Sequence 77

by Darin Preston

  Unable to detect anything more than an overturned pail, Joshua expressed uncertainty. “I’d say the cleaning staff needs to shape up, but how can you be sure there was a struggle?”

  Realizing that they were in a classroom of sorts, Seth took the opportunity to teach the unseasoned agent a valuable lesson. “Look around, Agent, tell me what you see,” he said, kneeling down next to Leo.

  The obvious attempt to instruct him in the practice of crime scene analysis made Joshua’s upper lip curl slightly in a sneer. Not to be outdone, he glanced at the overturned bucket and then cast an eye over the floor, countertops, and glass cupboards in the immediate area. “I suppose it does appear that someone left here in a hurry, perhaps two people,” he conceded with a shrug, starting to piece things together. “Both were wearing work boots, but one set of prints looks it belongs to Kareem Abdul Jabbar.”

  “I doubt Kareem is working the night shift, but what makes you say they left in a hurry?” asked Leo, looking up with a grin. Clearly he enjoyed watching the prideful agent being bucked from his high horse.

  Avoiding direct eye contact with either agent, Joshua put his hands on his hips and scrutinized the entire room. “There’s a dust cover lying next to a microscope and an overturned beaker. Several cabinets are still open as well.” As he listed his observations he nodded in the direction of each item.

  “Is that everything?” asked Seth, hinting in the direction of the overturned cleaning supplies with both eyebrows raised.

  The insinuation that a prompt was needed only served to further infuriate the Agent’s already-bruised ego. “I was getting to that, of course,” he said, slowly shaking his head with annoyance. “The water from the bucket shows considerable evaporation around the edges, which suggests it spilled at least a couple of hours ago.” He glowered at the agents who were grinning up at him with satisfaction.

  “Not bad, Agent Toth,” complimented Leo with an approving look. He nudged Seth lightly in the ribs. “Perhaps there is hope for the kid yet.”

  Brushing the comment aside like lint on his lapel, Joshua wasn’t about to give them the pleasure of seeing him squirm further. “Okay, I agree there was a commotion of some kind here, but how do you know the professor was abducted? She really could just have a flat tire or something.”

  Reaching into the tipped mop bucket with a ballpoint pen, Leo lifted out a sopping wet, but stylish, woman’s pump. With a serious expression, he lofted the dripping shoe upward so that Joshua had a good view.

  “Call it a hunch.”

  Chapter 21

  Joy in a Depressed World

  Annaberg, Germany

  1935

  THE DENSELY FORESTED contours of the Ore Mountains appeared virtually unchanged since the discovery of tin and silver deposits during the sixteenth century. As a town, Annaberg was little more than a collection of ramshackle homes at the base of the rolling hills above. Several men could be seen emerging from the edge of the forest upon their return from several strenuous days of mining. Their clothes streaked with black dirt, and their skin appeared grey from caked layers of dust. Though exhausted, the men bore smiles and could be heard laughing as they caught sight of their homes and families waiting for their return. The hardships of the Great Depression appeared to have little effect on people who never had much to begin with.

  Inside one of the small village households, a thin ten-year-old boy sat at a sturdy wooden table, leaning intently over a book about insects as if they were threatening to jump from the colorful pages. He whispered to himself as the scientific names for each leggy creature rolled across his tongue with familiar ease. Dreaming that he would someday capture each bug within the tattered tomes, he imagined far into a future where he was the one filling the pages with new species he had himself discovered. He felt that way about a lot of things; but for now, his innocent blond head was filled with creepy-crawlies of every size, shape, and color. Looking up briefly to indulge his daydream, he caught a distant glimpse of his father’s face through a small gap in the window shutters. His blue eyes widened and he immediately leapt from the chair he had been kneeling in, knocking it backward onto the floor. “Papa’s home!” he yelled in a high, excited pitch. Stopping just long enough to right the chair, he immediately ran to the front door, grabbed the wooden handle, and pulled the heavy iron hinges open with all of his strength.

