“It wasn’t a prank. None of my friends ever offered up even a hint that they had been out there,” Brody said. “I was being tested. The way a predator would push a prey animal that could give it trouble.”
“C’mon, Brody,” Owen said. “How can you be sure it wasn’t some kind of wierdo?”
“I’ve thought through this more than I care to admit,” Brody said, shaking his head ‘no’, “Ever since it happened I’ve wanted to believe it was something more explainable. Call it a feeling, but to this day I remember how an instinctual part of me responded like it knew something much worse than a creep out there. So you wanted to know why I took it easy on Anna,” Brody continued, “Well, what she described, along with my experiences, plus what every scientist is telling me about this case, that all led me to think.” He wiped his forehead glistening under the harsh light swaying above the table. “What if it’s true? What if werewolves are real?”
“We have to be sure,” Cindy said. “If they exist then it’s going to alter people’s beliefs about this world and their place in it.”
“Who’s going to believe some students and their campfire story about a werewolf?” Brody said.
“You’re thinking too far down the road,” Ernie said. “We first need to get data and documentation to back their story. Then we can go public.”
“Can someone at least acknowledge how crazy this sounds?” Owen said. As far as he was concerned Anna and Liam saw a wolf, though he didn’t know what to do with Brody’s story. However, there was no way he was about to start believing an-honest-to-God werewolf was stalking the night.
“No crazier than what most people accept,” Brody said. “Organizing their lives around the magic man in the sky, and oh, by the way why don’t you throw a little tithe in that there basket please.”
“Watch it,” Ernie said. “That soapbox you’re on might topple over.”
“Sorry if I’m not so generous about the fantasies some people need to make it through life,” Brody said.
“That’s rich,” Owen snorted. “You suddenly believe in werewolves, but not God?”
“Lately, I’m seeing more proof one mythical creature exists over the other.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Cindy said.
“She’s right,” Brody said. “Since we’re thinking freely, there’s something else. If all this is true, if werewolves are somehow real, then how much do you want to bet on our chances if they figure out we’re onto them?”
Cindy’s heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t considered it like that.
Brody gave them their marching orders. They would do their best to act normal. Owen had a date planned with Tanya. He would keep it. Maybe with more time to think things through he would be at least more open-minded. Meanwhile, Cindy and Ernie would visit the research desk at Lviv’s National Scientific Library, taking them up on their offer to help. They would look for anything about the region’s history that could be used to validate Anna’s claims.
Brody called Wilson and Vance. He informed them that he had a lead on Karlovic and asked for surveillance equipment to help. Instead of congratulations he got Wilson yelling about how he had forty-eight hours to find Karlovic or they were pulling the plug on him. Brody mentioned that in the interest of saving time the Bureau should send the gear from Kiev to Lviv for pick up. Brody wanted to stay close to Ernie and Cindy, whose respective age and sex made them the likeliest targets.
In spite of everything Brody felt optimistic. He would be picking up a portable device that gathered cell-phone location information by sending out a signal tricking phones into connecting to it. He could adjust its settings to intercept not just location data but also conversations. A feature made even more useful by Vance’s discovery that security systems at LaGuardia had recorded Karlovic’s voice when he passed through customs. Thus, as Brody intercepted calls the information would be saved and entered into a special voice recognition program on his laptop. To cover the possibility Karlovic might not make or take calls the Bureau was also sending him a USB drive carrying software he could use for intercepting texts. They had been using similar devices in the U.S. for years and Brody felt confident he could monitor Karlovic’s movements in real time while the Bureau put together a snatch-and-grab team. Nevertheless, with their minds preoccupied by the tasks at hand, no one noticed one significant detail.
Last night’s moon would be even more swollen tonight.
Chapter 18
August 2016 – Dibrovno, Western Ukraine
It was late-afternoon when Ernie threw his overnight bag in the back of a battered 4x4 Lada Niva and then flopped into the passenger seat, the boxy vehicle protesting noisily.
