Chapter 21 - Who are you?
A low rumble like a minor earthquake woke Eric and then faded away. He had no idea of the time or where he was. The only thing he did know was that his head hurt. It hurt a lot. It hurt as if someone was using it for a drum solo. At least wherever he lay was now quiet. Very, very quiet.
He could hear nothing and he could see nothing, but he could smell something. Wherever he was smelled damp and musty; it made him feel sick. Cautiously he opened his eyes, but the bright glare from a nearby light made his head even worse. He closed them again and let out a dull groan.
Where was he? He tried to establish what he already knew. He was under a blanket and curled up in the foetal position. Neither his hands nor feet were bound, so he stretched out. By feeling around, he worked out that he was on a particularly uncomfortable sofa but without being able to see he couldn’t add much to this. Once again he tried to open his eyes but the glare was too much, and he had to close them.
From behind his head, he heard footsteps. They sounded hollow, as if the floor underneath was empty.
“Are you okay or still feeling as if you have been in a boxing match?” asked the same voice from the alley.
The man’s English was perfect, but he had a slight accent. Eric could not say whether he sounded slightly American, Russian or north European, but he definitely was not English. He sounded concerned, but Eric remembered that he had sounded concerned in the alley way. So concerned, in fact, that he had stabbed him with a needle and drugged him unconscious.
“I imagine you’ve got a thumping headache. I must apologize on that account. It was the lesser of two evils I’m afraid. I was going to use chloroform, but I had a change of heart after fears that I may choke you.”
“You’re very considerate,” Eric croaked sarcastically.
“Here, sit up.”
Two strong hands gripped Eric under the armpits and lifted him into a sitting position. His head pounded more than ever now that he was vertical.
“Drink this. Within ten minutes you’ll feel as good as new,” and a mug of fizzing liquid was placed in Eric’s hand.
Eric did not move. This man had already drugged him, what was to say that he wouldn’t now poison him?
“To be honest, I doubt I would drink it if I were in your position either,” said the man, as if reading his thoughts. “However, you’re not bound, nor gagged, nor blindfolded, so I’m hardly going to poison you. Admittedly it is going to taste rather foul but it will get you back on your feet in next to no time. You have lost natural body salts and sugars. This will put them back.”
The mug was removed from Eric’s hand; he heard the man drink a mouthful and then it was given back. Suspiciously, Eric raised the glass to his mouth. Fizzy bubbles tickled his lips. The liquid tasted both sweet and salty. It also tasted horrible.
“Drink it down. It will help. Honestly,” and the man walked away.
Against his better judgment, Eric followed the man’s advice. Within ten minutes his pounding headache had eased, and he was feeling much better.
In the distance, he heard a low rumble again. The sofa he was sat on began to vibrate, and the rumbling noise filled the room. Eric wasn’t sure, but he thought it sounded like a metro train had just passed underneath him. Fortunately, it had no effect on his much-improved head.
Tentatively, he opened his eyes. The light was bright at first, but he soon became used to it and looked around. He was not sat on a sofa as he had suspected but on three joined seats with the arms broken off. They were threadbare and looked as if they belonged in a theatre. Resting up against them were Eric’s bag and coat. Opposite him were another set of seats and, to his left, a rusty desk lamp sat on an old popcorn maker. It was the only light, and the rest of the place was in semi-darkness. Beyond these, Eric could just make out rows of similar seats. They were in a large auditorium and on the back wall faint light crept through a small rectangular opening.
Eric stood up carefully, and his head spun at first. Behind him, a huge wide pleated curtain was draped across an entire wall. It had been made from purple satin but in places moths had feasted to reveal a white background.
“Good stuff, you’re up,” said the man from the shadows. “Tell me, what do you think of my temporary abode, the Kino Alfa? I admit that as cinemas go its halcyon days are long gone but at least no one bothers me down here.”
He emerged from the dark and walked towards Eric. In his hands, he was holding what Eric first thought were revolvers but turned out to be two hot dogs. He gave one to Eric, who noticed that the man’s fingers and nails looked untidy as if they had been bitten.
