The Morgenstern Project

by David Khara

  “They can’t possibly sell all of the prosthetics to the military,” Jackie said. “Sure, the wars in the Middle East cost plenty of young men and women their arms and legs. But the US is scaling down now, and I think most Americans don’t have the stomach for another war.”

  “Not at the present time,” Eytan said. “And don’t forget, you’re approaching this from a purely American viewpoint.”

  “Do you think this company is counting on another major war?”

  “Why not? They’ve done it before, Jackie. The Consortium contributed to Hitler’s rise in power. For them, World War II was just a way to further their own agenda.”

  “So you think they’re prepared to start things up again?”

  “That’s what it looks like to me.”

  “I’m not so sure about that,” Jeremy said. “Your premise has some validity. But in this document, they say that just five percent of their sales will be to the military. The civilian market will account for the other ninety-five percent.”

  “They plan to sell close to two million prosthetic limbs to civilians per year? Are there that many amputations in this country?” Jackie exclaimed.

  “Maybe. All I know is that they’re gambling big on it,” Jeremy said. “Avi will be able to shed more light on this. As a doctor, he should have access to the kind of information we need.”

  “Well, Jeremy, I’m very impressed,” Eytan said. “Good work. The Consortium is pulling a fast one here. That we know. We’ll just have to wait and find out what it is. I’ll call Avi.”

  Before he could pull out his cell phone, Jackie stepped closer and put her hands on her hips.

  “I know I’m just a little girl in a world of macho men, but you could at least hear what I have to say before calling him.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to ignore you,” the giant apologized.

  “I’m just messing with you. Check this out,” she said as she placed a stack of thirty-some loose papers on the roof of the car. “I’m curious to hear what you think.”

  Intrigued, Eytan flipped through the papers one by one. Each page had the same format. There was a photo of a man in uniform. Under each photo was a résumé of his military position, a description of his skills, and—less customary—his medical statistics, including blood type and heart rate, both resting and at maximum exertion. The bios were stamped with either a “pass” or a “fail.” Eytan slid three of the profiles out of the stack. The first two looked like the men they had confronted in New York. The third one was Sergeant Tim Terry, the sniper who had shot down Titus Bramble.

  “Here’s our special unit. Attali wanted evidence. This is it. Irrefutable evidence.”

  “Yeah, it’ll be hard to top that,” Jackie said. “Unless a little detail bites us in the butt.”

  She pointed to the top corner of one of the profiles. “There, see that?”

  Jeremy and Eytan peered at the corner. “It looks like this information has been sent by fax, but the tiny characters are impossible to make out,” Jeremy said, looking at Eytan. “Don’t you have superior vision, too?”

  “That’s another one of my powers,” Eytan muttered. He looked closely at the documents and placed them back on the pile, letting out a bitter laugh.

  “What’s going on?” Jeremy asked.

  “He read the date the files were sent,” Jackie said. “Just as I did.”

  “So?”

  “H-Plus Dynamics received the files on these soldiers a few years before they disappeared in battle,” the Kidon agent explained. “These soldiers were deliberately chosen and approved by a company that’s developing prosthetics for the military, and as chance would have it, they all magically vanished on the battlefield. Isn’t fate funny?”

  “You don’t seriously think...”

  “I certainly do, Jeremy. I can’t imagine a Marine ever volunteering for an amputation. Someone was in charge of making sure they’d lose their limbs.”

  Jackie shivered and zipped up her jacket. “That’s disgusting,” she said. “One day, you’ll have to tell me how you keep your faith in the human soul.”

  “It’s a daily struggle.”

  Chapter 38

  Poland, spring of 1943

  Armed with their rifles, the three men hiked along the edge of the forest.

  They had left the camp more than an hour and a half earlier, and they had almost reached the Jablonski farm. The Bear appeared more relaxed than usual, his hangover finally gone. Even the Siberian had shed his typical gruff demeanor. Eytan was reveling in the warmth of the springtime sun and picturing a future for himself. For the first time, he could envision an end of the war.

