Sequence 77

by Darin Preston

  Glaring at the determined man sitting in front of her, Alessandra had become weary of his incessant questions. “I told you already, Herr Wiesenthal, Niclas is not here.” Her jaw set in a frown, she folded her arms defiantly over her chest. “Why won’t you accept that I am speaking the truth?”

  Removing his black fedora to reveal a severely thinning hairline, the thin-faced man placed it on the table between Alessandra and himself. He moved his hand slowly across the brim, letting his fingers come to rest on a small blue star embroidered into the fabric. “Do you see this, Frau Kappel?” he asked calmly, looking unflinchingly into the woman’s reddening face. Nodding an acknowledgement, she allowed her gaze to fall upon the simply stitched design. “This star represents many things to me. It is the symbol of my Jewish faith, as well as a reminder of how few of us there are left, thanks to the Nazis,” he said with a mixture of sadness and resolve in his voice. “However, what it means most to me is hope. Hope that my daughter, Pauline, will never endure what I have, and neither will her children, or her children’s children.” Pausing, he reflected upon what was lost while remaining mindful of what yet remained. “To make that hope a reality, I must do my part to ensure that the evil is truly defeated, once and for all,” he said, his hazel brown eyes focused on hers with steely conviction. “The tree will grow back if anything of the root survives,”

  “You’re wasting your time here then, Herr Wiesenthal. You will find no evil in my Niclas,” she said with her own, equally lofty level of certainty.

  “I wish I could leave it at that, Frau Kappel, but I am afraid I must find your son.” He reached into his overcoat and produced a thin white folder. “These are documents which prove that Niclas Kappel was part of a Nazi research facility near Naklo, Poland. A facility which is linked to the deliberate infection of hundreds of children with typhus,” he said, still staring intently into Alessandra’s eyes in an attempt to open them to her son’s deception.

  “I know what happened there, Herr Wiesenthal. Niclas told me,” she said, nodding pointedly. She pushed the files as if they were little more than dust to be swept away.

  The man guarding the door shifted his weight and breathed deeply, clearly startled by the revelation. “Are you saying you knew he did these things and told no one? Simon, we cannot allow this!” he shouted, his face contorting angrily.

  Holding up his hand to quiet his companion, Simon studied the resolute woman before him with interest. “Is this what you are truly saying, Frau Kappel?” he asked, his eyes tapering as he concentrated on her next words.

  “I’m saying he told me everything that happened at Naklo, and that he escaped once he discovered how they were using his research,” she said firmly, making her understanding of events clear. “Soldiers murdered his dearest friend for it.”

  Tilting his head, Simon continued to thoughtfully study her face. “If your son is indeed innocent, then why is he hiding?”

  “Niclas is not hiding, Herr Wiesenthal, he is working the mines as his father once did. He was only ever hiding from the Nazis,” she said convincingly and pointed to a cot in the corner of the small room where he slept when home.

  Her words rang true, but Simon was charged only with the capture of suspected war criminals, not their absolution. No matter what his feelings, he had a specific course of action to take. Thinking for a moment, he turned to his companion still standing dutifully behind him. “Nahum, please go start the car. I’ll be with you shortly,” he instructed. Nodding, Nahum opened the door to leave. Unconvinced by Alessandra’s story, he glared at her before walking out and sharply pulling the heavy door closed behind him.

  Waiting for the footsteps to fade away in the distance before turning back toward Alessandra, Simon leaned in closely to speak. “Frau Kappel, I am far from certain that your son is guilty of the crimes for which he has been accused,” he whispered, his eyes far softer than where their conversation began.

  “What I do know is this: If captured, the evidence we have against him will be more than enough to convict him of war crimes,” he said with a somber nod. Simon knew that the pendulum of justice had swung far from the middle since the war’s end, but after his experience as a Jewish prisoner in Nazi concentration camps, he had never seen it as a problem until now.