“I thought you might be peckish,” said the man and sat down.
He was dressed in jeans, a tight red T-shirt which emphasized his muscles and a red baseball cap. His face was covered in thick black stubble, peppered with grey, and Eric thought that he looked in his forties. Running across his right cheek, from his mouth to the top of his right ear, was a long pink scar where no hair would grow. However, the most striking features on his face, in contrast to the unpleasant looking scar, were his sky blue eyes. Eric’s art teacher had told him that eyes are the windows to the soul. If that was true then, Eric felt he was not in danger. For some reason, the man also seemed familiar. Eric was sure he had seen him before, but he didn’t know where or when.
“Who are you?” asked Eric accusingly, in between bites of his hot dog.
“How rude of me, let me introduce myself. My name is Doctor Alexander Johansen, but you can call me Alexander or Alex.”
“What kind of doctor drugs and kidnaps a child?” demanded Eric, spraying bits of sausage over the floor.
Dr. Johansen moved forward in his chair.
“If you would allow me to correct you? Firstly, I am not a doctor of medicine. Secondly, I have not, I can assure you, kidnapped you. You are here for your own protection. I am protecting you. Consider me your guardian angel.”
Eric looked for the nearest exit.
“Protecting me? I don’t think so! Well, if you’re not kidnapping me, I’ll go. I can look after myself thank you very much.”
Without looking back, Eric stood up, jumped off the stage and made his way to an exit at the rear of the dark cinema.
Dr. Johansen watched him leave but before Eric reached the door, he shouted after him, “Let me ask you one simple question Eric Meyer, who has just turned twelve, but actually his birth date is incorrect. What kind of fool leaves the safety of his home and school when he knows, and has been told, that he is in mortal danger?”
Eric stopped dead in his tracks beside Row J. He did not like being insulted and shouted back, “I am not a fool!”
“Then come back here and let me tell you the truth about your past,” suggested Dr. Johansen, biting his nails and the skin around them.
Slowly, Eric looked from Dr. Johansen to the exit and back again. Part of him badly wanted to leave and be back with Andrea and even with Ursula. However, another part of him was intrigued by what Dr. Johansen had said. Confident that he could outrun this man, Eric walked back towards the cinema screen and sat down opposite Dr. Johansen.
All the screens in Agent Hoover’s surveillance room were focused on Prague. Every few seconds he scanned the countless displays but without any success. The room stunk of cigarettes and behind him Agent Angel lit yet another one. He had been pacing and chain smoking since his arrival, one cigarette after another after another after another. The smoke was becoming unbearable for Hoover, who could not leave his swivel chair. In the corner, at the rear of the room, a sinewy figure breathed in the cigarette smoke contentedly.
“It’s been four hours now. Why can’t we find him?” Agent Angel’s voice was calm, which was not a good thing in Agent Hoover’s experience. It was like the lull before the storm.
“Geez, I can’t answer that, Sir,” replied Agent Hoover. “We had him and then BAM! The ki
d just vanished.”
“Status report from the elementary school,” ordered Agent Angel, breathing out more smoke.
Agent Hoover stared at the screens and answered, “Agents Alpha and Beta have checked it out. It’s clear. The kid ain’t there.”
“The house?”
“Agents Gamma and Delta report nothing, Sir. It’s clear.”
“In that case, have you gathered any intelligence on the Elf and the Street Kid?”
He pointed a sausage sized finger towards the displays covering the right side of the wall. Three photos covered seventy-five screens. Underneath the word ‘suspects’ were a grainy photo of Andrea behind the wheel of the Range Rover and another one of Ursula in the playground. Below them, and imprinted with the words ‘TARGET,' was the polaroid shot of Eric taken at the Benjamins.
“Nothing to report,” replied Agent Hoover after checking his computer.
“Nothing to report! How can there be nothing? We control the internet and can access any database on the planet, but we can’t find a damn thing on this Elf and street kid! Have you accessed the school records?”
“We’re trying to, Sir, but the encryption code they use is proving mighty hard for our boys to crack.” Agent Hoover did not like giving Agent Angel bad news so added, “But Agent Beta heard another kid call the black girl ‘Ursula.'”
