An Extra-Ordinary Beginning (The Adventures of Eric and Ursula Book 1)

by A. D. Winch

  “Is he okay?” Andrea calmly asked Ursula as they drove home.

  “Yes, he’s fine.”

  “How do you know this?”

  Ursula thought long and hard before replying, “I don’t know, I just kind of feel it.”

  “And you are sure he is fine?”

  “Yes, I’m su...” Ursula stopped. “No, something’s wrong.”

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  ***

  Chapter 21 - Who are you?

  A low rumble like a minor earthquake woke Eric and then faded away. He had no idea of the time or where he was. The only thing he did know was that his head hurt. It hurt a lot. It hurt as if someone was using it for a drum solo. At least wherever he lay was now quiet. Very, very quiet.

  He could hear nothing and he could see nothing, but he could smell something. Wherever he was smelled damp and musty; it made him feel sick. Cautiously he opened his eyes, but the bright glare from a nearby light made his head even worse. He closed them again and let out a dull groan.

  Where was he? He tried to establish what he already knew. He was under a blanket and curled up in the foetal position. Neither his hands nor feet were bound, so he stretched out. By feeling around, he worked out that he was on a particularly uncomfortable sofa but without being able to see he couldn’t add much to this. Once again he tried to open his eyes but the glare was too much, and he had to close them.

  From behind his head, he heard footsteps. They sounded hollow, as if the floor underneath was empty.

  “Are you okay or still feeling as if you have been in a boxing match?” asked the same voice from the alley.

  The man’s English was perfect, but he had a slight accent. Eric could not say whether he sounded slightly American, Russian or north European, but he definitely was not English. He sounded concerned, but Eric remembered that he had sounded concerned in the alley way. So concerned, in fact, that he had stabbed him with a needle and drugged him unconscious.

  “I imagine you’ve got a thumping headache. I must apologize on that account. It was the lesser of two evils I’m afraid. I was going to use chloroform, but I had a change of heart after fears that I may choke you.”

  “You’re very considerate,” Eric croaked sarcastically.

  “Here, sit up.”

  Two strong hands gripped Eric under the armpits and lifted him into a sitting position. His head pounded more than ever now that he was vertical.

  “Drink this. Within ten minutes you’ll feel as good as new,” and a mug of fizzing liquid was placed in Eric’s hand.

  Eric did not move. This man had already drugged him, what was to say that he wouldn’t now poison him?

  “To be honest, I doubt I would drink it if I were in your position either,” said the man, as if reading his thoughts. “However, you’re not bound, nor gagged, nor blindfolded, so I’m hardly going to poison you. Admittedly it is going to taste rather foul but it will get you back on your feet in next to no time. You have lost natural body salts and sugars. This will put them back.”

  The mug was removed from Eric’s hand; he heard the man drink a mouthful and then it was given back. Suspiciously, Eric raised the glass to his mouth. Fizzy bubbles tickled his lips. The liquid tasted both sweet and salty. It also tasted horrible.

  “Drink it down. It will help. Honestly,” and the man walked away.

  Against his better judgment, Eric followed the man’s advice. Within ten minutes his pounding headache had eased, and he was feeling much better.

  In the distance, he heard a low rumble again. The sofa he was sat on began to vibrate, and the rumbling noise filled the room. Eric wasn’t sure, but he thought it sounded like a metro train had just passed underneath him. Fortunately, it had no effect on his much-improved head.

  Tentatively, he opened his eyes. The light was bright at first, but he soon became used to it and looked around. He was not sat on a sofa as he had suspected but on three joined seats with the arms broken off. They were threadbare and looked as if they belonged in a theatre. Resting up against them were Eric’s bag and coat. Opposite him were another set of seats and, to his left, a rusty desk lamp sat on an old popcorn maker. It was the only light, and the rest of the place was in semi-darkness. Beyond these, Eric could just make out rows of similar seats. They were in a large auditorium and on the back wall faint light crept through a small rectangular opening.

