Fiona had recognized Mengele’s name on the various citations and diplomas displayed in the trophy case, but it was the lovingly preserved photographic record of atrocities in the gallery that had brought her knowledge of the man to the surface.
Although there was not a doubt in her mind that the man in the wheelchair behind the glass was the same man in the pictures, his reaction confirmed her accusation. His gap-toothed smile grew bigger. “You know of me? Why, that is outstanding. I would have thought people of your generation would have forgotten about me. Especially those of your particular….” He sniffed disdainfully. “Caste.”
“What can I say? You’re famous. I should say ‘infamous.’” Instead of succumbing to despair, Fiona was feeling bolder with each passing second. Mengele might be able to torture and kill her, but she would not give him the satisfaction of breaking her spirit. “Can you clear something up for me? You’re supposed to be dead.”
The old man waved a gnarled hand. “It was not my intention to indulge you in conversation, child. I have work to do. Do you have any other medical conditions that I should know about?”
“Oh, come on. You’re going to kill me anyway, right? Use me as a lab rat in some experiment? That’s what you do, isn’t it? The least you could do is answer a couple of questions. Besides, you’re like the original mad scientist. Dr. Mengele, the Angel of Death. They made movies about you, you know. Don’t you want to brag a little?”
“Mengele is dead,” the man said. “I am Tyndareus now.”
“Tyndareus.” That name was more familiar to Fiona than even Mengele. “King of the Spartans, father of Castor and Clymenestra… Oh, of course. Twins.”
The old man’s smile slipped, but his strange eyes seemed to grow sharper. “You are remarkably well-informed.”
“Because I know who Tyndareus was? Or because I know that you’re obsessed with twins?” She was not exaggerating the latter point. During his time at Auschwitz, Mengele had fanatically tracked down twins for his experiments. Yet, something about the alias nagged at her.
In Greek mythology, Tyndareus’s wife, the beautiful queen Leda, had been seduced by the god Zeus, who appeared to her in the unlikely form of a swan. The offspring of that union had been a pair of eggs, each one containing a set of twins—Castor and Pollux, the famed Gemini twins, and Helen of Troy and Clymenestra. But only one twin in each set—Pollux and Helen—were sired by Zeus. Castor and Clymenestra were the natural children of Tyndareus.
The twins angle seemed the likeliest reason for Mengele to choose his new name, but it did not explain his other connection to Greek mythology.
She peered at him through the glass. “Tyndareus. Cerberus. And you’ve got Kenner chasing after Hercules. That can’t be a coincidence. What are you really after?”
Tyndareus brought his fingertips together in front of his face, which made him look exactly like the cartoon villain from The Simpsons. Fiona had to fight to stifle a laugh, but there was nothing amusing about the old man’s next utterance. “As diverting as explaining this to you might be, it would be a waste of time for both of us. If you will not answer my questions, I will simply proceed with the experiment.”
“Hey, wait—”
Tyndareus lowered his hands to the tablet computer resting on his lap and tapped the screen. Fiona heard the hiss of pressurized air, and glimpsed movement in the corner of her eye. She turned in the direction of the sound and saw that a section of the wall to her left had opened. It was not an exit however, only a small recess, like a cupboard at floor level.
Several small beige shapes darted out, the suddenness of their movement startling Fiona. She let out a yelp and drew her legs up onto the examination table, even as the rational part of her brain realized there was no threat, or more precisely, no obvious threat. The little shapes were mice, and not nasty mutant killer mice either. Just regular little mice, like Stuart Little. There were at least half a dozen of them still in the recess. Three or four had scurried out when the door opened, scouting the room, but showing no signs of hostility.
But she doubted Auschwitz’s Angel of Death was interested in gauging her reaction to a rodent infestation. Mice were often a disease vector. Had Tyndareus infected them with plague or Hanta virus? Was he going to watch to see how long it took her to die?
Tyndareus’s voice filled the room again. “An associate of mine was working to create a plant-based organic bio-weapon. The field tests were rather disappointing, but the concept is promising, and as I’ve already invested substantial resources, it only seems prudent to salvage what I can.