Sequence 77

by Darin Preston

  Squeezed her husband’s hand tightly, Alessandra leaned in closely to speak over the steady din of conversation in the hotel lobby. “He is only fourteen and a small boy even for that. Our Nicky is certain to get lost in this giant city,” she said, closing her eyes to dissuade her own feelings of panic. “Eldwin and Otto left on their own, and now we are pushing our baby away as well? Is there no other way?” Her whispers quavered with uncertainty.

  Leaning ever closer to his wife, Gudrune squeezed her hand and tried to set her worried mind at ease. “We’ve discussed this as far as we can, my love, only God knows if this will be the best decision.” He set his jaw firmly, resolved to follow through with what they came here to do. “We’re not pushing the boy away. We’re ensuring that he is not lured away as were his brothers.” Despite his best efforts, a sneer crossed his face. The thoughts of Eldwin willfully leaving to join Hitler’s youth movement and Otto being mandated into military service only a few short months ago, left a bitter taste in his mouth.

  “No. Our Nicky is far too gentle a soul to end up carrying a rifle in the Führer’s war.” Keeping his tone low, he made sure to avoid being overheard by one of the many uniformed soldiers positioned throughout the grand hotel. “This will give him the best chance to remain safely behind the front lines.”

  She gripped her husband’s hand more tightly. “What if he doesn’t do well on Herr Metzger’s examinations?”

  Scarcely noticing that his fingers had gone numb from lack of blood, he continued to grasp his wife’s hand. Looking into Alessandra’s frightened eyes, he spoke solemnly, “If that happens, we take him home with us and pray the war does not come looking for him, too.”

  Throngs of people moved about the vacuous hotel lobby as the hustle and bustle of the capital city threatened to envelop the nervously waiting couple. Pushing like a rodent through stalks of wheat, a short, stout man wearing a tailored white shirt and pinstriped slacks held up by brown suspenders approached through the masses.

  Although he often kept parents waiting for several hours, Helmut Metzger had yet to discover a single family that dared wander off before his return. Pulling a handkerchief from his shirt pocket, he wiped glistening perspiration from his brow and the crown of his balding head. “I trust the management treated you well on my behalf?” he asked, extending his hand to Gudrune.

  Standing to shake the man’s hand, Gudrune was polite, despite the long wait. “No one treated us unkindly, Herr Metzger.” Having noticed every indignant glare from the many wait staff, he understood that, if not for Metzger’s instructions to allow them to stay, they would have been escorted out hours ago.

  “Please, I insist you call me Helmut.” Motioning for Gudrune to sit back down next to Alessandra, he apologized for the long wait. “I feel terrible for requiring that you remain here, but my offices do not have a foyer. Furthermore, I suspected Niclas may have been distracted by your presence.”

  Wondering if Metzger was stalling to soften the blow of bad news, Gudrune tried to move the conversation past the expected pleasantries. “I am certain you took every precaution to give Niclas the best chance for success, but we have yet to know how he fared on the tasks you spoke of.”

  Helmut smiled and pulled a heavy oak chair away from the wall, seating himself to face the anxious couple. “I’m certain you’re both eager to hear how your son performed.” He leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees. Seeming to be at a loss for words, he merely gazed at them with a blank expression.

  Politely as she could without grabbing Helmut and shaking the news out of him, Alessandra begged the question. “Please, Sir. How did Nicky do?” Breathless, her apprehension was clearly getting the better of her. “He is very smart, but I could only teach him what I knew and found in books. I’m sure he could have done even better had he been in a proper school all of this time,” she continued frantically, apologizing for her family’s simple way of life. She craned her neck to look around the room, eyes wide with worry. “Isn’t he with you?”

  Distressed, Gudrune had never seen his wife in such hysterics before. Their life had never been easy, but he never suspected that she harbored feelings of guilt over the path they had chosen.

  “He’s waiting for us in my office across the street. I wanted to speak to you alone first,” said Helmut. He shifted in his seat as he struggled to decide how to best break the news.

