The Morgenstern Project

by David Khara

  “Food and a prisoner—twice the work for me,” Karol complained as he stepped out from behind a large tree, rifle in hand.

  “A meal and an opportunity to interrogate,” Janusz sighed as he placed the crates of food on the thick coat of snow. Karol, the team’s cook, began inspecting each food item.

  “Let’s eat,” Janusz said. “We’ll deal with our special guest later.”

  The campsite was in a rolling, difficult-to-traverse, and especially dense section of the forest. The bivouac was composed of four small wooden huts built against a hill. A fire, or rather a heap of skillfully maintained embers, and a table fashioned from a few tree limbs were the only semblances of comfort.

  Vassili dumped the unconscious boy next to a tree. He hoisted him into a sitting position and grabbed some rope to tie him to the trunk. Vassili tested his knots. Three other men joined him.

  “Who’s that?” Marek, a young pyrotechnist from Lviv, asked as he emerged from one of the wooden huts, where he had been sleeping.

  Pawel, a man in his fifties with a long nose, thinning hair, and an underbite, walked over to Vassili. “Where’d you find him?”

  “Who cares!” responded Piotr, Vassili’s Polish doppelgänger. “After he talks, we’ll slit his throat. We’ll be done with him.”

  “He sneaked up on us in the Jablonski barn,” Janusz explained, studying the boy. The body was just too massive for a youth his age.

  “He’s in that SS uniform. But he doesn’t look old enough to be an officer. He’s a kid. We’ll find out more after we fill our bellies. And until then, no one touches or speaks to him. Got that, Piotr?”

  “Why are you singling me out?” the boxer protested.

  “Because I want him to answer our questions. The last one we caught could barely spit out three words after you were done with him. I’m not letting that happen again. Once we’re finished, he’s all yours.” Janusz walked away to join Karol, who was working on the fire.

  Piotr scowled. He slammed his right fist into the palm of his left hand. Pawel gave Marek a playful jab, and Marek cracked a grin.

  Fifteen minutes later, the six teammates were gathered around a large pot filled with something other than tasteless goo. A few of them made suggestive jokes about Karol’s culinary talents. It was a shame, they said, that there were no women for Karol to seduce with his cooking at their woodsy campsite, populated exclusively by hairy men.

  Karol adjusted his wire-rim glasses. The former University of Krakow professor was in his thirties and was as blind as a bat. For that reason, the Polish army wouldn’t have him. Further, Karol had never handled a weapon before joining his brothers in the resistance. And yet Janusz considered him a prized member of the team. He was an extraordinary cook and could turn a box of root vegetables into a culinary treat. He could also quote from the world’s greatest authors and keep the men entertained. These two qualities helped Janusz’s men maintain a crumb of civilization. In addition, Karol spoke German so well, he could lead solo missions in the enemy’s uniform. He wasn’t a soldier’s soldier. Nevertheless, Karol was a valiant man.

  Sitting off to the side, Vassili was eating in silence and watching the tied-up kid for signs of life. The boy shook his head and opened his eyes, which immediately darted to the ropes. He rolled his shoulders a few times to test the ropes’ strength. Vassili thrust his chin at Janusz. The group leader placed his mess tin on the ground, stood up, and waved to Karol to follow him. The others kept eating.

  Janusz and Karol spoke a few hushed words and planted themselves in front of the prisoner, who was glaring at them. The college professor squatted next to the boy.

  “Name and ID number,” he said in German.

  No response.

  Janusz took a step closer and delivered a hard slap. The kid took it without batting an eye. He even cracked a nasty smile.

  “If you don’t talk, you’ll suffer,” Karol said, trying to hide his discomfort.

  The response came at last. In Polish.

  “My name is Eytan Morgenstern. Hit me as many times as you want. I’m not afraid of pain.”

