The Children of Ahnenerbe

By Andrew G. Betts

An action-packed thriller about a secret operation to stop a terrible and unexpected threat. American criminologist and terrorism expert, Dr Conrad Harker, is shocked when he learns of the new terrorist group which threatens to unleash a ferocious attack upon the UK, but he can't imagine the horrors which are in store for him and the team of agents he consults for. Harker reaches into his past, and approaches the most dangerous man he has ever encountered, asking for his help, but will the enigmatic killer be friend or foe?

An action-packed prequel story to the Bright White Darkness sci-fi saga.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Andrew G. Betts
• Release date: Aug 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223534235

Book preview

Part One

Monster

Chapter 1

Dr Conrad Harker?

Yes, I replied, trying to keep my tone flat with no suggestion of emotion, be it irritation or fear, either could incite the Bosnian Serb commando to once again raise the AK-47 assault rifle and point it back at my face, I’m a psychiatric doctor. I’m here to help children suffering the traumas of conflict and ...bereavement. That was clearly too much talking and I shut up when the commando’s eyes looked up again from examining my Red Cross ID. I tried to swallow subtly; my throat was so dry. He looked me in the eyes for a long moment, then stepped back a pace and took in the sight of our Red Cross Land Rover again. Turning his head, he stared down the line of our convoy. There were more than twenty commandos, in full military gear including flak vests. In addition to the professionals there were militiamen too, perhaps about ten. They were in civilian dress apart from the odd flak vest or military webbing, all the pouches packed full of ammunition. The day was hot but there was moisture in the air, rain had fallen hard overnight, and more was expected. The soldiers’ boots slopped around in the mud of the road.

This was one of the few routes left open into the city of Sarajevo. The siege was in the early stages, but already the Bosnian Serbs had surrounded the mostly Muslim and Croat occupants of the capital on three sides. The mountains made their work easy, and the once proud city was like a cowering animal with its back to a great forest-covered wall. Next to me Dr Jane Falkirk, a surgeon who worked for the Red Cross, was holding her breath, and I could feel her shivering with fear. It was my fault; I had placed her and the rest of the Red Cross team in a potentially lethal situation. If, for whatever reason the Serbs realized, or suspected, I was not a genuine part of the Red Cross team they would probably open fire and kill us all. It was June 1992, the siege was only a couple of months old, and it would go on to become the longest in European history, not lifting until 1995.

Distrust and suspicion were thick in the air. Hatred was all about too, so strong you could almost smell it. Elsewhere in the small, recently independent province of Bosnia Herzegovina violent clashes between militias, protestors and regular forces were occurring all the time, as was the build up to what would become the worst acts of ethnic cleansing since World War Two and the horror of the Nazis. It was not a place I wished to be, inside I was truly terrified, but I couldn’t show it, instead I kept the poker face expression as the commando stepped forward again and handed back my ID. He nodded but still looked suspicious. As he stepped away his right arm went up and the makeshift barrier of two battered Lada Rivas revved their tired engines and reversed in opposite directions, clearing the narrow road for us to continue our journey into the besieged city. As I wound the window up Dr Falkirk let out a long gasp and swore several times. She then turned to me with a look of anger. Whatever you’re here for Conrad, it had bloody well better be worth it!

It was worth it, although as to whether or not my quest would be successful, I had no clue as our convoy trundled down the road and finally met another checkpoint, this one manned by soldiers from the Bosnian Army in control of the city. More terrifying minutes passed but eventually we were again waved on. I watched the dense woodland to either side steadily begin to blur as we increased our speed. This was now sniper country, and anyone was a potential target! The wooded mountains rose up on either side of the winding road as our driver, an ex-French army officer called Jacques, wrestled the Land Rover around at over sixty miles per hour. It was like being in a rally, with the convoy’s other vehicles racing to catch us up. There was only one prize, getting to the finish line alive. To my relief the road widened and then got straighter as tall buildings came into view. We shot past a burnt-out house, then another. A few hundred yards later there were rows of beautiful old houses either side of us, most looked empty, abandoned, though some clearly still had occupants who peeked out of windows as the convoy of white vehicles sped by them. Over a small bridge, and now there were apartment blocks. All six people in my Land Rover, including myself, sunk down lower almost unconsciously as we eyed the overlooking structures. A sniper could be anywhere, but those tall, old communist structures looked ideal. Moments later the apartments were behind us, and we were driving down city streets with a mix of beautiful old housing and modern taller buildings all around. Few people were on the streets. Here and there a car stood, as though abandoned, bullet holes clearly visible in the glass and metal.

