Blood Ties (17 page)

"That's not grounds," Rudi interjected slyly.
"Not for us. If they don't obtain it through us, they'll find other
sources, another connection."

Come to the heart of it, the Baron demanded inside himself.
He had expected the confrontation to be difficult, and now that it had come it
proved less than bearable. He felt the pounding in his faulty heart, waiting
for the constriction, his fingers poised on his pill case. Karla watched him.
He knew his complexion had paled.

"We must assume their use." Albert snapped.

"That is never our problem," Rudi said,
ejaculating the words in staccato order.

"We have not yet devised a von Kassel spaceship. If
the planet is blown up, the von Kassels go with it. The kill power of all those
bombs can destroy half the earth."

"Then there is still the other half," Rudi shot
back.

"That is the most ridiculous stupidity ever to come
from your mouth, Rudi," Albert said with irritation. Siegfried smiled
broadly.

"The tactic is no longer useful, good brother,"
Rudi said calmly, although the opening pores on his face told another story.
Albert swallowed hard, revealing his own tension for the first time. He stood
up, paced the room, looked out into the sunlight, squinting into the
brightness. Even Albert, cool under all sorts of pressure, had to labor to
control his inner agitation. He turned a sharp glance at his father, but the
Baron turned away.

"I'm genuinely sorry that you don't see the logic of
my argument," Albert said finally. "I have studied the potential use
of these weapons in great detail. A lesser power, a fanatical group, will start
with intimidation. Then will come a small escalation. Finally a larger one.
Then the great powers, to whom world stability is essential, will have to
react. There are presently eight thousand bombs activated and ready. Some
corner of this earth may escape destruction. But which corner?

"Geopolitical speculation," Rudi said.

"That's a primitive argument, based on antiquated
concepts," Albert said.

"A quarter of a billion profit is not
antiquated," Rudi said, forcing a smile, hoping to engender a response.
But the men around the table remained silent. It was still too early to take
sides.

"The argument transcends profit."

"Nothing transcends profit," Rudi smirked.

"What good is it in the grave?"

"That's just the point," Rudi squealed, standing
up, warming to what he perceived was an opening wedge for a victorious
onslaught. "You can't in the first place convince any of us that the bombs
will be used or that it will trigger a world conflagration. That is the nub of
it. You're being a doomsayer, a..." He hesitated, then shot the strongest
arrow in his quiver. "A moralist."

"What's wrong with that?" It was Siegfried,
jumping up, no longer able to contain himself. His fingers shook. Obviously, he
knew he was stepping out of line. "There is a limit to everything. Even to
this barbaric enterprise."

"Sit down Siegfried," Rudi said, without anger,
as if he were talking to a child. Siegfried glared at him, then yielded. So he
has finally taken his revenge, the Baron thought, with rising pride in his
second son, who was now shedding his childhood hurts.

"Someone down the line might have made the same
argument against gunpowder. Or any new technological advance that increases the
methods of destruction. Once we get into that cast of mind, we might as well
write ourselves out of this business." He looked at Albert. "You are
wrong. Your position is weak. Untenable in fact.... "His words trailed
off. It was not his place to go further. Everyone in the room knew that,
especially the Baron. Albert's weakness was available for all of them to
observe. Was he fit to bring them into tomorrow? That was the essential point.
He had arranged this confrontation merely as a test and Albert had failed. The
consequences of the weapon were never an issue for the von Kassels to trouble
themselves about. Those that did were weeded out, forced aside. He had had such
great hopes for his youngest son, easily the most able and brilliant of his
progeny. But the essential ingredient was missing. He felt the edges of a depression
moving into his mind.

Albert had sat down again and it was Rudi who was standing,
offering his bulk as a kind of symbolic victory monument. He had no doubt that
he had won, and he could not resist the plucking of the fruits.

"I intend to go through with this deal," he said,
glaring at his brother. "And I demand your cooperation."

