by Ahern, Jerry
Natalia stood up, put her arms around him and let him hold her…
“The Rourkes are vicious animals. I’m not talking about John Rourke, God bless that valiant man. Nor Sarah Rourke, the heroic wife and mother. No! I’m talking about Michael Rourke and Annie, bis sister, and Paul Rubenstein and the Communist woman. Major Natalia Tiemerovna of the KGB.”
The people of Eden sat in the hall where only a short while ago, the yellow man had married the black woman. The thought of this made Dodds skin crawl. But a substantial portion of the people of Eden were of ‘other’ races, so he said nothing, would say nothing, concerning his truest thoughts.
“All of you have seen me, seen the way the Russian woman tried to mutilate me the other night with that terrible knife of hers. And why? m tell you why. They beat me, killed heroic German nationals who were aiding me in combatting Wolfgang Manns Nazi plots. They threatened my life-all of that so I would not stand here before you today, to tell you the truth.
“Wolfgang Mann is a Nazi. John Rourke and Sarah Rourke were taken in as his dupes, thinking they were deposing a Nazi regime in New Germany when, in reality, they were only aiding Wolfgang Mann in his power struggle to control the Nazi Party of New Germany. Paul Rubenstein, as a Jew,
someone who should have been loyal to the United States because of the United States’ unflinching loyalty to the state of Israel in Palestine, is no more a loyal American, than I am a man from Mars. Before the Night of The War, he was a member of the American Communist Party, cleverly assuming the identity of an Anti-Communist in order to better infiltrate American intelligence to bring about the destruction of the United States, by means of a surprise, sneak attack against the United States from the Soviet Union.
“Rubenstein-his real name may never be known-played his role very, very well, feeding information on America’s defense secrets to the Soviet KGB through Major Tiemerovna. When Doctor John Rourke and Paul Rubenstein met on that airplane-we’ve all heard the story-Rubenstein was really on his way to Atlanta for one purpose only: Rubenstein intended to board a waiting private aircraft which would have flown him to safety in Communist Cuba where he could have sat out the misery and death in comfort, eventually returning the the United States after its conquest as head of the North American Division of the KGB.”
There were sounds from the audience, gasps, whispers, even some persons laughing.
Dodd continued, hands gripping the podium. “Both the so-called Rubenstein and Communist KGB Major Tiemerovna realized that they must maintain their charade, only hoping for the day their own ideology would be victorious. Major Tiemerovna and Paul Rubenstein at last realized that Communism had lost. The Communist Rubenstein had and still has some strange hold on the daughter of John and Sarah Rourke. Whatever that is, he swayed her into believing that fighting against the constituted authority of Mid-Wake was the right thing. Somehow, between them, Rubenstein and Tiemerovna hoodwinked Michael Rourke as well.
“How callous could they be?” Dodd asked rhetorically. “Major Tiemerovna was personally responsible for what amounts to the murder of Sarah Rourke, because Major Tiemerovna could no longer control her lust for John Rourke. To cover
this horrible act, with Rubenstein’s help, she set fire to the hospital and killed all the patients and staff, among the dead our own Lieutenant Martha Larrimore and her newborn baby. What kind of heart must a woman have to murder an infant that is less than a day old?”
There were more whispers from the audience, some heads nodding, others shaking in obvious incredulity.
“I have the cartridge case recovered from Major Natalia Tiemerovna’s gun, the gun she struts about the camp wearing, the gun she used to shoot Sarah Rourke after Sarah Rourke had just given birth to John Rourke’s child, a child she wanted to bear”
Commander Dodd held up a small plastic bag, a piece of .380 brass inside it (he had gotten it from Zimmer who carried a gun similar to Tiemerovna’s to use for the assault on the hospital). “Here is the proof! Anyone can examine it!” Still holding the bag with the brass case inside, he shouted, “But the Communist KGB Majors plans to kill Sarah Rourke and seduce John Rourke failed when one of her own explosive devices claimed John Rourke!”
