by David Khara
“Hold on. Let me help,” Janusz offered as soon as he entered the barn and saw the farmer struggling.
The two men grasped the metal ring and pulled at the same time. At last, the planks creaked, and the hatch opened to reveal a cellar.
Using a small ladder, Bohdan descended into the cave-like space. He reappeared a few moments later with a crate of carrots and potatoes. Janusz repositioned his gun and leaned over to take the crate. Bohdan went down again and came up with a second carton filled with more potatoes and carrots. This one also had a rare find: a piece of meat.
“That’s strange,” the farmer said. “I thought there were more vegetables.”
“This is more than enough,” Janusz said. “If everyone...”
He was brutally interrupted.
He felt the barrel of a gun against his back. His weapon was being yanked off his shoulder. The Bear cursed his lack of vigilance.
“Don’t turn around,” someone with a youthful voice ordered. “Put down the crate, and get on your knees. Hands on your head. And you, get out of there,” he commanded Bohdan. “On your knees, and hands on your head.”
Janusz and Bohdan complied.
Just as Janusz was steeling himself for the worst, he heard a commotion. It sounded like two wild animals locked in a ferocious battle. No longer feeling the weapon in his back, he dared to glance over his shoulder.
In the half-light of the barn, two men were rolling on the floor. One of them was wearing a German uniform. No, it was worse than that. As the man passed in and out of the circle of light cast by the lantern, Janusz was able to make out the SS insignia on the collar of his feldgrau. But his fears vanished when he recognized the man the German was locked in battle with. The SS officer was going down, and it would be painful.
Over the course of the two years he had spent fighting alongside Vassili, Janusz had learned that nobody could escape the Siberian. Nobody.
The fierce hand-to-hand combat was turning in the Siberian’s favor. So far he had lost only his hat, and he had succeeded in pinning down his opponent. His blade was at the SS officer’s neck. A split second later, however, the soldier managed to push the knife away.
Janusz spotted his machine gun on the floor, next to a Luger pistol. He retrieved his weapon and stood up.
Using superhuman strength, the German quickly overpowered Vassili and was now sitting on top of him. Even worse, the attacker was drawing the blade toward Vassili’s jugular, and the latter was showing unexpected and worrisome signs of weakness.
Janusz rushed toward the action and slammed the butt of his weapon against the German’s head. He face-planted on the floor.
The winded Siberian remained prostrate a few seconds before getting up. His square face, chapped by the wind and cold, showed his anger, frustration, and confusion. Wordlessly, he picked up his knife and put it back in his belt.
Bohdan was standing next to the enemy’s motionless body.
“It’s odd that he came alone,” he said. “These guys never do.”
“I know. Vassili?”
No answer.
“Vassili!” Janusz repeated.
The Siberian giant—the tallest member of Janusz’s group—looked at the Bear with weary eyes.
“Secure the perimeter,” Janusz ordered. “We’re not leaving until we’re sure there aren’t any more of these goons out there.
Vassili nodded and left the barn.
“I’ve never seen him so shaken up before,” Janusz muttered.
He watched as Bohdan turned over the unconscious German. The two men looked at each other in shock when they saw his face. His features were fine and youthful. His blond hair was so light, it was practically white. And it was too long for a branch of the army known for its strict regulations.
“I guess they’re recruiting from the cradle these days,” Bohdan jeered as he rummaged through the pockets of the dirt-and-dust-covered coat.
He took out a small notebook and military ID. He gave them to Janusz, who flipped through the contents.
“Horst Geller, lives in Hamburg, Schutzstaffel, assigned to Stutthof.”
That’s more than thirty miles away,” Bohdan said. “What’s he doing here?”
“Okay, we have a little problem,” Janusz said. “The photo doesn’t look anything like our Sleeping Beauty. His age doesn’t match either. Horst Geller was born in 1913.”
“This one here doesn’t look a day older than sixteen.”
