Chapter Eight Sam
Windsor is a quiet town, but Professor Llewelyn doesn’t live in it. He lives about five miles away, in a pretty mountain retreat with timbered walls, a stone’s throw away from a river running through the woods.
I hate it. Too isolated to get help.
On the other hand, the limited number of access roads to the place makes it easy to find someone coming or going.
“You don’t have to camp out in the woods, son. You oughta come inside. Martine would love to fix you some supper.”
“I’m just going to set up camp out here, sir. It’s nice and warm, and I’m used to the woods.”
And I have two weeks to wait until the wolf arrives. My only hope is that he’ll come sooner to try to take me on. What if it’s a blind? A false trail? Maybe Llewelyn was never his target.
Thoughts like this roll around in my head while Llewellyn talks about striped bass and trout.
Martine appears, a good-looking woman about ten years older than me, but full of that Gallic fire that has wowed so many a homesick soldier.
She’s got a wide smile, laughing eyes, acres of curves, and everything is topped off with a mane of thick, coppery red hair.
She brings me out a plate since I won’t come in, kisses Llwellyn on the cheek, and vanishes.
“How’d I land her? Isn’t that what you were thinking?” he chuckles.
“I was just going to say you’d be the envy of the entire armed forces, on either side of the Atlantic, sir. But I have my own gal, now. Susie.”
“Well, congratulations, my boy! Pretty little thing?”
“Indeed. Younger than me by a good bit, just like your good lady.”
“Ah, Martine has an old soul, like mine. Her husband was one of my friends, you know.”
“No, sir, I never knew that.”
“Claude Girarde, a French aviator who worked on our projects. He was, sadly, one of the first casualties. Struck the fuselage during an attempted refilling in mid-air, didn’t bail out in time.”
“That’s horrible.”
“It was. Martine was a young widow, and I was a middle-aged widower. We spent a few months in England together, just passing over each other, both moving in air corps cliques, as it were. Never gave her a second look, not at the time. We lost touch for years, but imagine my surprise when I saw her in Washington a few months ago. There with her son, and we just reconnected. Like fireworks,” he smiles foolishly. “Pa-pow!”
“Beautiful story, sir. Now, do you know anything Lionel might have left out? About why an operative might approach you?”
“Well, that’s just it. I don’t. The other three men in the project who died recently seem like coincidence to me. An automobile accident and a bear attack. Strange, but these things happen, and with hundreds of men working on aviation projects, it’s not so strange that three might pass away.”
I narrow my eyes as the professor talks. Can he really believe that? He’s supposed to be the smart one. “I wonder, sir, if we assessed the others who worked so closely with the project, if we would see similar coincidences.”
He shrugs. “I don’t know what you’re driving at, son.
I don’t believe any of the men I’ve ever worked with would split on the Grand Old Flag.
Not a one. And me needing protection? Only from Martine when I get in her way in the kitchen.
She’d aim the fish scaler or rolling pin at me without a doubt,” Llwellyn laughs, shaking his head.
Fluffy gray-and-white hair belies a youthful, rugged face with a massive forehead.
Big brain, I think to myself—and maybe I should listen to him.
“Why would an operative target the men on your project, and not you? You have the most information. Your brains are the most valuable.”
“Flattering, but false. There are younger men in my division, men who don’t even leave the housing the government provides.
I’m theoretical. There are mechanical engineers who’d have the blueprints, and probably ways to improve even the latest design.
We’re not even done yet, and I’m leaving at a good stopping spot, Silverman, but not the end. Not the end by a long chalk.”
“I see. Sir, how well did you know Harris, Brunley, and Averman? They were pilots, weren’t they? And engineering advisors for the link-up?”
“They sure were. Brilliant men, a little older than you. Poor Martine.”
“Hm?” Why Martine? Why not their own wives and children?
“Oh, well, I knew them, of course, but so did Martine. They were all on Claude Girarde’s team. I believe Averman was the pilot of the other plane. His plane went up, too, when the fuselage was hit, but he bailed out successfully.”
“I’m sorry. What?”
