350 | John W. Warner IV and snickered like devilish schoolboys. Gwafa shouldered his submachinegun and frisked them for weapons. Comedians, Bernard. Shall we shoot them? One of the brothers opened his legs wide. Try frisking down here, I may be hiding a gold-plated Derringer, Dogon-man. Not…yet. Bernie scanned the ornate, wood-paneled room, the fine joinery and millwork in stark contrast to the rest of the austere alloy ship, his memory sparking. He admired a Winslow Homer painting of a fisherman calling out to a schooner. This looks strangely familiar… Shafer arrived. Edmund, who is…? Shocked, he looked them over. Scheisse. What are you doing here? How…? Who are they, Ernst? asked Geer. Bernie snapped his swollen fingers. Hess told me.. .the Nazzaro, no, the Nazzara brothers. Albino twins. Contractors and advisors, yes? Pretty strange looking hombres… Tm Stew. Im Lew. At your service, Herr Rodgers. Proud contractors and Party members. Thule and Vril Societies. Black Sun representatives. Himmlers personal trade confidants and plenipotentiaries. He toasted with a wine glass. Good to see you again, Ernst. You look pale. Try some liverwurst and tomato paste on rye toast. Good for the hemoglobin. We relish your Gewiirtziraminer, a tad on the sweet side, but.. .a clean finish. Shafer sat at the table. What are you doing on board? Thats not a cordial tone, pouted Stew, lower lip extended. Poppel gave us permission, not that we really needed it. Were your old friends. Fellow racial archeologists and spelunking cave explorers. Your regal ambassadors to exotic and lush parts below. He tasted his glass. Hints of Alpine flowers, I should think. Mmm, yes, said Lew. And some elderberry It cant be! exclaimed Bernie. Alice sat in an overstuffed chair, exhausted. What is it now? They grafted it on, wholesale. The whole shebangpaintings, the organ, the millwork, even all the books. He pointed. This is the library room from the Magellan. Ive been in here before. The Germans dont waste anything, if it works it works. He stamped on the fine Persian carpet. Son of a gun! Hes so excitable, Frau Drummond/ said Lew, passing a tray. Canape?