Raising his hands in the air in mock prayer, Agent Angel said sarcastically, “Well thank the Lord.” As he brought them down, he smacked Agent Hoover hard on the back of his head and ordered, “Status report on the town!”
“Agents Ypsilon and Zeta have finished an in depth search of the area outside the ice cream store, where we saw the kid last, but have nothing to report.
“Damn!” roared Agent Angel. “We were so close. He was in our sights.”
The dinner table felt strange without Eric, thought Ursula. Admittedly they had not had many civil meals there together but it was still strange without him. Their relationship had improved since the Christmas holiday, and they both recognized that.
Andrea did not say anything when they arrived home from school and had disappeared until dinner. While Ursula ate, Andrea sat silently. Only when Ursula had almost finished did she break the silence.
“Do you feel anything from Eric now?” she asked.
“Not really,” replied Ursula but her mind was preoccupied with the vegetable pizza she was eating.
“Stop eating, please, and concentrate.”
Ursula did as she was told and tried to focus on Eric. At first there was nothing but gradually she began to feel something. It wasn’t positive, but neither was it negative.
“He’s okay,” she paused and focused more. “He’s confused but okay.”
“Good. Eat all your food, you will need it. After dinner, you are going to find Eric.”
Ursula swallowed the piece of pizza she had just put in her mouth and tried not to choke.
“Me? How am I going to find him? I don’t know where he is.”
“Yes you do,” corrected Andrea and touching Ursula’s head said, “you must use this.”
The cinema was not warm. Eric put his coat back on, but Dr. Johansen seemed to be quite content in just his T-shirt.
“So, what are you going to tell me?” asked Eric irritably.
“All in good time but first I need to prepare you.”
“You’re not going to inject me again!”
Dr. Johansen smiled. “No, no, no. I need to prepare you mentally.”
“And you’re not going to hypnotize me either,” Eric replied quickly.
“If you would just hold your tongue for a second it would give me the opportunity to explain.”
Eric said nothing. He was not used to being told to be quiet by a stranger.
“Thank you. I know that you are a clever boy, but I doubt you have learnt what I am about to tell you. As far as I know Psychology is not a subject which many schools teach, at least not at your age, Eric. Psychologists have a concept called ‘self.' This was first proposed by a Viennese psychologist called Heinz Kohut. Self is ‘who’ or ‘what you are.’ Your ‘self’ is shaped by your experiences and the people around you - your family, teachers and friends for instance.”
Eric felt that Dr. Johansen was either very clever or was just pretending to be very clever.
“As you grow older your sense of self will change; for example, from a baby to a child, a child to a teenager and so on. The best definition I have read was from a lady called Hazel Siromani who said, ‘self is a process of uncovering, discovering and rediscovering different layers to reach the core of your very being.’ Normally this happens over an entire lifetime, and the process of discovery is a gradual one. Are you with me so far?”
Eric looked as if he was being patronized.
“Yes. We are who we are because of the people around us and what we find out about ourselves by doing things. That’s hardly rocket science.”
“I agree; rocket science is a completely different kettle of fish, and we may get onto that later.”
Dr. Johansen paused and thought about what to say next. Even though, he had given this moment much thought it still worried him.
“To cut a long story short Eric, you are not who you think you are, and you’re about to discover some layers that will change your view of yourself. Quite heavy stuff for a twelve-year-old. Are you sure you want me to continue?”
Eric nodded; he was becoming bored with Dr. Johansen’s monologue.
“In that case, let us begin with your name. Originally your name was not Eric, and you were sadly devoid of any surname. You were simply called ‘Adam.'”
Eric felt himself beginning to smile at this absurd comment and raised his hand to cover his mouth.
“Your birthday is also completely wrong because, odd though it may sound, you don’t actually have one.”
Behind his hand, Eric tried to hold back a laugh but failed. Dr. Johansen could not help but notice and stared at Eric while biting his fingernails.
“It is unfortunate that you find this amusing. I am not being frivolous with my comments. This is not a game. Do you think it was a game for the agency that killed the man and the woman who you called your parents?”