“Averman and Girarde were the pilots during the test of the link-up where Girarde died. Brunley and Harris were the pilots who were successful on the very next try, a week later, because of their failure. The recalculations are still helping us today.”
“Papa! Papa, will you read to me now?”
I jump about a mile in the air when a little boy of about six comes out of the house. He has dark black hair and a sweet little accent that reminds me of his mother’s.
And things aren’t adding up.
“Just a minute, Pierre. Ask Mama to fill a flask with hot coffee for our guest, will you?”
“Yes, Papa!”
“Oh, my. He’s a cute little tyke.”
“Martine’s son from her second marriage. I’m afraid that ended in tragedy for her, too. Poor love, widowed a second time after only a few months with a baby on the way. Third time is the charm, that’s what we believe.”
“So, this isn’t Claude’s son? Because his son would have had to be...”
“Oh, goodness, no. You mean Etienne. He was only about ten years old when Claude died, and Martine said losing his father changed him. Up here.” Llewellyn taps his temple. “He used to run away a lot.”
“How did he take her marrying a second time? Did he bond much with his stepfather?”
“Well, I don’t suppose it would have mattered to him that much, as he was a good bit older then. He barely knew his stepfather. He was away at university when she married her second husband and had Pierre.”
“Wait, wait. Wait.” I hold up my hands as something horrifying comes to light, something everyone missed because we expected espionage—not revenge. “When did Claude die?”
“Oh, I... 1920. About 13 years ago. Almost fourteen now.”
“Who did Martine marry?”
“Sam, you’re making no sense. My wife’s marital history is none of your business.” The professor glares at me, arms crossed over his still wide, muscular chest.
“Believe me, I know that. Just humor me. Who did she marry?”
“I don’t know much about him. He was an old friend of the family, one of Claude’s pilot friends.”
“Who worked on the project?”
“Sam, dozens of men worked on the first link-up air-to-air refueling project. Hundreds!”
“So do you know? Was he one of them?”
“Well, yes, but that’s because half of Claude’s squadron was assigned to assist us!”
“But the ones who worked on the team with Claude Girarde are dying. How did her husband die?”
“Car crash, ran off the road.”
“And her son, Etienne... He would have been what? Seventeen? Eighteen? When her second husband died?”
Llwellyn’s face is white with fury. “Are you implying Martine’s boy had something to do with these deaths? He was just a boy! He’s still just a boy.”
“He would be in his early twenties now. Dozens of men younger than that died in the war. When did he come to America? Where is he staying?”
“If you must know, he hasn’t come to America at all, not as far as we know. He and Martine are estranged. He went to live with some of his father’s people after university, in the Bavarian—”
“Germany?”
“Well, yes. But not every German is supporting that dangerous loon they just voted into power.”
No, but from my limited studies, I know that the Black Forest and Bavaria have their fair share of wolves, just like some of the denser forests of France.
I think back to all the tales I read as a child, from the Brothers Grimm.
They knew wolves all too well—and the world doesn’t realize those aren’t just fairy stories.
The boy could have been bitten, just as I was bitten, an innocent in the dark, especially if he were given to striking out alone.
On the other hand, it wouldn’t surprise me if a power that would gas men in trenches would allow men to be infected by a werewolf, too, to simply add monsters to their arsenals.
A young man who hates the men who killed his father? Who hates the countries those men were acting under the orders of? What if Etienne’s grief and rage were already there when he was infected?
That’s the kind of target a wolf would gladly bite, a soul ripe for corruption, and man and monster would work with one accord.
“Would you, Martine, and Pierre go stay with Lionel in Washington, for a few weeks, Professor? Please?”
“No. This whole line of inquiry is poppycock and trifling nonsense. Why, we just moved here to get away from Washington. Everyone said that place was the real hotbed of activity. ”
For regular spies and operatives in the intelligence game, sure. I don’t say that aloud. Instead, I ask, “Who knew you were moving to this secluded little place?”
“No one but my son and his family. And of course, Etienne and Martine’s relatives in France, and Pierre’s paternal grandparents. They’d all like to keep in touch, Sam. Etienne is a devoted son, not some spy or some killer!” Llewellyn hisses, face brick red.