  His father had just reached the cobblestone path leading to their house when he caught sight of his youngest son scampering toward him. “My little man!” he said, dropping his pack of supplies and holding his arms out wide. He knelt to brace for the impact as his son threw himself into his open arms. The constant aches and pains that racked his worn body almost disappeared when the weight being borne was that of his precious son.

  Undaunted by the grit and grime built up over several consecutive days of unceasing labor, young Niclas buried his head in his father’s chest. “I missed you, Papa,” he said sweetly.

  Reluctantly ending their shared embrace, his father and stood up, wincing noticeably as he moved one hand to his lower back to massage away the pain. Undistracted by the familiar ache, he looked discerningly at his youngest son in astonishment. “I thought I was only gone for two weeks, but I swear you’ve grown at least a year’s worth!” he boomed, tousling his son’s blond hair playfully with rough and calloused hands.

  Watching from within the doorway, Niclas’s mother smiled broadly at her husband’s return, her eyes welling with joyful tears. “If you saw how the child eats, you wouldn’t be so surprised, Gudrune,” she teased, then ran into her husband’s outstretched arms.

  The pain in his lower back evaporated as Gudrune lifted his wife off her feet and kissed her lips with passionate longing. “Alessandra, my angel,” he said, affectionately kissing her face and neck repeatedly.

  Alessandra threw her arms around his neck, buried her head in his chest, and wept, letting her weight fall into his strong arms as he held her tightly. “How I’ve missed you, my love,” she whispered softly, gripping tightly as if to keep her husband from ever leaving again.

  Two older boys approached from a path running along one side of the house. They paused at the sight of their parents’ tearful reunion, standing motionlessly for a moment as they waited for an opening. The taller of the two was holding a cane pole as the other struggled to hold a rope that had been pulled through the gill slits of several colorful trout. Nearly dropping the catch of fish to the ground, the younger boy called out happily. “Papa!” he yelled, holding his arms up, fish and all.

  “Otto, my little fisherman! It looks like you caught all the trout in the stream!” he called proudly, hugging his blond son firmly around the shoulders and kissing him on the top of the head.

  The older boy leaned the cane pole up against the house and nodded once at Gudrune. “Welcome back, Father,” said the adolescent stoically as if the arrival of his father was no more of an unusual event than the rising and setting of the sun.

  Extending an earthen stained hand to his eldest son, Gudrune nodded with a mixture of pride and gratitude. “I can see that you’ve kept things in proper order while I was away, Eldwin.”

  Eldwin sighed, slowly walked over to his father, and reached out to firmly shake his father’s waiting hand. “There’s little to keep in order, Father, I assure you,” he said flatly as he looked directly into Gudrune’s eyes. He released his father’s hand, turned away, and walked toward the house.

  Flecks of dry grime fell from Gudrune’s brow as it furrowed deeply. “The family needs you, Eldwin. I need you. Now more than ever,” he said, resisting a frown as his eldest son closed the door behind him. “I’ve only just returned home. What could I have done to wrong him in so short a time?”

  Laying her hands on either side of Gudrune’s stubbly chin, Alessandra turned his attention toward her. “Don’t let his cloudy mood concern you right now. You’ve only just returned home to us,” she said, shaking her head dismissively. Taking a step back, she regarded
Gudrune’s appearance, starting at his feet and scanning slowly to his face. Although she had never ventured to the mines herself, the evidence of toil was strewn about her husband’s entire body. Dirt embedded in the creases of his face and neck appeared like branching streams on a detailed map. The fabric of his clothes hung stiffly from his thin frame after repeated dousings of sweat. “Let’s get you cleaned up so that we might take our supper as a family,” she smiled, motioning for Niclas to pick up his father’s belongings.

  “I feel like I could eat an entire roast boar on my own!” Gudrune put one sinewy arm around his wife’s shoulders and the other on Niclas’s head. Otto ran ahead to open the door as they began walking slowly down the path toward the house. With each step, they drew strength from one another as the weariness from being apart gave added importance to the times when they were together.

  “Unless you brought one along, you’ll have to settle for potato soup.” Alessandra laughed, pulling his arm tightly around her shoulders as they went inside and closed the door behind them.

