The Secret of Lions (31 page)

In one hand I held
The Secret of
Lions
, and in the other I held my gun. I stared at the gun. I
returned to the room that would become Hitler’s tomb and stared at
his body.

“Goodbye,” I whispered, and I tossed the gun
onto his corpse. It was useless to me now.

I went back into the room, grabbed a
kerosene lamp off one of the tables, and threw it on the floor. The
bunker lit up and the flames slowly traced the floor to a set of
embroidered drapes with swastika designs covering the wall.

I ran out of the room and back up the
stairs. I walked up to the first floor, and I heard voices from
Hitler’s staff. That’s when I realized the upper floors of the
building were more crowded than I originally had thought.

The voices were approaching. A split-second
later they opened the door only to catch a glimpse of me running
out the back, carrying a large canvas behind me.

After they found their precious Führer in
flames, I was gone. Black Lion was gone.

87

Several weeks later, the Russians invaded
and occupied the eastern part of Berlin. They treated their
prisoners savagely. Many German officers had much rather face their
own bullets then be caught by the Russians.

One morning at the beginning of June when
things were warming up, a dangerous man walked into the main
Russian camp.

Beowulf was disguised as a Russian
officer.

Confidently, he walked among the troops. No
one gave him a second glance. No one suspected he was a dangerous
assassin.

Beowulf entered a heavily guarded old
church. He ventured into its grand cathedral. The church was
gorgeous, considering that much of Berlin was bombed, leaving many
buildings as hollow shells of their former selves.

Three Russian soldiers stood guard around an
altar. Steadfast, Beowulf approached them. He knelt before the
altar and did the sign of the cross. The guards were slightly
confused but did not dwell on it too much.

“I’m sorry I failed you, my Führer. I should
have protected you. But I will avenge you. I will find him,”
Beowulf said.

He rose from his knees and passed through
the guards with ease. As he neared the altar, Hitler’s half-charred
corpse became visible. The Führer’s body lay on top of the altar as
if he were some divine being.

A Russian medical officer stood over him,
studying the body.

“Doctor, report to me. Is this Hitler?”
Beowulf asked, speaking in near-perfect Russian.

The doctor peered up at Beowulf, almost
questioning his rank, but he answered. “Yes. He was killed by
several gunshot wounds. His face is mangled, but still
recognizable. I think Moscow would prefer if we shoot one of his
body doubles in the head and replace this body with his,” the
doctor said as he circled the corpse, marking boxes on a chart that
he cradled like a baby.

Beowulf nodded.

“Did you find anything on him?”

“Actually, there was one strange thing,” the
doctor said. He reached into a brown bag and pulled out a
sketchbook with a lion emblem on the cover. The book had Hitler’s
bloody fingerprints on it.

“This was gripped tightly in his hand. We
had to pry it free, breaking his fingers,” he said.

“Hand that over, doctor. The commander will
want to have it,” Beowulf said, reaching to take it.

“No, sir,” the doctor said. “The commander
gave me explicit instructions not to release this into the hands of
anyone other than himself.”

“Yes, doctor. Of course not,” Beowulf said.
He peered around the church. The three guards were facing the
opposite direction. They were out of earshot but barely. Beowulf
looked at the medical officer and smiled.

Very quickly, he punched him in the throat
twice and threw the doctor’s arms up in the air. Beowulf hugged
close to him and quickly stabbed a short-bladed knife into the back
of his neck. He spun both of them around and faced the guards with
a silenced pistol drawn.

He watched them, waiting for them to react
to the quiet commotion behind them. But not once did they shift or
turn around. They stood steadfast, unaware of the brutal murder
behind them.

Within moments the doctor had died in
Beowulf’s arms.

He left the body behind the altar, grabbed
the sketchbook, and marched out of the church and into the
night.

Chapter Thirteen

Out of the Lion’s Shadow

88

In Evan’s quiet flat at King’s College, he
sat and cuddled with Barbara. Her expression was awestruck at the
secrets that he had shared with her.

“Barbara, you know my secrets. You know what
I’ve done. You know who I am,” he said. “I hope you still feel the
same way about me. I hope you still care about me.”