  Eric stood up carefully, and his head spun at first. Behind him, a huge wide pleated curtain was draped across an entire wall. It had been made from purple satin but in places moths had feasted to reveal a white background.

  “Good stuff, you’re up,” said the man from the shadows. “Tell me, what do you think of my temporary abode, the Kino Alfa? I admit that as cinemas go its halcyon days are long gone but at least no one bothers me down here.”

  He emerged from the dark and walked towards Eric. In his hands, he was holding what Eric first thought were revolvers but turned out to be two hot dogs. He gave one to Eric, who noticed that the man’s fingers and nails looked untidy as if they had been bitten.

  “I thought you might be peckish,” said the man and sat down.

  He was dressed in jeans, a tight red T-shirt which emphasized his muscles and a red baseball cap. His face was covered in thick black stubble, peppered with grey, and Eric thought that he looked in his forties. Running across his right cheek, from his mouth to the top of his right ear, was a long pink scar where no hair would grow. However, the most striking features on his face, in contrast to the unpleasant looking scar, were his sky blue eyes. Eric’s art teacher had told him that eyes are the windows to the soul. If that was true then, Eric felt he was not in danger. For some reason, the man also seemed familiar. Eric was sure he had seen him before, but he didn’t know where or when.

  “Who are you?” asked Eric accusingly, in between bites of his hot dog.

  “How rude of me, let me introduce myself. My name is Doctor Alexander Johansen, but you can call me Alexander or Alex.”

  “What kind of doctor drugs and kidnaps a child?” demanded Eric, spraying bits of sausage over the floor.

  Dr. Johansen moved forward in his chair.

  “If you would allow me to correct you? Firstly, I am not a doctor of medicine. Secondly, I have not, I can assure you, kidnapped you. You are here for your own protection. I am protecting you. Consider me your guardian angel.”

  Eric looked for the nearest exit.

  “Protecting me? I don’t think so! Well, if you’re not kidnapping me, I’ll go. I can look after myself thank you very much.”

  Without looking back, Eric stood up, jumped off the stage and made his way to an exit at the rear of the dark cinema.

  Dr. Johansen watched him leave but before Eric reached the door, he shouted after him, “Let me ask you one simple question Eric Meyer, who has just turned twelve, but actually his birth date is incorrect. What kind of fool leaves the safety of his home and school when he knows, and has been told, that he is in mortal danger?”

  Eric stopped dead in his tracks beside Row J. He did not like being insulted and shouted back, “I am not a fool!”

  “Then come back here and let me tell you the truth about your past,” suggested Dr. Johansen, biting his nails and the skin around them.

  Slowly, Eric looked from Dr. Johansen to the exit and back again. Part of him badly wanted to leave and be back with Andrea and even with Ursula. However, another part of him was intrigued by what Dr. Johansen had said. Confident that he could outrun this man, Eric walked back towards the cinema screen and sat down opposite Dr. Johansen.

  All the screens in Agent Hoover’s surveillance room were focused on Prague. Every few seconds he scanned the countless displays but without any success. The room stunk of cigarettes and behind him Agent Angel lit yet another one. He had been pacing and chain smoking since his arrival, one cigarette after another after another after another. The smoke was becoming unbearable for Hoover, who could not leave his swivel chair. In the corner, at th
e rear of the room, a sinewy figure breathed in the cigarette smoke contentedly.

  “It’s been four hours now. Why can’t we find him?” Agent Angel’s voice was calm, which was not a good thing in Agent Hoover’s experience. It was like the lull before the storm.

  “Geez, I can’t answer that, Sir,” replied Agent Hoover. “We had him and then BAM! The kid just vanished.”

  “Status report from the elementary school,” ordered Agent Angel, breathing out more smoke.

  Agent Hoover stared at the screens and answered, “Agents Alpha and Beta have checked it out. It’s clear. The kid ain’t there.”

  “The house?”