“Who killed my parents?” asked Eric.
The smile was wiped from his face. He wanted to lash out at this crazy man, but he held back and asked angrily, “What’s that got to do with anything?”
“I’ll tell you,” Dr. Johansen leant forward and stared intently into Eric’s eyes. “The people who killed your parents are the same people who killed mine. And you are looking at one of the very few people on the planet who knows something about them.”
Now that he had Eric’s full, undivided attention, he continued, “They are an American government organization called the OSS. An organization which, officially at least, has ceased to exist for over sixty years. I know this for many reasons. Probably of the most interest to you right now is that I believe I have been one of their main targets for more than ten years, even though I doubt they have ever seen my face.” He ran a finger subconsciously down his scar, almost caressing it. “But now, alas, I am no longer one of their most wanted. They are more interested in someone else, and that is why you are here. They are after you and I cannot allow them to reach you.”
Hidden behind parked cars, on a road outside the Meyer villa, a shadow whispered, “This is Agent Gamma, suspects are leaving the villa. We are in pursuit.”
Once Ursula had her seat belt on, Andrea sped off. The Range Rover kicked up pebbles on the driveway and left two deep tracks. It accelerated on to the tightly packed streets and towards the centre of town. From underneath a broken street lamp two black motorbikes powerfully roared into life and followed. Andrea spotted them on a square called Náměstí Míru as she drove around a tall church. There was nowhere for the motorbikes to hide. The road was empty and as she slowed to let a tram rattle past they
appeared in each of her wing mirrors.
“Where are we going, Ursula?” There was no urgency in Andrea’s voice.
In the back of the car, Ursula had her head down, and her mind was focused solely on Eric.
“That way,” she said and without looking up, pointed to the right.
Andrea looked in her mirror and followed the way Ursula was pointing. She continued to follow her directions until they reached Wenceslas Square.
The long square was busy with people despite the late hour. Bright shop fronts lit up their faces as they swayed towards clubs and bars. They were moving quickly in the cold and were keen to be back inside as the light snow had turned to drizzle.
Andrea drove round the square twice, but Ursula was confused. They decided to try on foot instead and parked in a side road.
Underground nightclubs with loud music stretched out along the street where they parked. After getting out of the car, Ursula found it hard to concentrate. There were big groups of foreign men, swearing loudly and fighting amongst themselves. They waited outside club entrances until scary looking bouncers let them in. Ursula dropped her head, and Andrea put a protective arm around her as they walked back towards Wenceslas Square.
A grand museum sat at the top of the square, and it was guarded by a statue of King Wenceslas on his horse. It was surrounded by people. Unlike the tourists, Ursula and Andrea walked away from the statue. Fifty metres behind them, the two Agents followed.
Half-way down the square, Ursula felt Eric’s presence become stronger. Beside a shop selling crystal, she walked into a wide passageway. Next to a milliners, full to the brim with expensive ladies’ hats, Ursula stopped and lifted her head. As she looked she saw a shop packed with stamps and, nearby, the silhouettes of two men in the passageway’s entrance.
They began to walk toward them and came into the light. Both were in black leather, similar to Andrea, and both were still wearing their black helmets.
“I’m sorry Andrea; I can’t do this,” Ursula said and dropped her head again.
Andrea did not reply. She put her arm around Ursula and led her away from the two men, past the sealed up entrance to Kino Alfa and out of the passageway’s far exit.
“You look as if you’ve had a turn. What is it?” asked Dr. Johansen with concern in his voice.
Eric had turned pale, and it took him a while to reply, “A warning.”
“A warning! What kind of warning? There’s no one here.”
Eric explained and pointed to his head as he did so, “I sometimes know what Ursula is thinking. She’s afraid.”
This answer did not help Dr. Johansen feel any less confused and asked, “Who is Ursula?”
“She’s my Parent’s Pet Project. They published a puzzle in the world’s newspapers that was meant to be difficult, but I didn’t think so. She solved it and left Paris to join me in Prague. She claimed that she did it in less time than me, but I don’t believe her.”
