by Brad Murray
Lars smiled at his sister. “Yes it would,” he winked. “And perhaps we will still be able to capture and study Porter after the Order is destroyed but, for now at least, I believe the risk of pursuing him far outweighs the reward. If we made one false move, you can bet Brumeux would take full advantage. He is very unscrupulous, as we have seen.”
Letta nodded her agreement, but with clear disappointment filling her face. She sighed, and motioned for Malvado to wheel her out of the dining room.
“Before ye go, Mum, the good Doc wants to tell ye a few juicy tidbits ‘bout yer man Brumeux, don’t ye, Dr. Dickhead?” said one Sister.
“Ya,” said the other, laughing. “Whilst Sis was a squeezin’ ‘is ballsack last night, he confessed to the heavens, eh Sis?”
“What are you two rambling on about?” asked Letta.
“Doc told us Brumeux weren’t ‘is real name,” said one Sister.
“We’ve known all along that Benoit Brumeux isn’t his given name,” Lars said dismissively. “This isn’t news.”
The Sisters’ freckled nose crinkled up in unison.
“Aye,” said one Sister. “Doc knows ‘is given name. Said Brumeux let ‘im in on a few of ‘is personal secrets. Told us Brumeux’s real name, he did.”
“Said Brumeux ‘ad it changed after the war to protect ‘isself cuz the Allies were on ‘is family’s trail,” said the other.
“Was Brumeux a Nazi?” asked Lars, his mouth hanging open. Lars had suddenly become extremely eager, hanging on every word the Sisters uttered.
“Aye,” said one Sister. “Said ‘is Da ran a concentration camp. One of them that cooked up the Jews.”
“What was the name of the camp?” snapped Letta. She wheeled closer to Minkowski and the Sisters.
“Don’t ‘member,” said one Sister. “You, Sis?”
“Nope, don’t either,” said the other. “What was it Doctor Dickhead?” She slapped Minkowski hard in the back of the head, sending a splash of blood and sweat flying.
Minkowski didn’t reply; his unswollen eye stared emptily at a painting of flowers hanging on the far side of the dining room. Lars lurched forward. He thrusted the fire poker to Minkowski’s throat, pressing an indention in the skin just above the Adam’s apple.
“What was the name of the camp?” demanded Lars. A tiny trickle of blood snaked out from the edge of the poker and oozed down Minkowski’s neck.
“Haasburg,” said Minkowski softly, defeatedly. “Brumeux was Viktor Schwarz before the war ended. He told me his father was killed towards the end of the war, but he was able to escape just before the Allies captured the camp.”
Letta gasped. Her fine china teacup crashed onto the floor, shattering into a hundred pieces. Lars spun off balance, dropped the poker, and stammered over to a chair, plopping heavily into his seat. Brother and sister shared the same shocked expression, mouths agape, eyes wide. Malvado rushed to Letta’s side, thinking she was having a heart attack. Letta pushed him away absent-mindedly.
“My god,” breathed Letta. “Could it be true? Benoit Brumeux is Viktor Schwarz?”
“Unbelievable,” said Lars, his voice shaking. “Think of it, Letta – all the parallels. The Schwarz family effectively vanished after Haasburg. We knew they had used ODESSA to escape – create new identities, but they were never located. Viktor Schwarz effectively became a new person the day he escaped the Allies at Haasburg.”
“Yes,” said Letta. “And consider Brumeux. Even with all the Alicante’s resources at our fingertips, we have been unable to verify Benoit Brumeux’s birth.”
“Could it be true?” said Lars. “Could Brumeux and Viktor Schwarz be one and the same? Viktor Schwarz would be as old as we are, and Brumeux would seem to fit the bill -”
“It has to be true,” said Letta. “This cannot be coincidence, brother. My god, I feel as though I might faint.”
Lars shook his head. His mouth continued to hang open as he tried to come to grips with the revelation. He leaned forward over the table towards his sister.
“This changes everything. Porter must be taken. We’ll use him to get to Brumeux.”
Letta nodded furiously in agreement.
