The Methuselah Project (40 page)

“She was never meant to be hurt. There was a mix up in communi—”

“Open your coat.”

Mueller glared. But when Roger raised the Ruger, the man spat and unbuttoned the camel overcoat with his left, uninjured, hand. With exaggerated nonchalance, he sauntered closer as he plucked open both sides with a mocking, theatrical gesture. Roger patted the pockets. No bulges. “If not for this sling, I wouldn’t have brought those amateur assistants. You’ve been luckier than you realize, Greene.”

“Katherine and I are heading back to the parking lot. Don’t follow until we’re well out of sight.”

Mueller ignored Roger, shifting his eyes instead to Katherine. “You’re making a foolish mistake, Katarina. The old world is reaching a point where it must crumble under the weight of its own violence and ineptitude. But behind the scenes the organization has been carefully plotting, planning not just how to survive the coming storm but how to manipulate it, as well. We are forging a better world for better people. If that means some must perish, then so be it. Your parents were too sentimental to make the right choice, but you—I had hoped to usher at least one Mueller into the new order.”

Katherine stiffened. “My parents? They died in a lab fire. They wanted to rid the world of diabetes.”

“Only partly true. I had no choice but to adjust that tale because you were too tender to learn the truth. When the organization offered Frank and Ruth a furnished lab and all the resources they could imagine, they accepted because they wanted to cure diabetes. And they could have pursued that dream in their spare time. But eventually Frank learned of his actual assignment: to develop biological weapons—plus antidotes for all HO members. They could have received money, the privileges of rank. Instead they chose betrayal. They set fire to the lab to destroy their research. They would’ve betrayed us all, had I not intervened.”

“What do you mean,
intervened
?” Katherine’s voice trembled with fear.

“Don’t think I wanted to shoot them. I didn’t. But they wouldn’t listen to reason. In the end, I made the hard decision. One bullet apiece. Then I dragged their bodies back into the laboratory and torched it. Very sad, but necessary.”

A choking gasp escaped Katherine.

“Ironic, isn’t it? Your sentimental parents rejected the Heritage Organization, yet it was their beloved memory that enticed you to join and lend your many talents to it—until this interloper showed up.”

Katherine grew limp in Roger’s grasp. “He’s stalling. This guy is no uncle to you. Let’s leave him with his dead pals.”

The pair had taken no more than a few steps when Kurt Mueller called, “Katherine, I beg you, don’t go with him. If you do, I won’t be able to protect you. By now more organization men are in the city. He has nowhere left to hide.”

“Ignore him.”

“You’re finished, Greene. We’re bigger than you can imagine. I vow, you’ll be a corpse before sundown. Don’t destroy my niece with you.”

A camel-colored blur of motion yanked Roger’s eyes back to Mueller. A miniscule pistol flashed into the man’s left hand. Roger leaped clear of Katherine, lest a round meant for him strike her.

Mueller’s gun popped, but the bullet missed. Lightning fast, Roger whipped up his own pistol, pulled the trigger—
click.
The Ruger’s clip was empty.

Mueller cackled, his gold incisor glinting in the sunlight. “
Auf Wiedersehen,
Greene!”

Roger hurled the useless pistol into Mueller’s face just as the man’s weapon popped again. A hot scalpel-like pain seared Roger’s left temple.

“No!” Katherine kicked and connected. Her uncle’s hand flew up, discharging his third shot toward the sky.

Roger leaped onto Mueller, wrestled him to the ground, and ripped the concealed gun contraption from his wrist. He pressed the muzzle into Kurt Mueller’s cheek. “I don’t know if this dinky thing is still loaded or not, but even if it’s not, one false move out of you, and my fist will ram your nose clear to the back side of your skull.” He cocked his right arm back to dispel any doubt.

Kurt Mueller glared.

“Search him Katherine. Make sure he isn’t hiding any more surprises.”

She ran her fingers over her uncle’s clothing and gasped when she extracted a glittering dagger from a leg sheath.