“Devoted to his father in an unhealthy way, perhaps?”
“Stop it, before I throw you into the river!”
“I’ll gladly take a dunking if you’ll go to Washington,” I press.
For the first time, the anger on the professor’s face falters. “You really think this boy could be... Could be seeking revenge for his father’s death?”
I shrug. “Love makes you do dangerous things. And a boy at that age...” I try to remember myself at ten, and I remember wanting to make my father proud.
I remember joining up, thinking soldiering made me courageous, that a military career was impressive, and not something my family could claim any fame with.
Llwellyn clears his throat. I don’t mean to bring up memories of his own son, buried for over a decade, when he should be in the prime of his life.
“I didn’t know Martine well. Didn’t know most of them well.
I was still swimming upstream, losing Elenor, losing my son...
I probably didn’t do enough for the men we lost, not that there were many.
It was just after a war—and these exercises and research projects were so much safer.
Infinitely safer, and one death, compared to so many thousands... Lord, I don’t know how we handled it.”
“I’m willing to bet that no one could have handled it to the boy’s satisfaction. He loved his father, and he hated the war. He hated that his father made it through the war—only for the winning side to end up killing him. That’s what I’d bet my money on.”
“It’s preposterous. No! Martine’s a wonderful mother.”
“I can tell that.” I stop short. There’s more I can say, about not knowing when the boy was bitten, if it was the act of a turncoat and operatives who will stop at nothing, testing the laws of God and man—or if the wolf got an innocent, grieving man, estranged from his mother, off at university.
It had to have happened after he no longer lived at home.
Maybe the first death, the death of Pierre’s father, was an accident—but perhaps it inspired him to greater evil.
“Once you go down a dark road, you can’t always stop. Even if you’ve had the sunniest upbringing, sometimes you get caught in the pitch-black of night.” Once the wolf infects, and the infection breaches the soul, there’s no turning back.
“I won’t entertain this, not without proof. Etienne is still in Germany, or perhaps in France. He even mentioned starting a new job.”
“A job where he's been busy lately? Too busy to write or send a cable? Does he ever call?”
“Do you know how expensive it’d be to call across the Atlantic as a civilian?” Llwellyn cried. “Look, let’s send a cable. I’m sure he’ll wire back the next day or two.”
I hold no such surety. The only thing that’s keeping me calm is that whoever is attacking these men has done so in wolf form—and the night is on my side. For now.
“And if he doesn’t wire back?”
“Well, honestly, that wouldn’t surprise me too much.
That boy has treated his mother shamefully over the last half a dozen years.
Barely sees her. Barely writes. It’ll be worse now that she’s in the United States, but...
” Llwellyn smiles in a wistful way. “She wanted a fresh start. France had nothing but sad memories for her. The war. Losing both of her husbands. Her son running away so often, and the strain on their relationship. He’s a sad one, not a bad one, Sam. ”
I nod. “I believe you.” I do. Whatever was human in the wolf I’ve been chasing died long, long ago.
Whatever’s left of that grieving, angry little boy isn’t human anymore, and he’s stuck in a shell, watching himself taken over by a beast that loves to kill, numbed to the point where he can control it.
“We’ll go into town in the morning, all of us. Martine and Pierre can go to the general store, and we’ll go to the post office and send a wire. Let’s give it three days.”
“Three days is fine.”
“After that, promise me you’ll take your family and stay with Lionel for a couple of weeks. Just until I give the all clear.”
“You seem sure you’ll catch him in two weeks! How can you know?”
“I don’t know for sure, Professor. I’ve just been working on this month, and I have a pretty good idea, now that I’ve spoken to you, what his true targets are, and where he’ll come hunting.”
Professor Llwellyn. Hopefully not Martine out of some sick idea that she “Betrayed” her first husband by marrying again years later.
The professor is his end goal for personal reasons that stack a mile high, not to mention my suspicions that this man is an operative, too. I’m in the way. That makes me a target, too.
Windsor and Pine Ridge aren’t the best places to be right now.
I’m so glad Susie is in Yonkers.