  Grabbing Simon’s hands, Alessandra found herself suddenly pleading for her son’s life. “Herr Wiesenthal, my son is innocent, I can tell you see it, too. I can’t lose him again!” The memories of sending Niclas away as a child overwhelmed her senses. She pulled Simon’s hands to her face and wept.

  He had seen the pain caused by his relentless search for justice before, but this was the first time Simon felt true sympathy for doing so. He gently squeezed her hands and guided her teary eyes to look into his own. “Now that we know your son’s location, protocol demands that he be apprehended. There will likely be a dozen men sent to the mines tomorrow to retrieve him, but my vehicle has had some troubles lately, perhaps it will be two days until the authorities arrive,” he said, raising his eyebrows as he watched Alessandra’s eyes widen with recognition of what he was suggesting.

  “Thank you, Herr Wiesenthal, thank you!” she gushed, tears shifting from sorrow to gratitude. She kissed the back of Simon’s hand repeatedly.

  He stood up, put on his hat, and walked to the door. “If he is innocent, God will grant him a chance to make amends. However, if he is captured, there will be nothing I can do for him. He must know that there will always be those who will be hunting for him, no matter where he goes.” He opened the door and disappeared into the shadows of the evening.

  Waiting until the car began driving away to speak, the brothers were astonished by what they’d overheard. “You were wise to be worried, Niclas. What you told me about Naklo was really true?” asked Otto with a sickened look on his face.

  “Do you really think I would have made something like that up?” he asked angrily, his body tensing as the thought of Simon’s accusations of willful involvement rang in his ears.

  “Of course not, but I was hoping you were exaggerating,” Otto replied, the gravity of the situation beginning to set in. “You have to leave right away, Nicky,” he nodded, his voice filled with dread.

  Shaking his head, Niclas threw his arms out to his sides. “How can I leave? Mama needs me!” he said, looking down at his hands as they shook.

  Grabbing him by the shoulders, Otto shook him back into reality. “Mother has me, too, Nicky, and she needs to know that you’re alive more than she needs you to work the mines.”

  His mind racing, Niclas could not find a logical argument to counter his brother’s conclusion. Silently, he followed Otto around the house and to the door left open when Simon Wiesenthal had departed.

  “Hold on,” said Niclas, stopping as he passed by the large stockpile of wood next to the house. Tossing some of the largest logs aside, he pried loose a rough wooden box which most people would have mistaken as kindling for the fireplace. It had rested there, undisturbed, for almost two years while Niclas had given up on the idea that he would ever find a use for the information within. Pulling back the tightly fitted cover he looked inside. The file he had liberated from the Nazis was still intact and was none the worse for wear. Though unsure what his plans would be, Niclas somehow knew that this information must remain with him, no matter where he went.

  “C’mon, Nicky.” Otto looked around nervously and urged Niclas to hurry.

  “I’m right behind you, Otto.” Hastily following his brother inside, he closed the door behind him.

  Chapter 27

  Chronicles of Niclas

  July 1996

  DRIFTING SLOWLY INTO consciousness, Professor Manisha Shukla’s first perception was of the cool, damp air encasing her body. Her vision blurred in and out of focus as she turned her head to look around, her dark hair gently falling in front of her eyes. The room was filled with shadow made deep by a soft glow coming from behind her. Shifting her weight in an attempt to bring her hands up
to brush the hair from her face, she quickly discovered that they were secured firmly behind her. The metal chair in which she sat felt cold against her forearms. Her legs and ankles were also bound tightly together, making it impossible to move from her current position. For some reason, her left foot was cold, as if she had stepped barefoot into a deep puddle of rainwater. A chill ran up her leg and spread like a tidal wave across her entire body.

  “CAN ANYONE HEAR ME? PLEASE, I NEED HELP!” Manisha cried in an echoing voice that she barely recognized as it cracked with panic and lack of recent use.

  From within the shadows, a calm voice responded to her plea. “The answer to your question is ‘yes,’ Professor Shukla, I can hear you.”