Janusz readjusted his MP40 and slid the Luger into his belt. How had this kid managed to overpower Vassili? Why was he carrying another SS soldier’s documents? And he had spoken perfect Polish without the trace of an accent. That was entirely unexpected.
Janusz planned to get answers to his questions.
Continuing his body search, Bohdan pulled back the boy’s coat. He stopped when he spotted the forearm.
Janusz couldn’t believe what he saw: a tattoo branded on the boy’s skin.
One letter and six numbers that had sealed his fate.
Janusz was a gentile. He had never worn a tattoo. But like this boy, his fate had been sealed the day the German reign of terror reached into and snatched the land of his fathers.
Chapter 23
Manhattan, present day
Leaning against the trash collector, Eytan was trying to calm Jackie as she sat on the ground with the detached limb. She was holding it as though it were a venomous snake that would bite her at any second. Yes, the severed limb was gross, but she looked so cute. Eytan couldn’t help laughing.
“What the hell? I tore off his fucking arm!” she repeated over and over.
“Yeah, sort of,” he said as he lit a Cuban.
He tried to inhale but reconsidered when the pain pierced his side.
Bad idea, he said to himself, tossing the cigar on the ground.
“What do you mean, sort of?” Jackie asked. Now she was waving her trophy in the air.
He walked unsteadily toward the young woman, picked up his cargo bag, and carefully knelt next to her.
“Come on, Jackie, how can you possibly think that you’d be capable of ripping off a grown man’s arm? And look around you. There’s no blood.”
She scanned the scene and nodded. There wasn’t a drop of blood on the ground or her clothes.
“But no shocker there.” He started to push the sleeve off the arm. At the place where there should have been a shoulder joint, he found an electrode-studded suction cup. Sticking out of it were two thin silver tubes and several electrical wires. Eytan slid the sleeve all the way off the limb.
“It’s a prosthetic, Jacqueline.”
She closed her eyes and exhaled.
“And it’s a prosthetic like no other I’ve ever seen” he said, examining the limb from all angles. “All right, get up. We shouldn’t stick around. I’m going to put this thing in my bag. We can’t go traipsing into the subway with it out in the open.”
“Don’t worry. I asked Eli to leave me the car before I ditched him,” she said as she stood up. “How do you feel?”
“Like a china plate that’s been stomped on by an elephant. But I’m used to it. A couple of bandages will do the trick. Avi will fix me up real nice. By the way, one of these days you’ll have to explain why you suck at following instructions.”
“Apparently, I had what they call a frictional relationship with my father. At least that’s what the shrinks have told me,” Jackie responded with an innocent smile. “Besides, you should be thanking me.”
“And why is that, pray tell?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I came to your rescue, didn’t I?”
“Yes, and thanks to you, I had to jump off a building, I shattered my ribs, and we don’t even have any hostages to show for it.”
Jackie’s cheeks turned red. “I was only trying to help.”
The giant grumbled as he limped toward the main avenue. “That kind of help I can do without.”
~ ~ ~
The painfully sl
ow traffic made for an arduous drive north to Central Park. Eli, Avi, and Jeremy were stuck in their car. Nobody spoke. They were all waiting to hear a voice in their earpieces, which had been silent ever since they had left the High Line.
For his part, Eli was obsessing over the two wheelchair posers. He had made an egregious error in judgment, and he was furious with himself. Had he lost his observational skills? Meanwhile, sitting by himself in the back, Jeremy was biting his nails. Eli could guess what was on his mind: he had left his baby daughter in the hands of some guy who claimed the members of Metallica were musical geniuses, and his wife had jumped into the ring, determined to get herself killed.
The sound of static jolted Eli out of his despondent thoughts.
“How does this thing work? Ah, is it turned on? Boys, can you hear me?”
Three sighs greeted Jackie’s melodious voice.
“Loud and clear, Jacqueline,” Eli replied. “How’s it going? And how’s Eytan?”