“Malvado, make preparations,” said Letta. “We will leave at once. The Sisters will drive separately. You will head to the accident scene where you will attempt to locate and apprehend Porter. We will remain a few miles behind and await your reports.”
The Sisters nodded and marched towards the door in unison, their movements harmonized like a pair of synchronized swimmers.
“Ma’am,” protested Malvado, hands stretched wide at his sides. “I really don’t think this is a goo-“
“Thank you for your concern,” said Letta, cutting him off. “Please make preparations immediately.”
***
Ten minutes later, Lars and Letta were speeding towards the I-44 interchange southwest of St. Louis. The Sisters were already miles ahead, racing towards the accident scene with reckless abandon. Lying gagged and bound in the back of the SUV were Minkowski and Tatiana. Malvado sat just in front of them, half watching his hostages and half watching the SUV’s satellite television. Lars flipped station after station in a loop, searching for news of the accident.
Finally, he found it.
“-about a hundred and twenty miles southwest of St. Louis near the town of Parsons. Preliminary reports are coming in rapidly – with one report indicating as many as two dozen dead. Hazmat crews have been called to the scene, with several accounts of some type of hazardous compound having been spilled at the accident scene. Travelers are being asked to avoid I-44. Blockades routing traffic around the incident scene have been put in place. We have our news team 3 crew in route to the scene and will interrupt programming to bring you further details –“
Lars muted the volume.
“Call the Sisters, tell them there’s been a change of plans,” said Letta. “Tell them to turn around and meet us at the airfield. We’ll fly to Springfield immediately.”
“Springfield?” asked Lars.
“Yes” said Letta. “There’s no reason to drive to the scene of the accident. Porter made no mention of a hazardous chemicals or toxins. We have to assume Brumeux is behind this – perhaps some sort of smoke screen to extract Porter from the scene.”
“Very strange,” said Lars. “It makes no sense.”
“Indeed. We are missing information to connect the dots. But I believe we must assume that Porter is either dead or Brumeux has extracted him and taken him to an Order stronghold. Our only play is to let the Sisters sniff around the Porter home and see what turns up.”
“But didn’t Minkowski say Porter’s home was under constant surveillance?” asked Lars.
“I’m sure it is. But I’m willing to risk the Sisters getting caught, aren’t you?”
Lars smiled. “Wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Such revolting creatures. Besides, if we can’t get to Porter, maybe the Sisters can get us the next best thing – one of Porter’s family members.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Letta grinned. “What’s the worst that can happen? If the Sisters find nothing usable at the Porter home, we’re no worse for wear. If the Sisters are captured – so be it. But if the Sisters happen upon Porter or his family, we’ll use that leverage to get to Porter and ultimately, to Brumeux.”
Lars smiled and gazed out across the rolling countryside.
“It would be nice to see his reaction though, wouldn’t it? To see Brumeux’s face when we reveal to him our knowledge of his true identity? To see his jaw drop when we call him Viktor Schwarz?”
Letta laughed heartily. “Indeed it would, brother. And I truly believe we will get that opportunity. Fate has once again smiled down upon us, confirming to us that our path is the chosen one; that Alicante doctrine is the righteous path to order and stability. A lifetime of hatred for Viktor Schwarz and decades of loathing for Benoit Brumeux…today we discover they are the same person. I have to believe that Brumeux’
s veil was removed at this exact moment in time because it was ordained to be so. The universe has a way of aligning itself. And what better way for the Alicante – for us – to achieve alignment than to eliminate Schwarz and Brumeux in one fell swoop.”
“I would go to my grave utterly fulfilled,” beamed Lars.
20
Today - May 29, 2011
Brumeux gazed out of the jet’s cabin window at the sea of wheat fields that rolled beneath them in the Kansas wind. Here he was, sitting across from the Jimmy Porter, the man whose importance was so immense that Brumeux had grown to revere him more than any person on the planet. And yet he found his mind wandering to other things. Here he was, in the midst of the day he had spent years planning for, the day for which he would risk everything he built; even sacrificing lives of those who believed in the cause. And yet he was detached from the present, completely immersed in the past for the duration of the flight to the Outpost.
