by David Khara
“How do we know that he’d want to join us?”
“The easiest way to find out is to ask him, don’t you think? And don’t say anything to the Siberian. He’s been in a shitty mood ever since the incident.”
“I swear on my glasses,” Karol joked.
They went back to the prisoner, who had kept both eyes on his captors while they were talking.
“Eytan, what were your plans before you ran into us?” Janusz asked.
“To survive,” the kid replied.
“Survive? And what for?”
“To kill as many Germans as possible.”
“I can help you make that happen if you can keep up with us.”
“What do I have to do?”
“Prove yourself.”
He pulled out a large hunting knife from a brown leather case attached to his belt and cut the ropes that bound Eytan to the tree. To Janusz’s surprise, the boy stood up nimbly, using only his legs. The blow Janusz had inflicted just a few hours earlier seemed to be a distant memory. There wasn’t even a bruise on the kid’s face.
“There, you’re free,” Janusz declared. “If you want to leave, you can go. No one will stop you.”
Once back on his feet, the boy’s first instinct was to reach into his coat pocket. His search quickly grew frantic. For the first time, he was showing signs of worry, panic even.
“Where is my notebook?”
“It’s safe,” Janusz assured him. “Now come with us.”
He turned around and started walking toward his men, who were waiting around the dwindling fire. He sat down on a rock and pointed to the block of wood next to him.
“Have a seat,” he said without looking at Eytan.
Eytan complied silently. He crossed his large legs and discreetly inspected the strange faces before him.
“This is Eytan Morgenstern,” Janusz told the team. “While his getup would have you believe otherwise, he’s Polish. I have invited him to join us. Anyone object?”
Janusz could feel his crew’s shock. Piotr opened his mouth but closed it just as fast, apparently unwilling to say what was on his mind. Pawel tilted his head to the side as he skeptically eyed the newbie.
“He’s pretty young, isn’t he? He doesn’t even look like he’s shaving yet.” He was silent for a few seconds and then added, “But beggars can’t be choosers. It’s not like we happen upon a good fighter every day. If he’s okay with you, he’s okay with us.”
The rest of the group grunted approval.
“Good, I knew I could count on you,” Janusz replied. “Eytan, this man who has just agreed to accept you is Pawel. He’s got the eye of an eagle, and there’s no better shooter anywhere. He’s saved our asses many times over.
To his right is Marek, a clockmaker from Lviv. He would have taken over his family’s business if the Germans hadn’t decided otherwise. Instead, he’s with us.”
“Now I’m the fire guy,” Marek said, grinning. Although his hair was gray for the most part, he had youthful eyes with long lashes. In his day, he had turned the heads of many fine-looking girls.
“With the explosives he makes, he could teach a professional pyrotechnician a thing or two,” Janusz said.
The team leader continued. “And this is Piotr. He’s also from Warsaw, where he was a middle-weight boxer. He’s our close-combat expert.
“Vassili, over there, doesn’t need any introductions. You’ve already seen what he’s capable of.”
Vassili was the team’s silent killer. Like Piotr, he had once been a boxer. The young talent had left the ring to go underground and had vowed not to return until every last German soldier was out of Poland. He was hardly twenty years old, but he already had a badly scarred face. His eyes, meanwhile, were so dark, they were almost black. In combat he slaughtered like a butcher.
“Gentlemen, I’m handing Eytan over to you. I would like each one of you to test our new recruit in your specific area of expertise, starting with Karol, who will introduce himself.”
“What about you,” Eytan interrupted. “Who are you?”
“I’m the leader,” Janusz replied, smacking his hands against his thighs. “And the leader is now off to get some sleep.”
He rose to his feet. “A good soldier knows how to conserve his energy,” he said before leaving.
The tests began that morning. Karol evaluated Eytan’s reading skills and general knowledge. After a meager lunch, he turned Eytan over to Piotr. The boxer spent two hours with the boy, who learned not only the moves, but also the taunts that could be used in the ring and in battle. In the late afternoon, Pawel was given permission to take the apprentice out for a shooting lesson. Vassili kept an eye on them—just in case.
