel.”
“Why'd you shoot me?” Anders said. “He's the one. I heard Grandpa say his name!”
“If he is, then his weapon is probably the same one that killed Grandpa Conrad,” Angela said.
“What are you talking about?” Anders said.
“If you killed Pavel with that weapon, there would have been no way to prove that you didn't kill Grandpa,” Angela said, “I'm sorry about Grandpa, by the way. I haven't been able to tell you.”
“How'd you know it was Pavel?” Anders said.
“I didn't,” Angela said, “I went back to your apartment to pull the slug from the wall, but I noticed an unmarked van delivering soft water and I found this in one of the tanks servicing your building.”
She held up the filter.
“What is it?” Anders said.
“It's a dialysis filter,” Angela said, “It's a device used in the transmission of substance to solution, and considering the level of psychosis you were experiencing, it was probably LSD, amphetamines of some kind of exotic dopamine agonist. Maybe even LSDM like at Frankfurt an der Oder.”
“Mein Gott,” Anders said, “Walter took LSD. And there was a murder in my building.”
“Well it wasn't an exercise in subtlety,” Angela said, “Anders, these men are quite possibly the same ones who killed Uncle Conrad and who systematically tried to destroy you by turning everyone you could trust against you. I don't think I have to tell you why.”
“I'd gotten too close to the truth,” Anders said, “By the way, where are we?”
“We're in Eibar, Euskadi,” Angela said.
“Basque Country?” Anders said. “That’s on the other side of Europe.”
“I've just driven two days straight across country,” Angela said, “I had to put you out to let the side effects of the psychosis abate. This is Alberto Garcia-Diaz, he's been translating your files.”
“You're lucky she's a good shot,” Alberto said.
“Or a bad one,” Anders said.
Angela punched his arm.
“Anyways, Alberto was a Basque code talker during World War III,” Angela said, “He knew people who helped encode the original government documents.”
“How'd you find him?” Anders said.
“Through some Hispanian nobleman in Constantinople,” Angela said, “But he claims he knew you were coming.”
“Last week we had an omen,” Alberto said.
“Most of these files are written in jargon, but apparently there was an international conspiracy of silence dating back to the 1940's,” Angela said, “Alberto says that evidence of these secrets are buried outside this Basque village, not far from here. He says that he'll take you as soon as you are able.”
Anders got up. “And you?”
“I'm afraid you're on your own with this,” Angela said, “I didn't show up for a meeting with Dad the day before yesterday, and I don't know what the repercussions will be.”
“You've taken a big risk,” Anders said.
“I was certain they would have killed you Anders,” Angela said, “That’s what family’s for.”
“Thank you,” Anders said, “Thank you for taking care of me.”
“There's something else,” Angela said, “My name is in files. It appears in the latest entries with Daniel Burkard's.”
“In what context?” Anders said.
“It's not clear, but it has something to do with a test,” Angela said, “I want you to find out. I need you to.”
1:00 PM
Alberto drove down the dusty and empty highway in his old rusty car. He had two pictures on his windshield. Anders saw they were of two women, one old and one not as old.
“Who are they?” Anders asked.
“My mother and wife,” Alberto said, “Both are long dead.”
The picture of Alberto’s mother was torn, as if it was missing another half.
“Problems with your dad?” Anders said.
“Yeah,” Alberto, “A real control freak, as people say these days.”
“You said you knew I was coming,” Anders said, “How?”
“In the desert, things find a way to survive,” Alberto said, “Secrets are like this too. They push their way up through the sands of deception so that men can know them. Here, this is my house.”
He pulled up to a dusty wooden house on a hill and cut the engine. Anders got out and looked around at the shrubs and small trees populating the area. It was no desert, but this place was almost as dry and hot as one.
“But why me?” Anders said.
“You are prepared to accept the truth, aren't you?” Alberto said. “To sacrifice yourself to it.”
“I don't understand,” Anders said.
“We Basques are the descendants of an ancient people,” Alberto said, “No evidence of our origins exists. Historians say we were here when your ancestors arrived. Then our people disappeared everywhere but here. They say they don’t know where they went. They say that because they will not sacrifice themselves to the truth.”
“And what is the truth?” Anders said.
“Nothing disappears without a trace,” Alberto said.
“You think the Basques outside Euskadi were abducted,” Anders said.