He couldn’t help but think of his father. He wondered if he would be proud of his son. Certainly he would, he supposed. After all, he had continued forward with his father’s dying desire to protect the Superstes; though maybe not for the motives his father had had in mind. As Dr. Wagner realized when the war came to a brutal end for Hitler and his cronies, Nazi principles were small by comparison to the possibilities the Superstes presented. The prospect of overcoming mankind’s limitations became Dr. Wagner’s - Pierre-Louis Brumuex’s - true calling, and would be the remainder of his life. The discovery of Benjamin Porges conquered Wagner’s diminishing fervor for national socialism and set him on a journey that transcended the petty ideals to which he had wasted much of his life adhering. The few days he had spent with the boy changed his life forever.
Dr. Wagner never talked about nor seemed to even think about his years as a Nazi. The terrible experiments, the gassings, the thousands of murders - all of which he personally oversaw. He seemed to shut them completely out of his mind. He had somehow effectively locked the door to his own personal history and threw away the key. In fact, he forbade any of the Schwarz family from ever talking about the past – at least the past prior to the day they became the Brumeux’s. For Viktor and his mother and sister, their days in Haasburg became like a vague dream, so disconnected from reality that whenever a memory from that time crossed their mind they wondered whether any of it ever really happened at all. Helping to disconnect them from Haasburg was the fact that Dr. Wagner and Ava, Viktor, and Martha Schwarz all died that day in Haasburg – at least to rest of the world. None of them were ever heard from again; they instantly morphed into their new personas and never looked back. As a result, Pierre-Louis and Benoit Brumeux could disassociate themselves from their past. They had been reborn - with a new lease on life and a higher calling.
Still, that fateful last morning in Haasburg never truly left Benoit Brumeux’s mind. The painful memories from almost seventy years before were still fresh, as if it all had happened yesterday.
Waking to his father and Dr. Wagner arguing.
Their abrupt departure to the camp.
How he had hurried to his room to get his knife - the last thing his father ever gave him - and crept out of the house while his mother wasn’t looking. He remembered the distinct sound of bombs thundering in the distance, and how his young legs scurried down the hill from the house to the camp. Knowing he wouldn’t get past the guards at the front gate, he snuck around the perimeter fence, passing from tree to tree in the early morning light until he was clear from their view. He found himself deep in the forest that surrounded the camp, peering past the thicket and through the fencing, hoping to see the commanding presence of his father. The journey was nothing new to Viktor – he often snuck into the woods in hopes of catching a glimpse of his father at work. But it was a rare thing, the camp was so spacious and there were so many buildings.
As Viktor rounded the backside of the camp he heard it.
Men’s voices.
Angry voices.
One of them sounded like his father. He picked up the pace. He skipped across small crevasses and hurdled over large pine tree roots that protruded rudely from the forest floor. He bounded between enormous trunks. And the muffled voices became faint grunts – as if there was a struggle. As he closed in on the small red bricked building, a boy’s voice cried out. Viktor’s pulse quickened; he sensed something was terribly wrong. Finally, he was free of the forest; his feet carried him past the last line of pines and into the clearing that surrounded the little brick building and the fenceline of Haasburg.
Viktor stopped in his tracks as he processed the picture in front of him. There was Wicker, sitting on top of another man, his back to Viktor, a bloodied knife in one hand. A filthy young boy – a prisoner – stood on the other side of Wicker, holding a glinting Walther that was pointed directly at Wicker’s chest. Viktor reached for his knife; instinctively preparing to throw it at the boy to stop him from shooting Wicker. Viktor had never liked Wicker at all; mostly because he sensed his father’s disdain for the man. But still, he wore the same uniform as his father, and therefore he was one of them. As Viktor silently crept forward, he readied to throw the knife, sure the boy would notice him at any second.
“What’s wrong Superjunge? Can’t pull that trigger?“ Viktor heard Wicker say. “You know I will plunge my dagger deep into your stomach just as I’ve done to the Commander…”
The world around Viktor spun and he dizzily inched forward, yearning to see the man’s face – the man who lay motionless on the ground beneath Wicker.