We rounded a corner and saw our final destination ahead, Sarajevo Main Hospital, towering defiantly but battered, it had been hit by shelling more than once already. My tensed legs were beginning to relax as Jacques slowed the vehicle to a more sensible pace, then the clattering bangs across the roof made me almost jump out of my skin! Dr Falkirk yelped as the bullets pinged off the vehicle’s bodywork. Zey are too far away! shouted Jacques confidently, must be up on the hill there. I was hunkered down further now with Jane doing the same, there was no desire to look up and over to where our tough and fearless driver was gesturing with his head. The shadow of a building fell over us as the brakes squealed and we stopped. Zey ‘ave lost sight of us now but zer may be others closer who can still open fire, he was already out. COME ON, QUICKLY! OUT! Into ze building, my friends! The doctor and I were scrambling out of the other side while those behind were disembarking too, yelps of panic and cries of fear accompanied us on a short run to a door that was being held open by a man in an old-fashioned doctor’s white coat. I breathed a long sigh of relief as I passed through the door, at the same time noticing the dried blood stains on the man’s clothing.

In the hospital’s canteen we were given a meal of potatoes and gravy which had a suggestion of meat in it, then I went looking for my next contact. Alan Richter was another ex-military man who didn’t seem able to stay away from war zones. As I approached him where he sat in a corridor talking to a couple of young women, who I believe were journalists working with CNN, he stood and offered a hand to shake. Dr Harker, his grin was as broad as his Texan accent and was the first smile I had seen in Sarajevo, glad you got here in one piece.

Well, yes, as am I Alan, that was a damn scary drive.

Ha, well, it’s gonna be the same on the way out too probably, at least now you know what to expect.

That’s not reassuring. He laughed, then glanced down at the journalists who had continued with their conversation, barely acknowledging me.

Let’s go somewhere more private, he mumbled to me as his unshaved face drew closer. I nodded and followed the big man down the corridor and through a door into a stairwell. He turned sharply and the grin had disappeared, to be replaced by an expression of serious intent. Do you know what you’re doing Doctor?

Yes, I replied after a short pause, Believe me, I have a very good reason.

You think the Serbs and militias are scary? They’re nothing compared to him. I was in Beirut when he showed up there. It was just a weekend, maybe it was like a little holiday break to him. He’s not just a mercenary, there’s something else. There’s something very odd...

I know exactly what I’m dealing with Mr Richter. I assure you, the situation here may be bad and quite likely in my opinion it will get infinitely worse, but there is another, even more terrifying, and I believe that only he can help.

Jesus! Richter put his hands on his hips and let out a long sigh, then seemed to be contemplating, making his mind up. Aww shit, well, if we must, then we must.

Have you got a location?

I know where I suspect he might be, that’s all. He is not an easy man to pinpoint. He moves...well, I don’t know. I have to be honest, despite everything that’s going on around us right now, your man scares me far more.

Good, I stated looking him in the eye, there are others upon which I’m counting on him to have the same effect.