  “Do you know these farmers well?” Eytan asked Janusz.

  “Cecylia and Bohdan? Yes, I know them very well. I grew up around here. When we were kids, their son, Josef, and I were as close as brothers. We lost touch when he enlisted in the army, and I left to go work in Warsaw. When I came back after joining the Armia Krajowa, the Jablonskis didn’t think twice about helping us.”

  “What happened to their son?”

  “They haven’t heard from him,” Janusz said. “They’re still hoping he’ll come back.”

  Eytan nodded sympathetically. Vassili’s voice startled him out of his thoughts. Until now, the Siberian had been silent, as usual.

  “He’s not coming back,” Vassili said. “No one’s coming back.”

  “Yes, I know Josef’s not coming back,” Janusz said. “But Bohdan needs to believe that he is.”

  The Bear pressed on, leaving Eytan and Vassili trailing behind. The boy couldn’t remember ever having heard Vassili speak, and he had chosen to respect his silence. Even their knife-handling and stealth-assassination training sessions were done wordlessly.

  “How come you never say anything?” Eytan asked.

  “I don’t talk if I have nothing to say. Besides, no one at the camp ever asks me any questions.”

  “How did you learn Polish? And what do you mean ‘no one’s coming back’?”

  “No Polish officer is coming back,” Vassili clarified as he stepped over the trunk of an uprooted tree. “As for the language, I’ve lived in this country for four years. I learned by interacting with people, first with help from Red Army interpreters. Later, Karol taught me.”

  Eytan would never have guessed that his instructor could be so chatty. Now he seemed like a natural conversationalist. The boy decided to push further.

  “And how did you end up here four years ago?”

  “I came to Poland with my unit in September of 1939, two weeks after the German invasion. Stalin and Hitler divided your country in two. The fascists controlled the land west of the Vistula, and we—the communists—took the eastern half.

  “I had no idea. My parents never told me any of this.”

  “It’s not the kind of thing you tell a child,” Janusz said. Eytan and Vassili had caught up with him.

  “This alliance seems a little contradictory to me,” Eytan said. “Why did you leave the Red Army?”

  Janusz sighed and turned to Vassili. “Tell him about Kharkiv,” he said.

  “In 1940, I was sent to Kharkiv in Ukraine, where many Polish soldiers had been deported. When we got there, agents for the Soviet secret police, the NKVD, handed us gloves and butcher’s aprons. They were a dark stiff leather that smelled like decayed carcass. In groups of three, we went down to the underground cells where your fellow countrymen were rotting away. I can still remember the gurgling of the water seeping into the cells, the clanking locks, and the squeaky hinges. My two partners would enter a cell, grab a Polish prisoner, and tie his hands behind his back. Then we would take the prisoner to a remote part of the cellar. Every man behaved the same. They all walked with their heads held high and with a proud look in their eyes. They were ready to brave what was in store for them. These men were not afraid of torture. They were true fighters. We weren’t. When the guy entered the room, he knew as soon as he saw the blood on the floor and the sacks of
sand against the walls. Some fought. Others closed their eyes and prayed. My job was to hold the man down while an NKVD agent shot a bullet in the back of his head. Between all of us, we killed three hundred that first night. And I know that several thousand more of your people were treated the same way.”

  Eytan froze.“Are you serious?” he asked.

  Vassili stared at Eytan. “Always,” he replied. He continued walking, his student on his heels.

  “But why? What for?”

  “Poland had a conscription system that required all university graduates to serve in the army,” Janusz said. “The men the secret police executed were scholars, physicians, lawyers, professors, politicians. Hell, there was even a prince. If you want to enslave a country, you start by eliminating the elite.”

  “But how did Vassili end up here with us?”