More murmurs from the audience, heads shaken in disbelief.
Dodd played his ace. “I realize this is hard for you to believe. I could not believe it. But, in order prove this to you, in order to do my duty as a citizen of Eden, I hereby resign the race for the Presidency of Eden and throw my support to the heroic pilot and war veteran, Akiro Kurinami!”
Dead silence, then cheers.
Dodd raised his hands above bis head and everyone in the room stood up and applauded-for him.
Ten
Maggie Barrow looked very tired, but as always very pretty.
She wore civies, and as she sank down beside Jason Darkwood, on the couch in the waiting room, her pink print sundress rusded and she shrugged out of the white sweater that had been across her shoulders, just leaning her head on his shoulder. “It’s going to have to be the cryogenics, Jase. But the medical team is agreed that they doubt Doctor Rourke will survive the process of going under. I think they’re doing it just to do something, so they can tell themselves they just didn’t stand there and let him die.”
Jason Darkwood didn’t say anything, just put his arm around her. As medical officer of Darkwood’s ship, the Reagan, Maggie was unmatched, her skills ideal. But as a ship’s doctor only, she was hopelessly out of her league here. She’d told him that from the first. Just as he had been assigned to security, she had been assigned as liaison between the international medical team and the government of Mid-Wake, both jobs only for the sake of keeping the two of them nearby to people who had, over what was really a very brief time, become friends forever.
Maggie kicked out of her shoes and put her feet up on the corner of the coffee table, ankles crossed. “This is just-” “What?”
“All they went through, and the first chance they would have had to be together, to be happy, just to live a normal life, this shit happens. I mean, I mean-“
“Shh,” Darkwood whispered, touching his lips to her hair.
He knew exactly what she meant. Where was the sense of any of it? To go through all that they had gone through, then to die after the war ended because a group of terrorists firebombed a hospital, just so a tin-plated martinet could become the leader of a hundred or so people?
And perhaps control a nuclear arsenal, D.R.E.A.D?
“Why do I have the uncomfortable feeling that peace isn’t really at hand, Maggie?”
“I don’t think there can ever be peace,” she answered, shaking her head. “Not ever. Not ever, ever, ever.”
“When? The freeze, I mean?”
“Tonight. And then-Hell, I don’t know.”
“Marry me?” Darkwood asked.
And she looked up at him. “What?”
“You beard me. Marry me.”
“You. uhh-you-“
“Yeah. I mean it”
“You mean it.” she repeated.
“Damn right. I love you and I don’t want to waste any more time,” Jason Darkwood told her.
“All right, because I love you, too,” she said, “and that’s the only reason. You realize I gotta resign my active duty commission?”
“Yeah. But vou can stas’ in the reserves.” “When?”
“Maybe we can do it tonight, or-“
“Look, if rm marrying you,” she told him, looking up at him unwaveringly, “then we’re doing it right. Long white dress, the whole shot.”
“I don’t have a long white dress,” he laughed.
“Ohh. shut up. Whatchya got going on Saturday?”
Tm getting married,” Darkwood told her, turning her around, drawing her chin up, kissing her hard on the lips. It would be forever, he realized, and he was happy about that, the forever part.
Eleven
Michael Rourke wondered if his father could somehow have foreseen
such a crisis, or if it was merely another case of his father’s planning ahead?
Extensive notes, well organized, almost book length, existed regarding use of the existing cryogenic chambers and so did extensive chemical analysis of the serum, without which the cryogenic chambers were merely eternal tombs for the living, living who could never be awakened.
The notes, on both the cryogenic chambers and the serum, existed in original form at the Retreat. But duplicates had been given to both New Germany and Mid-Wake officials.
One cryogenic chamber each had been carefully transhipped to Mid-Wake and to New Germany for a period of thirty days, then returned to the Retreat and put back in storage. During those thirty days, with his father’s notes to guide them, scientists and engineers of both countries labored to duplicate the technology.