“I see Cindy’s running late,” Owen said, strolling up. “Now’s as good a time as any to talk.”
Ernie furrowed his brow, recognizing what Owen wanted.
Owen squatted down so he could look into the open car window. “You got to trust me sometime.”
Ernie sighed, “I’ve been thinking about my father.”
“And?”
“You remember that my dad died during the war?”
“Sure.”
“I left some stuff out,” Ernie said. “Like the fact my dad fought with a frontline unit in the German army.”
“That’s not something I’d bring up at a cocktail party,” Owen said. “But it’s not the end of the world.”
“That’s not the half of it. What I’m about to say is between you and I. Nobody else.”
Owen nodded his agreement.
“In Germany and before the War my family was middle class, our art gallery simple. Even so, when my mom brought me to the United States after the war, we settled into a posh neighborhood. Years later I did some digging. Only one other pre-war art gallery existed in our former home town. It was vandalized during Kristallnacht.”
Ernie paused as a flicker of recognition passed across Owen’s face.
“Add it up,” Ernie said. “My mother didn’t remarry until I was a teenager. My stepfather was a travelling salesman, and not a good one. Yet we always had a new car in the driveway. I attended private school.”
“None of this proves your parents stole from Jews,” Owen said.
“One day I was flipping through an old photo album,” Ernie said. “I found a picture of my parents at their gallery, taken just before the war began. Behind them you could clearly see a painting leaning against a wall. It was a Beckmann.”
Owen stared.
“Max Beckmann was Jewish,” Ernie said. “The Nazis confiscated his works as degenerate. The only way for my parents to possess one of his paintings so long after Hitler came to power is if they were given a special dispensation.”
“Hold on, with your father’s social standing he must’ve done something the Nazis didn’t like to end up at the front,” Owen said. “There must be more.”
“Maybe, maybe not. Either way I—” Ernie cut himself off as he spotted Cindy come around the corner, bags in hand.
“You gonna be ok while we’re gone?” Ernie said to Owen.
“Relax,” Owen smiled. “It’s not like I’m going hiking in the woods with a steak hanging around my neck.”
“Yea, alright,” Ernie said with a grin as Cindy jumped into the driver’s seat.
Cindy looked over at Owen, winking and blowing him a kiss goodbye as she turned the key. The car sputtered to life with a loud cough.
Owen stepped back as she put it in gear. He stood on the hot cobblestones, staring after them. A small part of him was thankful they were going. He hoped they would find something in Lviv to shed light on why Anna and Liam must have seen a simple wolf, and nothing more.
Forty minutes later a shaved and showered Owen walked down the pension’s narrow hallway, having forgotten all about wolves and ready for his first real date since his divorce. As he passed Ernie�
�s bedroom he saw the door had been left open. Leaning inside to shut it he noticed a folder peeked out from a bag, its pages spilled out onto the flowery duvet. It was a report from their colleague at the Bundesarchiv – Militärarchiv in Freiburg, Germany. The cover letter was addressed to Dr. Owen Shaw. He sat down on the bed, frantically flipping through the mess of pages until he found the envelope he was seeking. It had been stamped Overnight Delivery, but from two days ago. What was Ernie waiting for? And why had he stolen his freaking mail?
He turned to the report. One frontline German division had reported the disappearance of an entire squad, and that came in 1944. Several units from the German 168th Infanterie-Division had found themselves encircled during the Red Army’s Korsun–Shevchenkovsky Offensive. It was a bloodbath capped by rampaging Soviet T-34 tanks grinding up German soldiers under their churning treads. Those Germans that survived the slaughter scatted throughout the western Ukraine; including the remnants of a battalion from the 168th that had crossed into the valley surrounding Dibrovno.
