by Guy Rosmarin
Karl slammed his foot on the brakes. The car came to a dead stop on the empty road, forcefully jerking Andy’s upper body forward and back. “What did you tell them?”
“For Christ sake, Karl, what could I possibly tell them?” Andy’s eyes glazed with angst. “I know nothing about you….”
“And it will be in your best interests if you keep it that way.” Karl hit the gas pedal, and Andy rolled down his window and turned his eyes back to the scenery. The tension lingered in silence as they approached the Caribbean Coast.
The two black jeeps that Zachary had promised waited for them at the rendezvous point. A tinted window rolled down, and a man in a dark suit signaled Karl to follow along on a dirt road that stretched into the forest. After a short drive, the convoy arrived at a paved lot in a big empty meadow. Two suited men stepped out from the passenger side of one of the jeeps and approached the Land Rover.
“Tell me we’re not being ambushed by the FBI,” Andy whispered.
Karl smiled. “These men are much less forgiving than your Feds.”
One of the suited men signaled Karl to open the door, and then threw two strips of dark cloth on his lap and ordered the two to step out of the car and cover their eyes. Andy nervously glanced at Karl. “Just do what they say,” Karl said.
After making sure the blindfolds were tightly fastened, the man guided them to the backseat of one of the jeeps. The last leg of the trip lasted less than an hour, but it seemed like an eternity in Andy’s mind. He had no clue where he was going, or if he would ever come back. To make matters worse, the bumpy ride added an element of nausea to his anxiety. He felt somewhat relieved when the car came to a full stop and the doors opened, but when he tried to reach for the blindfold, he was ordered to leave it intact until told otherwise. He didn’t dare complain despite his discomfort. He could only speculate that he was taken indoors when the sounds of nature suddenly faded and the feel of rugged pavement under his feet turned smooth. He was led to a soft cushioned chair and forced to sit.
A sweet familiar scent of old books rushed through his nostrils, filling him with comfort that tempered his growing anxiety. A piano played in the background. The melody sounded familiar. He started humming the tune. No, that can’t be. He suddenly realized he was humming his own composition: a little suite in d minor he refined on the upright piano in his apartment when he needed to unwind after long hours of research and schoolwork. But he never played it for anyone. I’m losing my mind, he thought. He held his hands against his temples and tried to relax. The music stopped abruptly and he heard footsteps approaching. Someone loosened the blindfold. He slowly opened his eyes. The soft light stabbed him as if he was staring at the sun.
“Apologies for any inconvenience.”
The voice was familiar, but he still could not see. “Is this the other side of darkness?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
When his eyesight returned, he found himself in the middle of a large library. There was no sign of Karl. Zachary Callo was standing next to a very old man.
“Doctor Spencer,” Zachary spoke, “this is my father, Victor Callo.”
“Thank you, Zachary,” Andy whispered. “Mr. Callo,” he slowly rose to his feet and offered his hand. The old man hesitantly raised a shivering arm as he closely examined Andy’s face.
Zachary pulled a chair behind the old man. “I’ll see about getting some refreshments,” he said, and walked away.
“So, this is the other side of darkness?” the old man uttered when Zachary cleared the room.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Andy said in German. “I thought Karl…Mr. Heime was here with us…”
“You’ll meet me on the other side of darkness,” Callo said in English. “That’s the last thing you said before you….” He took a long deep breath. “All these years, and you haven’t changed. You look the same…just as young.”
Andy let out a half smile, the kind one does when caught in an awkward moment. “You must be mistaking me for someone else. I’m here to ask you few questions about your past. I promise I won’t take too much of your time.”
“Questions? You have all the answers. You were there…and now you’re here. Like you said you would be so many years ago.” Callo dropped to his knees. “I hope I have redeemed myself before thee,” his voice cracked.
“Is everything okay in there?” Zachary yelled from the adjacent room.
“Your father is not feeling well,” Andy cried back,
The sound of shattering glass echoed through the hallway and rapid footsteps followed. When Zachary arrived, his father was lying on the floor, and Andy was on his knees next to him.