  “Because, as Karol would say, bumps in the road are not as important as where the road leads us.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Listen to the rest of his story. You’ll understand.”

  “After four days of nonstop executions, I was ordered to interrogate a young elementary school teacher who was accused of working with a resistance network” Vassili said. “The political commissar asked her the same questions over and over, and each time she gave the same response: ‘I didn’t do anything.’ At one point, he got up and grabbed her by the hair so forcefully, he pulled out a huge clump. He started hitting her with a stick—first on her body and then on her face—until she fell out of her chair. She cried and moaned as he kicked her. He told me to do the same.”

  “Don’t tell me you listened to him.”

  “Oh, I listened! I did exactly what he told me to do. But not in the way he expected. I took that bastard by his hair and dragged him away from the teacher. Then I turned him toward me so I could look him in the eye while I broke his neck. I picked up the girl, and we fled the prison together. That’s how I became a deserter.”

  “And how did you meet Janusz?”

  “The teacher really did work for a network of resistance fighters. After putting me in isolation for a short period to make sure I wasn’t a spy, the fighters introduced me to Janusz and the others. And you know the rest of the story. I’m indebted to this country, and a Siberian always pays his debts.”

  “We live in a complicated world, Eytan,” Janusz said. “Alliances can change overnight. Today’s allies could be your enemies tomorrow. Between black and white, there are infinite shades of gray. You have to remember that if you want to survive.”

  Eytan marched on, revolted by Vassili’s story and confused by his confession. Until now, his sense of morality had been simpler; there was good and there was evil. But the more time he spent in the resistance and the more he learned about the world and human nature, the more the line became blurred. His way of thinking no longer matched up with reality.

  After another half hour of hiking, they spotted the Jablonskis’ little house on the other side of the green. Vassili went to examine the dirt road leading to the farm. Following Janusz’s orders, Eytan climbed a tree to survey the surroundings, a task usually assigned to Pawel. From his high position, he had a clear view of the area. The property was a strip of land a few hundred feet wide between two woods. Chickens pecked the ground in a pen attached to the house. Sixty-some feet away was the barn where Eytan had hidden months earlier. A handcart stood beside the double doors. Other than the clucking of the hens and the crowing of a rooster, the property was silent.

  Vassili came back a couple of minutes later, visibly concerned.

  “No tracks in the dirt,” he announced.

  “So what’s the problem?” the Bear asked.

  “The ground is too tidy. I think someone swept it to erase the tire tracks.”

  “Ah...”

  “I don’t see anything from up here, no movement anywhere,” Eytan whispered.

  Startled by the proximity of the voice, the two men looked up to see the bald youth dangling upside down, his legs hooked over a limb of the tree. The boy laughed at the surprise on his partners’ faces. Using only his abdominal muscles, he lifted himself into an upright position.

  “You think soldiers came by and tried to cover up their visit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are they still here?”

  “Why else would they hide their tracks?”

  “I agree. Fuck!” Janusz spit out. “This isn’t good. The smart thing to do would be to get out of here, but we have to see if Cecylia and Bohdan are safe. I’m going in. Cover my back if things turn sour.”

  “In broad daylight? That’s crazy!” Eytan said, lowering himself again. “I’m the stealth operations expert. Plus I run faster than you. Either we wait until nightfall, or you let me go instead of you.”

  “Definitely not! There’s no way I’m sending you on a doomed assignment.”

  “The kid’s right,” Vassili insisted. “If we need to get out quickly, it’ll be easier to do when it’s dark. And if somebody gets caught, it should be Eytan, not you. You’re too important. You know too much about the resistance.”

  “Do you really think I’ll talk if they torture me?” Janusz said, offended.

  “Yes. You’ll try like hell to keep your mouth shut, but I’ve seen tough men crack under pressure,” Vassili said. “Eytan won’t have anything to tell them. And I’m Russian. They’ll kill me on the spot. No questions asked.”