Just as I’ve done to the Commander –
Viktor took one step to the side and his heart sank. Without thinking, Viktor lunged forward and drove his knife, the very one his father had given him as a present just the day before, deep into the base of Wicker’s neck. He watched, transfixed on Wicker’s sinking body, which plopped crudely into a heap atop his dead father.
***
As the Lear touched down on the runway, the screeching of rubber on the hot Kansas concrete lurched Brumeux forward in his seat, pulling him back to the present. Brumeux studied Jimmy’s face.
He looks so much like Benjamin, thought Brumeux.
Benjamin Porges – the boy who had consoled him that terrible day outside the camp. The boy whose words he had recited to himself every day for sixty-six years.
We are all gifts from God. What we do with that gift is up to us. You can do good with your gift or you can do evil. Which will you choose?
Brumeux glanced at Jimmy. He sensed the trepidation, the fear in Jimmy’s eyes. The poor kid was alarmed, scared. A wave of shame washed over him as he considered all that he had done to get to this point.
How he had tragically initiated Benjamin Porges’ death in the car accident; an accident that also took away his two best friends in the world – perhaps the only true friends he’d ever known his entire life.
How he had contributed to the many difficulties in Jimmy’s life.
How he had put some of his own people, his most trusted confidants, in harm’s way.
These weren’t the actions of an honorable man. Would his father condone all he had done? Or would he judge him a miserable disappointment? Surely his father would agree that the end justified the means; especially for something as important as this, Brumeux assured himself, much as he had been assuring himself for decades now.
The Learjet rolled across the tarmac toward the rusted hangar and Brumeux thought of Minkowski. If Brumeux knew him well enough, Minkowski would have long since given in and confessed all he knew.
Sending Tatiana to Minkowski’s home to check on him would ensure that much.
Brumeux glanced at his watch – if things were going as he had planned, Lars and Letta would be visiting Minkowski in person. They simply wouldn’t be able to resist popping their heads out of their protective Alicante cover; they would have to hear the incredible story of the Superstes in person. And it would be their fatal conceit.
The jet came to a
stop and the roaring engines subsided. Brumeux prepared himself for what was coming next - the Meeting.
How each of them would react was utterly unpredictable. How would Jimmy handle it? How would Brumeux respond to their reactions?
From the reports Brumeux had been receiving of late, Prisoner Zulu had become more detached and withdrawn. The meeting had been a moment Brumeux had been dreading and yet at the same time, yearning for. The supreme guilt he felt needed to be quashed; for no matter how much Brumeux told himself the bigger picture justified his actions, he had never been able to shake the dark sense of shame for the things he had done, the things he was forced to do.
Brumeux popped up from his seat and disappeared through the airplane’s hatch door. Descending the steps, he quickly found Agent Jordan standing just outside the hangar’s entrance. She was striking, thought Brumeux.
Perfect for the role.
Jimmy Porter wouldn’t stand a chance against her. Brumeux had hand-picked Jenny Jordan years ago, or, more accurately, fate had picked her for him. Brumeux had to keep from smiling as he witnessed her jaw literally drop when she recognized the young man who tripped over himself upon seeing her. She was star-struck; captivated. And to Brumeux, her reaction couldn’t have been more perfect.
***
Zulu hadn’t been able to sleep all night – thoughts of the letter and its possibilities flittering in his mind like a thousand fireflies in the infinite blackness of his cell. But he felt more rested than at any time in recent memory; invigorated back to life by a few scrawls of ink on a small parcel of paper. And now, today, there were more signs of encouragement. A guard – the same guard who had delivered Brumeux’s note the day before – had come again to his cell door, fists pounding.
“Zulu!” he yelled through the slot in the door. “Get up!”
Zulu had been so transfixed on the daydreams dancing in his wandering mind that he hadn’t even noticed the guard’s steps approaching. Startled, he sprang out of his bed as if shot from a cannon.