Dr. Johansen leant back on his seat and pulled his fingers to his mouth. His face was pained, and he began to bite his nails again while staring straight through Eric.
Removing his fingers briefly from his mouth, he asked, “This Ursula whom you talk about. If I were to meet her, I imagine I would find someone who is about your age, possibly a very close birthday and… the same skin colour as you?”
“No,” replied Eric. “I think her family were originally from Africa.”
The seat creaked as Dr. Johansen flung himself back into it. His teeth were chattering over his fingernails like a typewriter. He looked consumed by worry and almost desperate. Suddenly, his apparent stress disappeared, and he stood up purposefully.
“Unfortunately, like attracts like and fate has conspired against us. It will only be a matter of time before others see the connection. We need to get back into your villa without being seen. Pick up your things. It is time to leave.”
Dr. Johansen drove his black Chrysler into a street far away from Eric’s villa. The road was empty of people but so full of parked cars that they could not find a parking space. By the time they found one, it was way past midnight but at least they knew they had not been followed.
The night was very dark. Heavy clouds blocked out the moon and the stars. Apart from the rumble of the occasional train the area was silent.
“Is there a way into your villa that cunningly avoids going through the front door?” asked Dr. Johansen.
Without answering the question, he walked off and Dr. Johansen followed him. They stepped onto the cobbled pavement and freezing puddles left by melting snow. Looking around himself, Eric tried to work out where he was. He knew that the buildings looking down on them were all over one hundred years old. Some had towers; others had gables, but none were identical. Eric was not sure where he was until he saw a small square, with a lonely tree, at the top of the road. His eyes flitted between Eric and dark corners where somebody could easily hide. If Eric wanted to escape this would be the perfect time, but he didn’t. His kidnapper now wanted to break into the Meyer villa to see Ursula and, though he wouldn’t admit it, breaking into his own home fascinated him. At a large gate under an unstable looking arch, Eric stopped.
“Behind here is a park,” said Eric, his breath visible in the cold night. “If we get into the park we can make our way to the vineyard fence, climb over it, get into the villa’s vineyard and then onto the terrace. From there, we can get into the villa through the gardener’s entrance. It’s covered in ivy and well hidden. We can enter there.”
Eric moved away from the gate to a wall in need of repair. Before he could climb up, Dr. Johansen pulled him under a street light. His face was yellow under the light and strained.
“When we have scaled this wall, lead the way but do so silently. If I tap you on the shoulder, you must freeze instantly. The villa is under surveillance but currently the OSS don’t think you are there which, in many ways, makes it the perfect place to be. That is if we remain hidden as we enter. It would be prudent to keep them in the dark by staying in the dark.”
Eric did not like being ordered and shook himself away from Dr. Johansen.
“I don’t know you but I do know where I am. You had better keep up with me because I won’t wait for you. And, for your information, since my parents were killed the whole world has been watching me so it is hardly something new.”
With that said, he turned away and stared at the wall. Many bricks were missing or were chipped, and it looked like a badly painted chess board. Seeking out his first handhold, he approached the wall, found it and scaled the three metres of brick like a spider. In a few seconds, he was on the other side. Dr. Johansen was beside him in an instant.
On the road side of the wall, the street light had bathed everything in yellow. On the park side, there was no light. Eric and Dr. Johansen were plunged into darkness. Their eyes slowly adjusted and the little they could see was in various shades of grey. The path they stood on was light grey, the trees grey and, beyond the vineyard, the villa was silhouetted black against the dark grey sky. Far below them a long train rumbled by.
Eric ran off through the trees and bushes towards the vineyard. He could not see well but managed to duck and swerve around all the branches that blocked his way. Behind him, Dr. Johansen painfully hit most of them. Just as Eric reached the wire fence around the vineyard, Dr. Johansen placed his hand strongly on Eric’s shoulder and pulled him down into a crouch. Eric shook the hand off. Before he had a chance to say anything, Dr. Johansen placed his hand over Eric’s mouth and pointed to below the villa.