“What happened?”
“Zachary,” Callo murmured, trying to raise his hand with the little strength that was left in him, “this is a very special guest.”
Two maids rushed into the library, and then more household staff began to trickle in, following Zachary’s frantic orders. Andy stood pale and hopeless as he watched the crisis unfold. Zachary grabbed Andy’s arm and pulled him out of the room. “It’s obvious that my father will not be able to continue the interview.” He said and directed Andy to the back door. “Maybe some other time.”
Chapter 5
Andy had no appetite for breakfast, and the sour taste in his mouth remained throughout the ride back to the airport.
“You’ve got something to say?” Karl broke the dour silence.
“I’m not pointing any fingers, but if I knew this man was delirious, I wouldn’t have wasted my time coming here in the first place.”
“The man is perfectly sane. You must have reminded him of someone or something.”
“I thought I was going to get some real answers this time. All I got is a pounding headache.”
“Don’t lose hope, professor. We still have the old Wolf in Berlin, and I assure you he will not break under your interrogation.” Karl chuckled, but Andy remained unmoved. “I promise I will hand him to you. Just give me some time.”
Andy unfastened his seatbelt and pushed the door open the moment the car stopped.
“Not so fast, Yankee. I have one for you.” Andy reluctantly turned back. “This one’s easy. I need you to look up someone for me. The name is Harvey…Howie or Howard,” Karl said in his thick German accent. “Last name is Katz. This man works in one of the academic institutions in the Boston area. Should be right in your backyard. Could be a colleague of yours, yah? Let me know what you find, and I’ll pull some strings to get you the Wolf.”
Andy pulled his bag and headed for the terminal.
“Berlin, professor. Think Berlin!” Karl cried, but Andy kept walking without looking back.
The weight of another failed venture hung over Andy as he walked through the door. He dropped his travel bag, hung his jacket in the closet, and rolled into the shower. His thoughts began to fly under the hot stream. He stood motionless until his mind cleared and the water turned tepid. He slipped into his bathrobe, chugged a couple of pills from an old aspirin bottle, slipped out of the robe, and crashed in his bed with nothing on.
The second he shut his eyes, pitch-black darkness fell upon him. He impulsively tried to force himself to wake up, but to no avail—all his senses were shut like they were when he blacked out few days earlier. He tried to turn off his mind and block all thoughts, hoping he would fall into a deep, dreamless sleep and wake up the next morning with no recollections, like he always does. He waited for what seemed like another endless hour, and then a sudden force yanked him down, knocking his breath out of him.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself lying naked on rugged earth amidst the raging mayhem of battle. A mortar shell whistled from a distance and a mighty explosion followed. Smoke, dust, and a foul smell of burning flesh entered his nostrils. He heard loud cries and saw heads peeking from a ditch in the distance; one of them extended his upper body over the ledge and waved his hand
at him while the others periodically peered and fired their rifles. He started running towards the trench. The shouts grew louder. They were screaming in a Czech dialect for him to stay down. He could understand them, but he kept running, and when he got close enough, someone reached from below the trench line and yanked him into the ditch.
“Our reinforcement is here,” a man wearing a gray wool hat cried in Czech. “Where are the rest?” He turned to Andy and frowned. “In God’s name, how did you manage to lose all your clothes?” He shouted few words to one of his comrades. The man immediately stripped off the over-garments from the corpse lying next to him and handed them to Andy, along with the dead man’s rifle. Andy was too shocked to respond. He took the clothes and put them on, and then stared at the rifle, not sure what was expected from him to do. The shelling and machine gun roars suddenly stopped.
“This silence is not going to last long. The Germans are closing in,” the man in the wool hat turned to Andy. “Now, we can talk. I’m Lieutenant Ivan Gresko. I’m in charge here. How many are in your group?”
“It’s… just me,” Andy slowly put the words together to complete his reply.