“By visitors who come here still,” Alberto said, “And not just the Basques.”
Alberto led him to Pablo’s motorcycle.
“What's buried out there?” Anders asked.
“Lies,” Alberto said, “You will see for yourself.”
Anders got on the motorcycle. “Haven’t been on a bike since my ex left.”
“It's through these rocks, my grandson said,” Alberto said, “It's down there.”
Anders drove away and reached the quarry after a few minutes. He got off and climbed down the rockface towards the bottom. His phone rang.
“Humboldt,” he said.
“You're a hard man to reach,” the smoking man said.
“Not hard enough apparently, Cigarette Guy,” Anders said.
“Where are you?” the smoking man said.
“I'm at the Nancy Wilson Center, where are you?” Anders said.
“I need to talk to you, Herr Humboldt, in person,” the smoking man said, “There are some things to explain.”
“I'll save the government the plane fare,” Anders said, “I just need to know which government that is.”
“Your grandfather may have told you things, Herr Humboldt,” the smoking man said, “I should warn against taking those things at face value.”
Anders smiled. “Yeah, which things are those?”
“He was never an opponent of the project,” the smoking man said, “In fact, he authorized it. That's what he couldn't live with.”
“No, he couldn't live with it because you had him killed,” Anders said.
“We weren't involved in that,” the smoking man said.
“Now listen to me you black lunged motherfrakker, I'm going expose you and your little project to the Kaiser, and your time is over,” Anders said, “Assuming you don’t die from cancer before then.”
“Expose anything and you only expose your grandfather...” the smoking man said.
Anders hung up.
[REDACTED]
The smoking man hung up. He got out of his car and into a waiting helicopter.
“Sir, we got a co-ordinate on A,” a black-ops soldier said, “We’re ready to go.”
“Let’s go,” the smoking man said.
The helicopter flew off. The soldier offered him a pack of Mosley's.
“Need a cigarette?” he said.
Outside Eibar
Anders uncovered a plaque in the dirt, which read “Imperial Europa Railroad - 567 480.”
“Over here,” Pablo said, pointing to a hatch.
“This is a boxcar,” Anders said.
He and Pablo opened the hatch and looked inside.
“Refrigeration car,” Pablo said.
“Refrigerating what?” Anders said.
He jumped inside and took out his phone. Angela picked up.
“Hansen,” she said.
“Hey, Angie, it’s me,” Anders said.
“Where are you?” Angela said.
“Nowhere I ever expected,” Anders said.
“What do you mean?” Angela said.
“I'm in a boxcar buried inside a quarry,” Anders said, looking around, “There are bodies everywhere.”
“Bodies?” Angela said.
“Stacked floor to ceiling,” Anders said, walking over to a pile of dead bodies who looked like aliens.
“What happened to them?” Angela said.
“I don't know,” Anders said.
“Anders, in these files I found references to experiments that were conducted here in the Reich by Angeloi and Rasa scientists who were given amnesty after the war,” Angela said.
“What kind of experiments?” Anders said.
“Tests done on humans,” Angela said, “What they referred to as merchandise.”
Anders looked closer at the bodies. “But these aren't human, Angie. From the look of it I'd say they were alien.”
“Are you sure?” Angela said.
“They’re much shorter,” Anders said, “I'm pretty damn sure. Wait a sec...”
He looked at the arm of one of the bodies.
“This one...” Anders said. “It has a smallpox vaccination scar.”
“Anders...” Angela said. “What the frak did you find?”
“Mein Gott, Angie, what the frak have they done?” Anders said.
The hatch closed. Outside, the helicopter landed, and the black-ops soldiers ran out, with the smoking man not far behind.
“Move out, get away from there, keep him back,” the first soldier said, pushing Pablo back, “Cover us, we’re going in. Go.”
The smoking man approached Pablo. “What's your name, boy?”
“Pablo Garcia-Diaz,” Pablo said.
“No, your real name,” the smoking man said.
The soldier ran up to him. “He's not here.”
“Where's Humboldt?” the smoking man said. “He's here.”
“No sir, if he was, he's vanished without a trace,” the soldier said.
“Nothing vanishes without a trace, especially in Basque Country,” the smoking man said, “Burn it.”
The soldiers tossed incendiary devices into the boxcar, and it exploded. They climbed back into the helicopter and flew away.