“So the snake had one more fang.”

Katherine pressed a handkerchief to Roger’s temple. When she pulled it away, only a little blood stained it. The wound would soon vanish.

“Roger, he meant what he said about organization men closing in. He never makes idle statements. We have to get out of here.”

“One moment.” Roger yanked Mueller’s coat from him and, using Mueller’s own razor-sharp dagger, effortlessly sliced it into several long strips. These he used to hogtie the man’s hands and ankles behind him.

“You’re fools, both of you! You don’t know what you’re up against!”

With a last band of camel-colored fabric, Roger tied a gag around his opponent’s head, which he then patted as he might a child’s. “Like you said,
auf Wiedersehen,
Herr Mueller.”

Hand in hand, Roger and Katherine hustled back the way they had come. In the parking lot, a wine-colored Cadillac—no doubt Mueller’s rental car—sat beside Katherine’s Passat.

Roger tossed the confiscated weapons onto the rear seat of the Passat. His artificial hairpiece quickly joined them. He slid behind the steering wheel. Katherine climbed into the passenger seat and turned to Roger.

“Where are you going? We have no idea where the HO people are, or even how many there are.”

Roger started the ignition and roared back onto Washington Street. “We’re going to that awards ceremony. Keeping my mouth shut has played to the organization’s advantage. Besides, I wasn’t born to tiptoe around in disguises. If assassins want to gun me down, they’ll have to try it with an audience watching. I refuse to crash and burn in silence.”

The clock already showed 10:25 when Roger—again wearing his flight jacket—and Katherine dashed into the foyer of the War Memorial. Roger had no inkling how long such a ceremony might last. He hoped it wasn’t already over.

A uniformed security guard rose from his stool and looked the pair up and down. Katherine, too, had ditched her wig, leaving her natural hair in desperate need of a brush. Roger assumed he looked equally haggard.

“Sorry we’re late,” Roger said. “We were delayed. Is this Pershing Auditorium?”

The guard pointed to a door. “That’s it. You’ll find empty seats in the back, but you have to be quiet. A TV crew is filming the ceremony.”

This news about cameras lifted Roger’s spirits. “Thanks.” The guard eased the door open, and the two took empty seats in the last row.

Pershing Auditorium consisted of about five hundred red-fabric seats. On the wall behind the stage hung an enormous painting of a decorated officer Roger recognized as the famous general from the Great War. At the left side of the stage sat gray-headed men, evidently the veterans being honored. To the right was a handful of uniformed younger men and women, evidently representing branches of the military. In the middle aisle stood a man operating what Roger assumed to be a TV camera.

Standing center stage was an officer in a green uniform with a chest full of colorful decorations. He gripped a microphone and was apparently winding up a speech: “And so, fellow Hoosiers of this great nation, it is with great joy that we right the wrong of overlooking the commendable deeds of these veterans seated here today.”

Roger squeezed Katherine’s hand. “This is my chance. Say a prayer—and stay back. I don’t want you hurt.”

“Wait. Just for luck!” Without warning, she pulled him close and pressed her lips to his.

The kiss was quick. Still, it made Roger’s heart race. It felt so right. Even more than right, it contained the tingle of—magic.

All he could do was wink before striding down the aisle. At the front, he mounted the steps and crossed the stage before anyone realized he wasn’t part of the ceremony.

“Excuse me, sir. This is a matter of life and death.” Roger pried the microphone from the grasp of the dumbfounded army officer. Addressing the audience, he launched into a presentation of his own, a speech with no script: “Ladies and gentlemen, I know this will sound crazy, but I’m a veteran too. A veteran of the Fourth Fighter Group of the Eighth Army Air Force in England. In 1943, I was flying a P-47 over the Third Reich when I was shot down. I’ve just escaped from Germany. Nazi goons with guns are chasing me. They’re trying to kill me. I need your help!”