  “Agents Gamma and Delta report nothing, Sir. It’s clear.”

  “In that case, have you gathered any intelligence on the Elf and the Street Kid?”

  He pointed a sausage sized finger towards the displays covering the right side of the wall. Three photos covered seventy-five screens. Underneath the word ‘suspects’ were a grainy photo of Andrea behind the wheel of the Range Rover and another one of Ursula in the playground. Below them, and imprinted with the words ‘TARGET,' was the polaroid shot of Eric taken at the Benjamins.

  “Nothing to report,” replied Agent Hoover after checking his computer.

  “Nothing to report! How can there be nothing? We control the internet and can access any database on the planet, but we can’t find a damn thing on this Elf and street kid! Have you accessed the school records?”

  “We’re trying to, Sir, but the encryption code they use is proving mighty hard for our boys to crack.” Agent Hoover did not like giving Agent Angel bad news so added, “But Agent Beta heard another kid call the black girl ‘Ursula.'”

  Raising his hands in the air in mock prayer, Agent Angel said sarcastically, “Well thank the Lord.” As he brought them down, he smacked Agent Hoover hard on the back of his head and ordered, “Status report on the town!”

  “Agents Ypsilon and Zeta have finished an in depth search of the area outside the ice cream store, where we saw the kid last, but have nothing to report.

  “Damn!” roared Agent Angel. “We were so close. He was in our sights.”

  The dinner table felt strange without Eric, thought Ursula. Admittedly they had not had many civil meals there together but it was still strange without him. Their relationship had improved since the Christmas holiday, and they both recognized that.

  Andrea did not say anything when they arrived home from school and had disappeared until dinner. While Ursula ate, Andrea sat silently. Only when Ursula had almost finished did she break the silence.

  “Do you feel anything from Eric now?” she asked.

  “Not really,” replied Ursula but her mind was preoccupied with the vegetable pizza she was eating.

  “Stop eating, please, and concentrate.”

  Ursula did as she was told and tried to focus on Eric. At first there was nothing but gradually she began to feel something. It wasn’t positive, but neither was it negative.

  “He’s okay,” she paused and focused more. “He’s confused but okay.”

  “Good. Eat all your food, you will need it. After dinner, you are going to find Eric.”

  Ursula swallowed the piece of pizza she had just put in her mouth and tried not to choke.

  “Me? How am I going to find him? I don’t know where he is.”

  “Yes you do,” corrected Andrea and touching Ursula’s head said, “you must use this.”

  The cinema was not warm. Eric put his coat back on, but Dr. Johansen seemed to be quite content in just his T-shirt.

  “So, what are you going to tell me?” asked Eric irritably.

  “All in good time but first I need to prepare you.”

  “You’re not going to inject me again!”

  Dr. Johansen smiled. “No, no, no. I need to prepare you mentally.”

  “And you’re not going to hypnotize me either,” Eric replied quickly.

  “If you would just hold your tongue for a second it would give me the opportunity to explain.”

  Eric said nothing. He was not used to being told to be quiet by a stranger.

  “Thank you. I know that you are a clever boy, but I doubt you have learnt what I am about to tell you. As far as I know Psychology is not a subject which many schools teach, at least not at your age, Eric. Psychologists have a concept called ‘self.' This was first proposed by a Viennese psychologist called Heinz Kohut. Self is ‘who’ or ‘what you are.’ Your ‘self’ is shaped by your experiences and the people around you - your family, teachers and friends for instance.”

  Eric felt that Dr. Johansen was either very clever or was just pretending to be very clever.

  “As you grow older your sense of self will change; for example, from a baby to a child, a child to a teenager and so on. The best definition I have read was from a lady called Hazel Siromani who said, ‘self is a process of uncovering, discovering and rediscovering different layers to reach the core of your very being.’ Normally this happens over an entire lifetime, and the process of discovery is a gradual one. Are you with me so far?”

  Eric looked as if he was being patronized.