“We’re both fine. Eytan’s just a little banged up. Avi, can you go buy something for mending injured ribs?”
“Gladly,” Avi said. “Is it for you or him?”
“For him.”
“How bad is it?”
“He says it’s not serious.”
“That means it is serious! I’ll take care of it.”
“Great. He suggests that we meet at this French restaurant at the corner of Madison and Eighty-Second Street. It’s close to the Met. Jeremy will know how to get there. Until then, turn off your receivers. Eytan says we should save battery. See you in a bit. Oh, and honey?”
“Yes?” Jeremy replied.
“I love you.”
“I love you too, but you’d better not put me through that again. Okay?”
“Of course I won’t! Mwah...”
Their conversation ended, and a flurry of commotion replaced the silence that preceded the call. Avi had Eli stop at the first minimarket they spotted. They loaded their shopping baskets with enough supplies to fill a small pharmacy. As per the doctor’s orders, Eli and Jeremy stocked up on sandwiches, bottled water, and soda. They paid for everything in cash before getting back in the car.
Ten minutes later, they parked with baffling ease. Avi was gloating, as Jeremy had warned him that finding a spot in this neighborhood would be impossible. The three men walked up to the small restaurant.
Its low-key exterior suggested a cozy dining room, and the blue, white, and red awning advertised the owner’s origins, or at least the restaurant’s brand of cuisine. Both assumptions were confirmed as soon as they walked in. Five tables covered with checked tablecloths were jammed together in the tiny space, while photographs of delectable French-inspired dishes adorned the walls. Avi was eyeing them longingly and bemoaning the snack he had downed just outside the minimarket.
“How do you possibley stay in shape?”Eli asked.
Avi responded by launching into a convoluted biochemical explanation peppered with obscure medical terms. Eli rolled his eyes and grinned at Jeremy.
“Bunch of morons,” Avi muttered under his breath. Jeremy greeted the chef-owner, a pot-bellied gentleman with thinning hair. In heavily accented English, the owner invited them to sit at any table. The group noisily pulled out their chairs and unceremoniously plopped down as their host watched with visible disapproval. He tossed some menus on the table and disappeared into the kitchen.
Jackie and Eytan showed up a few minutes later. Jackie had a bounce in her step, but Eytan was lumbering. Jeremy rushed to his wife, who assured him that she was okay. Then Jeremy turned to Eytan, whose sagging posture and pained expression made him look more like an old retiree than an elite Mossad agent. Jeremy reached out to help him but was brushed off.
“Why’d you have us come here?” Avi inquired once the Kidon assassin was settled across from him. “The owner is as friendly as a tapeworm.”
“Because I’ve been here many times, and I knew no other customers would be here during the day.”
“It’s pretty obvious why,” Eli sighed as he examined the menu.
“At night, though, this place is packed,” Eytan said. “The owner may not be the most charming guy in the world, but he’s an excellent chef. And he has a much more important quality, in my opinion: Monsieur Lionel Datoist loves money.”
The chef came back through the kitchen door. His sour face brightened when he spotted Eytan. They chatted a bit in French. Then, without warning, Datoist departed.
“All right, alone at last,” Eytan said.
“I didn’t catch all that,” Jeremy said.
“Whenever I go to a new city, I look for one or two places to meet with people, other than the usual Mossad spots. I like to hang loose—you know that. I make friends with the owners of the places I choose, and I can count on privacy when I need it. Okay, let’s get on with the debriefing, assuming no one objects.”
“I’d like nothing better,” Eli replied as he sent his menu gliding across the plastic tablecloth. “The past hour has raised more questions than answers. A thorough recap is in order, as well as a detailed report of what happened after Jacqueline’s departure.” He shot her a look dripping with disapproval.
“I’m sorry, Eli, but you would have never let me intervene. And of all of us, I was the only one who could help Eytan.” Eli’s face relaxed a bit.