  Chapter 27

  New York, present day

  Eli and Avi prepared to leave Manhattan for Illinois in the late afternoon. Eytan was still waiting to hear from Jenkins and Simon Attali. He needed to know more about the main players and find out where he would be headed. The good-byes outside the restaurant proved to be difficult. The members of the group—some of whom had been perfect strangers a day earlier—had grown close to each other.

  Eli gave Jackie a hug. “That big-hearted brute will take good care of you and Jeremy,” he whispered in her ear. “Swear to me you’ll behave yourself. Don’t do anything crazy. You’ve been loyal friends to Eytan, and he intends to send you home safe and sound when this is all over.”

  Eytan shook hands with the doctor and the man who had been both a son and a father to him, a man who was willing to throw everything into this match. They parted ways without saying a word. Eli, however, put his little finger in front of his lips and his thumb to his ear to mime a phone call. Eytan acknowledged the message with a nod.

  Jeremy’s face was drawn.

  “I’m sure those two will have a squabble or two, but Avi and Eli have nothing to worry about,” the giant said as he checked his silent cell phone yet again. “My pal Jenkins seems to be dawdling.”

  “Do you think he might have double-crossed you?” Jackie asked.

  “I doubt that. It’s a long story, but he’s as afraid of his old pals as he is of me. And those guys don’t show any mercy. I think he’ll be extra careful not to cause any more problems for himself than he already has.”

  Jeremy rubbed his hands together. “Hey, since we have some time to kill, can I ask you about something that’s been bothering me for almost two years now?”

  “I promised you answers.”

  “Why did you let us think you were killed in the explosion at the BCI facility in Brussels?”

  Eytan looked at the thick black clouds hovering over the skyscrapers. The wind seemed to be picking up, and the air had the smell of an approaching rainstorm.

  “Crossing paths with me is never a good thing, Jeremy. It’s a twist of fate that both baffles and saddens me. My friends and foes often share the same end.”

  “So you really thought you needed to keep us in the dark?”

  “Jeremy,” Eytan sighed, “are the worlds of a Mossad assassin and a nice New Jersey couple really compatible? Can you actually see me setting my Glock down on the table at Thanksgiving between the turkey and mashed potatoes? After reading all those books of yours, you’ve created a delusional picture of me. I’ve spent my life systematically assassinating war criminals. No matter the price. Don’t kid yourself: if you and Jackie had been on the wrong side, I wouldn’t have hesitated to take both of you out. Because of me, people have lost their husbands, wives, and children. I’m a killer, Jeremy. Not a hero.”

  Eytan shrugged and held out his arms, palms up. His two friends remained wordless for a moment before Jackie broke the wall of silence that separated them.

  “The way you talk about yourself makes you sound like a garden-variety assassin, if there is such a thing. But if you really were the man you describe, why did you send us that Christmas message?”

  “Because the man that I am sometimes dreams of being the man I wish I were.”

  Eytan’s cell phone rang, and he was quick to answer. He cleared his throat and went back into the restaurant. Jackie and Jeremy followed.

  “Eli Karman and Avi Lafner have left to examine the arm. I’m with Jacqueline and Jeremy Corbin. I’m putting you on speaker phone so I don’t have to repeat everything.”

  Eytan pressed a button. Simon Attali’s authoritative voice filled the room.

  “I have some information on Sergeant Terry and General Bennington. We’ve traced Timothy Terry to a Marines Corps reconnaissance unit where he served as an elite shooter, as you’ve pointed out. The man had a
remarkable career with more than commendable accomplishments. According to his file, he might have been the best shooter in the ranks.”

  “After what I saw, I can’t say I disagree with that. But why are you talking about him in the past tense?”

  “Tim Terry was killed in Iraq in 2003, along with three other members of his team. The bodies of his comrades were identified, but a few parts were all that remained of Terry. For some reason, though, those body parts were never submitted for DNA identification.”

  “And they would have needed a DNA sample to confirm his identity,” Eytan concluded with a disappointed smile. “No body, no confirmation, aside from the one given by the Marines. Quite convenient when you’re forming a zombie commando unit.”

  “What do mean by ‘zombie commando unit’?” Jeremy asked.