  “Yes. We are who we are because of the people around us and what we find out about ourselves by doing things. That’s hardly rocket science.”

  “I agree; rocket science is a completely different kettle of fish, and we may get onto that later.”

  Dr. Johansen paused and thought about what to say next. Even though, he had given this moment much thought it still worried him.

  “To cut a long story short Eric, you are not who you think you are, and you’re about to discover some layers that will change your view of yourself. Quite heavy stuff for a twelve-year-old. Are you sure you want me to continue?”

  Eric nodded; he was becoming bored with Dr. Johansen’s monologue.

  “In that case, let us begin with your name. Originally your name was not Eric, and you were sadly devoid of any surname. You were simply called ‘Adam.'”

  Eric felt himself beginning to smile at this absurd comment and raised his hand to cover his mouth.

  “Your birthday is also completely wrong because, odd though it may sound, you don’t actually have one.”

  Behind his hand, Eric tried to hold back a laugh but failed. Dr. Johansen could not help but notice and stared at Eric while biting his fingernails.

  “It is unfortunate that you find this amusing. I am not being frivolous with my comments. This is not a game. Do you think it was a game for the agency that killed the man and the woman who you called your parents?”

  “Who killed my parents?” asked Eric.

  The smile was wiped from his face. He wanted to lash out at this crazy man, but he held back and asked angrily, “What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “I’ll tell you,” Dr. Johansen leant forward and stared intently into Eric’s eyes. “The people who killed your parents are the same people who killed mine. And you are looking at one of the very few people on the planet who knows something about them.”

  Now that he had Eric’s full, undivided attention, he continued, “They are an American government organization called the OSS. An organization which, officially at least, has ceased to exist for over sixty years. I know this for many reasons. Probably of the most interest to you right now is that I believe I have been one of their main targets for more than ten years, even though I doubt they have ever seen my face.” He ran a finger subconsciously down his scar, almost caressing it. “But now, alas, I am no longer one of their most wanted. They are more interested in someone else, and that is why you are here. They are after you and I cannot allow them to reach you.”

  Hidden behind parked cars, on a road outside the Meyer villa, a shadow whispered, “This is Agent Gamma, suspects are leaving the villa. We are in pursuit.”

  Once Ursula had her seat belt on, Andrea sped off. The Range Rover kicked up pebbles on the driveway and left two deep tracks. It accelerated on to the tightly packed stree
ts and towards the centre of town. From underneath a broken street lamp two black motorbikes powerfully roared into life and followed. Andrea spotted them on a square called Náměstí Míru as she drove around a tall church. There was nowhere for the motorbikes to hide. The road was empty and as she slowed to let a tram rattle past they appeared in each of her wing mirrors.

  “Where are we going, Ursula?” There was no urgency in Andrea’s voice.

  In the back of the car, Ursula had her head down, and her mind was focused solely on Eric.

  “That way,” she said and without looking up, pointed to the right.

  Andrea looked in her mirror and followed the way Ursula was pointing. She continued to follow her directions until they reached Wenceslas Square.

  The long square was busy with people despite the late hour. Bright shop fronts lit up their faces as they swayed towards clubs and bars. They were moving quickly in the cold and were keen to be back inside as the light snow had turned to drizzle.

  Andrea drove round the square twice, but Ursula was confused. They decided to try on foot instead and parked in a side road.

  Underground nightclubs with loud music stretched out along the street where they parked. After getting out of the car, Ursula found it hard to concentrate. There were big groups of foreign men, swearing loudly and fighting amongst themselves. They waited outside club entrances until scary looking bouncers let them in. Ursula dropped her head, and Andrea put a protective arm around her as they walked back towards Wenceslas Square.

  A grand museum sat at the top of the square, and it was guarded by a statue of King Wenceslas on his horse. It was surrounded by people. Unlike the tourists, Ursula and Andrea walked away from the statue. Fifty metres behind them, the two Agents followed.