by Brian K. Asbury
Two figures faced each other across a desk in a plush office. There was silence for several minutes before the larger of the two spoke. “So, the whole Tyrolean Project has come to nothing?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” said the other, an attractive red-haired woman. “We have most of Grunewald’s research notes. It shouldn’t be beyond us to reconstruct the final stages.”
“But it’s not certain?”
“No, of course not. And for the record, you will recall that I cautioned you against Grunewald. I had my doubts about him from the moment I first met him. Fanatics are not to be trusted — and kidnapping a whole coachload of American tourists like that — God, and he didn’t expect the JSA or some other do-gooder to go over there and investigate?”
A smile crossed the first speaker’s leathery lips. “Ah, but there are advantages to working with Nazis, my dear, as I have so often known in the past. They are so easy to manipulate — and so easy to blame. No one will be looking our way over this affair. There is nothing to link Grunewald to me. And, as you say, there is a good chance we can recreate his work.”
“You’ll make up your mind. A moment ago you were bemoaning it all coming to nothing.”
“Commenting, not bemoaning. We have what we want from the affair, and we can move on. We know the procedure works — all we have to do is recreate it. In the meantime, we can concentrate on our other projects.” He turned his chair to the window, ignoring the view outside and seeing only the reflection of the great white ape that he was.
And as Alexis Luthor watched, the Ultra-Humanite threw back his head and laughed.
The End