The Methuselah Project (24 page)

As days passed, life resumed as before. The one exception being that Hans no longer descended for Monday-morning naps.

Roger tried to allay any concerns by returning to his own patterns of behavior. Once more, he whiled away the days by reading, strumming his guitar, running in place, and performing calisthenics. He refined the blueprints he had created for a cable-stayed bridge using engineering textbooks on bridge construction. In the past his goal had been to distract himself and keep physically fit. Now, pacifying his captors until the next escape figured largely in his strategy. On the rare occasions when the male scientists descended for any reason other than to deliver meals, Roger ignored them and played the role of a sulking child.

At last, the day came when Sophie said she could lengthen her visits a little. “Are you ready to hear my new escape idea?”

“Let me guess. You’re going to bake me a machine gun in a cake?”

She giggled. “Nothing so dramatic. Besides, if you had killed anyone on the first try, you wouldn’t be alive today. I’ve heard them say that.”

“Lucky me. So what’s your scheme?”

“You’re going to walk out of here in full daylight disguised as Hans. I’ll drive you straight to the airport in Frankfurt. I will personally escort you to a safe place.”

Roger was skeptical, yet intrigued. “I don’t look like Hans. The guards would nab me in two seconds.”

“We can make you look like Hans. Your hair color is very close. Hans has a goatee, and your beard is growing out nicely. On the morning of escape day, you’ll trim it to look exactly like his. Add a pair of sunglasses, maybe a hat, and we can fool them.”

Roger rubbed the new growth covering his chin. “Having you beside me and acting casual would tip the scale in our favor. They wouldn’t expect that.”

“Right. Also, shortly after the last incident, Hans and I started sharing rides to work. The guards are accustomed to seeing us arrive and leave in one car.”

The revelation jarred Roger. “Don’t tell me you and that egomaniac are getting cozy.”

“He believes he’s winning my affection. Just the opposite. The better I know Hans, the more I detest him. But he trusts me. After all, I have clearance from the organization. I’ve even been to his apartment after a date. When he opened a desk drawer, I spotted his passport. Now all I need is the right moment to steal his keys and some of his clothing.”

Roger stepped back. “You’re dating him?”

“Only to trick him. To get you out of here.”

“You realize that snake wants to take you to bed?”

“Of course, I realize it. And he believes he can do it. I told him I won’t go to bed with any man until my wedding night. He smirked and said, ‘We shall see.’ It’s sickening.”

“Be careful, Sophie. Hans is a serpent—only more lethal.”

She nodded. “I’ll be careful. And you must, as well. Don’t do anything that might arouse suspicion.”

“You bet. Meanwhile, if you need me, you know where to find me.”

A week later, on Friday night, Sophie radiated excitement when she slid the supper tray to Roger.

“Has something happened?”

She beamed. “Tonight I’m going to dinner and dancing with Hans. Tomorrow I’m leaving the country with you!”

Roger nearly dropped the tray. “Are you serious? But how?”

“I have it all worked out. I’ll ply him with wine all night but only pretend to drink my own. By the time we reach his apartment, if he’s still functioning, I’ll smash a vase over his head and knock him out.”

“I wish I could handle that vase part for you. I’d like to even the score.”

“Here, take this.” Between the bars, she handed him a plastic bag she’d carried tucked under her arm. “I bought you new clothing that looks like Hans’s. Tonight, trim your beard and hair. Make yourself resemble Hans as best you can. That’s all I have time for. Have to go.”

She hurried to the metal door.

“Say, you still haven’t told me where we’re headed. Where’s the final destination?”

She paused with her fingers on the door handle. “I bought airline tickets. We’re traveling to your country. America!” On that note, she disappeared around the door and let it clank shut.

Roger’s skin crawled with goose bumps. “To America? Just like that, we’re heading to the United States?” He nearly burst with exhilaration. He wanted to shout. To clap. To run a hundred miles. To do anything wild to celebrate those magnificent words. He leaped onto the bed, bounced off the other side, then sank to his knees and clapped both hands together. “Oh, God, I beg You a thousand times … please let this work!”

His hasty prayer completed, Roger dashed to the washroom and tugged the pull-chain for the bulb over the sink. He picked up his razor and, examining his beard in the mirror, pictured Hans’s goatee and mustache.

I have to imitate that guy’s ugly mug? Well, anything for a good cause.

S
ATURDAY
, M
ARCH
7, 2015

T
HE
K
OSSLER ESTATE
, G
ERMANY

W
hen the wall clock verified Saturday morning had dawned in the outside world, Roger was amazed he still hadn’t slept. Pent-up tension had apparently staved off the Methuselah forces that normally plunged him into deep sleep each night.

What a night. I’m as restless as a willow in a windstorm. Let’s get the show on the road!

At seven o’clock, Sophie still hadn’t arrived. Myriads of disastrous scenarios crowded into his imagination. He considered opening his Bible, as its pages had often calmed his heart and passed time. Not this morning. He couldn’t even pretend to read. He could do nothing but pace and worry.

Please, Lord, help Sophie. Don’t let anything go wrong.

At 7:41 a.m., he finally heard the familiar clunk of someone pushing the release bar on the far side of the gray door. Roger dove onto the bed to hide the navy shirt and khaki pants Sophie had brought him. He feigned sleep but left his eyes slit open enough to see who entered.

When Sophie appeared and shut the door behind her, he threw off the covers and flew to the bars. “I was worried about you!”

