The Methuselah Project (17 page)

Kossler lowered his pipe and leaned forward, as if struck by a fresh revelation.

Roger squinted back. “What’s that look in your eyes?”

“It’s incredible. How could I have such tunnel vision? Until this moment, I never stopped to consider what kind of offspring might result if you mated. I mean, with the Methuselah effect in your body, who can guess?”

Indignation churned Roger’s gut. “Don’t even think about it. If your bosses want to repopulate the Fatherland, they’ll have to do it without my help.”

Kossler leaned back and took another puff. “My apologies. Just my scientific curiosity getting the better of me.”

Roger stared at the man. It was the first time Roger could recall Kossler truly apologizing to him for anything. Maybe he really had been drinking?

“I see you created a new decoration for your quarters.” With the stem of his pipe, Kossler pointed to the wall of the cell.

Roger looked up to admire his own handiwork—an imperfect but unmistakable flag consisting of thirteen red and white stripes, plus forty-eight stars on a blue field. His heart filled with pride and love of the country he’d left so long ago. “Yup. I wondered when you would notice. I’m no whiz with a needle and thread, but I thought it turned out pretty swell.”

“Of course, I should take it down. This is Germany, after all.”

“Correction. That’s Germany out there where you’re sitting. I’ve decided to colonize this humble little square on behalf of the United States of America. Right now, it’s only a territory. But when I get around to holding an election, I’m confident this spot will become our forty-ninth state.”

The bemused twinkle reappeared in Kossler’s eyes. “And if I come in there with an armed escort and remove the flag from your colony?”

Roger shook his head. “Sorry, Doc. I can’t let you do that. You see, this is U.S. territory, and you happen to be a foreigner. Nobody from the outside gets in without an approved passport.”

“What leads you to conclude I don’t own an approved passport?”

“Because in addition to serving as governor of this territory, I’m also in charge of customs and immigration. I promise, no passport with your photograph on it will be accepted in here.”

Kossler didn’t exactly smile, but deepening crinkles in the crow’s feet at his eyes signaled approval of the game. “What of your own passport? Hasn’t it expired by this time?”

“I don’t need one. I’ve lived most of my life here. I’m a naturalized citizen.”

“I see. And what is the name of this newly declared territory?”

“Well, I considered calling it Greene Land, but that smacked of plagiarism. Instead, I settled on Rogervania.”

Kossler raised his chin. “A pity that Rogervania is landlocked. It’s totally dependent on the Third Reich for all its food and water, not to mention electricity.”

“Minor details. Maybe some year I’ll solve that issue by annexing all of Germany. You know, like you guys did to the Sudetenland.”

The airman again leaned into the fir tree and inhaled its freshness. When he shut his eyes, he could almost imagine himself standing in a forest glade. But when he opened them, the reality of his drab prison existence hemmed him in all the more closely. If not for the comfort and hope he’d found in the Bible Kossler had brought years ago, he would’ve gone insane. “I can’t believe the war has dragged out this long.”

Kossler cupped a hand behind one ear. “What did you say?”

Roger kept forgetting the man had become hard of hearing. He spoke louder. “The war. It’s hard to believe they haven’t found a way to end it by now.”

Just as Roger knew he would, Kossler shrugged. “It isn’t the first time a war has lasted so long. Have you never heard of England’s Hundred Years’ War with France?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard of it. That was six or seven hundred years ago. Buried somewhere in my stacks is a history book that tells all about it. You would think with modern weapons—”

“Ah, but if both sides modernize their weapons, a stalemate is still possible. Like the Hundred Years’ War, this one has degenerated into a series of miscellaneous conflicts. Neither side wins. Neither side concedes defeat. The struggle continues, even when blood isn’t flowing.”

Roger didn’t want to ruin Christmas by asking his next question, but as long as his captor had broached the subject, he pressed for information. “So what’s happening in the war, anyway?”

Kossler took a long pull on his pipe. These days, he no longer refused to speak about the subject, but he always seemed to require a moment of contemplation before deciding how much news to reveal.

“I told you Greenland is now under German control, did I not?”

“Yes, yes, a long time ago. What’s the scoop since then?”

“At the moment, the German High Command seems to be avoiding direct confrontation with the United States. The current strategy is apparently to steer clear of openly assaulting the strongest enemy and instead to deal with weaker ones. For that reason, Germany and her comrades are solidifying their hold on the African continent.”

“Aha! That sounds like smokescreen propaganda to say they’re licking their wounds and have backed off to pick on littler guys. What part of Africa are they fighting in?”

“The real battles are over. Africa and all the Middle East are in Axis hands. Our troops met our Japanese comrades on the eastern border of Afghanistan. Only minor skirmishes with ragtag rebels continue in the mountain regions.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Falling back on his all-time favorite gesture once again, Kossler shrugged. “Don’t believe me, if you so choose, but if not, please don’t inquire for news. These topics are most depressing.”

“You’re telling me.”

“At least you can take comfort that you’re not Canadian, Captain. So far, no part of the United States has been occupied by the Wehrmacht.”

Instantly Roger was on his feet. Admiration for the fir tree forgotten, he nearly knocked it over in his rush to reach the bars. “Wait a minute! Are you telling me the Nazis have invaded Canada?”

“Not all of it, of course. Just some northeastern provinces. What are they called?” He scratched his head. “Newfoundland. Nova Scotia. Prince Edward Island, I think. Surely I’ve already mentioned that?”

Anger welled inside Roger. He punctuated each word with impatience: “No, you have not already mentioned that.”

“Indeed? I didn’t intend to perturb you. Not on your Christmas holiday. If it’s a consolation, not many Canadian or German lives were lost. The Canadians no longer exhibit the same aggressiveness as you Americans. For the sake of saving lives, they were ready to negotiate a separate peace.”

