The Methuselah Project (21 page)

T
HURSDAY
, N
OVEMBER
27, 2014

T
HE
K
OSSLER ESTATE
, G
ERMANY

A
s the passing weeks merged into months, Sophie had found various creative excuses to descend into the bunker for a few minutes, even when not bringing Roger’s supper tray. She couldn’t pay a social visit every day, but whenever she did, she made a point of sharing a few minutes of conversation.

In the beginning, she would mention whichever flimsy reason she’d invented for coming downstairs—to fetch a new box of test tubes, or to replace a file, or to pose a few questions: Did he ever experience headaches? Did his memory retain crisp, clear images from his youth? Or did his memory fade like any elderly person’s?

If Hans or Martin or Gerhard accompanied her, she ignored Roger, and he did the same in return. If it was necessary to ask “the subject” a question in their presence, she addressed him formally as Captain Greene. But whenever she arrived alone, she called him Roger and chatted. He looked forward to the visits, but kept a tight rein on his emotions.

Throttle back, buddy boy. Don’t get carried away by this German gal. Keep your sights on the target: escape. You’ve got to get out of this madhouse, no matter what it takes.

At last, on the day when Roger calculated he and Sophie had become friendly enough to take the risk, he gazed into her eyes and said, “You’ll never know how much I wish we’d met under different circumstances, Sophie.”

Like a tuning fork, she responded in perfect pitch. “I wish we’d met under different circumstances too. You’re brilliant as a college professor, witty, charming …”

He delivered a smile intended to look wistful. “If I’m well-educated, maybe I have this bunker to thank. I’ve had more time to read than most people get in a lifetime. I’ve practically memorized scores of classic novels. Trigonometry and calculus while away my hours. But forget academics. You have a pretty impressive list of wonderful qualities too.”

She blushed but smiled. “I’ve heard American men are flatterers. You reinforce the stereotype. Would you mind if I perform a private experiment with you?”

He blinked. “Experiment?”

Before Roger realized what she was doing, Sophie had her right hand inside the bars. She intertwined her soft fingers with his. Against his will, genuine tears welled in his eyes. A warm, living girl trusted him enough to reach out despite warnings to avoid him. Her fingers gave him his first female touch after nearly a lifetime.

Roger accepted her hand in both of his and, raising it to his lips, kissed the back of it. He closed his eyes and pressed her fingers to his cheek. No, he did not love her, but her gift provided something no man or woman should live without—human touch.

“Now the second half of the experiment.”

The fingers of her free hand circled to the back of his head, drawing him closer to the bars. When her lips met his, no amount of self-discipline could stop the tidal wave of emotions that washed over him. Just that fast, he no longer felt like a specimen in a cage. Once again, he became a man.

Sooner than he would have liked, Sophie pulled away. “You make a wonderful laboratory partner, Roger Greene. The experiment is a success.”

He needed a moment to find his voice. Finally, “A success? What did we find out?”

“A couple of things. First, that kiss persuaded my heart that, even though you’re a fascinating man—and a magnificent kisser—you’re still not the one I’m waiting for. My ideal husband will be a scientific wonder—both intelligent and humble—someone I can partner with both in and out of the laboratory. When I kiss him, there will be magic in the air.”

Roger deflated. Sophie was a woman he could not manipulate.

“Second, kissing you assured me that, if you were a free man, you would make some American woman deeply happy to have you. You’re not the kiss and grope kind. You’re a true gentleman, Roger. One with a noble heart.”

Despite the compliments, Roger felt empty. He’d failed. He’d tried to persuade her to love him, to help him escape, and the plan hadn’t worked.

“So what do you plan to do with this information? Add a footnote to one of those bulging file folders about me?” He didn’t hide the bitterness in his voice.

She picked up a glass beaker. “Please don’t be angry. We’re still friends. My experiment had nothing to do with Methuselah. It had everything to do with me and my role in the human race.”

“I’m not following you.”

“Your touch gave me the backbone I need to do something. You see, as a scientist I tried to accept your captivity as necessary for scientific progress. Yet as we got acquainted, my personal principles have been warring with my scientific side. This place—it isn’t right. There is no justification for keeping you locked down here all these years. I don’t want to sound like a coward, but I needed to kiss you—to feel you as a man instead of an experiment—in order to strengthen my resolve to help you.”

Roger’s heart lurched. “Help me? What do you mean?”

Beaker in hand, she strolled to the door. “For now, let’s just say my colleagues aren’t as clever as they believe.” With that statement, she was gone.

Alone, Roger stared at the gray metal exit. Did she mean what he hoped she meant?

He thought through the kiss. Relived it. Sure, he’d enjoyed it. But all in all, it was only a kiss. No zing. No “magic” for him, either.

Would he ever meet the girl of his destiny?

M
ONDAY
, J
ANUARY
26, 2015

T
HE
K
OSSLER ESTATE
, G
ERMANY

“E
scape?” Roger tried to downplay his eagerness. “Is such a thing possible?”

“Anything is possible. The organization has security, yes, but no security system is foolproof.”

“The organization?”

“The group that oversees Methuselah, plus other worldwide activities even I don’t know about. I’ve been observing the guards. They’re lax. After years of just going through the motions with no real threats, they’ve grown casual.”