  Looking questioningly at the sweaty man, Alessandra’s skin flushed as she could take no more. “Please sir, you torture us with your silence!”

  “My apologies, kind woman,” he said sympathetically. A pleasant smile gently grooved across his jowly face. “I am simply finding it difficult to describe just how unbelievably intelligent your Niclas really is.”

  A deep breath poured into her lungs with an audible gasp. Placing a hand on her chest, tears of relief welled in her eyes.

  Gudrune felt his heart skip a beat. He grabbed his wife’s wrist and kissed the back of her hand, holding her soft skin against his cheek as he surrendered to emotion.

  “We don’t have a test which can fully measure your son’s abilities,” said Helmut, shaking his head as his smile widened. “It was as if he divined answers to questions as much as remembered them from the literature.” He shrugged as if baffled. “His breadth of knowledge and skill often made me feel as if I was the one being tested!” As his voice rose excitedly, the attention of several nearby hotel patrons and military personnel were drawn in his direction.

  Fighting back tears as a mixture of joy and sorrow overwhelmed her senses, Alessandra realized that her youngest son would be leaving, but not be to face the horrors of war. “We knew he was a smart young man, but we never…never…dreamed of this,” she choked.

  Releasing his wife’s hand, Gudrune took a fresh handkerchief from his back pocket and gave it to her. “Does this mean our boy will be able to come to school here in Berlin?” he asked hopefully, straightening his back proudly in his seat. “My sister lives here in Berlin. She has agreed to take Niclas in while he attends school here.” Anticipating the next part of the discussion, he knew that paying for their son’s education would be a difficult hurdle, but one they would sacrifice anything to manage. “We do not have much to offer, but I have been saving for some time now.” Placing a hand on Alessandra’s hand-woven purse, he indicated his readiness to hand over all that they had. “Please give us this chance. Give our son this chance.”

  Drawing his sleeve across his forehead, Helmut futilely wiped at incessant perspiration as he leaned back in his chair. “This is why I wished to speak to you without Niclas present,” he said quietly, acutely aware that a few bystanders had begun listening in on the conversation. “The schools in Berlin will not challenge a child with as much potential as your son.” Heavy droplets of sweat fell from his face as he moved his chair a little closer. “I recommend that he be sent to Meißen to study at Saint Afra’s School for the Gifted.” He rocked forward in his chair and clasped his hands together with an excited laugh. “Isn’t that simply wunderbar?”

  The bottom fell out of the already deep pit in Alessandra’s stomach upon hearing Helmut’s suggestion. “Out of the question! We have no connection there, and Niclas has never been away from home,” she protested, first addressing Herr Metzger and then turning back to her husband for support. “No, we will not send him so far away from us.” Unconcerned by the pretentious stares raining down by a small number of onlookers, the only thing that mattered was keeping the remainder of her family intact.

  Putting his hand on his wife’s knee, Gudrune tried to break through the shock of her initial reaction. Fearing that this new revelation would put all plans out of reach, he prepared to reject the suggestion outright. “I have not the means to pay for a private boarding school. Certainly one so prestigious is out of our reach.”

  “Nothing is out of reach for a son such as yours, Herr Kappel. There will be no need for payment,” said Helmut, answering the underlying question with uncharacteristi
c alacrity. “A mind like his comes along once in a generation. He will have everything he requires at the school.”

  Reading the protest in his wife’s expression, Gudrun knew how deeply she agonized over the notion of sending their youngest child to be under the care of strangers. Despite a similar feeling tearing at his own heart, he knew it was Niclas’s best chance to escape the influence of the ever-expanding war. “When would he be expected to leave?” He put his hand consolingly around Alessandra’s shoulders, pulling her to him as she buried her face in his chest and wept.

  A smile curled thinly on Helmut’s lips. “I will require that you sign the appropriate papers and then I will send word to the school. He could leave in a matter of days.” Having delivered similar news to other parents, he had become practiced in the script that came next. “I understand you will miss seeing your son. However, I promise that he will be exceedingly well cared for at Saint Afra’s.” He stood up and put the heavy chair back into its original position against the wall and extended his hand.