  ***

  Creeping slowly behind the rolling hillside, the sun spilled brilliant red and purple hues into the evening sky. Gudrune leaned against a worn fence post near the edge of his homestead, listening to the sound of braying sheep emanating from his neighbor’s fields. In his hand, he held a briarwood pipe which had been intricately carved in the tradition of the Ore Mountains and bore the image of a lion holding miner’s tools. The shank was curved elegantly to the bit where grooves from Gudrune’s teeth testified to its frequent use.

  Reaching into his shirt pocket, Gudrune pulled out a small leather pouch tied tightly at its top. He held the pouch in the same hand with the pipe while using the other to open it. The deep aroma of dark molasses and chocolate wafted from the dark Cavendish within. Taking a moment to breathe in the rich scent, he then reached in with three fingers to pull out a small clump, packing it gently into the bowl. Synching the pouch closed, Edwin placed it back into his shirt pocket and emerged with a single white-tipped match. Holding the bit of the pipe in his mouth, he struck the match on the top of the fence post he had been leaning on and waited for the bright flame to cool to a soft amber glow.

  Placing the burning match just above the sweet-smelling tobacco, he drew a breath, coaxing the flame down into the chamber. The dark leaves glowed orange as the moist leaf both fought and fed the heat of the flame. Thick white smoke soon billowed from the pipe.

  Extinguishing the match with a quick wave of his hand, he concentrated on the deepening flavors of the smoke as it passed over his palate and up into his sinuses. He opened his mouth slightly to allow the sting to escape on its own, like fog burning off in morning sunlight.

  Having watched his father perform this ritual many times upon returning home from the mines, Eldwin knew it was sacred time he would never have dreamed of disturbing, before today. In this moment, he was compelled by something deep within, a calling he simply could not disregard. “May I speak with you, Father?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly.

  The unexpected sound of his son’s voice abruptly broke Gudrune’s trance, compelling him to turn to face him. “Of course, Eldwin, you know you don’t have to ask to speak to me.” Beckoning his son closer, he wished to know why things seem to have changed between them in his absence. “You made it plain today that something weighs heavily on you. Allow me to share in the burden.”

  Eldwin nervously stepped closer to his father. “Did Mother not speak to you of it?”

  “She shared nothing with me outside of her pride for how well you and your brothers’ studies have been going,” he replied with a pleased expression. “Although she did mention that Niclas reads better than Otto and may challenge you soon enough,” he teased as he drew in a robust amount of smoke and breathed it out slowly.

  “I’m certain Nicky passed me some time ago,” Eldwin admitted with a sigh, looking intently at his father.

  Sensing that his son had not approached him to talk about academics, Gudrune looked up at the evening sky and took a long draw from his pipe. Exhaling slowly, he looked back at Eldwin who was patiently waiting for his attention to return. “What’s been occupying your thoughts, son?” he asked, with a growing sense of uneasiness.

  “I’m going to Berlin in the spring, to join the Hitlerjugend,” said Eldwin as if quickly tearing a bandage away from tender skin. Anticipating for the last several days what his father’s response might be, he took a full stride backward.

  Gudrune felt his teeth clamp down solidly on the bit of his pipe as the shock of his son’s statement forced lightning through every nerve in his body. “You’re only sixteen. Who put that fool idea into your head?” he asked with dismissive calm. Taking a step toward his son, he tried to close the distance between them.

  Eyes narrowing, Eldwin protested loudly. “It’s not a fool idea. The Führer has sent word across Germany for men my age to report to Berlin, and I intend to do my part,” he said, looking determinedly into his father’s eyes.

  Shaking his head in dissent, Gudrune felt desperation rise in his chest. Eldwin’s words had begun to sound eerily familiar. He remembered speaking similarly to his own father shortly before leaving to join the Kaiser’s Great War. His eyes darted wildly at the memory as he searched for the convincing words that his own father had failed to find. “I need you to be here when I’m in the mines. That is your part in this family,” he said sternly, pointing the stem of his pipe at the ground between them.

