Two Graves Read Online Free PDF Page B

Dunhills from his pocket, plucked one from the box, lit it with a gold lighter. “You wouldn’t care to tell us where you’ve been all this time, would you? Or whether you’ve had any other accomplices in this little deception—beyond your brother, I mean? Or whether you’ve spoken to anyone about our organization?”
    When there was no response, Fischer took a deep drag on the cigarette. His smile broadened. “No matter. There will be plenty of time for that—once we get you back home. I’m sure you’ll be happy to tell the doctors everything… that is, before the experiments begin.”
    Helen went still. Fischer had used the word
Versuchsreihe
—but that word meant more to her than simply “experiments.” At the thought of what it meant—at the memory—she felt a sudden panic. She leapt to her feet and ran headlong toward the door. It was a mindless, instinctive act, born of the atavistic need for self-preservation. But even as she charged the door, it was opened, her captors standing just beyond. Helen did not slow, and the force of the impact knocked two of them back, but the others seized her and gripped her hard. It took all four to restrain her and drag her back into the room.
    Fischer stood up. Taking another deep drag on the cigarette, he regarded Helen as she struggled silently, fiercely. Then he looked at his watch.
    “It’s time to go,” he said. He glanced again at Helen. “I think we had better prepare the hypodermic.”



+ Forty-Four Hours
    T HE KNOCK CAME AT HALF PAST TWO IN THE AFTERNOON. Kurt Weber put down the bottle of sweet tea he’d been drinking, dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a silk handkerchief, turned off his computer monitor, and walked across the tiled floor to answer it. A quick look through the eyehole indicated a respectable-looking gentleman.
    “Who is it?”
    “I’m looking for the Freiheit Importing Company.”
    Weber replaced the handkerchief in his breast pocket and opened the door. “Yes?”
    The man stood in the hallway: slender, with piercing silver eyes and blond hair so pale, it was almost white.
    “May I have a minute of your time?” the gentleman asked.
    “Certainly.” Weber opened the door farther and motioned the man to a seat. Although the man’s suit was plain—simple black—it was of beautiful material, exquisitely tailored. Weber had always been something of a clotheshorse, and as he moved back behind his desk, he found himself unconsciously adjusting his own cuffs.
    “Interesting,” the man said, glancing around, “that you conduct your business in a hotel.”
    “It was not always a hotel,” Weber replied. “When it was built in 1929, it was called the Rhodes-Haverty Building. When it became a hotel, I saw no reason to bother relocating. The view of Atlanta’s historic district from here is second to none.”
    He took a seat behind the desk. “How may I be of service?” The visit, of course, was almost certainly a mistake—the “importing”Weber did was for a private client only—but this wasn’t the first time people had called on him. He had always made a point of being polite with such callers, to give the impression his was a legitimate business.
    The man sat down. “I have just one question. Answer it, and I’ll be on my way.”
    Something in the man’s tone made Weber hesitate before replying. “And what question is that?”
    “Where is Helen Pendergast?”
    This is not possible
, Weber thought. Aloud, he said: “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
    “You are the owner of a warehouse in downstate New York. It was from this warehouse that the operation to abduct Helen Pendergast was put into motion.”
    “You aren’t making any sense. And since it appears you have no business to conduct, I’m afraid I shall have to ask you to leave, Mr….?” As he spoke, Weber very casually opened the center drawer of his desk and placed his hand inside.
    “Pendergast,” the stranger said. “Aloysius