  Though he knew this was the right path to follow, Gudrune could not shed the dreadful feeling that the last of his sons was leaving forever. He reached out slowly and shook Metzger’s hand in agreement. Holding the man’s hand as if grasping a pickaxe, he looked unflinchingly into Helmut’s pale grey eyes. “Thank you, Herr Metzger. I know you will not let anything happen to my son while he is in your care,” said Gudrune deliberately. Releasing the man’s hand, he did not break his gaze for a long moment before putting his arm back around his wife’s sagging shoulders.

  Rubbing soreness from his hand, Helmut understood that he would be held responsible if anything ill-fated should happen to Niclas while away. “Of course, Herr Kappel, I promise that your son will be safe. I will see to it myself.” Taking a step backward, he gestured toward the main exit. “Shall we go inform Niclas of the good news?” asked Helmut with a smile, undoubtedly failing to truly register the sadness in the embrace of the man and woman sitting in front of him. In truth, he understood nothing but euphoria at his discovery of another child’s limitless promise for the Fatherland.

  Standing slowly, Gudrune guided Alessandra tenderly to her feet. She continued to lean heavily upon him while despondently shedding tears. “It is the best way to keep him safe, my love,” he insisted quietly, brushing away her tears with his fingertips. He reached to her right shoulder and caringly turned her to face him. “We need to be strong for him,” he said, gazing into her shimmering eyes resolutely.

  Alessandra wiped her remaining tears away and forced a small smile for her husband. “I will try,” she replied miserably. “I will try for our little Nicky.”

  “He will be safe now. This is all that matters,” said Gudrune with a reassuring smile as he took his wife’s hand and kissed her gingerly on the cheek. “We are ready, Herr Metzger,” he said with a nod.

  Helmut led them in a slow procession through the crowd and out of the hotel lobby. As they stepped from the shade onto the busy sidewalk, the stark sunlight of the afternoon served as a blatant reminder of the transition that their lives, and the life of their youngest child, were about to take. They believed it would be for the best. It simply had to be.

  Chapter 23

  A Discerning Path

  Meissen, Germany

  Autumn 1941

  DESPITE A POPULATION of fewer than twenty thousand, Mießen appeared to sprawl endlessly along both banks of the gently flowing Elbe River. The red clay rooftops of the many homes and businesses imparted a sense of unity to anyone viewing from the high vantage point provided by the surrounding hills. Tall hardwoods held tightly to their bouquets of yellow, orange, and red, in protest to the impending arrival of another cold winter. Only the piercing gothic spires of Castle Albrecht seemed to beckon for the frigid winds to arrive in the ancient town.

  Nestled within the slopes of the highest hill to overlook the city, the School of Saint Afra proved a dignified structure. A former Benedictine convent, the structure had been drawn upon to serve as one of the few private schools to educate only the most gifted young minds of Germany for the last four centuries.

  In more peaceful times, students would have been encouraged to continue the search for knowledge without interruption. However, the war raging across Europe had changed more than just the political landscape. No resource was overlooked, not even an exceptionally bright, sixteen-year-old boy. Even considering the school’s vast history, few had ever demonstrated the raw potential of Niclas Kappel.

  In attendance for just under two years, Niclas had outperformed even the loftiest expectations set forth when first brought to Meißen. Only the young man himself seemed unimpressed by his achievements. With little use for accolades or recognition, he simply wanted to continue to unravel the mysteries science posed to him every day. Joy was in the uncovering of new facts and then moving on to the next mystery. For this man of logic, discovery was truly its own reward.

  Headmaster Kiefer Waechter was as unassuming as the basic Benedictine architecture of his modest office. His wooden desk appeared to be as timeworn as the school itself, with countless pits and scratches accumulated over many decades, and countless occupants. A variety of documents lay strewn about the desk’s surface, from applications for school admission to reports from instructors regarding individual student performance. A tea service, resting on the left side of the desk upon a tarnished silver serving tray, included a porcelain carafe bearing an intricate portrait of Saint Afra herself. Carefully lifting the fragile carafe, Kiefer filled one of the matching cups with steaming black coffee. He handed it gingerly to the man sitting stiffly in front of him.