“Water under the bridge,” Eytan said. “Let’s move on to more important things.”
“Before filling us in,” Avi interrupted, “shouldn’t I have a look at your injuries?”
“After the recap. I’ll be fine. So...”
“Okay, if you’re into pain, that’s cool with me,” the doctor said, pretending to read his menu.
“One more snide remark, and you’ll need bandages too. That’s your last warning, Avi. So,” the agent continued once all eyes were on him, “we know that a government organization is interested in me. They were even prepared to kidnap Jackie and Jeremy just to obtain information. We also know that the organization had ties with Titus Bramble from the CIA. He turned out to be our contact on the High Line. Bramble was a former Marine who crossed my path on several occasions in South America. At the time, I was chasing Nazi war criminals. Since some of them were working with the local juntas, the CIA provided me with backup. I don’t believe for one second that Titus willingly set me up.”
“He was followed. They used him to get to you,” Eli surmised.
“Exactly. Before he died, he mentioned a program and the fact that the people in charge of it will go to any lengths to protect its secret.”
“On that topic,” Eli interrupted, “he...”
Eytan cut him off. “Eli, I’d liked to finish my thought. At this point I’m certain that the men sent to get us were members of a Marine commando unit led by a Sergeant Terry, a talented high-precision sniper. He made it very clear that while they didn’t need me in one piece, they wanted me alive for the purposes of this mysterious program.”
“If I may...”
“Give me one more second. I’m almost done. I eliminated a man on the roof and neutralized two others before Terry took them out himself. The two guys chasing Jeremy were trying to corner me when Jackie showed up, and we fought the two puppets together. And then the big surprise... Eli, could you reach my duffle bag for me? I’d rather not bend over right now.”
Once he had the duffle in his lap, Eytan unzipped it and pulled out the artificial arm. He placed it on the table. Avi picked it up and examined it inch by inch.
“A highly advanced prosthetic,” he said, still looking it over.
“That thing’s crazy,” Jeremy said. “It looks like something from I, Robot.”
“It’s one sweet piece of technology, for sure,” Avi said.
The guy pushing the man in the wheelchair was carrying a long bag,” Eytan said. “Considering the way we were chased, I have every reason to believe that a pair of sophisticated prosthetic legs were in that bag. Eli, what is it that you wanted to say?”
> “It’s about time. Before Bramble died, he gave me two names. General Bennington and H-Plus Dynamics. I have no idea what he was referring to, but I suspect it was relevant information, given the circumstances.”
“What did you just say?” Avi asked
“That I suspect...”
“Not that part—the name of the company?”
“H-Plus Dynamics.”
“H-Plus...” Avi was quiet for a few seconds. “Okay, now it all makes sense.”
“Not to anyone else, it doesn’t,” Jackie said.
“Of course not. If you’re not a doctor or a techie who’s working in this specific area of medicine, you wouldn’t have heard about mechatronics. But prosthetics such as this one—and legs that can enable an amputee to run like a cheetah—aren’t the stuff of fantasy anymore.”
“What are you talking about?” Eytan asked.
“I’m talking about transhumanism, Eytan.”
Chapter 24
Avi was wrapping an ace bandage around Eytan to hold his injured ribs in place. The shirtless giant was sitting patiently in the middle of the restaurant, which the team still had exclusive use of. Jeremy and Jackie were focused on Eytan’s physique and scars. And off to the side, Eli was sneaking a Spanish cigarillo.
“Transhumanism,” Avi explained, “is, for lack of a better word, a philosophical movement that promotes human enhancement through the use of biotechnology and nanotechnology. Simply put, the idea is that the average man is now archaic, in terms of evolution. The most extreme advocates of these robotic limbs are in favor of chopping off perfectly healthy arms and legs and replacing them with better-performing high-tech prosthetics. More moderate transhumanists, as you can imagine, have ethical concerns. This is a hotly debated area of medical science, and much of the research is top-secret.”