  “My part? My part to do what?” asked Eldwin, holding his arms out to his sides. “Nothing happens in this town that would need my attention!” he shouted angrily, pointing emphatically to the same piece of earth at their feet. “The only danger to the family comes from outside our borders and I can do nothing about that from here.” Glazing with tears his blue eyes flashed in the waning light.

  “You wish to fight to elude the tedium of a peaceful life?” asked Gudrune, shaking his head in dismay. “I fought in the last war and I promise you, son, it was not the cure for monotony.” His gaze became distant as an avalanche of nightmarish memories flooded his thoughts. Shaking himself back to the here-and-now, his temper flared. “No! We can’t afford to have you running off to play soldier in Hitler’s child army!” Gesturing angrily to the north, he knew his son’s sights were set upon Berlin.

  Gudrune had done his best to shield his family from the horrors of his past. The memories of blood and incomprehensible suffering seemed distant when covered by the thick, concealing shadows of the Ore Mountains and the merciful erosion of time. Now, however, the veil was rapidly lifting under a tempest Gudrune had not seen approaching.

  Tilting his head, Eldwin watched his father’s mind return from wherever it had just taken him. “It is not about being tired of this place. It’s about defending more than just my own interests like you did when you were my age,” he said, looking steadily into his father’s troubled eyes. “I’ll be seventeen in the spring and have done little more than help maintain the old monastery and take my little brothers fishing.”

  A far-off look swept over his face. “It’s better that I go on my own now than wait and be conscripted. If I show initiative, perhaps I can avoid the station of digging trenches on the front.”

  Dormant for years, Gudrune felt revitalized rage stir in his belly and begin to claw its way upward. “No!” he shouted, startling Eldwin from his trance. “I was foolish and blinded by false patriotism. I watched friends and enemies die all around me, and there are still times in the dead of night when I be…I believe they were the lucky ones,” he stammered, his face turning red with agitation. Although rarely speaking of his own experience in the war, he thought it had been clear to his family that it was not an experience to be taken lightly. He was beginning to realize that the shield he had put around his family was quickly becoming the sword that would cut them apart.

  Taking a jagged draw from his pipe, Gudrune attempted to compose himself. Giving his son a pained look, he kne
w that Eldwin was nearing the age when he would want to go out on his own. He simply hadn’t suspected that would entail running off to join the military. “Listen, I spoke with my friend Adalric Hueber in Buchholz who told me you could have a plot of farmland if you agreed to help him with the harvest this fall,” he said, as he desperately searched for a way to steer his son away from romanticized thoughts of battle and glory.

  Faced with his father’s dogged determination, Eldwin’s resolve only stiffened. “You’re not listening, father. I don’t want to be a farmer—or a miner, for that matter. I want to be part of something bigger than this. I’m going to Berlin,” he said with finality, clenching his fists as he turned and followed the dusty road away from his father.

  “The road ends with war, it doesn’t begin there!” yelled Gudrune loudly as he pleaded futilely with his son. His shoulders sagged as he helplessly watched him walk away. Again scouring his very soul for the words that would change Eldwin’s determined course, he found nothing that such a young man would find compelling. Only experience had the ability to hone the sensibilities of one so blinded by the allure of battle. Turning toward the house, he saw Alessandra standing wearily in the window, her eyes sullen as she watched Eldwin walk quickly out of sight.

  Lost in thought, Gudrune peered into the bowl of his pipe. The once potent ember glowed ever weaker until it went out in a final wisp of thin white smoke.

  Chapter 22

  Hiding in the Ceiling

  Berlin, Germany

  1939

  THE INTRICATE CARVINGS and luxurious décor covering nearly every inch of the Hotel Adlon’s interior only added to the anxiety Gudrune and Alessandra had been feeling for the days leading up to this visit. They marveled at the vaulted domed ceilings and the brilliant gleam of the marble floors. The dozens of hanging tapestries were each worth more than a man would earn in a lifetime working the mines. On most days, commoners dressed in drab attire would have been ordered to wait outside the lobby doors or to cross the street so as to not deter the more aristocratic clientele. However, on this day an exception was made.