  Still groggy, it seemed to Manisha that the room itself had answered her. She strained to see who was speaking. “Can you help me?” she begged.

  “I will, my dear, but I’m afraid you must stay here a while longer.” The disembodied voice now took on a deeply consoling tone.

  Peering into the dark, her vision started to clear. She breathed in a short breath at the shock of seeing the figure taking shape before her. It was an elderly man, seated directly in front of her, hunched forward slightly and gazing calmly through round-rimmed glasses. Taking a deep breath, she yelled more loudly this time. “HELP! I’M BEING HELD HOSTAGE BY SOME CREEPY OLD GUY! ANYBODY?”

  “There’s good reason you do not have a gag over your mouth, Professor Shukla,” said Charles, cringing slightly at the shrillness of the woman’s voice. “No one will ever hear you from our location. However, I promise that no permanent harm will come to you.” Nodding his head, he scrutinized at the trembling woman through smudged glasses. For the first time in his life, he was not the one cowering under the heavy hand of uncertainty. However, he found no joy in causing fear in another human being. He knew there would be some need for aggressive action if his plans were to succeed, but he had no desire to amplify the experience.

  Recognizing that calling for help was getting her nothing but a sore throat, Manisha’s higher brain function began to reassert itself. She needed to gather bearing as her memory for the evening’s events were more than a little spotty. “How the heck did I get down here?”

  “Ah yes, I apologize for the chloroform, but I think you will agree that it was a better choice than having my large friend here hit you over the head.” Charles motioned to an extraordinarily large figure of a man standing deep in the shadows behind him. “I didn’t want to bruise that lovely brain of yours.”

  Bringing the man’s imposing figure into focus, Manisha’s eyes widened in alarm. Her heart skipped a beat and she stammered, “Y...yes, I think I see your point. Not bashing my head in was a good way to go.”

  “Walter means you no harm,” said Charles, shaking his head. “He was very careful while carrying you down here.”

  As he spoke, Manisha perceived an inflection of praise, to which Walter responded by standing even taller than before. She looked her captors over as her mind began to systematically analyze the situation. She reasoned that if these men wanted to hurt her, they could have done so easily by now. They must need her for something. Emboldened by logic, the professor decided it was time to start getting some answers. “That’s the how. Now would you mind telling me why I’m tied to a chair?”

  Lifting his hands in a gesture of powerlessness, Charles wore a mild frown. “It was not part of my initial plan, but you interrupted my work at a very sensitive moment. If I could have avoided it, I vould have.” His accent seeped through as he attempted to defend his actions.

  The shroud surrounding her memory lifted like morning mist. In a flood of images, Manisha began to recount the events of the evening leading up to her present quandary. “Yes, you were the ones in the lab down the hallway from my office,” she remembered, her brown eyes drifting up and to the right. “At first I thought you were just cleaning, but I saw you…you were preparing a specimen slide.” Her memory returned more quickly as she concentrated. “When I asked you what you were doing, I felt someone grab my arms from behind. That’s when you walked up and put a smelly rag over my face.” She recounted the details as if it were a story about someone else.

  “Sehr gut, Professor Shukla. I am glad we did no lasting damage to your memory.” Charles smiled with sincerity. “It seems you decided to stretch your legs a bit last night and approached from a different direction than one would have expected. We were just as surprised as you were…well, almost as surprised I would assume.” He hoped the explanation would spare Manisha from having to strain to remember more.

  “Surprised isn’t the only word I would use to describe being abducted,” she said, trying to shake off the remaining cobwebs.

  Pondering the professor thoughtfully, Charles considered what to do next. He long understood that his ultimate actions would be perceived negatively, but recognized that a captive audience may not be a bad thing after all. “Before you decide that I am just a common criminal, I ask that you first consider the evidence. You are a scientist, are you not?” he said with a smile, appealing to his reluctant guest’s inquisitive nature.