“Evan, I’ve never felt this strongly about
someone before. I care about you so much,” she said. Her stunning,
brown eyes looked deeply into his own.

Before she could utter another word, he
kissed her.

Their lips locked passionately. For the rest
of the night, they made love and held each other. Their bodies
blocked out the cold, the world, and the fading memories of the war
and of Black Lion.

89

Barbara awoke in Evan’s arms. At first she
didn’t want to move, but suddenly she became alarmed. She sat up
quickly.

“What’s wrong?” Evan asked.

“I’ve got an early class. What time is
it?”

“I think it’s close to sunrise,” Evan
said.

Relieved, Barbara turned around to face him.
He stared back at her.

His face was dark and covered in shadow.
Barbara’s hands were behind his head, steadily combing through his
hair. After a moment, she stretched them out and felt something
underneath his pillow. She grabbed it and pulled out a gun.

“Do you always sleep with your gun?” she
asked.

“No,” he said.

“So then you just slept with it tonight
because you don’t trust me?” she asked.

A serious look came over his face. “No, I
meant that I don’t sleep,” he said.

“You were awake all night?” she asked.

“Yes,” he said. “That’s how it is most
nights.”

“Oh…I’m sorry,” she said.

”Don’t worry. I think I’m going to sleep in
today while you’re in class,” he said, smirking. ”There’s something
else.”

“What is it?” Barbara was becoming
worried.

“I told you most of the story, but I left
out my feelings about the night I killed Hitler. Something happened
to me. I don’t know how to explain it. It was like I was born a
child and raised to be a killer,” he said. He let go of her and sat
up in the bed.

Barbara sat up behind him and wrapped her
arms around him.

“You are not a killer,” she whispered into
his ear.

“There’s more still,” he interrupted. “Ever
since that night, ever since that second, I have felt lost, like I
don’t know who I am. And perhaps the worst part is that despite
what he did to me, I loved him. I still love him. He was the only
father I ever knew.”

Barbara understood. After a long silence she
said, “Evan, I don’t think that you are a killer. I’ve watched you
for months. I have seen you when you paint and draw. You are a
great artist. You are the person I have searched for. You are the
person I have searched for since my mother died. You are the person
I have searched for my whole life.”

Barbara tried to look at him. She wanted to
see his eyes, but he just kept facing the other direction.

She touched his cheek and turned his head
toward her. He was crying. The tears slid down his face.

“I…You had better go and get ready for
class. I think if they find you with me they’ll fire me,” he
joked.

She smiled.

“We’ll pick this up tonight, then?” she
asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “There will be plenty of
time for us to talk more. By the way, I am Willem Kessler. And for
the first time, I don’t feel dead.”

Barbara got up and dressed. Willem followed.
He watched her as she walked through the door to his flat. She
stopped in the doorway and blew him a kiss.

90

At lunch she went by his flat. He came to
the door with a big grin on his face.

“What are you grinning about, Evan?” she
said.

“I’m happy to see you,” he said. He grabbed
her in a lustful embrace. They kissed. He was so excited to see her
that he hardly noticed Barbara had brought him some lunch.

“What’s this?” he asked.

“Turkey sandwiches,” she said. “Nothing
fancy.”

“No one has ever brought me lunch before,”
he said.

“No one? Not even Anna?”

A hint of sadness came over his face, and
Barbara wondered if that remark was insensitive.

“No one has,” Evan answered. He returned to
smiling.

They sat down on the dusty sofa and began to
eat.

“I have some news. Something that I wanted
to tell you before,” Barbara said.

Evan took a big bite out of the turkey
sandwich.

She went on to explain about Kobnhavn.

After some time, Evan considered it.

“I think we should meet with him then,” he
said.

“You mean that?” she asked.

“I do. Bosworth and the British have been
good to me, but I am ready to lead a better life. All Bosworth has
me doing is spending my time cleaning up after people. If this guy
Kobnhavn can do what he told you, then it’s worth the exposure to
me. Besides it would be good for you.”

“I don’t fully trust him, but Dr. Blake
does,” she said.