  “Mr. Corbin,” Attali responded, “a zombie commando unit is a group of fighters who work in the shadows, cut off from their families and previous lives. On paper, they don’t exist. It’s believed that the Americans have been using them for special operations since the nineteen seventies: assassinations of political leaders and drug traffickers, coups d’états, and all sorts of other nasty tricks.”

  “If they’re so secret, how did you have access to Terry’s file?” Jeremy pressed.

  “We work for Mossad, Mr. Corbin. We keep one eye on our enemies and the other on our allies. We’re not nitwits.”

  “In 2010, a bunch of your agents managed to get themselves caught on surveillance cameras at a Dubai hotel where they had just executed a man,” the bookseller let slip.

  Eytan could see that Jeremy was already regretting the remark. Jeremy looked to his friend for help. Eytan just sighed. No one was perfect, even military assassins, special agents, and plain ordinary spies. Embarrassing errors were part of the job.

  Attali cleared his throat before continuing.“Unfortunately, mistakes happen.”

  “Please excuse us,” Eytan rushed in. “We’ve veered off-course.” He gestured to Jeremy to zip his lip. “Could you expand your search to see if any other precision Marines fell off the radar around 2003?”

  “I’m one step ahead, Morg. I’ve come up with ten Marines who stand out. They were listed as killed in action between 2003 and 2005, but there’s reason to believe they’re among the living. Each excelled in a specific field: shooting, close-range combat, long-distance running, sprinting. These were all high-performance athletes. And they were at the end of their enlistments when they were allegedly killed.”

  “The military has always been interested in athletes,” Eytan said. “Avi Lafner saw the prosthetic arm that we acquired as a sign of the rise of the enhanced man. Do you think the US military could be creating a force composed of elite soldiers who’ve been disabled and then equipped with advanced technology?”

  “It seems like a stretch at this point. But you’re the ones who were attacked. So you are in the best position to venture a guess.”

  In his head, Eytan quickly reviewed the High Line confrontation.

  “Tim Terry, if that’s definitely the guy you’re talking about, killed the two men I managed to corner up there. He called them disposables.”

  Jackie chimed in. “If I understand what you’re telling us, soldiers who were believed to be dead were actually still alive but wounded. They were whisked away and jacked up with top-of-the-line prosthetics. Uncle Sam recycled these guys. But the second version was actually superior to the first.” She stopped before delivering the KO punch. “That’s the program that Bramble was talking about.”

  “It’s only a hypothesis,” Attali insisted. “Highly likely, but still a hypothesis. Eytan, were the men that Terry eliminated enhanced?”

  “I didn’t have time to check, and to be honest, I had no reason to check. Nothing seemed abnormal, at any rate. However, the two men we encountered on the High Line, were abnormal. The first one had an artificial arm, and the second was a double amputee who miraculously got his legs back and smashed a wall with a single kick.”

  “So our theory could very well be correct. But we still have to figure out why they are so interested in you, Morg. You’re in perfect condition with two very healthy legs and a set of just-as-healthy arms. No need for repairs, as far as I know.”

  “I can confirm that, although they’ve taken a scrape or two over the years.”

  “Now for General Paul Bennington. He’s had quite a career. He saw his first action in the US invasion of Panama. He served in Operation Desert Storm and was on the ground in Somalia. He rose through the ranks, finally becoming a general. Although he’s seen his share of combat, he’s better known for his political savvy. Just after 9/11, he was recruited to serve on a committee created by the George W. Bush administration. It was called Advanced Technology and Military Enforcement. In conjunction with that, he was named head of an operational command. What that command was doing appears to be top-secret. But it seems that our general made quite a few trips to Afghanistan and Iraq after he took over.”

  “So maybe he was enlisting men for his special unit?” Eytan conjectured. “Bennington is definitely a Marine, right?”

  “I knew you’d be able to keep up.”

  “Sometimes I amaze even myself. So we’ve found our program leader. Where is he based?”