  Glaring directly into the old man’s pale blue eyes, she realized that playing along was probably her best option, but she didn’t have to be happy about it. “Oh, this oughta be good.”

  Leaning slightly forward in his creaky metal chair, Charles steadily returned her gaze. “I’ve followed your work on genetic theory for some time, Professor, and I believe you to have one of the brightest minds of your generation.” Nothing about his compliment led Manisha to believe that he was anything but sincere.

  Pulling her head back in reaction, she shot a confused at the unexpected comment. “High praise, coming from a…custodian, is it?” Something about the man told her that things were not nearly what they seemed. “But you’re not really in the cleaning service field, now, are you, Mr. Millburg?” With reason beginning to steer her in the right direction, she pointed this out more as a statement than a question to her captor.

  “Ah, you know my name!” he nodded, slapping his hands onto his knees with a pleased laugh, “That’s one of the qualities I admire in you, my dear professor,” he smiled.

  “And what quality is that?” shrugged Manisha.

  His smile faded slowly as he blinked and briefly looked off into a dark corner of the room. “Ahh, one of the rarest assets in someone with your intellect, I assure you. You treat no one as if they are insignificant,” he said slowly, experience resonating deeply in his throat. Memories long forgotten whispered to him from deep beneath the shadows. For too long he excused arrogance as simply one sign of an intelligent mind, only to find that it actually revealed true ignorance. A harsh lesson learned, and a mistake never to be repeated.

  “I’m certain that Administrator Kemp barely registers my existence when I stop in to empty her trash bin each night.” His eyes narrowed with disdain at the thought of Virginia’s daily disregard. Frowning, his distant gaze drew back toward Manisha. “History has seen far too many examples of those with influence demeaning those who have none. To answer your astute question: No, I’m not a custodian by choice,” he confirmed with a lopsided grin. “I’m a scientist, much like you, Doctor. Or at least I used to be.” He lowered his head to look at his scarred and calloused hands. Life’s journey had taken its toll on every part of his body, making the disguise of menial laborer a natural one.

  Intuition told assured her that she was in no immediate danger from Charles, but Manisha remained uncertain about the towering man still lurking in the dark. She couldn’t make out his face, which left her imagination to fill in the nightmarish gaps. As was typical, her sense of discovery quickly overwhelmed any fear she had been experiencing just moments ago. “What do you mean, you ‘used to be a scientist’? What is all of this really about?”

  The metal folding chair creaked as Charles shifted uncomfortably and reached into his pocket. He lifted a tarnished, slightly scuffed pocket watch up to the light, opened it, and no
dded his head a few times in agreement. “I suppose I do owe you some explanation for why you’re here, and it seems I have some time before moving on.” He closed the watch cover gently and put it snugly back into his pocket. Turning his head toward the imposing man still standing motionless behind him, he instructed, “Please my friend, wait outside and guard the hallway. I will collect you when it’s time to go.”

  Snapping to attention with the discipline of a soldier, Walter Responded smartly. “Yes, sir!”

  Watching as the tall man took one long stride and was at the door, Manisha considered screaming for help as the door opened. Remaining silent, her curiosity for what this mysterious old man was about to say kept her from taking advantage of the opportunity. The door opened to a darkened hallway for a few seconds and closed again just as quickly.

  The fact that Manisha had not called out when the opportunity presented itself convinced him that fate had provided the right person to confide in. Although Walter was a loyal and caring companion, Charles longed to lay out his plans for someone with the full capacity to comprehend what it was that he was trying to accomplish. “I’ve not spoken of what I’m about to tell you in a very long while, but it is time someone knew…someone who may understand,” he said in a soft, thoughtful voice.

  Though she had agreed to hear him out, Manisha had no intention of giving up on escaping if she saw an opportunity. “I’ll listen, Mr. Millburg, but in my current position, I can’t promise I will be very sympathetic.” With a tilt of her head, she motioned to her bindings.