Owen’s colleague from the Bundesarchiv – Militärarchiv, a man named Gruber, had included in his report the 168th’s tables of organization and equipment (TO&E) – a byzantine mix of Roman and Arabic numerals used to designate it’s three Grenadier-Regiments; one Artillerie-Regiment, an Aufklarungs-Abteilung (reconnaissance battalion), Panzerjager-Abteilung (tank hunter/destroyer battalion), Pionere-Abteilung (engineer battalion), and Nachrichten-Abteilung (signals detachment), and many other sub-units. Gruber had highlighted the composition of the battalion in question, the I./417 or 1st battalion of the 417th Grenadier Regiment. The positive identification came from a KTB found from March of 1944.
Nonetheless, that didn’t help as much as one would think. That’s because every ten days German army personnel officers sent to the highest headquarters (Oberkommando des Heeres or OKH) reports detailing casualties. In addition, medical units forwarded on their reports of killed, wounded, and missing. These figures were compared to the authorized strength returns, helping to allocate reinforcements. One of the problems a researcher faced in tracking down an individual soldier stemmed from the practice of wounded men staying on their parent formation’s rolls for upwards of sixty days. This meant that just because they had found dog tags it did not mean the other soldier’s exhumed from the dig came from the same squad. For example, a soldier could be convalescing with a hospital inside the combat zone and still be assigned to his unit, even if the unit received a replacement not yet on its books.
Regardless Gruber had been able to cut through some of those problems by reviewing all KTB’s specific to the battalion and period in question. That enabled him to determine that on March 4, 1944, the I./417, or first battalion of the 417th Grenadier Regiment, and it’s I./3./417 or the first platoon of the third company of the 417th had reported a missing nine man squad. Unfortunately, the squad members had only been identified by number. The squad leader represented the sole soldier listed by name: a Stabsfeldwebel or Master Sergeant by the last name of Dietrich.
Thus, though Gruber had come back with a rank and name to match the found dog tag they still had no actual record linking that man to the Master Sergeant. This would require Owen to review the divisional, corps, and army level reports that had been submitted to the old Wehrmachtauskunftsstelle für Kriegsverluste und Kriegsgefangene or Wehrmacht Information Office for War Casualties and Prisoners of War. Owen glanced at his smart phone and caught sight of the time. He was late, and at the thought of this date with Tanya he dropped the report on the bed.
Within moments he was hustling the short distance to the tavern; his anger at Ernie pushed aside by his thumping hormones. As he strode down the street he failed to notice the occasional villager rushing past, eyes furtively cast skyward. When he arrived at the pub, he missed, in his excitement, how empty it was compared to previous nights. How the few patrons never let their eyes stray far from the clock, how others hurried to settle their tab, leaving half-full pints warming on the polished wood.
Owen selected a table in the back just as Tanya strode inside, her smart phone against her ear. She weaved through the tables, finishing her conversation, “No, not yet…I promised I would do it…Yes, soon.”
Owen stared, transfixed by her appearance. A touch of makeup highlighted her high cheekbones, and eyes framed by her shoulder length jet black hair. Her almost translucent black dress clung like a second skin to her swaying hips, plunging deeply between her semi-exposed breasts.
“Jesus Tanya…I mean, you look incredible,” Owen said as she ended her call.
“Well, it’s nice to know I’m normally not much too look at,” Tanya said as she sat, her strained expression replaced by a smile.
“No, that’s not what,” he mumbled, before catching himself. “What I mean is you clean up pretty nice for a peasant girl.”
Tanya chuckled, her irritation melting away.
“Is everything ok?” Owen finally asked, stealing another glance at Tanya’s dress.
“Oh, it’s nothing,” Tanya said. “Just work.”
“If you’re too busy we can reschedule for another night,” Owen responded, hoping to God she wouldn’t take him up on the half-hearted offer.
“Don’t be silly,” Tanya said. Her eyes blazed with need as she crossed her legs, reflexively biting down on her lower lip when a tingling feeling shot through her midsection.
The waitress appeared, her gaze lingering on Tanya as she poured a full bodied blood red burgundy into their glasses.