Roger seethed. “Turncoats! How could they? I would’ve expected better from our best neighbors.”

“They say the occupation has proceeded with minimal bloodshed. Not even a traditional occupation. In exchange for military bases on Canadian territory, we permit them to continue governing their own country. They hold their own elections, just as before. The yoke imposed by the modern Reich is not unduly heavy.”

Roger gazed in disgust as the doctor took several puffs. From the scientist’s relaxed demeanor, he might just as easily have announced some minor annoyance, such as thunderstorms in the forecast or a broken pencil lead. Roger could hate this man when he talked of Axis victories in such a tone. “Is there any news that would make me happy?”

Casually the doctor emitted another puff of smoke. “Adolf Hitler died.”

Before he realized it, Roger had his face pressed between the bars. “Blast you, Kossler! You sit there puffing away like a smokestack and making idle chitchat while sitting on the story of the century! Spit it out already. Give me some details.”

“There isn’t much to add. His death isn’t such an important event as you imagine. The Führer’s health had been declining for some time. He passed away blissfully, in his sleep. The Unterführer, a man whose name you wouldn’t recognize, had already accepted most of Hitler’s responsibilities, so it was a smooth transition. Do you take pleasure from this news?”

Roger weighed the question. At one time, he would’ve been ecstatic to hear of Hitler’s demise. Evidently, though, it had struck no major blow to the government or its military agenda. No doubt, an evil man had passed from the stage of world events. Hell was brimming with evil people, and another soul had crashed in flames.

“No. He deserved to die more than anybody I know of, but it doesn’t make me happy that he did. The world would’ve been better if he’d never been born.”

Kossler set his pipe on its desktop holder. “Enough talk of war and death. This is your Christmas, a holiday of light. Let’s have some music! Will you play your guitar, or shall I get out some records?”

Roger barely heard the question. He mentally digested the details Kossler had revealed.

Kossler crossed the room to a wooden cabinet. He selected a record, blew a few specks of dust from it, and placed it on the phonograph. The tender notes of “Stille Nacht”—“Silent Night”—wafted throughout the bunker.

Roger sat on his bed. Before long, he was humming along. From his leather sofa, Kossler swayed his head.

When the record ended, the scientist cleared his throat. “I have an announcement to make. In light of my advancing age and my lack of success at reproducing Dr. von Blomberg’s work, my superiors are taking full control of the research. To be frank, I’ve expected it for quite a while.”

Roger cocked an eyebrow. “What’s going to happen?”

“My role will change to that of caretaker. They’re bringing in three or four younger scientists. I will inform them of everything Werner and I have learned thus far, and they will continue the project. With Werner gone and my own health declining, this is the best way to ensure the future of Methuselah.”

Did that glint of moisture in the old man’s eyes reveal a tear?

“Because I leave no heirs, I have willed my estate to those who will continue Methuselah. I will still live here, of course, but after the New Year, you will see new faces in the building. Faces nearly as youthful as your own.”

Words escaped Roger. Despite his loathing for the Nazi doctor and everything he represented, the American pitied the man’s empty life, an existence in which he constantly searched for, but never achieved, his dream of reproducing Blomberg’s breakthrough. Perhaps Roger, with his own pointless existence, could empathize better than Kossler’s own people.

In fact, the airman had immediately thought of Kossler when he’d first discovered Jesus’ words in the gospel of Matthew: “But I say unto you, Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you, and pray for them which despitefully use you, and persecute you.” At the time, he hadn’t believed he could ever pray for this jailer, but eventually, Roger had learned to do it. After all, who needed his prayers more than this hateful creature?

Had his prayers made any difference? Kossler certainly cared nothing about God. Yet the man’s attitude had softened. His fanaticism had mellowed. Was that change wrought by prayer or from old age?

More importantly, would the “new management” bring any positive changes for Roger? Or maybe changes for the worse?

Time would tell.

T
HURSDAY
, F
EBRUARY
12, 2015

T
HE
M
UELLER HOME
, D
RUID
H
ILLS DISTRICT
, A
TLANTA

S
tretched on the bed, with her laptop providing the only illumination in her darkened bedroom, Katherine clicked shut the last of the Internet pages she’d opened for the topic “codependency.”

“Robyn was right,” she whispered to herself. “I’m codependent on Uncle Kurt.”

Who would’ve thought psychologists had actually fabricated a name for her weird need to please him even when he bugged her? Katherine had scoffed when her friend from the karate studio had suggested she research codependence. She certainly didn’t feel mentally ill. However, Robyn’s gentle persistence over Greek salad at Panera had piqued curiosity. Without knowing about the HO, Robyn had pieced together enough telltale clues to suspect the unhealthy nature of Katherine’s constant need to win Uncle’s praise—even at the cost of her own happiness. The question now became, what would she do about it?

“What’ll I do? For starters, I’m going to grow some backbone. I’ll do whatever I want, even if Uncle doesn’t approve. This is
my
life. I need to live it for me, not for him.”

Her fingers typed “Georgia dating sites” into the Google search engine. Bingo. A full page of hits.

Katherine paused. A swift peek assured the bedroom door remained locked. Good grief, how ironic. Even with index finger poised to spark a revolution, she still had to make sure he couldn’t catch her?
Get on with it!

She clicked the first link.

Instantly the screen transported Katherine to the welcome page for Peachtree State Match & Mingles. “Love is in the air!” shouted the inch-high Arial banner scrolling across the top. “Let us help you find your Southern soul mate.”

Despite her resolution, Katherine’s eyes flew once more to the lock on her doorknob.
Oh, stop. It’s not like I plan to marry these guys. I just want to check out the fish in that big ol’ sea.