The Methuselah Project (32 page)

“What’s wrong?”

Katherine pointed.

Roger spun and came face to face with a poster-sized photo of a brash fighter pilot—himself—standing by the propeller of his war bird. In a flash, he recalled posing for a photographer from
Yank
magazine back in Debden. Decades ago. How could he explain it?

“It’s just a wild coincidence …”

He looked again. The name tag on the jacket was clearly visible: Greene.

Katherine began stuttering a reply. She backed away. The photo had spooked her. He needed an explanation fast, or his sole helper on earth might vanish.

“Katherine, that’s a photo of my father. I mean my grandfather. Yeah, Grandpa flew in World War II. This is his jacket I’m wearing. You don’t think I’m a ghost, do you?”

Katherine hesitated. Was she buying it? He hated lying to her, but it was the only way.

“So!” interrupted a new voice. “Captain Roger Greene. What a pleasure to meet you at last.”

A swarthy man with short, dark hair swaggered into the gallery. His right hand pointed a pistol straight at Roger’s chest. The man’s other hand held something too. A modern grenade?

“Tsk, tsk, Captain Greene. You have caused a lot trouble. You should have stayed where you were.”

“Who are you?” Roger’s mind raced. Should he run? Risk a bullet in the back? Not with Katherine here.

Katherine continued to stare. He couldn’t tell if her face reflected more fear or confusion.

“Some people call me the Griffin. I think you can guess for whom I work. But that’s irrelevant. What’s important is who
you
are.”

After a smug glance at Katherine, the Griffin returned his attention to Roger. “You know, it’s truly amazing. When they informed my section about you, my associates and I could scarcely believe the report. In certain circles you sparked quite an uproar when you departed Europe.”

“You’re not taking me back.”

“Correct. I’m not taking you back. The chase is over.”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning the organization has come to a decision. Normally I would have killed you and been on my way. But in your case I couldn’t resist exchanging a few words. Also, I’m to confiscate that jacket, along with any other objects or documents on your person. I love a good mystery, and that’s exactly what I’m going to leave behind—another mystery that the inept American police will never unravel.”

Roger’s mind raced. Was there nothing he could do?

“Come. You are out of time, Captain Greene.” The gunman twisted his mouth into a sneer, as if relishing a private joke. Then his jaw clenched. “Remove that jacket and toss it to me. Now. Or I’ll make your end much more painful and gruesome than it needs to be.”

Keeping his eyes on the gunman’s, Roger obeyed, but in slow motion.
Gotta stall! How can I surprise him?

At that moment, a youthful voice called, “I’ll be in the next one, Mom!” Into the room jogged the redheaded boy. He was well into the gallery before the sight of a pistol pointing at Roger stopped him in his tracks. The boy’s eyes bulged.

“Bad timing, boy. No witnesses.” With that, the Griffin pointed the pistol at the youth and shot two silenced bullets. The boy crumpled.

“Danny!”

In the gallery entrance stood the boy’s mother.

“Silence!” The gunman targeted the mother and fired again. Blood spurted from her chest. Her scream died even before her body thumped to the floor.

Wielding his jacket like a whip, Roger lashed the Griffin’s hand. The pistol clattered away. Roger’s left fist smashed an uppercut to the gunman’s chin, sending him sprawling backward into a heap.

The Griffin tried to roll—too late. As if acting on its own, a display case tilted toward him, then toppled, crashing onto him and his weapon.

Roger blinked. Surprise of all surprises, there stood Katherine, the one who had shoved the display onto his attacker. He wouldn’t have believed this light-hearted girl with the cute laugh had the gumption.

Only then did Roger sweep around to assess the damage. Both mother and child lay motionless in scarlet puddles. Two innocents dead, simply because they stood in the same room with him!

He wheeled back. Praise God, Katherine was alive, not even bleeding. But did this guy have partners in the building? He had to protect her!

He seized her hand. “Katherine, we have to run! There might be more of them!”

As if released from a spell by Roger’s touch, Katherine sprinted hand in hand with him, back the way they had come. Despite her aerobics classes, she struggled to keep up with his fast pace. When the pair reached the front lobby, no one manned the desk. Running at full throttle, Roger half-led, half-dragged her across the parking lot to the taxi.

“Give me the key.”

She fumbled through her purse with trembling fingers. “Here!”

Roger slammed the passenger door shut behind her, then ran to the opposite side. He scrambled behind the steering wheel. A second later, he gunned the vehicle out of the lot and raced back toward the interstate.

Roger drove jerkily, stomping too hard on the brakes and over-steering on corners. Hadn’t this guy ever driven a car before? She screamed when he nearly broadsided another car. However, the ramp to I-95 was only a block away, and soon he had the car roaring back in the direction of Atlanta.

“They found me. They threatened they could find me anywhere in the world. I didn’t believe they could actually do it.”

“Who found you?”

“Hard to explain. I don’t totally understand it myself. I think their headquarters are in Germany.”