“Wait…you don’t even sound Czech.” Gresko grabbed the barrel of the carbine that stood next to Andy. “Were you not sent from UVOD headquarters?”
“UVOD?”
“Ustredni Vybor Odboje Domaciho—the resistance!” the lieutenant snarled.“Whoever you are, you’re one lucky bastard,” a fellow fighter interrupted. Under the beret, Andy saw the dust-covered face of a teenager. “I’ve never seen anybody being sprayed like that and live to tell about it. I swear I saw bullets flying right through you. If anything, we sure could use your good fortune.” A distant blast interrupted. A long shrill followed and three seconds later, a massive explosion pulled Andy back into darkness.
Andy’s eyes opened with a gasp. Drenched in cold sweat, he found himself back in his own bed. He could still smell the battlefield, the explosions echoed in his ears, and every face he encountered was branded in his consciousness. He grabbed a fresh pair of briefs from the dresser and dragged himself to the bathroom. A splash of cold water did not wash away the haunting recollection. As he patted his face dry, the aspirin bottle caught his eye.
Maybe it’s the medicine. He grabbed the bottle and examined its label. A year-old expiration date made him sigh and toss the bottle away.
He went back to bed, but not before jotting down the name Ivan Gresko on a sticky notepad he kept on the night table.
After another steep plunge through darkness, his eye opened to a hazy mix of smoke and mist. When it cleared, he found himself in a pool of blood surrounded by scattered corpses and body parts. The terror nearly paralyzed him. It all seemed so real. He closed his eyes and wished it would all go away.
Direct mortar hit. He recalled the whistle that pierced his ears right before he woke up, and then he heard a frail cry from few feet away. The young resistance fighter who had barged in on his conversation with the lieutenant lay dying. Andy rushed to his side. He wiped the blood from the boy’s face. “Stay with me,” he mumbled in the little Czech he could speak and looked around the trench for a water canteen, but the fighter reached for his arm and tried to speak.
“Carry…on the flame you lucky son of….” A whistling bullet pierced his heart and silenced him.
It wasn’t long before German soldiers in Wehrmacht infantry uniform swarmed the trench, shooting at everything that moved. Andy jumped out of the ditch and ran as fast as he could. A barrage of bullets followed him, but none seemed to penetrate his flesh.
Dream or no dream, he didn’t stop to think about consequences. He was running for his life as the troops rapidly closed in. His heart pounded in his chest as fear crept through his bones. His feet grew heavy and the Germans’ swearing grew louder. He felt an arm grabbing him from behind before he was knocked to the ground and the soldiers swung their boots, rifles, and fists at him. There was no pain, just fear, angst, and hopelessness.
After a series of useless beatings, the Germans tied Andy up and put him in the back of a transport truck next to a pile of dead bodies. Two soldiers jumped in with him as the truck began to move and without warning, the butt of a rifle rammed into his face.
He slipped into the now familiar darkness and woke up to a ringing sound. At first, he thought his eardrum was buzzing from the impact, but he quickly realized it was just his phone. He stretched his arm across the bed to reach for it.
“Yeah,” he whispered into the receiver.
“Are you still alive, buddy? I wasn’t sure you made it back.”
“Nate, is that you? What time is it, man?”
“It’s ten o’clock, usually late afternoon by Spencer’s standard…wait a minute, did I just wake you? Must have gotten home pretty late last night.”
“No, not really, but I had this... shit, is it ten already? I have to run.” Andy jumped out of bed and rushed to the closet.
“I’m just calling to remind you about tonight.”
“What’s tonight?” Andy struggled buttoning his shirt with his phone clasped between ear and shoulder.
“Oh, don’t tell me you...”
“You mean the Seder at Jan’s Grandmother’s?” Andy made it sound like it never left his mind.
“That’s exactly what I mean. I’ll pick you up at seven. You better be ready.”
“Yeah.” A long moment of silence followed.
“Is everything alright?” Nate toned down his agitation.
“Ah…there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“Now you’re really starting to worry me. What happened?”
