Blood of the Reich by William Dietrich Read Free Book Online Page B

patriotism. America’s wallet is tight. You’ve heard of the Great Depression?”
    “Why, I think that’s the thing that cost my family millions. You want me to spy for you and pay my own way?”
    “I’ve looked at your tax return, Hood. You can afford it. If Vanity Fair was still on the newsstand, you’d be on the cover.”
    The magazine had suspended publication in the depth of the downturn, but Hood got the point. His London coat and tie cost several times that of Hale’s suit, his shoes were Italian, and the dark hair and strong chin gave him, women said, the dash of a matinee idol. He enjoyed looking good. He enjoyed spending money on travel and research. He enjoyed sleeping on the ground while knowing he didn’t have to.
    “You’ve got nerve, Mr. Hale.”
    “I just got a hunch that you’ll jump at a chance to go back to Tibet. Because it’s there, and all that mountaineering crap.”
    Hood was annoyed this obnoxious bureaucrat knew anything about him, but such was the modern world. Privacy eroded, the income tax a plague, gangsters glorified. “What if Raeder’s purpose is innocent? Scientific and cultural?”
    “Put it in your report. But if it isn’t . . .”
    “What?”
    “Then hunt him down. It’s imperative that Germany not win any advantage over there. Kill him, if necessary.”
    “Kill him!”
    Hale stood and brushed ashes from his lap. “We understand that might not be as difficult for you as it sounds.”

8
    On board the Trieste, Mediterranean Sea
    June 25, 1938
    M ore than two months before Hood’s meeting with Hale, the Italian liner Trieste had cut across a Mediterranean placid as a pond, an avenue of silver leading away from the starboard side to a fat full moon. The air was as warm as a mother’s breath. Now that they were safely away from land, Raeder had invited the men whom Himmler had recruited to share some schnapps by the anchor capstans. The German quintet was deliberately out of earshot of the other passengers, or any chance a steward might overhear.
    The ship was steaming for Suez, and then beyond to the Red Sea, Indian Ocean, and Calcutta. British India, unfortunately, was the quickest doorway to the forbidden palaces of Tibet. They’d have to bluff and bargain their way through it.
    Raeder’s “knights” were professionals like himself, SS officers who were newly named members of Himmler’s Ahnenerbe, the Reichsführe r’s research bureau. They were veterans of expeditions like this one, and experienced mountaineers. While they had packed their black uniforms away until ceremony demanded in Lhasa, they were soldiers, too. The expedition’s crates in the hold included rifles, pistols, and even a new submachine gun called the Erma MP-38, much smaller and lighter than the Thompsons that gangsters used in American movies. There were daggers, explosives, fuses, detonators, and telescopic sights. There were pitons, climbing ropes, and crampons. There were field stoves, scientific instruments, and film cameras. The Germans were ready for partnership, or for war.
    Julius Muller was their geophysicist, whose job was measuring magnetic variations in the earth. The work might be scientifically useful in understanding the earth’s interior because it would be the first time such readings would be taken on the world’s highest plateau. Muller had also used explosives in his research and could be counted on to use his expertise in demolition. The Rhinelander had a skeptic’s instincts, however—he was the kind who reflexively questions authority—so his SS superiors had been happy to let him go. Raeder was determined to keep an eye on the maverick. When the time came, Muller must exhibit complete fealty and obedience.
    Wilhelm Kranz was their anthropologist. One way to tell Aryan from Jew was to measure face and head, giving authorities an objective way of segregating the races. Kranz planned to use his calipers and plastic casts on the Tibetan aristocracy to establish