They drank and talked. Owen found it easy to open up, briefly mentioning his divorce, and moving on. In turn, Tanya found herself enjoying his company more than she would have thought possible. In particular he exhibited an attentive and restrained manner that not once descended into the sophomoric humor that seemed to be his coping mechanism for a broken home life, instead exhibiting a caring intelligence made all the more endearing by his obvious affection for her. She reveled in the lack of awkward silences as they shared stories, laughing and feeling more relaxed in these few hours then she had in months. They ignored their food, including the blintzes the waitress had slipped onto the table with a wink for Tanya. An off menu treat, these fried golden brown flat cakes piled high with farmers cheese and lightly dusted in sugar and juicy raisins all but begged to be devoured. Instead, Tanya’s hand grasped Owens, and they stood.
They walked out into the warm night. Moonlight shined through the pines towering over Dibrovno. Even the river had calmed its otherwise incessant gurgling. Not a soul could be found. Nearly every window shade had been drawn tightly closed on the home’s lining the street. Owen felt a twinge of concern in spite of his recent reluctance to countenance what Anna had said. As Tanya leaned in however, her scent, a creamy musk of vanilla and wild jasmine, evaporated away his concerns.
They strolled onto a narrow moon swept path, Tanya’s fingers stroking along his, sending his heart rate soaring. Not once did he even think to worry about the presence of anything other than Tanya and the fact he hadn’t felt so happy to be with someone since long before his bankrupt marriage had crumbled into divorce.
After a long climbing walk they halted before a country estate. Owen gawked at the structure’s imposing gothic façade evident in the imposing stone tented roof and steep cross gables. They stepped onto the porch. To the right of an oak door a heraldic coat of arms had been carved into the stone, a black wolf on a yellow shield with a Latin engraving above.
“To serve and guard?” Owen queried, running his fingers over the inscription.
Tanya smiled and fingered the platinum bracelet on her right wrist. Owen glanced down. The coast of arms hanging from the brushed satin chain mirrored the one emblazoned on the wall. Tanya easily pushed the big door open. Owen followed, grunting with effort as he closed the door behind them. To his left a spiral staircase led up, intricately decorated with wrought iron bannisters and a wooden newel engraved w
ith woodland animals. To his right were leaded glass French doors, fingers of light revealing shelves of books within the shadows.
Tanya glided ahead into a great room flanked by dark stained wooden beams rising to frame the high ceiling. An imposing stone fireplace bracketed by two picture windows dominated the living space. The open floor plan flowed into a large kitchen where a massive trestle dining table was attended by sturdy wooden chairs upholstered in lush fabrics.
Everywhere Owen looked he saw colorful tapestries, prints, and paintings adding warmth to what could have easily been a feeling of emptiness in the vast rooms. He lingered at one such wall-hanging, not sure what to think. Woven of gold, silk and wool it was a lavishly embroidered vision of two lusting satyr’s carrying off a bare chested woman, bejeweled chalices overflowing with wine held aloft in their free hands. The creatures appeared as depicted in late era Greek art, humanized in appearance notwithstanding the animalistic lower bodies. He had come across such imagery before. Portrayals of the mythical beasts ranged from the savage to the childlike, to the erotic. There was nothing innocent about the image before him.
“You like?” Tanya sidled up, eyes glinting at Owen with hypnotic intensity.
“It’s different,” Owen swallowed, finding something to stare at on the floor, his heart racing.
“It was a gift,” Tanya pressed close, “From someone who once knew me well. The satyrs were notable for their enduring love of both wine and women. Half beast and half man, they took particular delight in the pleasures of the flesh.”
Owen’s head swam with strange thoughts.
Tanya directed him to tend the fire.
He watched her stroll into the kitchen, and then crouched on the rug before the fireplace. Almost losing his balance, he reached down to steady himself. A brown bear’s wide skull roared back. Owen’s heart nearly leapt from his chest.
“He was quite a fighter.”
Owen looked up at Tanya, who smiled as she twisted the cork off a bottle of wine. He turned his attention back to the fire, feeling increasingly languid. The wood popped and crackled, rapidly heating the room, the flames dancing hotter…
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