  “Would you care for a lump of sugar, Herr Brandt?” he offered, holding a small bowl of sugar cubes toward the thin-faced man.

  “No, I prefer mine untainted, Herr Waechter,” Brandt replied coolly as he sipped the scalding fluid without expression.

  Bowing his head with careful reverence, the Headmaster inquired as to the reason behind the unexpected visit. “I was most surprised when informed of your arrival. I would have prepared a more auspicious welcome for Heinrich Himmler’s personal aid, should I have known.”

  Adjusting his round wire-rimmed glasses with his free hand, Rudolf Brandt had little interest in ceremony. “Unnecessary, as I am not here for a social visit. The Reichsführer is rarely without my presence, but wished that I deal with this matter personally.” Shifting slightly in his chair, the mention of being away from his beloved master took him too far from his comfort zone.

  “Indeed, Herr Brandt. But I must confess that I am still unsure of your purpose for visiting our humble school,” admitted Kiefer, placing the carafe shakily back upon the tray and seating himself at his desk. He clasped his hands in front of him to stop them from betraying his uneasiness at the SS Standartenführer ‘s visit.

  “It is not my own purpose that has led me here, but rather the collective purpose of the German people and that of our Führer’s interest in winning the war for the Fatherland,” Brandt corrected him with an oppressive glare.

  “Of course sir, I am at the service of the Führer,” he responded dutifully, clasping his hands more tightly in front of him. Himmler’s resolute underling tilted his head slightly as he studied the headmaster’s movements with interest.

  “Intelligence officers within the Schutzstaffel have been monitoring the progress of several students referred here by our civilian contact Helmut Metzger in Berlin,” informed Brandt. “The reports have been quite intriguing.”

  “Why would the SS wish to monitor our students so closely?” asked Kiefer, his voice rising slightly as he failed to fully mask his concern upon learning of Metzger’s involvement.

  Disinterested in directly answering any questions, Brandt continued his planned explanation. “A number of these students have demonstrated a high level of ability in all areas, but we are interested in two who have shown exceptional competence in the areas of chemistry and biology,” he said, handing the headmaster a
piece of lined paper with the students’ names listed across the top.

  “Niclas Kappel and Dieter Mueller,” Kiefer read aloud. Amplified by the tremor of his hand, the paper quivered noticeably. “Yes, they are two of the brightest boys Herr Metzger had referred to us in years, especially Niclas,” said Kiefer. His eyes widened as he made a startling realization. “Minister Goebbels sent congratulatory letters to the school for their performance just last month. I had wondered how the minister would have been so aware of our students’ progress, but thought it a simple gesture of kindness.”

  Closing his eyes, he chastised himself for being so naïve as to believe the man responsible for all government propaganda would simply be sending an innocent recognition. He took a deep breath, mindful that further stalling would only attract unwanted scrutiny. “I’m sure they would be excited to meet you, Herr Brandt. They are in class at the moment, shall I have them summoned?” he offered accommodatingly.

  A firm knock on the door echoed abruptly throughout the small office. “That will not be necessary, Herr Waechter. I sent one of my men to retrieve them shortly after my arrival,” said Brandt, his pale blue eyes staring back at Kiefer until the headmaster looked away in discomfort. Satisfied that he would remain unchallenged, the leather-clad SS officer stood up and pulled the heavy wooden door open to reveal two slightly disheveled young men. Each was wearing a light sweater and matching tan trousers. They stood nervously in front of a blond-haired SS lieutenant dressed neatly in a dove-grey uniform. “That will be all, Lieutenant,” he ordered, squinting at the boys as if peering through a microscope. Nodded slightly in the affirmative, the soldier snapped his heels together before stepping into position opposite another soldier standing guard just to the left of the doorway. Brandt motioned stiffly with his free hand for the two boys to enter.