Anyone who doesn't take truth seriously in small matters cannot be trusted in large ones either. That is why there are so many rumors about the fountain of youth and so little real knowledge.

  ~Albert Einstein

  “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

  Gregorios pried his eyes open when Eirene prodded him a second time. As much as he longed to return to sleep, he smiled to see her. Their long, forced separation while she was held as a dispossessed prisoner had only sharpened his love for this woman.

  When she appeared convinced he wouldn’t drift off again, Eirene sat on the edge of the bed. “I need to review the plan for this morning’s insertion.”

  She wore the athletic young body she’d acquired when Tomas and Sarah had reincorporated her, and it fit her soul well. Gregorios’s own recent acquisition was a dependable, twenty-something body with excellent muscle tone.

  It was a temporary replacement, although the Body rank was barely in the mid E’s. He hadn’t bothered enhancing it farther. Why bother? Soon, he’d settle into a permanent model to begin a new life together with Eirene.

  She spread a map of the ground floor of a hotel onto the bed. Instead of listening to her recite the insertion plan, Gregorios pulled her down beside him and gave her a lingering kiss. She didn’t resist, returning the embrace with a youthful intensity that belied the many lives they’d shared together. Visiting some of their many descendants over the past few days had been good for her.

  “Enough of that,” she said eventually, sitting again and adjusting her shoulder holster. “One of us has work to do this morning.”

  “Well one of us stayed up most of the night doing surveillance,” Gregorios countered. “The location’s confirmed. She’ll be there.”

  “Good.” Eirene checked a pair of handcuffs, then slid them into the pocket of her blazer. “Tereza has a lot of explaining to do.”

  “I can come along,” Gregorios offered, suppressing a yawn.

  “No, dear.” Eirene kissed his forehead. “I’ve got this. Tereza’s no real threat, but if she gives me trouble, I’ll need help carrying her out.”

  “Can do.” He hadn’t kidnapped another facetaker in a decade and looked forward to the chance. “You think she knows where Mai Luan’s hiding?”

  “I hope so,” Eirene said, her expression serious. “We have to track that monster down.”

  “You want to use the family to remove her?” Gregorios asked.

  “No. I think it better to send the data to the council with Tomas. He’ll take her down.”

  “Young guys get all the fun.”

  Eirene arched one eyebrow. “Is that so?”

  It was going to be a good day.

  “We’ll talk about that when you get back,” Gregorios said.

  After Eirene left, he rolled over and went back to sleep.

  Gregorios welcomed new dreams. It didn’t matter whether they were exciting or mundane, he relished their freshness. He didn’t dream new things often.

  This wasn’t a new dream. Gregorios had outlived most new dreams. The old ones would creep back into his mind and dredge up bits of memories that spanned the ages. Some were sweet and welcomed as cherished friends.

  Others reminded him of mistakes made, or paraded past his mind’s eye the countless masses of those he had outlived. Some offered lessons still to be learned, or reminded him of hard-won truths that might have faded over time. He faced nearly all of them with calm acceptance. Danger lurked in railing against the past or refusing to see the truth in his choices.

  Sometimes the alternative was worse.

  The memory his sleeping thoughts returned to now cast his mind back into a pivotal moment, one he avoided whenever possible. The dream folded around his mind like a glove full of splinters and triggered yet again the long-simmering anger as it tempted him to make a different choice.

  He didn’t try to change how he felt. Embracing the anger was his best defense when forced to re-live that dark day when Berlin fell.

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  Gregorios headed south along the rubble-filled main thoroughfare of the Wilhelmstrasse as the dream memory coalesced into sharp reality. The whistling of falling mortar shells filled the air with high-pitched screaming, and explosions rocked the city with constant rolling thunder. The scent of death hung in the air and clung to every surface, like the fine gray dust that billowed across the city in constant clouds.

  Shouting and the chatter of small arms fire filled the brief pauses between thunderous concussions from the bombing. The stench of dust mixed with the smell of broken stone and gunpowder. Underneath the rest, fear and hopelessness clung to the streets, an invisible odor like distant burning trash. Every breath dragged more of the filth into his lungs, but he didn’t plan to wear that body much longer, so its long-term health didn’t concern him.

  Few civilians ventured outside, even there in the heart of the city. They hid all around, many seeking shelter in the imposing government buildings. Most were wise enough to avoid drawing attention to themselves in the streets flooded with the last of the city’s defenders.

  Some were just unfortunate.