Michael Rourke, alone, sat in the office used by Colonel Mann, waiting.
At last, the telephone on the desk buzzed and Michael picked it up. Colonel Mann’s secretary, a pretty enough young woman named Irene, came on the line. “Herr Rourke, the can from Doctor Munchen has come through. One moment please.”
“Yes.”
Then he heard Munchen’s voice, the transmission clear, despite the fact that it originated half a world away beneath the
sea at Mid-Wake. -Michael?” “Yes, Doctor.”
“It has to be the cryogenic chambers. There is no other choice, for either of them.”
“I understand. Are you certain that the chambers and the serum are adequate for the task, Doctor?”
“As certain as we can be. The serum is the identical duplicate of that used five centuries ago. Logic dictates that had the serum broken down, your father would not have been able to utilize it again after he awakened to spend those years with you and your sister. So, we are as certain as can be under the circumstances of the formula’s integrity. As to the chambers, they are identical to the originals, except they are made of better materials and would endure longer than the originals. And, lastly, the American Marine, Captain Aldridge requested that he be allowed to volunteer to test the chambers and the serum-“
“You shouldn’t have-*
“He thinks as highly of your parents as do the rest of us, Michael. As of five minutes ago, all vital signs, all readouts, everything was perfect. We will awaken Captain Aldridge shortly before we inject your parents. That wdl be-” There was a pause. Munchen presumably looking at his wristwatch. “-in precisely three hours and twelve minutes.”
Michael Rourke licked his lips, looked at his own watch, a Rolex like his fathers, but the Sea-Dweller, not the Submariner model. “We will be en route at that time, Doctor. Once we are on the ground-“
“I will of course stand ready for your call as soon as it is safe for you to make it.”
“What are their chances? Honesdy.”
There was another pause, then Munchen’s voice came back again. “I will not lie to you and your family, Michael. I respect all of you too much for that. The chances are slim at the very best. We are relying on the body’s natural recuperative powers to revive your father from the coma into which he slips more deeply by the minute. There is precedent for this
hope.
“Paul Rubenstein’s eyes are the best example,” Munchen went on. “I have seen the glasses he had to wear before The Sleep, as you call it. He was near sighted to a considerable degree. Yet, since The Sleep, his vision is perfect. Your father carried numerous scars on his body from violent encounters, he once told me, yet John Rourke bore none of those scars after The Sleep.
That is the chance,” Munchen concluded.
“And my mother?”
“We put her into The Sleep-well-I have heard your family speak of God, a concept we at New Germany had all but dismissed. If there is a God, then placing your mother in The Sleep is something that we do with a prayer on our lips and in our hearts. I will try it as well, prayer. Her only hope of survival is that someday in the future, micro-surgery will be so advanced that the bullet can be removed from her brain and that somehow, with medical skill and patience, she can be restored. Such processes may never be discovered, most certainly will not be discovered within our lifetimes, Michael.
“Perhaps, in the future, your mother and your father will be able to share the life which they have been denied in this time,” Munchen said, a catch in his voice.
“You, uhh, mentioned-mentioned God. Well, God bless you for-” Michael’s voice broke, the tears starting, his throat too tight for him to speak.
“I know, Michael. Believe this: All of us, even the Russians, have done all that is in our power. Their lives will soon be out of our hands. And I hope you are right, that there is a God. Goodbye.”
The line went dead.
Michael Rourke still held the receiver, his head bent over Mann’s desk. His face and his eyes, felt as if they were about to explode.
He leaned his head back, closed his eyes, re-opened them, the tears too strong to keep them closed. He would never see his mother and father again.
And a cold feeling, starting as a hollowness deep in his guts, swept over him.
He was orphaned. What went right went right because of him, and what went wrong was his responsibility, too. And he raced what might be the most difficult task of his life, the attempted rescue of his newborn brother.
If he failed at this, he was not his father’s son, not his mother’s son.