We waited in the hospital until nightfall, my patience and courage wearing thinner with every passing hour. The hospital was continually busy, patients, from children to soldiers to old people were coming in all the time. At around six thirty there were distant explosions from somewhere else in the city and someone said that one of the modern taller buildings we had driven past, an office block, was on fire. At nine the sun had finally dipped below the mountains and the city was shrouded in darkness. Shots rang out every few minutes as my burly guide and I left the hospital by a fire door and scurried down an alleyway. We stayed close to the buildings; unseen death was everywhere. We would never catch sight of them, but all around the hills and buildings were snipers with night vision scopes who would see us as clear as day if we stepped out into the open. We saw only a few others, mostly carrying boxes or bags. They were getting supplies. Most of the city’s population were hunkered down in their homes, afraid to show themselves, whatever ethnicity they happened to be. Eventually we came to a clump of trees and Richter stopped. He pointed over to a small chapel that stood surrounded by open space dotted with gravestones. In there?

That’s my hunch, Richter whispered. He’s not a very sociable person, likes his solitude when he’s not out...fighting, killing.

Yeah, I know. That fits with my experience of him. Right, well, how the hell do I get over there safely?

Well, I could just make out that his grin had returned under the dark shadows of the trees, I suggest very quickly.

Ok then, I sighed, you stay here.

Oh, I intend to. I don’t want to get closer to him if that’s alright with you.

Indeed. Wish me luck.

You don’t need luck, you need speed. He was still grinning. I was in my late forties, not overweight but I lifetime of academia had hardly given me an athletic physique. Adrenaline was surging through me as I contemplated my route to the side of the dark chapel. I counted to three in my head, then gently left the trees, trying not to make any sound or cause movement in the bushes around me. The cool night air and the open space gave me a sensation of nakedness, I was exposed, vulnerable. Quicker and quicker my steps went until I was running, then sprinting as fast as I could, and closing on the chapel. Past a group of old and broken gravestones, then another, closer. The night air seemed to become colder still as my lungs pulled it in, my boots thudding on the wet grass. Suddenly there was a crack! Not loud but still I gasped and dropped to the ground. Another crack and something thudded into the earth nearby. I was under fire!

Desperately I scrambled up to a large gravestone and pressed against it. Another crack and immediately a piece of the stone was blasted off the top, sending grains of dust spitting down onto me. My mind was almost paralyzed by fear. I had been in war zones before, had met many dangerous people, but this was the first time I had been shot at. Of course, we had been fired on while driving in but as I was now alone and the only target, it felt so much more real, more personal. My eyes shut tight as another round smacked into the stone shielding me from my attacker, somewhere out there in the dark of night. Then there was another, lighter thudding drawing closer. I opened my eyes to see the big man rushing towards me. Alan Richter wasn’t running straight, he was zigzagging, and as he reached me his big hands unceremoniously grabbed the back of my coat and he shouted, Get fuckin’ movin’! Come on! I pushed up with my legs as he hauled me to my feet and, without any pause, we were both running like hell for the shadowy side of the ancient little chapel. Rounds pinged off the old walls of the small structure and thudded into the ground at our heels.

With a cry of relief, I hit the old wooden doors and found they swung open immediately. In a flash we were both inside and had slammed the thick doors behind us. Wooden splinters flew out from beside me as a round passed through the door. Christ! I exclaimed. We dropped to the floor. Another round came smashing through, pelting us with splinters as we sprawled on the ancient stone. JESUS!

He isn’t here, a voice uttered from the darkness to our right. Both of us turned and stared into the blackness. More rounds penetrated the door and we flipped onto our fronts and began crawling away from the entrance and into the main section of the chapel, into the darkness from which a familiar yet somewhat fear-provoking voice had emanated. Two final rounds came through the door, lodging somewhere in the rough medieval stone of the wall opposite. We lay in the dark panting, happy to be alive but shaking with both fear and adrenaline. Eventually, as my breathing calmed a little, I sat up and tried to peer into the blackness all around.

I’ve got to talk to you, Lewis, I tried to sound confident as I addressed the void. There was nothing, silence. Richter lay on the stone flooring. I saw his hand slowly moving but couldn’t see well enough to