Surrounding the terrace and at the top of the vineyard was a high wall. Eric looked along it but stopped when he reached the centre. Leading majestically from the vineyard to the terrace were two diagonal staircases, and hidden beside the last step were two figures. They were almost invisible and would not have been seen from the villa’s windows or the terrace. They were a little over two h
undred metres from where Eric and Dr. Johansen were hiding. Eric wrote the letters O, S and S in the air. Dr. Johansen nodded. The two agents were moving their heads in wide arcs, obviously checking the area. Before they looked in Eric’s direction, Dr. Johansen dropped down onto his belly. Eric copied him.
The ground was cold, hard, and snow lay in places. Moving like snakes they approached the wire fence and crawled along it until they found a place where it was not touching the earth. Silently, Dr. Johansen lifted the wire upwards for them to crawl under. When he let go, it curled back down. He tried again, but the same thing happened. He tried lifting it higher but the fence was attached to metal poles and would not move any further.
Dr. Johansen considered his options. To make a gap big enough for them both to get under would mean ripping the fence from its posts. This would be noisy and would attract unwanted attention. If they attempted to climb over it instead they would be seen by the OSS agents but, looking along the fence, there were no other ways in.
The silence was broken by a train screeching to a halt. Immediately Dr. Johansen yanked the fence upwards. It shook and rattled, but the train covered the noise. The resulting gap was big enough for them both to slide through and by the time the train had finished braking they were in the vineyard.
Eric stopped moving when he reached the end of a row of vines. He looked towards the men. They had gone. From behind, Dr. Johansen tapped him on the leg. He was clearly agitated and urgently motioned Eric to continue forward. Once again Eric scanned the area around them. The men were nowhere to be seen. The terrace overlooking the vineyard was empty; there was no one against the walls below it and the staircases, where the OSS had been heading, were free.
Raising himself onto all fours, Eric scampered off like a monkey, with Dr. Johansen close behind. He was just reaching the other end of the row when two large figures stepped out in front of him. Eric stopped, fell onto his belly and rolled into a shallow ditch under the vines, scratching himself as he did so. His trousers started to feel wet and then freezing water pinched at his skin. The cold crept up his body, daring him to shout out in shock, but he clamped his lips tightly shut.
“Where was it?” asked a man with a rough New York accent.
“Down by the fence,” replied his partner. “Definite movement.”
“Probably two kids making out.”
“Yeah, probably, but we’d better check it out. And stay low. We can’t be seen. This is still a covert operation remember.”
“You don’t have to remind me of protocol,” replied the New Yorker, sounding slightly annoyed. “Come on, let’s go.”
Despite their body size, the men’s footsteps were as light as children’s as they walked away. When he could no longer hear them, Eric rolled out of the ditch and quickly crawled towards the staircase. His teeth were chattering, and his legs stung from the cold.
At the bottom of the two marble staircases, Dr. Johansen motioned Eric to stop and remove his shoes and socks. Their bare feet made no sound as they bounded up each step, but the polished stone was bitterly cold and chilled their feet to the bone. They didn’t stop moving until they had sprinted across the open terrace and had hidden behind the ivy clinging to the villa. Next to a solid wooden door was a pair of old wellies. Eric reached inside one, pulled out a key and used it to let them both into a pitch black room.
The room smelt of earth, fertilizer and fermented wine. Dr. Johansen closed the door silently behind them, and Eric felt around in the dark, trying to find a light switch. Suddenly a cold hand covered his mouth and gripped him tightly. Metal brushed against his cheek, and he felt a gun.
A few seconds later the light sparked on to reveal a small windowless room with garden equipment lining the walls like weapons and bags of fertilizer piled on the floor amongst the demijohns.
“Well done. That’s much better,” said Dr. Johansen, as he fiddled with the door’s lock, his back to Eric.
But Eric could not reply, and his eyes were fixed on the small firearm pointing towards the door.
“What’s up? The cat got your tongue? It’s time to rejoice. We made it.”
Dr. Johansen turned around. His mouth fell open like a fish, and his eyes widened. At the same time, Eric was released, and the gun fell limp.
“Hello Andrea,” greeted Dr. Johansen.
“Alexander,” replied Andrea and she almost sounded surprised.
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