They returned at nightfall. Eytan was worn out and asked if he could lie down in one of the huts. Rested and reenergized, Janusz called his men together around a late-night pot of vegetable stew. As Vassili sharpened his blade against a rock and Marek lapped up his meal like a dog, the way he always did, Janusz listened to their various accounts.
“He’s a strange and contradictory fellow,” Karol began, glaring at the slurping fire specialist. Marek returned the look with a contrite smile before picking up a spoon and eating quietly. Karol continued. “He has the basic knowledge of a ten-year-old. And yet he comprehends and speaks German, which he claims to have learned by listening to the guards in the camp, which surprises me. To be honest, I’m a bit hesitant.”
Janusz allowed Piotr to speak next.
“He may not be brainy, but he’s got fucking potential as a brawler. He has cat-like reflexes, and he catches on quickly. The little bastard has a strong punch, whether he’s using his right arm or his left, and to top it off, he’s fast. I can definitely do something with him.”
Janusz turned to Pawel and asked for his assessment.
“I went over the basics of precision shooting with him. I had him take five shots at an improvised target, first from thirty feet, then a hundred, and finally 150. He was spot-on every time. I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Janusz was pleased.
“That’s not all,” Pawel went on. “I wanted to show him how to slow his heartbeat to keep his arm still. It was a huge waste of time. His heart rate was thirty beats a minute—before, during, and immediately after his shot. It was crazy. Since he’s also got excellent sight, all he’ll need is a week of intensive training, and he’ll be shooting better than me. I’ve never seen anything like it, I’m telling you.”
The men looked at each other. Pawel wasn’t the kind of guy who passed out praise. He was a perfectionist who was never satisfied with his own performance or anyone else’s. Eytan had clearly made an impression on him. But Janusz wanted to hear one last—and very important—opinion before making his decision.
“Vassili?”
The bald Siberian, absorbed in the cleaning and sharpening of his hunting knife, looked up. He snorted, brought up a loogie, and sent it into the darkness. He nodded in approval, then went back to sharpening his tool.
“It’s decided then. He’s staying with us,” the Bear concluded, looking from one brother to the next. “Tonight, Marek and I will do the first watch. Vassili and Piotr, you’ll take the second watch. Everyone else, rest up. We’ve got plenty of work tomorrow.”
There were no disturbances that night. The Germans rarely raided this forest. Nonetheless, Janusz insisted on keeping watch at all times. Those who wanted to stay alive had to remain vigilant. He spent part of his lookout leafing through Eytan’s little notebook. It was filled, page after page, with indecipherable equations scribbled in blue ink. Certain passages were scratched out. Others were underlined in red, but none of them made any sense to Janusz. He had had some schooling, and he thought he might be holding the log of a chemist who had jotted down complex notes and formulas. Written on the cover was the number 302.
The Bear didn’t intend to squeeze out the kid’s secrets before he felt ready to divulge them. When his watch was over, he drifted of
f to sleep, hoping that in time he’d earn the trust of this strange boy and find out more about his mysterious past.
~ ~ ~
At dawn, Janusz and Karol set up Eytan’s daily training regimen. Like every other fighter in the unit, he would commit to an area of expertise. But first he’d have to acquire the basics of each member’s skill set in order to strengthen any weaknesses. The schedule would remain unchanged until their next mission. Eytan would begin with two hours of higher-level schooling and end the morning with Piotr. After lunch, Pawel would go shooting with him. Finally, Janusz would coach him in team combat. Fearing a visceral reaction from Vassili, Janusz decided against throwing the former Red Army solder and the boy together—at least until Vassili said otherwise. Marek and his explosive toys would also be kept off the schedule. Janusz wanted to wait awhile for that.
Janusz approached the hut where Eytan was sleeping, figuring he would have to shake him from his slumber. A thin ray of sunlight broke through the darkness as Janusz opened the door. He was horrified when bloodcurdling screams erupted. Curled in a ball, his head between his knees, the kid looked terrified. Janusz collected himself and squatted next to the boy. He struggled to grab Eytan’s thrashing arms.