Michael Rourke stood up, setting down the telephone receiver, his shoulders shaking, his hands shaking. He balled his fists, standing there at the desk, his body racked with sobs. His father and mother would not want him wasting another precious second weeping for them.
Michael hammered his fists against the desk and shouted to God, “All right!”
If men had a Fate, he marched toward his…
Paul Rubensein sat in a chair in the corner of the rooms he shared with his wife. And he wrote in his journal. “My father-in-law. who was my best friend before I married his daughter, and has been my best friend, and will always be, may soon die, if death hasn’t claimed him already. I think back a lot these days, because Annie and I are thinking about having children of our own. And what will I tell them about their grandparents?
“My father was an Air Force officer, a man finer and more honorable than I ever suspected while he lived, my mother, a wife and mother and friend, to him, to me. Annie’s parents, John and Sarah, were the two most remarkable persons I could ever imagine. How do I tell the children, Annie and I will some day have, about these people? It would be empty and meaningless to merely recount their accomplishments, but just as hollow to say that had my parents and Annie’s parents lived, they would have loved these Children.
“Of course they would have loved them, taught them, listened to them, cared for them.
“Does my wife have the same feelings now inside her as I felt when I realized my parents died along with millions and millions of other people that morning the sky caught fire and scoured the earth of life?
“Annie was closer to her parents, spent her entire life with them until these last weeks, since the War finally ended.
“I have never understood why Annie chose me. She is so beautiful, so intelligent, so brave. I’m just me, and thafs what I have always been. Yet she is a Rourke, and she loves me.
“It will be up to us, to Annie and me, to teach our children that being both a Rourke and a Rubenstein means something, that there was something very special about their grandparents, that each of them, in their own ways, was a hero. We will have to teach them what heroes are, and that there are many types of heroes and that any man or woman can be a hero just by trying.
“A few centuries from now, perhaps sooner, the earth will be rebuilt, repopulated. But we must make certain that our children know the stories of these times just past, and of the times before, and never forget either, so they can tell their children, and in turn their children can tell theirs.
“Otherwise, if what has happened is forgotten, it may
happen again.
“As I write these lines, we are prepared to fly to what was once Peru, there to meet with a large force from our allies and friends in New Germany, then to launch an assault against a mountain redoubt where we believe the newborn son of John and Sarah is being held. If our enterprise succeeds, it has been agreed that Annie and I will raise this baby as our OWE child until the day he is old enough to know his heritage.
“May God watch over us all.”
Paul Rubenstein laid down his journal and closed his eyes.
Twelve
Himself.
It was up to him.
Michael Rourke dressed, in the black battle dress utilities of Mid-Wake, as his rather had in recent times. He stepped into the pants.
To find his brother. That was the issue at hand and all other considerations had to be set aside. They would have to give the boy a name, and he had one in mind-John Thomas Rourke. the second. There could be no finer name, albeit a challenge to live up to.
He pulled on the long sleeved, black knit, placket front, shirt, pushing the sleeves up along his forearms. Maria, whom he had so cruelly treated, had come to see him before returning to New Germany, telling him, “I realize now that you were right, Michael. I will always love you, but I do not think that being married, living together forever, was ever our fate.” And she kissed his cheek, then left.
Michael Rourke pulled on his combat boots.
His father’s boot size and his own were the same, but not for a moment did he think he would be able to fill his father’s shoes in the classic figurative sense. All he could do was make the attempt, however vain or successful such effort might prove to be.
Michael Rourke made a last minute check of his personal weapons, the two Beretta 92F military pistols, the four-inch barreled Model 629, the knife made for him by old Jon, the Swordmaker. The knife’s edge was sharp. He holstered each
handgun in its turn, dropping the double rig made for him at Lydveldid Island across his shoulders. He secured his gunbek at his waist, the .44 Magnum Smith & Wesson carried crossdraw, the knife old Jon, the Swordmaker had crafted for him at his right side, the spare magazine pouches for the Berettas and the ammo carriers for the .44 filled on the belt.