  “Give me another couple of hours, and I’ll let you know.”

  “I can’t wait.”

  “Do what you think is best. And collect as much evidence as possible. I may need it to put pressure on our American friends.”

  “I’m sure we’ll find something for you to feast on.”

  “I have faith in you. Now a final concern. I couldn’t find anything on H-Plus Dynamics. Not a sliver of information, which isn’t surprising.”

  Another call interrupted their conversation. It was Jenkins.

  “Attali, I have to hang up. I should have more info very soon. Let me know as soon as you find out where Bennington is.”

  Without saying good-bye, Eytan switched over to Jenkins. “I thought you didn’t like me anymore, buddy.”

  “It’s ten thirty at night here, and it wasn’t that easy to find this place,” Jenkins said.

  Jeremy and Jackie grinned. The man with the stuffy English accent was frightened and defensive. Eytan was keeping him on his toes.

  “I don’t give a shit about your little problems with time and geography. Spit it out.”

  “The company is located in Baltimore.”

  Eytan grabbed a pen and pad of paper with the restaurant’s logo and wrote down the full address.

  “I think we make a nice team, you and I,” the agent said. “One last thing. Still no word from Cypher at your end?”

  “No,” the informant replied. Eytan ended the call.

  “Cypher?” Jackie asked.

  “It’s the alias that the head of the Consortium goes by. I know next to nothing about the guy, but we don’t need to worry about him right now. We’ve got more pressing things to worry about. Time to roll.”

  Less than two minutes later, the trio left the restaurant and slid into their rented Audi for the four-hour trip south. Simon Attali wanted evidence, and the Kidon agent had no doubt that he’d be getting more than he needed.

  Chapter 28

  Poland, January 1943

  What began as an interrogation became an awkward conversation. The young prisoner met each question with a curt response. After ten minutes of this, his origins were clear. He was Polish, Jewish in fact, and he and his family had been deported to the Warsaw Ghetto. The boy had then been sent to Stutthof. He refused to discuss his imprisonment or his escape. But the kid did speak freely about his weeks on the run, when he pillaged homes for food and clothing, slept in barns, and trudged through the snow-covered countryside all by himself. He explained that he had acquired the military getup by taking a dead guard’s coat before fleeing Stutthof.

  His tale, which obviously had a few holes, was less impressive to Janusz than the calm way he told it. Bound to a tr
ee and at the mercy of a group of fierce killers, even the toughest man would have been wetting his pants. But the kid showed no sign of fear or worry. He hesitated only when Karol asked him how old he was.

  “Sixteen,” he replied after a few seconds. The professor gave his leader a nod, indicating that he wanted to speak with him in private.

  “His story seems believable to me,” Karol said.

  “He’s not telling us everything, but there’s no arguing with that tattoo. And despite his physique, I don’t believe he’s sixteen. He’s younger.”

  “We’ll have to find people to hide him. If he’s escaped from a labor camp...”

  “They aren’t labor camps!”

  Karol didn’t respond.

  “All right,” Janusz told Karol. “We’ll protect him. But I was wondering...”

  “What?”

  “What I’m about to tell you cannot be repeated to the others,” he warned.

  “My lips are sealed.”

  “I saw that kid go head-to-head with Vassili. If I hadn’t stepped in, he’d have beaten him to a pulp.”

  Karol looked stunned. “You’re joking,” he said. “Even Piotr is no match for Vassili.”

  “Exactly. There’s something special about this boy. I want to keep him close.”

  “Wait, are you seriously considering recruiting him?” the professor whispered.

  “Let’s test him. What do we have to lose?”

  “Janusz, he’s just a child. He doesn’t have any particular skills.”

  “He’s a child who escaped the SS and survived on his own for several weeks. You don’t think that proves he has skills? I think it does.”

  “Suppose he’s not telling the truth.”

  “Why would he lie? And anyway, if we don’t think he’s good enough, we’ll find a family that can hide him. We’ve got nothing to lose, I’m telling you.”