“Eytan! Eytan!” Janusz shouted, finally managing to calm the boy.
The kid lifted his head slowly. Despite his massive physique, the boy had the terrified eyes of a child. Janusz felt a knot in his throat. He was overwhelmed with a feeling he thought he’d never experience again, one that had been buried in the ruins of his past. A father’s instinct. He wrapped the kid in his arms and, without getting any resistance from Eytan, held him close. While Janusz didn’t know it yet, this scene would become a morning ritual.
“Ich bin der Patient 302,” Eytan panted as he stuck out his forearm, his fist squeezed tight.
Janusz looked at the tattoo and saw 302 in the row of numbers. His face went white.
“You want to kill as many as possible?” he whispered, gently sweeping his fingers though Eytan’s hair. “We’ll teach you.”
Chapter 29
The United States, present day
The thirteen-hour trip from Manhattan to Chicago was rough. Avi and Eli, who were taking I-80 for most of the trip, had to drive through the night—this after the events in the Big Apple. And they still hadn’t gotten over their flight from Israel.
The doctor had suggested that they switch off behind the wheel every three hours. That way, they’d each amass a whopping six hours of sleep, just enough to get through the day in Chicago. They snacked on the food they had purchased in New York, thereby avoiding any unnecessary stops. While their reasons differed, both men were eager to get this part of the mission behind them. Eli was dreading his reunion with his brother, whose ADHD behavior was still formidable, even though he was now an old man. Frank also had a knack for belittling people. In fact, he hadn’t lost any time when Eli called him before leaving Manhattan.
Avi, meanwhile, had confessed that he was worried about the distance separating them from Eytan, Jackie, and Jeremy. Nearly thirty hours on the road (there and back), plus however much time they needed to spend in Illinois. That amounted to well more than a day for those crazy kids to get into all kinds of trouble. And if something happened, Eli and Avi wouldn’t be there to help. Granted, they hadn’t done a whole lot of rescuing thus far—Eytan could stand perfectly well on his own two feet. But the doctor said he felt more attached to his team than ever and hated being so far away. The last time they had been in touch with Eytan was the night before, when the giant had relayed the information provided by Attali and Jenkins. The Kidon agent also informed them of the planned trip to Baltimore, where they would visit the H-Plus Dynamics headquarters. So basically, nothing reassuring...
It was around six o’clock in the morning when Eli and the doctor finally made out the shimmering Chicago skyline.
They crossed the city, heading in the direction of Hyde Park, where Chicago University was located. The closer they came to the campus, the more Eli’s anxiety rose.
“If you keep grinding your teeth like that, you’ll crack a molar,” Avi said. “Is your brother really that bad?”
“He’s worse,” Eli replied.
“Well then, this should be fun.”
The sun was hovering on the horizon when they pulled into a deserted campus parking lot on the main quad. With their mechanical arm safely tucked in a brown paper bag, they braved the bitter cold and made their way toward the building where their appointment was scheduled. Eli was as nervous as ever, but Avi was admiring the place, with its English Gothic façades that looked like those at a prestigious British university. The stone buildings and contemporary glass and steel structures designed by American architects were juxtaposed in a way that gave the institution a majestic balance of nostalgia and modernity. It all looked quite inviting. Eli, however, would have declined, had he been given the option.
Eli became even more rigid when he spotted the older gentleman waiting for them. Tall and slim, the man was wearing faded jeans, a tight black turtleneck sweater, and a leather bomber jacket. He had a square face with a prominent jaw and smooth skin with hardly any wrinkles. Oddly, the mop of white hair that hung over his forehead made him look especially intimidating. Adding to the impression was his puckish grin and mischievous eyes.
The professor rushed toward them with surprising agility and took Eli in his arms. “Buddy!” he cried. Eli, feeling almost suffocated, pulled himself out of the man’s grasp.