"I am against it," Albert said, the words sharp
and clear. He stared at his brother, who was the first to yield, showing his
discomfort with a deep flush that crept up his neck and covered the underpart
of his chin. The Baron noted the inelegant reaction, the inadequate sense of
command. Perhaps if he and Albert could discuss the issue at length, he
wondered, holding out some hope to himself that he was witnessing merely a mild
misunderstanding. The fact was that the deal could not be fully consummated
without Albert's cooperation. The others would not respond to Rudi without a
clear mandate from either Albert or the Baron.

"It is wrong," Albert said finally. "It is
barbaric. Siegfried is correct. There has got to be some kinship with
humanity." So it was out. Silence hung heavy in the room.

Younger, the Baron might have been prompted to respond. Now
his response was inward, a sudden flash of pain. He opened the pillbox and let
another two pills dissolve on his tongue. He felt his strength run out of him
swiftly like air out of a punctured tire. His eyelids felt heavy and he could
not summon the energy to keep them open. Somehow the matter would have to be
resolved. But not now. Not now. He was slipping away, escaping perhaps.
Somewhere far away he heard familiar voices.

"It is too much for him," Karla whispered.

"Later..." someone said.

"He will make up his mind in due time," he heard
Karla say. He heard vague movements, footsteps, muffled sounds and then what he
knew was the cool hand of his sister, soothing against his forehead, then her
cheek, also cool, pressed against his.

"Rest now, my darling," the voice, Karla's, said,
comforting, chasing pain. "They have gone." He must not die now, he
told himself, commanded himself, urging his will. As he had willed himself to
preserve the von Kassels, by any means, without guilt, without remorse, as he
had willed himself to destroy Emma....

Emma. He thought he had obliterated her from his mind. Was
the will collapsing as well, along with the decaying muscles and tissue? He
tried to push her image back, to place the sand bags against the dyke of
conscience. He shivered, feeling again the icy blueness of the lake, the
repeated divings under the capsized boat, the murk below as his eyes saw the
milky face and the sightless eyes mocking him.

The von Heimbergs like the von Kassels were descendents of
the Old Order. Although they lived a good distance away from each other in the
country, they would invariably meet during the season in Tallinn, both families
occupying huge houses in the fashionable section restricted to the Baronial
families, the pecking order dependent upon the distance of descent. The von
Heimbergs and the von Kassels were, therefore, social equals.

Even as a child, he had remembered the formalities when
parents met, eying each other's offspring. The Baronial families intermarried
or, like his sister, married peers in the fatherland. In Emma's case, it was
simply unfortunate that she passed across his line of vision at exactly the
wrong time.

They had been living in town while the main house in the
country was being rebuilt after the fire. Wolfgang had simply disappeared into
the Soviet Union, leaving a brief note of farewell. Karla had returned to her
husband in Germany. His mother's frail mental state was deteriorating badly
under the shock of his father's death. When she was lucid, she talked only of
impending death.

"Will it be cold in the earth?"

"'No, Mother."

"You will bury me as close to your father as
possible."

"Of course, Mother."

"Not the usual distance. Closer."

She was an uneducated woman. The Baronial families were
less than fastidious in the education of their daughters, while on the sons
were lavished the best tutors from Germany. The result was women steeped in
superstition, spending their time attending to family matters, gossip, and
games.

"They are good as breeders only," his grandfather
had said. "Pick them like you pick horses. Look at their bloodlines. Then
at their teeth and flanks."

Charles' grandmother had died early and the old Baron had
never remarried. Perhaps it was that comment that had prompted Charles'
decision to choose Emma. She had excellent teeth and a long, lean flank. And
her bloodlines, by Baronial standards, were impeccable.

The decision was to earn him quick regrets, and he
attributed it to the chaos of the times, which prompted hasty actions.
Everything was uncertain in Estonia now. Many of the old families had sold
their lands and headed West, back to Germany. The Estonians, having bested the
Bolsheviks, were pressing and organizing for independence.