Katherine’s mind raced. The kaleidoscope of events outpaced her brain. Clearly, though, a man who respected bullets and could punch a gunman to the floor was no ghost. For the moment, she set aside the unexplainable poster in the museum. “Roger, what have you done? Why would anyone want to kill you?”

He rocketed the taxi around a lumbering gravel truck, then spared her a fleeting look. “I haven’t done anything. I’m just a normal American serviceman who loves to fly airplanes and signed up to serve his country. But these guys … they’re like Hitler’s grandchildren. They want to kill me because I was their prisoner. I escaped, and now they want to shut my mouth for good.”

“Hitler’s grandchildren?”

His eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, then back to her. “It’s a long story. Like I said, it’s hard to explain. Especially while barreling down the road. First let’s put some distance between us and that Griffin guy. I’ll explain the whole deal. I warn you, though, this story won’t be easy to swallow.”

M
ONDAY
, M
ARCH
9, 2015

N
ORTHBOUND
I
NTERSTATE
75,
NEAR
F
ORSYTH
, G
EORGIA

T
he green-and-white road sign announced Atlanta lay only sixty miles away when Roger finally wound up his life’s story. Guiding the taxi through the orange barrels of a construction zone, he looked askance at Katherine. She remained silent. He couldn’t tell what she thought of him.

“So that’s my whole bizarre life. I’ve been back in the States for only a couple of days, and already they’ve figured out where I am. Now, what do you say? That I’m off my rocker? An escapee from a loony bin?”

“I honestly don’t know what to think. You must realize that story sounds like a plot hatched in the mind of a Hollywood screenwriter.”

“Every word is true, whether you believe me or not. Don’t those bullets and bodies count for proof?”

“They prove one man wanted to shoot you, or at least threaten you. For all I know, you might have double-crossed a bunch of drug dealers who want revenge. Look at it this way. Pretend we’re back in the year 1940. You and I are eating in a restaurant when, all of a sudden, a young man bursts through the door and claims he’s an officer from a Union Army cavalry outfit that fought in the Civil War. He claims Confederate scientists captured him and performed complicated experiments and extended his life. He shouts that he just now escaped from a deep cave in Tuscaloosa. Would you believe him?”

The hairs on the back of his neck bristled. Was she mocking him?

“That’s different, and you know it. This kind of science didn’t exist in Civil War days.”

“Roger, ask any medical doctor. He’ll tell you the kind of science you describe doesn’t exist nowadays, either. The one fact I know for sure is that a man at the museum shot real bullets and murdered two people.”

“These guys play for keeps. If you have any way to check news reports for Frankfurt, Germany, you’ll find a story about Sophie’s shot-up car being hauled out of a river. They killed her for helping me. Now two more civilians are dead, and I’ve gotten you involved. I’m sorry.” He took a swig from the plastic bottle of Coke purchased at the last filling station.

“Let me postpone my verdict on your story. I want to know what you’re planning to do next.”

“That’s the million-dollar question. I keep wondering if it might be possible to find some old-timers who remember me from my Indiana days. Then maybe the authorities would believe me instead of trying to cart me off to a nuthouse. As far as the future goes, I can guarantee only one thing: I’ll never let anybody lock me behind bars again. I’d go insane if I ever ended up in another cage.”

“So you still don’t want me to phone the police?”

“Please don’t. Not yet, at least.”

“We’re witnesses, Roger. We need to tell the authorities what we saw.”

“The police won’t believe me. They’ll lock me up for sure. Besides, we don’t know where that shooter came from. Cops will want solid information, and we don’t have any they’ll buy.”

“Then let’s go back to the beginning. Start with the orphanage you mentioned. What was the name of it?”

“Sunshine Children’s Home.”

Katherine reached into her purse for her wireless telephone. She clicked several digits. A pause, then she lowered it again. “No such orphanage is listed for Indianapolis.”

He tipped the Coke bottle for another swallow. “No surprise. That place should’ve been torn down when I was there. Next, you’ll want the name of the farm couple who took me in when I was twelve. It was Tucker. But don’t bother trying to contact them. They would’ve died long ago.”

He veered halfway into the left lane to avoid the carcass of a dead deer. “As soon as we get back to Atlanta, I’ll get out of your hair, Katherine. I’ll buy a road map and set out for Indy on foot. Maybe I can hop a train, travel like a hobo.”

“That’s crazy. If somebody is really out to murder you, you’d be easy pickin’s. I say we get rid of the taxi and take my car to Indianapolis.”

His Coke stopped in midair. “We?”

“Yes, we. Either your cockamamie story is true, or it’s false. If it’s true—which is hard to believe—then you need a friend big time. If it’s false and you’re covering up something … Well in that case it will be interesting to tag along and see how this whole drama plays out.”

For the first time since the escape, his spirits lifted. “You’re sure? This trip might not be a milk run. I mean, no easy mission.”

“Sign me aboard anyway, Captain. Let’s see what happens.”

He set down the Coke and shot her a playful salute. “Katherine, for a girl, you’re turning into a pretty good wingman!”

“Yeah? Well, for a young guy who claims to be an old coot, you’re pretty interestin’ company yourself.”