“Blake? He’s that new professor? He’s only
been here like two semesters? I’ve not met him yet,” Evan said.

“You should. He’s great. He introduced me to
Kobnhavn. It’s worth a shot. Maybe he can give us new lives.
Together,” Barbara said, smiling.

“Together,” Evan said. “I’d like that.
Together.”

91

Together, Evan and Barbara waited near
The Secret of Lions
in the art gallery. The day was drawing
to an end. The sun had already begun to set. The sky outside was a
thick, reddish color, like the veins of the sky were exposed to the
earth below.

Evan clutched the handle of the gun tucked
into the back of his trousers. He smiled at Barbara as they waited
for Kobnhavn to meet them.

Two hours earlier, he’d agreed that they
should meet in the gallery in front of the painting. Barbara seemed
entirely confident that he was trustworthy, but Evan's suspicions
grew stronger with every minute he did not show up.

The gallery had a lot of shadows; he was
starting to regret agreeing to meeting there, but he was confident
in his abilities. He was in good physical and mental shape. He’d
kept up with his training.

“Evan, maybe we should just give up,”
Barbara said.

Suddenly, a noise came from beyond a spiral
staircase. It came from the direction of the foyer. Moments later,
a man wearing a dark turtleneck sweater appeared. His hands were
plainly visible. Evan stepped in front of Barbara in order to
protect her. His right hand remained clutched to his weapon.

“Barbara Howard,” a voice said from the man
in the turtleneck. “I can’t believe you actually found him.”

A man stepped out from behind the bulky man
in the turtleneck.

“It’s him. It’s Kobnhavn,” Barbara whispered
to Evan.

“That’s not Beowulf,” Evan whispered back.
“Who’s the other guy?”

“I've never seen him before,” Barbara
said.

“Mr. Kessler?” Kobnhavn asked, his arms
outreached as if he expected a hug.

“Stop there!” Evan said. He drew his weapon
and aimed it at Kobnhavn.

“Mr. Kessler, this is not necessary,” he
said.

The turtleneck man stiffened up. He moved
unhurriedly to the side, as if to slowly flank Evan.

“Stop there,” Evan repeated. This time he
pointed the gun at Kobnhavn’s accomplice.

“Mr. Kessler, I’m sure that Miss Howard
explained to you who we are,” Kobnhavn said. He continued to move
toward the couple.

“She did, but how do I know it’s real? How
do I know you’re real?”

“Kid, you have to trust someone,
sometime.”

“Approach slowly. I will hear you out,” Evan
lowered his gun.

As he lowered his gun, Kobnhavn drew a
silenced pistol. Before he could fire it, Evan fired two rounds in
his direction. One hit him square in the shoulder.

The man in the turtleneck rushed him,
knocking over a sculpture. Evan fired once, missing him. The man
tackled Evan, sending his gun sliding across the floor.

Barbara froze. She didn’t know what to
do.

The man with the turtleneck slammed his fist
into Evan’s gut. Then he raised another fist, but Evan shifted
slightly, and the man punched the hard floor.

Evan kneed him directly in the crotch. Then
he planted both feet into the man’s inner thighs and kicked him as
hard as he could. The force launched Evan’s attacker off of
him.

Quickly, Evan jumped to his feet. He looked
past his attacker to see Kobnhavn crouched and aiming his gun. Evan
rolled into the turtleneck man and pulled him up to absorb the
bullets.

Kobnhavn fired two rounds in his friend’s
back before he realized what he was doing.

“Shit!” he said.

Evan followed the dying man’s hand to a gun
that stuck out over his belt. The man was hard-pressed to
relinquish it, but Evan squeezed the trigger once, firing the gun
into the man’s thigh.

Quickly, he jerked the gun up and fired
continuously in Kobnhavn’s direction. Bullets ignited and launched
out of the sound suppressor. After the smoke cleared, and with only
one bullet left, Evan peered over to Kobnhavn. He was now slumped
over.

Evan looked back at Barbara, who hid behind
a small, stone platform. Evan was not sure if it was supposed to be
art or just a piece of furniture.

“Are you okay?” he asked her.

“Yes,” she answered. She was shaken up but
otherwise fine.