T
HURSDAY
, M
ARCH
12, 2015

P
LEASANT
D
ALE
A
SSISTED
L
IVING
C
ENTER
, W
EST
B
LOOMFIELD
, M
ICHIGAN

W
hen Adelle swept into his open doorway, he immediately noticed the new hair color. Overnight it had gone from dishwater blonde to strawberry blonde.

“Good afternoon, Mr. C. Did you have a nice checkup with the doctor this morning?”

From his wheelchair, “Mr. C.” studied the artificial color. It was obviously from a bottle; anyone could tell that. But it matched Adelle’s artificial cheerfulness. “Humph. Just a lot of poking and prodding and looking down my throat to tell me what I already know: I’m a run-down old-timer and getting older all the time.”

“Aw, don’t talk so gloomy. Here, you need a little sunlight to brighten your day.” Without asking permission, she stepped to the window and twirled the plastic wand. Blinding sunshine cascaded into the room, forcing him to squint down at this lap. Couldn’t she give him warning before taking over like that?

“Let’s see, your family will be coming for a visit today, right? Would you rather see them here or down in the recreation hall?”

That’s right, the family would be coming today. He’d forgotten. “The rec hall. This cubbyhole excuse for a room gets crowded with more than one person in it. For what this place costs every month, you would think it would offer bigger rooms.”

“All righty, then. I’ll wheel you down now.” With her typical efficiency, Adelle slipped behind him and released the brake.

He folded his hands on his lap as he and his wheelchair started into the white-tiled corridor. Adelle must be in a good mood. The quick pace she struck with that blasted
squeech, squeech
of her gum-soled shoes caused a chilly breeze on his face. The sappy tune she hummed was another clue. She’d probably found a new boyfriend.

Ahead, Myrtle Van Johnson blocked the way as she stood motionless with her aluminum walker, but Adelle maneuvered expertly around her. Next came Murray who sat in his own wheelchair and pointed a shaking finger at the blank wall. Adelle steered around him as well. Poor Murray. Last month they had played checkers together. Since then, Murray had become just a shell.

A thought came to mind. “Did you remember to tape the news?”

Adelle’s voice answered from behind him. “What, me, forget a thing like that? And risk you not speaking to me for the rest of the week? Of course, I remembered to tape the news. Everybody knows how much Mr. C. likes to keep up with current events.”

Her excessive cheerfulness grated the nerves, but he let it slide. “Good. Anything special going on in the world?”

“That depends on what you call special. The stock market is down. A couple of policemen were shot in Ferguson, Missouri. The Secret Service is embarrassed because a couple of their agents got drunk and drove into a White House security barricade—”

He snorted. “Idiots. The whole world is being taken over by idiots.”

The doors to the recreation hall swung into view. They stood open. A moment later, and he was rolling over the entrance.

In the middle of the room, four women huddled around a small table. Probably playing cards, although his eyes couldn’t quite tell from this distance. He needed new glasses.

“Oh, one thing on the news might interest you, Mr. C., since you served in the war and all. In Indiana, they held some sort of military ceremony. A lunatic ran onto the stage, stood in front of the camera, and started shouting crazy things about fighting the Nazis in the war.”

“What’s so crazy about fighting Nazis? I fought the Germans too. Lots of people did. Push me over to the TV.”

“Sure you fought. But you’re old enough that people can believe it. No offense. The man who crashed the award ceremony looks young enough to be a college boy. Why, even my daughter Tammy in grad school looks older than that nut.”

“Humph. Sounds like another idiot starving for attention. Fruitcakes like that disgrace the memory of men who sacrificed their lives.” His hands automatically clenched into fists.
Somebody ought to punch out that faker.

Adelle parked him squarely in front of the television. Picking up the remote, she let a playful twinkle appear in her eye. “Now, let’s see … which one of those soap operas did you want to watch? Was it
Days of our Lives,
or
General Hospital
?”

Despite his resentful mood, Adelle’s question caught him off guard and he accidentally smiled. “That’ll be the day. Just play the news, please.”