“Frank, this is Avi Lafner. Avi, this is Frank Meyer.”
“Dr. Frank Meyer,” the latter corrected. “I didn’t suffer through years of blood, sweat, and tears to earn an array of degrees for nothing! You have no idea how happy I am to see you. It’s been what... Two years?”
“Two years and three months to be exact,” Eli muttered.
“Still a stickler for details, aren’t you, kid?” Frank said as he walked up the steps to the building where his office was located. “Come on, let’s have a look at this technological wonder you brought with you. How’s Eytan?”
“Stop calling me kid,” Eli fumed. “At our age, it’s ridiculous. Eytan’s fine. He says hello. He couldn’t join us. He’s off on another mission at the moment.”
“He’s off on another mission at the moment,” Frank repeated in a theatrical tone. “I love how secret agents talk!” He turned to Avi. “Do you also play around with grenades and machine guns?”
“Never! I’m a doctor,” Avi said.
“Ah, a scientist. All right, let’s go!”
Frank pushed open the main door and hurried his two visitors into the hushed halls of the building.
“Is he always this excited?” Avi whispered to Eli as they tried to keep up with the professor.
“Oh, believe me, he’s just warming up. In an hour, you’ll see him at his peak.”
Once on the second floor, they walked down a wood-paneled hallway, where each door had a plaque bearing the name of a distinguished professor. Frank Meyer took a key out of his pocket, opened the door to his office, and ushered his guests in.
“I’m beyond the age that most professors retire, but the university hasn’t given me the boot yet. I’m certainly not ready to leave this place.”
Frank’s large office was cluttered with books stacked three and four feet high. Eli couldn’t help but wonder how he kept them from toppling over. Blackboards were filled with chemical formulas scribbled in white chalk. Papers were strewn all over the professor’s desk, and an obsolete IBM monitor suggested that he was still working his way through the twentieth century. From a high shelf, a dozen oddly placed model airplanes watched over the pigsty.
“Sorry about the mess. It may not look like it, but I actually do know where everything is.” He carefully picked up the pile of papers on his desk and dropped them on the floor.
His task completed, he sat down in his chair and put on a pair of glasses. Still standing, Eli took the prosthetic out of the bag
and placed it on the desk. Frank let out an admiring whistle when he laid eyes on the object. He picked up the arm to examine it, letting out “not bad” and “hmm” every now and then as he went over each and every inch. After five minutes of this, he put it back on his desk and picked up his telephone.
“I took the liberty of calling on some of my best students to give us a hand, so to speak. Eli, don’t just stand there like a deer caught in the headlights. Have a seat. You too, doctor.” He pointed to two chairs on the other side of his desk. “Just move those papers to the floor.” Turning back to the phone, he spoke into the receiver. “Yeah, it’s Meyer. Come up to my office right away. I have a fun surprise for you.”
No more than sixty seconds later, three young men, all of them out of breath, came galloping into the office. They were wearing white lab coats and eyeglasses with thick lenses. The very personification of bookworms, Eli thought.
“I want a detailed analysis of this thingamajig ASAP,” Frank instructed. “Start with the layer of software activating the nervous-muscular senses. The purely mechanical function is not a priority. Okay morons, hop to it!”
The three students scurried off as quickly as they arrived.
“You didn’t have to speak to them like that,” Eli said.
“Chicago University has produced nearly ninety Nobel laureates. And one of them, Barack Obama, was twice elected president. If we’re not hard on them, they’ll consider themselves geniuses before they’ve proved themselves. So I try to keep their egos in check. Your little gadget is quite fascinating. Where’d you find it?”
Eli recounted the events of the prior few days, starting with the meeting with Simon Attali and ending with the confrontation in Manhattan. He described the man in the wheelchair and his attendant. He also told Frank how Jackie had acquired the artificial arm.
“If I understand correctly, and I believe I do, the Marines are equipping amputees with highly developed prosthetics, which wouldn’t necessarily be a problem if they weren’t interested in Eytan. Is that the gist?”