“Nothing to be too concerned about. Just need a little one-on-one, that’s all. I thought maybe I could redeem my rain check on the ride to Brookline tonight.”
“Tell you what, as long as you’re ready by seven, you can talk all you want, and maybe I’ll even listen.”
“Sounds good.”
Andy put the receiver back and tucked in his shirt when he noticed the note he had left on the nightstand. He stared at it for a brief moment and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket.
Chapter 6
Andy made it to Cambridge in a mere fifteen minutes. All he had to do was pick up a few submissions of an earlier assignment to review over the weekend, yet he still felt like he was running late for something. The flickering fluorescent light from Human Resources caught his attention as he walked across campus on his way to the history department. He wondered if someone there could help him find a Harvey or Howard Katz.
He pushed the door open and walked inside. The vast office seemed empty at first, but then he spotted a manned desk in the far corner. Look who it is; he recognized the dark-haired girl sitting behind the desk as one of his former students. He walked up to the desk and cleared his throat. “Nadine…is that you?”
The girl looked up, startled, nearly knocking her coffee mug off the table.
“Professor Spencer?”
“It’s Andy.”
“Okay, Andy. It’s spring break. What are you doing on campus?”
“Funny, I was about to ask you the same question.”
“I have to make up for hours I missed during the midterms. What about you, what brings you to HR on this lovely morning?”
“You know how it is, work never stops.”
“Tell me about it.” Nadine sighed.
“I hate to trouble you, but I was hoping you could help me find someone.”
“No trouble at all. Does this someone have a name?”
“Last name is Katz. His first name…” Andy chuckled. “I’m not too sure. It’s either Howard, Harvey, or something similar.”
Nadine pulled out a blank piece of paper and wrote the name down. “Is he a student, staff, faculty?”
“Most likely faculty.” Andy rubbed his cheekbone wi
th the tip of his index finger, realizing the vagueness of his request.
“Do you know what department?”
He tightened his lips and shook his head. “I know it sounds strange, but all I know is that he works at one of the Boston universities.”
“It’s okay,” Nadine looked up and smiled. “I’ll start doing some research right away.”
“Oh, there’s no rush. Whenever you get a chance.”
“It’s no problem, really. I have a friend who does HR work-study at MIT. I’ll see if she can lend a hand.”
“You are a life-saver, Nadine. I am forever at your debt.” He bowed and watched his former student blush before he walked out.
Andy pulled up the blinds, inviting some daylight into his dark office. He stared at the empty yard for a minute, and then gravitated towards his desk, hoping to find something to justify his presence. He shoved his hands deep in the pockets of his jacket, examining his empty schedule. What’s this? He slowly pulled out the yellow sticky. As he reached for the trash can, the name of the Czech lieutenant’s unfurled before his eyes.
“Ivan Gresko,” he said out loud, and then repeated the lieutenant’s name two more times while staring at the computer screen. The thought of pursuing a lead based on evidence obtained in a dream seemed ridiculous, but he had no better leads and no other task to attend. He hung up his jacket and pulled out Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons from the CD collection that populated two shelves in his vast antique bookcase, inserted it into his vintage Dennon player, and pressed play.
With the sweet sound of violins uttering a tale of spring awakening, he walked back to his desk and logged on to the historical archives database that serviced his department. As soon as he typed in the name “Ivan Gresko,” the spinning hard disc began to grind along with the buzz of the DSL signal, adding a layer of harsh dissonance to the gloomy celli tremolo interruption of the melodious violin lines in the background.
“You gotta be kidding me!” Andy jumped off his chair and leaned over the desk with his face only two inches from the screen. His heartbeat surged and sweat gathered on his forehead as he read through an excerpt from the British Daily Telegraph dated April 8, 1941. “Lieutenant Ivan Gresko was killed in the early morning hours during Czech Resistance’s failed attempt to penetrate the Nazi-controlled motherland.” He repeated the line at the bottom of the page out loud, as if to confirm he was not hallucinating or dreaming.