“I had to wait. If I arrived too early on a Saturday morning, the guards would wonder.” From her handbag she extracted Hans’s key ring.

“You got them! The long silvery one opens the cell door.”

Roger watched as Sophie’s trembling fingers inserted the key and turned it. He shoved the door open and stepped out. “What a glorious feeling. Hold still. I need a celebration hug.”

She’d been holding a brown leather briefcase, but when he embraced her, she winced and dropped it. “Ouch.”

“You’re hurt! What happened?”

“Hans doesn’t get drunk as easily as I hoped. At his apartment I realized I would have to club him over the head after all. He spotted me in a mirror just as I swung. He dodged. We fought. He … he struck me many times before I knocked him out. I think I have a cracked rib. Luckily the organization requires us to train in martial arts.”

“He hit you? I’ll murder him!”

“No, forget Hans. I tied him up. We must flee. Here, take these sunglasses. And this.” She fitted a hat onto Roger’s head. “Hans likes this one. He believes it makes him look—what is the English word—debonair?”

“Hans? Debonair? What a lost cause.”

“Oh, and I brought this for you.” She retrieved the briefcase from the floor. “If you want to take any personal possessions, they must fit in Hans’s briefcase.”

Roger had already considered the matter. “I’m taking only four things: my razor, my Bible, my Air Corps sunglasses, and”—he carefully folded his leather A-2—“my flight jacket.”

When he opened the briefcase, he found a blue booklet: a United States passport. Inside the front cover, a photo of Hans Heinkel stared back at Roger. “How can that creep have American citizenship?”

“I don’t know. In his desk drawer, I found three different passports: one German, one Ukrainian, one American. I grabbed this one for the easiest border crossing.”

He compressed his belongings into the briefcase and snapped it shut. “Okay. Let’s go.”

The old manse that had once belonged to the Kossler family exuded eerie silence as Sophie led Roger past the bookcase that concealed the bunker’s upper entrance. This portion of the building contained desks and file cabinets divided into cubicles by five-foot barriers.

“On weekends no guards enter the building. They just watch the gate and the grounds. An alarm system keeps the main building secure.”

Roger peeked out the window. He spotted five vehicles: an orange car, which he knew to be Sophie’s, plus four others of various hues and odd stylings. Two must belong to the guards at the gate, but whose were those other two?

Sophie joined him at the window. “At eight o’clock the guards change shifts. Let’s wait until the first two leave. Since they saw me come in alone, I don’t want them to see two of us exit.”

Roger spotted a flaw in Sophie’s scheme. “Surely they keep a record of who comes and goes? It will be logged in a blotter.”

“I’ll shrug and tell the new guards that whoever wrote it down made a mistake. I have the passenger seat tilted all the way back. It wouldn’t be hard to overlook a resting person that way.”

“I hope so.” Roger dried his palms against his pants.

Shortly after eight, two laughing, black-shirted men stepped out of the guardhouse. One waved his
auf Wiedersehen.
Each climbed into a vehicle and drove out the gate. Once the second vehicle cleared, the gate pulled shut again.

Relief flooded Roger’s mind. “The coast is clear.”

Sophie eyed him up and down. “You’re a little taller than Hans, but that shouldn’t matter.” She adjusted the hat on his head. “There. That’s how Hans wears it. With the hat and sunglasses, you make a good Hans.”

“No need to insult me. Well, it’s now or never.”

With his heart pounding inside his ribs, he stepped out the door behind Sophie. She’d already reset the security system but, as they’d agreed, Roger was the one who relocked the exterior door, just as the genuine Hans would do.

As they sauntered to her orange Volkswagen, he sneaked a peek at the sky with its few cumulus clouds. Fabulous weather for flying. Just as quickly, he set aside such thoughts. Escape first. Fly later.

It occurred to Roger that the arrogant Hans might insist on driving, even if it wasn’t his car. He whispered, “Who should drive? You or me?”

She glanced sidewise. “When was the last time you drove a car?”

“In 1942. A Desoto.”

Despite the tension of the moment, she giggled. “You’re not driving me anywhere until you get a new license.”

The car wasn’t locked. Roger casually opened the passenger door. Now he understood what she meant about tilting the seat back. Cars in his day never looked like this. He slid in, shut the door, and reclined as if drowsy.

Sophie took her seat and started the engine. “I’m so nervous.”

“You’re doing terrific. Keep it up.”

At the exit, a red-and-white-striped arm that could have barred the way pointed straight up—no problem there. But a section of chain-link gate blocked their way. Through his new sunglasses, Roger watched as Sophie slowed the car and gave a casual wave to the black-garbed man in the window. Instead of opening the gate, he squinted with a puzzled frown.

Sophie faked a grin and motioned toward the gate, as if it should be obvious what she wanted.

One of the two guards inside pulled on a jacket and stepped out of the guardhouse. He peered first at Sophie, then at the reclining figure beyond her. He motioned for her to roll down the window. “Two of you? The record shows only one person arrived.”

She giggled. “How can that be? Dr. Heinkel and I arrived together just twenty minutes ago.” She glanced toward the relaxed figure in sunglasses. “Ah, with the seat back, the other guard must not have noticed Dr. Heinkel. We had a late night last night.”

When the guard hesitated, Sophie placed an arm on Roger’s knee. “Hans, at least wave so security will know I’m not transporting a corpse.”

Roger wiggled his fingers in a way he hoped would dovetail with Hans’s sarcastic personality.