Caught in the middle, barely tolerated, the Baronial
families had only two alternatives: to flee or wait hopefully. Charles, now the
family leader, chose to wait. There was no family left, only his feeble-minded
mother. The warehouses had been stripped and destroyed. The workers had stolen
everything that could be moved, including the gold and currency that had been
so fastidiously guarded in the family vaults in the deep cellars under the
older portions of the house. Those deposits credited to the family in German,
Swiss and British banks were intact, but inflation had wiped out most of their
value, further diminishing the family fortune.

Fortunately, the new Estonian constitution then being
drafted granted the Baronial families equal rights, something that they had
never allowed the Estonians. Statehood for Estonia seemed inevitable by
international fiat, and the new leaders, with an eye to international opinion,
discouraged all acts of revenge against their former masters. Charles moved
quickly to take advantage of the situation, rebuilding the country house and
warehouses and using the remains of the von Kassel fortune to resurrect the business.

The old family connections were still intact. The various
sellers and buyers in the arms business were a tight-knit group and Charles was
quickly able to regain a footing in the industry. The White Russians were still
fielding an army. The Germans were desperate for cash, selling their huge
caches of arms from their defeated armies for a fraction of their worth. And
the Estonians and Latvians were forming armies for their embryonic countries.

But restoration of the family wealth was not enough to
insure its survival, not in von Kassel terms. He needed a breeder and the point
grew more obsessive as he flogged himself in the pursuit of business.

It was at the funeral of his mother that the idea of Emma
crossed his mind. It was a small funeral held in the rebuilt family chapel in
the country. With the shrinking of the Baronial families, who normally turned
out en masse to pay tribute to the passing of one of their own, funerals were
no longer events of mammoth reunion. The von Heimbergs attended, seizing every
opportunity to exhibit their unmarried daughter, who was extremely pretty with
her soft olive skin and delicate features fringed by striking chestnut-colored
hair.

Karla, too, encouraged the suggestion.

"It is pointless to be alone here, Charles."

"I have my work," he had protested. The
suggestion of early marriage had always struck him as offensive, even from his
sister. Besides, his meager sexual needs were easily bought among the maidens
of the farm hands. The fact was that the smallness of his organ kept him
secretly in perpetual terror. Marriage, on the other hand, provided its own
fear. He wanted a virgin who would not, he hoped, have any real basis of
comparison.

But these were private thoughts, impossible to share with
anyone, even his sister. Yet, the other part of her argument had logic. What
was the point of rebuilding the family business, carrying on, if there was no
generation beyond his own? Karla had already had two sons, but they would not
be von Kassels. The von Berghoffs had their own venerable name to propagate.
Wolfgang's offspring, if he had any, would be lost in the ideological slime of
Bolshevism. It was not a question of personal preference. It was duty.

So in his mind, he chose Emma von Heimberg as the best of
the lot physically. She was scatterbrained, giggled a lot, and was abysmally
ignorant of most things except what was considered then purely feminine matters
such as clothes and embroidery. She did not even have the head for bridge,
which bored her, as did most things. If he had applied himself, he might have
chosen wiser, but other than the exercise of her body's reproductive process he
had little interest in any other facet of her. She was, fortunately, the
daughter of one of the most important Baronial families of Estonia. His grandfather, he knew, would have surely approved the choice.

The courtship of Emma was a blur in his recollection. He
bought her things, fluffy feathery things and she tried them on for him and
giggled as she primped and posed in the mirror while her mother fussed and
scolded and he sat bored watching the exercise. When he was alone with her, the
conversation consisted of his compliments and her blushing acceptance, but
little else.

"How beautiful they look together," was the
refrain of the shrunken Baronial society that continued to act out the charade
of their importance. Even Charles knew the end was near, although he continued
to hope that German rearmament might one day bring the Ostlanders into the
Germanic fold.