David Golemon - Legacy

Golding deflated at the prospect of being left behind. He looked at Ellenshaw, who took the seat Jack had just vacated.

“They do this all the time. I never got used to it either,” Ellenshaw said. He took another bite of the fast dwindling sandwich.

“Maybe they wouldn’t have left us behind if you didn’t smell like crap. Just what in hell are you eating?”

The rental car eased slowly past the massive demonstrations. As Carl drove, Jack read the banners. They not only protested the cost of ESA’s attempt to land on the Moon but complained that it was a slap directly to the face of God. The two groups, though different in makeup, had the same goal in mind-making the German government pull all funding from the European Space Agency’s attempt at a Moon landing.

“With the pope and the other heads of organized religion calling for calm while this mystery is solved, where are all of these fundamentalist movements getting their gas from?” Jack asked. Outside, several men and women slammed their hands and fists against their car.

“In my opinion, most people don’t need a leader anymore to show that they’re idiots,” Everett said. He reached through the car’s window and pushed one of the protesters away. The long-haired man dropped his placard, which read in both German and English: “Hoax! America is once again perpetrating the greatest fraud against God!”

As the car slowly moved through the multitude, Jack saw a large group of skinheads gathering on the street corner not far from the center of the throng. He could see immediately that these men and women were here not to demonstrate but to do what they did best-start a riot.

“This could get ugly real fast,” he said, pointing to an empty side street. “Rosa-Luxemburg-Strasse is right up there. Let’s dump the car down that alley and walk the rest of the way.”

Everett saw where Jack was pointing and steered in that direction. Several protesters refused to move, but apparently decided against any action when Everett’s eyes bore into them. They gradually moved out of the way.

Everett finally made it to the alley. Both he and Jack got out and returned to the street. The mass of humanity was growing by the thousands and the mood was becoming angrier by the minute. Sirens and the sounds of police bullhorns could be heard further down the street as authorities started ordering the protesters to disperse.

“There,” Jack called out over the noise of the chants. Voices had just started calling for a break with the United States and the European Community.

A large set of stairs fronted the apartment complex. The large structure was one of the remaining vestiges of an era long gone in Germany. It was one of the last buildings that had been owned by the Nazi Party and had once been used to house VIPs, but now housed the poorer residents of downtown Berlin, with each of the original apartments cut into three.

They pushed their way through the crowd, drawing angry looks from some very large men with shaved heads. As they made it through the first group, Jack and Carl both saw that a second line of neo-Nazis had formed a cordon at the front entrance. They stood with arms crossed, as though they were guarding the building.

“Did I ever tell you I hate these guys, Jack?” Everett said. They came to a stop ten feet in front of the group of thirty men. Everett reached behind and under his leather jacket and made sure the Beretta nine-millimeter was secured, in case he was jostled on the way in.

“I don’t particularly care for them myself, Mr. Everett, and they do seem to be blocking the exact area we need to go.” Jack started making his way to the man who looked like he was in charge.

Collins had to reach around a large man with a bandanna across his forehead to get to the first set of door handles, but the man attempted to block him. Jack’s hand remained where it was.

“Mochten Sie lhre Kugeln wo sie sind?” he asked the young German, just loud enough that only the man blocking his hand could hear. At the same time Jack allowed his jacket to part enough so that the man could see the gun tucked in his waistband.

Everett watched the man blocking Jack lick his lips and then was amazed when the black-jacketed youth stepped away from the door. He followed Jack inside as the group of Nazis crowded around wondering why their leader relented so easily.

“What in the hell did you say to that guy?” Carl asked as they went for the large staircase.

“I just asked him if he liked his balls where they were.”

Everett smiled as they started up to the next floor, taking the stairs three at a time.

“Evidently he did.”

As they went up the stairs Jack had the distinct feeling that they were being observed. He slowed to take the stairs one at a time, swiveling his head to look for security cameras. The dilapidated building didn’t seem like the type of operation that could afford much security, so he figured it must be a human element watching them. As they gained the second floor and stepped onto the scratched marble that was once a glory to behold, Jack saw the apartment they were seeking-Number 236.

Jack pulled Everett aside. He looked up and down the long hallway, then reached into his jacket and pulled out the nine-millimeter. “We have company,” he said as Everett also pulled his weapon out.

“Inside or out?” he asked, going to Jack’s left.

“Don’t know,” he answered. He knocked on the door.

Everett looked in both directions but the hallway was empty. The only sounds were the yells and chants coming from the street below.

“Ja?” a female voice answered from the other side of the door.

The voice was that of an older woman. It sounded strange, out of the norm, as if whoever answered was frightened.

“Wir sind hier, um zu sehen, Herr Zinsser,” Jack said in German.

There was no immediate answer.

“Sind Sie die Tochter von Herrn Zinsser?” he continued, asking if he was speaking to Zinsser’s daughter.

“Ja,” the voice answered.

Jack heard a shuffling from behind the door.

“La?t uns in Ruhe, geh weg!” the deep voice of a man said loudly.

“What was that?’ Everett whispered.

“He said leave them alone and go away.”

“Friendly,” Everett said. “But that doesn’t sound like a ninety-one-year-old man.”

Jack leaned closer to the door. He heard a woman softly sobbing. He shook his head as he stood back and examined the door.

“Well, there’s no sense in standing on ceremony,” Jack said. He raised his right foot and kicked as hard as he could. The door caved in and Jack saw a large man with a shaved head go flying backward with the door covering most of his frame. He entered with his gun held high. Everett, watching Jack’s every move, quickly followed through the empty door frame.

The man tried to push the door off himself, but before he could Jack raised his right foot again and brought the heel of his black shoe down into the man’s nose, instantly sending the German to dreamland. The man’s right hand stuck out from under the smashed door. Jack reached down and retrieved the gun, tossing it to one side without looking. Carl deftly caught it and went to the left of the entranceway. Jack slid by the unconscious man. The old woman had collapsed and was holding her hands over her face.

“Do you speak English?” Jack asked. He bent over and assisted the elderly woman to her feet.

“Ja,” she said, slowly wiping away her tears. “Yes,” she repeated.

“Your father, is he here?” Jack asked.

The woman started crying and pointed toward the back of the small apartment. Jack handed the woman off to Carl and slowly crept toward one of the two bedrooms. The door on the left was ajar and Collins eased it open with the barrel of the nine-millimeter. As the door opened he went to one knee as quickly as he could and scanned the room with the gun. After a moment he spotted the man they had come to question. Zinsser was lying across his bed still clad in pajamas, with only one slipper on. Jack closed his eyes and rose to his feet.