  As a squad of soldiers approached through the blowing haze, a woman scurried out from under a burned-out truck. She wore a wool coat that might have once been tan, but was layered with so much filth it looked black. With one hand she clutched a five-year-old girl close, and with the other she held a baby boy to her chest with fingers clamped over his mouth to keep him silent. Their fear-filled eyes stood out in sharp contrast to their smudged faces.

  The woman nearly ran into Gregorios before she noticed him and yelped with fear.

  “Find a place to hide,” he urged, but she wasn’t listening. As she sprinted away, Gregorios wanted to call out after her, to warn her to go the other way, but her fatal fear would drive her on regardless.

  Behind her, one of the soldiers shouted, “Halt!”

  She ran faster.

  A ragged band of battered soldiers emerged from the haze, rifles at the ready, but they too paused when they saw Gregorios.

  He adjusted his long, black trench coat and fedora, the unofficial uniform of the Gestapo. The soldiers scurried past like the woman had. Several glanced in his direction but looked away before making eye contact.

  The obersoldat who had issued the challenge muttered a quick apology and followed his men without waiting for a reply. Abuses by the Gestapo were rampant, and although the disguise presented some risk of getting shot in the back, it allowed him to move quickly.

  In addition to his clothing, he wore the body of a perfect Aryan specimen, which added to his authority. No one would tempt fate by asking his purpose. If they did learn his plan, some would kill him on the spot, although he suspected more would volunteer to help.

  He glanced back at the ragged band. Many of the soldiers were boys drafted from the Hitler Youth Corps in too-big uniforms and eyes that shone white against their dirt-streaked faces. Trailing them came old men who had stood valiant during the first World War, called to serve again in the hour of ultimate need. At the end of successful first lives, those men should have been allowed to die in peace.

  He made a point of not glancing farther down the street to where the poor woman still ran, her bare feet leaving soft tracks in the thick dust. He might not have looked, but he couldn’t block out the shriek of the descending mortar.

  The explosion rocked the street and sent the soldiers diving for cover. A blast of hot air, sprinkled with stinging debris pelted Gregorios in the back. The wind moaned as it passed through the nearby husk of a truck and despite how many times he had heard it, he still shivered. It sounded like the final accusing breath from the tiny family just ripped from the world.

  Gregorios turned off the main street and hurried around a towering office building pockmarked with shrapnel that left it looking diseased. At the bitter end, the city finally reflected the rot that had consumed its leadership.

  His shame for having allowed that rot to fester for so long still burned as bright as ever. Gregorios allowed it to pulse through him, strengthening his resolve. The choice he was about to make would be a turning point in his life. The cost would be high, but the only thing he regretted was not making it sooner.

  He paused when he entered the expansive gardens of the Reich Chancellery. The distant sounds of fighting trailed away inside this oasis of tranquility set in the cancerous heart of Berlin. Gregorios allowed himself a deep breath to center his mind for what was to come, and to enjoy for the last time what had been his favorite place in the city.

  Gregorios strode south across the carefully manicured lawns and threaded around craters of blasted dirt and splintered trees. Here the air smelled of green grass and scorched earth. He turned east again to face the rear of the Reichskanzlei and the Old Chancellery building. Situated just behind those white-walled edifices huddled a nondescript concrete cube of a structure. It spanned only twelve feet per side, with a single thick, iron door. To the right of the building stood a cone-shaped sentry pillbox.

  Gregorios ignored the sentry outpost and made for the door in the cube building. The guard would recognize him from previous visits and Gregorios did not have time to waste.

  To his right, just as expected, a dozen soldiers dressed in SS uniforms burst out of a concealing hedgerow a couple hundred yards to the south. They raced in his direction, led by Asoka, his long-time friend and soon-to-be betrayer.

  The jaws of the trap were closing.

  So be it.

  Gregorios pointedly turned his back on the approaching threat and strode up to the heavy door. It allowed the only entry to the underground bunker dug under the gardens. The door felt cold under his fingers. He brushed the layer of fine dust from the handle and pushed it open.

  Darkness exploded out of the doorway in a physical wave that catapulted him off his feet. The unexpected blow consumed every sense and tore him from the dream.

  # # #

  Gregorios surged upright in bed, shocked awake by the startling ending to an already unpleasant dream. Sweat-soaked blankets fell from his torso as he blew out a long breath. It took a moment to dissipate the tension knotting his shoulders, and he used the time to rub at his throbbing temples.

  He should have gone with Eirene. Beating up a rogue facetaker would’ve been so much more fun. He hadn’t suffered that dream in months, and it had never ended that way before.

  It was not a good omen.