  ~ ~ ~

  On the other side of the farm, concealed by the woods, Karl-Heinz Dietz and his dozen men were observing the Jablonskis’ modest home and its surroundings through binoculars. They were in green camouflage and waterproof ponchos. They were also wearing black, gray, and green makeup to keep their white faces from standing out. For two days straight, the pack had been roughing it in the woods and keeping constant watch. His men shared his passion for hunting and never complained about staying quiet. It was an inherent requirement for the assignment. Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for Captain Reinke.

  Karl-Heinz wanted five soldiers positioned in the barn. Reinke had agreed on the condition that he be able to camp out with the SS unit. For the past forty-eight hours, he had witnessed the daily routine of a rather unusual troop. Despite his obvious good intentions, he couldn’t hide his impatience, which was driving Karl-Heinz up the wall. When the first signs of movement appeared, the Jäger was relieved to finally have the captain off his back.

  “Look,” he said to Reinke as he handed him the binoculars. “On the other side of the farm, at the edge of the woods.”

  The captain looked through the binoculars. “I don’t see anything,” he said. Karl-Heinz’s men rolled their eyes. “Oh yeah, I can see those tall leaves moving.”

  “Someone’s hiding in that tree,” Karl-Heinz informed him. “The idiot can’t stay still and keeps shaking the branches. Your resistance is here, and they’re trying to decide what to do.”

  “You mean they know we’re waiting for them?”

  “I didn’t do anything to hide it.”

  “So then... My men are in danger! We have to act.”

  “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

  Before the captain had time to question or answer, Karl-Heinz had the chilly blade of his dagger against his throat.

  “To catch big game, you need good bait,” Karl-Heinz calmly explained. “Do you understand?”

  Chapter 39

  Fort Wayne, present day

  Fortunately, the motel’s decrepit façade wasn’t a good representation of the rooms inside, each of which had a nice sitting area, a comfortable double bed, and an impeccable bathroom.

  Enjoying a hot shower, which relaxed his muscles and cleared his head, Eytan smiled as he recalled his friends’ latest display of humor.

  Jackie and Jeremy had told the clerk behind the desk that they were working for a major movie studio and were scouting locations for a remake of Dune. The clerk had excitedly told them about the beach at Fox Island Park. A perfect pla
ce for filming, he said.

  Still grinning, Eytan left the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He did a deep side stretch to test his ribs and put on a pair of black boxer shorts and his trusty cargo pants. He plopped down in front of the television and started watching CNN.

  The news anchors were providing unemotional commentary interspersed with superficial analysis. At the moment, they were focused on Greece and its austerity measures. Eytan was taking note.

  Here was a nation impoverished and humiliated by poor policy on the part of the European Union. The country had undergone a steady economic decline after years of negligent leadership. Now it was a breeding ground for fanatic nationalists.

  As if to echo the death camp survivor’s alarm, the CNN commentators were assessing the steeply rising power of the far-right party, Golden Dawn. Party members had been accused of patrolling the streets of Greece in black shirts, attacking immigrants, and racketeering. They denied being neo-Nazis, but the symbol on their flag resembled the swastika. And their salute was like the fascist salute. Eytan, who had been feeling good just minutes earlier, was now despondent.

  “A world with no memory.” He switched off the TV.

  An incoming text rescued him from his defeatist musings.

  “Here. Meet us outside.”

  Eytan threw on his T-shirt and jacket, left his room, and started walking toward the parking lot. Avi and Eli were waiting by their Ford.

  The doctor waved when he spotted Eytan, but the giant didn’t acknowledge him. Instead, he pounded on the door of the adjacent room. “They’re here,” he yelled before heading toward Eli and the doctor.

  A few seconds later, Jackie and Jeremy joined them for their minireunion.

  Eli opened the door of the car and took out Frank’s gift and the serum. He also pulled out a tablet computer containing information on the software found in the prosthetic’s microprocessor.

  ~ ~ ~