placard for Wieninger Bier and an invitation on a painted scroll beneath it: "Herzhch Willkommen" A Hearty Welcome. The day's specials were advertised in bold white chalk letters.
It was dark inside and smelled of beer. Although it was not yet noon, three portly men were sitting at a small wooden table drinking from glass steins of beer. Ben approached them.
Tin looking for an old Schloss around here that houses a research clinic owned by a man named Jurgen Lenz. The old Clockworks."
The men gazed up at him suspiciously. One of them muttered something to the others, who murmured back. Ben heard "Lenz" and "Klinik." "No, nothing here."
Again, Ben sensed unmistakable antagonism. He was certain that these men were concealing something, and slipped several thousand-shilling notes on the table, toying with them idly. No time for subtlety. "All right, thank you," he said, turning halfway to leave. Then, as if he'd forgotten something, he turned back. "Listen, if any of you guys have any friends who might know something about this clinic, tell them I'll pay for the information. I'm an American entrepreneur looking for some investment opportunities."
He left the pub and stood for a moment in front of the building. A cluster of men in jeans and leather jackets strolled by, hands in pockets, speaking Russian. No sense in asking them.
A few seconds later he felt a tap on his shoulder. It was one of the men from the pub. "Em, how much will you pay for this information?"
"I'd say if the information is accurate, it's worth a couple thousand shillings to me."
The man glanced around furtively. "The money first, please."
Ben regarded him for a moment, then handed him two banknotes. The man led him down the road a few meters and then pointed up toward the steep mountain. Set into the side of the snow-covered peak and surrounded by tightly packed, snow-frosted fir trees as dense as crabgrass, was an ancient medieval castle with a baroque facade and a gilded clock tower.
Semmering.
The clinic where Hitler's science adviser, Josef Strasser, had shipped sophisticated scientific equipment decades ago.
Where Jurgen Lenz invited a few lucky children afflicted with a terrible disease.
Where piecing together what he'd learned with what Lenz's secretary had said a delegation of world leaders and dignitaries had come to visit.
And where Anna might have gone. Was it possible?
Certainly it was possible; in any case, it was all he had.
The Clockworks had been there all along, hidden in plain sight, and he had seen it walking up from the train station. It was by far the biggest property visible anywhere around.
"Magnificent," Ben said softly. "Do you know anyone who's ever been inside?"
"No. No one is allowed. There is much security there. It is very private, you can never go in."
"Well, they must hire local workers."
"No. All workers are flown in by helicopter from Vienna, and they have living quarters there. There is a helipad, you can see it if you look closely."
"What do they do there, do you know?"
"I only hear things."
"Like what?"
"They do strange things there, people say. You see strange-looking children arriving in buses ..."
"Do you know who owns it?"
"Like you say, this Lenz. His father was a Nazi."
"How long has he owned it?"
"A long time. I think maybe his father owned it after the war. During the war the Schloss was used by the Nazis as a command center. It used to be called the Schloss Zerwald this is the old name for Semmering from the Middle Ages. It was built by one of the Esterhazy princes in the seventeenth century. For a while at the end of last century it was, how you say, abandoned, then it was used for about twenty years as a clock factory. The old-timers around here still call it the Uhrwerken. How do you say ?"
"Clockworks." Ben took out another thousand-shilling note. "Now, just a few more questions."
A man was looming over her, a man in a white coat whose face kept going in and out of focus. He had gray hair and was speaking softly, even smiling. He seemed friendly, and she wished she could understand what he was saying.
She wondered what was wrong with her that she couldn't sit up: had she been in an accident? Had a stroke? She was overtaken by a sudden panic.
She heard "... to have to do that to you, hut we really had no choice."
An accent, perhaps German or Swiss.
Where am I?
Then: "dissociative tranquilizer..."
Someone speaking English to her with some sort of Middle