of our means of manufacturing them. Like a steamroller, they are crushing the life out of Germany.”
Kossler’s eyes dropped to the polished Black Forest oak floor of his study. “So it has come to this.” He sighed with resignation. “What am I to do concerning the project? Destroy the evidence?”
“The project is why I’m here. Methuselah must continue at all costs. But no information concerning this research must fall into Allied hands. Do you hear me? None of it! From this point onward, even high-ranking party members are not to be trusted without authorization.”
“Methuselah is to continue? But how? If the Allies overrun us, then all is lost.”
“First, we will send you several faithful engineers who are skilled in construction and camouflage techniques. This house and your estate will remain, but the entrance to the underground bunker will be disguised. Do not speak to the engineers about Captain Greene or the nature of your work. Do not name the Methuselah Project. Permit them to conceal the entrance to the bunker, and then dismiss them.”
A wave of confusion crashed over Kossler’s brain. “How will the research be financed if the Allies are victorious? After all, the end of Germany means the liquidation of the very government that sponsors the project.”
Heinrich Wolf squinted at him. Almost as a chess player sizing up his opponent, he stared until Kossler decided to study the rug instead of looking into those eyes. Wolf removed a leather-bound notebook from an inner pocket and flipped it open. He ran a finger down a column, turned the page, and continued halfway down another column before he found what he was looking for. He grunted.
“Dr. Kossler, I see here that your allegiance to the party is deemed impeccable. You have the leadership’s utmost confidence. Your security clearance is higher than Blomberg’s was, nearly as high as my own. How can it be that a man of your standing knows so little of the Consortium and of the plans being laid for the postwar struggle?”
Kossler waved his hands, palms up. “My experiments. The project. Over and over, Berlin has stressed to me how vital Methuselah is to our cause. I leave military and political matters to more experienced hands in order to concentrate on my own assignment.”
“I see,” Colonel Wolf said, as if pondering some unspoken matter. “Your eye truly has focused on the microscopic rather than on the wider screen of human affairs unfolding around us.” Wolf drummed his fingers on Kossler’s desktop. “All right. I will bring you up to date. This is information you need. Mark my words: the Reich will soon die. But the Nazi faithful, certain key men with the wits to survive, will live on. If we maintain allegiance to each other—and if we refuse the option of defeat—then like puppet masters, we shall exist behind the scenes and manipulate the strings of world events in our own ways. But at least temporarily we must play the role of silent chameleons. We will soon doff our insignia, our uniforms, and our salutes. We will assume new identities and the role of innocent German citizens swept along by the tide of a war we never wanted. Do you understand?”
Kossler nodded, even though the scenario Wolf painted left a multitude of squirming, unanswered questions. “Yes, I understand. The principle, but not the practice. If everything you say is true, then the clock works against us. Little time remains for covert preparations.”
“Much groundwork has already been laid, although I won’t take time to explain it in detail. Do you know General Reinhard Gehlen?”
“Not personally.”
“General Gehlen is one of those already coordinating a network to survive after surrender. Others include Borman, Eichmann, Brunner, Skorzeny, and many other worthy comrades—some whose names you might recognize, some not. But all these men know how to keep their mouths shut even if captured. When the time comes, our top men will be secreted
Kossler’s eyes dropped to the polished Black Forest oak floor of his study. “So it has come to this.” He sighed with resignation. “What am I to do concerning the project? Destroy the evidence?”
“The project is why I’m here. Methuselah must continue at all costs. But no information concerning this research must fall into Allied hands. Do you hear me? None of it! From this point onward, even high-ranking party members are not to be trusted without authorization.”
“Methuselah is to continue? But how? If the Allies overrun us, then all is lost.”
“First, we will send you several faithful engineers who are skilled in construction and camouflage techniques. This house and your estate will remain, but the entrance to the underground bunker will be disguised. Do not speak to the engineers about Captain Greene or the nature of your work. Do not name the Methuselah Project. Permit them to conceal the entrance to the bunker, and then dismiss them.”
A wave of confusion crashed over Kossler’s brain. “How will the research be financed if the Allies are victorious? After all, the end of Germany means the liquidation of the very government that sponsors the project.”
Heinrich Wolf squinted at him. Almost as a chess player sizing up his opponent, he stared until Kossler decided to study the rug instead of looking into those eyes. Wolf removed a leather-bound notebook from an inner pocket and flipped it open. He ran a finger down a column, turned the page, and continued halfway down another column before he found what he was looking for. He grunted.
“Dr. Kossler, I see here that your allegiance to the party is deemed impeccable. You have the leadership’s utmost confidence. Your security clearance is higher than Blomberg’s was, nearly as high as my own. How can it be that a man of your standing knows so little of the Consortium and of the plans being laid for the postwar struggle?”
Kossler waved his hands, palms up. “My experiments. The project. Over and over, Berlin has stressed to me how vital Methuselah is to our cause. I leave military and political matters to more experienced hands in order to concentrate on my own assignment.”
“I see,” Colonel Wolf said, as if pondering some unspoken matter. “Your eye truly has focused on the microscopic rather than on the wider screen of human affairs unfolding around us.” Wolf drummed his fingers on Kossler’s desktop. “All right. I will bring you up to date. This is information you need. Mark my words: the Reich will soon die. But the Nazi faithful, certain key men with the wits to survive, will live on. If we maintain allegiance to each other—and if we refuse the option of defeat—then like puppet masters, we shall exist behind the scenes and manipulate the strings of world events in our own ways. But at least temporarily we must play the role of silent chameleons. We will soon doff our insignia, our uniforms, and our salutes. We will assume new identities and the role of innocent German citizens swept along by the tide of a war we never wanted. Do you understand?”
Kossler nodded, even though the scenario Wolf painted left a multitude of squirming, unanswered questions. “Yes, I understand. The principle, but not the practice. If everything you say is true, then the clock works against us. Little time remains for covert preparations.”
“Much groundwork has already been laid, although I won’t take time to explain it in detail. Do you know General Reinhard Gehlen?”
“Not personally.”
“General Gehlen is one of those already coordinating a network to survive after surrender. Others include Borman, Eichmann, Brunner, Skorzeny, and many other worthy comrades—some whose names you might recognize, some not. But all these men know how to keep their mouths shut even if captured. When the time comes, our top men will be secreted
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