He didn’t want to ask the next question. According to the old saying, he wasn’t supposed to check the teeth of a horse someone presented as a gift. Still, he had to know her heart. “Helping me out of here will jeopardize your career. Why would you do that for me, a foreigner?”

“Some things are more valuable than careers. Oh, I’ll admit, my scientific side is fascinated by this entire Methuselah Project. Knowing that it works makes me want to dedicate myself to rediscovering the process. But you should not be held here. It is simply wrong. Who knows? Maybe freeing you will be the one truly remarkable act I will do in my life.”

A dying man’s vision of an oasis in the Sahara wouldn’t have elicited more euphoria than this news sparked in Roger. She would help, and he didn’t need to manipulate her affection after all. “Do you have a plan?”

“Not yet. But I’m sure there must be a way to get you out of here.”

“If I can get myself past that metal door, is there anyone watching the opposite side?”

“No, not there. Just steps leading up to the ground floor. Two other men are stationed at a guardhouse outdoors, beside the main gate. They check vehicles in and out, and one of them does regular foot patrols around the property.”

“Could they be bribed to turn a blind eye?”

Sophie shook her head. “Everyone who works anywhere near Methuselah must pass an allegiance test. Any attempt to bribe a guard would end in disaster.”

“Is the property fenced?”

“Not fenced, but walled. A tall stone wall encloses the entire perimeter. On top of that is barbed wire.”

Roger’s mind raced. As if on the tail of an enemy Messerschmitt, he was closing the distance on a bid for freedom. “How do you arrive each day? On foot, or—”

“I drive my own car. Why?”

“I have an idea. Can you get your hands on a key to this cell?”

She shook her head. “Hans carries the only copy I’ve seen. The keys I bring down here open only the front door to the building and this metal one behind me. I don’t believe even the guards outside have the cell key. In fact, I’m not convinced that all our security people know you’re down here. At least, not the regular guards at the gate. They might be oblivious of you.”

“Hmm. That’s a complication, but maybe we can overcome it. If I report that I sometimes get chilly, could you get permission to bring me a wool sweater?”

Sophie’s eyebrows shot up. “A sweater?”

“Yes, I think I can use it to get out of here. You see, every Monday morning Hans has been coming downstairs for a couple of hours.”

“I’ve noticed. I assumed it was to do research or to interrogate you.”

Roger shook his head. “Hardly. Hans barely notices me. To him, I’m a lab rat. The reason he comes is to take a nap on that couch. My guess is that Hans enjoys his weekend parties. Maybe overdoing the Schnapps. Whatever he does, he slips in here to sleep and recover.”

“If that is so, Hans could lose his position, both in Methuselah and in the organization.”

“Don’t utter a word to anyone. This could work to our favor. You see, when Hans arrives on Mondays, he drops his keys on the desk, then stretches out and drifts off to dreamland. If you can bring me a sweater, I can unravel it for the yarn and make a long string out of it—”

“You think you can fashion a hook and catch his keychain?”

“Exactly.”

“What if you fail?”

“If I fail, only I will be to blame. Who could predict I might use a sweater that way? That’s why I’m not asking for a ball of string and a fishhook. Those would incriminate you. If my yarn idea doesn’t work, what are they going to do to me? Put me in jail?”

Sophie’s lips puckered into the adorable smile Roger never tired of seeing. “I’ll buy the sweater. They keep petty cash for little purchases. If you can sneak out while Hans is asleep, I’m sure you could hurry out the front door before anyone stops you. If I meet you at my car, the orange Volkswagen, we—”

“An orange car?” Roger laughed. “I’ve never seen such a thing.”

“You’ve been out of circulation too long, Captain Greene. It’s about time we change that situation.”

“I love the way you think.”

“Leave it to me. I’m sure Hans will grant permission for the sweater.”

Exactly one week later, Monday, February 2, 2015, found Roger sitting in his armchair and reading the Bible. His pent-up excitement over escaping had drawn his thoughts to Exodus, the story of the Jews’ getaway from Egyptian captivity. For years he’d disciplined himself to ignore clocks. Now he waited impatiently for the minutes to tick past. Instead of the sweater, which he’d unraveled, he wore his leather flying jacket. Sophie had reminded him it was winter in the outside world.

At 9:31 a.m., as if on cue, the metal door swung open. Roger lifted his eyes from the thin pages of Scripture and observed Hans stepping through the doorway.

Ignoring Roger’s presence, Hans pushed the door shut until it clicked. He tossed his key ring onto the desk with a clatter, emitted a long sigh, then settled into his customary spot on the leather sofa.

Snooze while you can. When your precious Nazi bosses find out how I escaped on your watch—with you right in the room—that might be the last good sleep you get for a long time. Unless hanging counts.

Despite the tension drawing his muscles as taut as bowstrings, Roger forced himself to lower his eyes to the Bible again.
Don’t tip your hand. Don’t do anything you don’t normally do. Lull him to sleep with normalcy.

Despite these admonitions, he couldn’t concentrate on the printed words. He dragged his eyes over the lines, but he was no longer reading about the ten plagues or pharaoh’s hard heart. He merely play-acted while he waited for the heavy breathing that would signal his opportunity. But for once Hans didn’t doze off quickly. Every few moments he coughed lightly or shifted position.

Come on, fall asleep already!

Another cough. Hans sat up, cleared his throat, then lay back down.

Oh, great. A ticklish throat is keeping him awake today, of all days?