14

Brög sounded like the name of a video game character. And he looked it, too.

At the break of dawn, as Corey and Leila entered the woodworking shop at the edge of town, a flannel-shirted man with an ax over his shoulder grunted a greeting. He stood about seven feet tall with shoulders nearly as wide, his frame silhouetted in orange by the flames of an oven behind him. He stared at them through ice-blue eyes from under a mass of unruly black hair, his eyebrows thick like raven’s wings.

“Morgen, Brög,” said Georg.

“Willkommen! Willkommen!” the man bellowed, his beard jittering like a giant agitated possum. “Die Schöne und das Biest. HAAWWW! HAW! HAW! HAW!”

“He is calling us beauties and the beast,” Georg said. “Like children’s story. It is joke. Brög enjoys the joking.”

“We got that,” Corey said dryly.

Brög brought his ax down hard. It instantly shattered a wood stump, the pieces of which he tossed into the oven like they were scraps of paper.

“Maybe,” Leila murmured, “we should politely laugh.”

“Kommt, kommt,” Brög said.

Georg went into the shop first. The walls were lined with shelves, and several counters and tables were crammed with hammers, pliers, wrenches, vises, and some frightening-looking tools that looked like dental implements for a giant.

“Cool,” Corey said.

Leila exhaled. “We shouldn’t be here.”

“We need to be involved, Leila. We have a chance to help him.”

“Help him kill someone, Corey,” Leila said.

“You’re having second thoughts?” Corey asked.

“Shouldn’t I?” Leila shot back. “What part of ‘Thou shalt not kill’ don’t you get?”

“I totally get it,” Corey said. “I can’t stop thinking about it. My stomach is in a knot. I threw up in the bathroom twice, before we came here.”

“The bathroom we’re sharing?” Leila shouted.

“I cleaned up, your highness,” Corey said. “But that’s how crazy nervous I am, okay? I know about good and evil. But we can’t forget. Hitler was one of the worst mass murderers in history. By not helping Georg, we’re allowing people to die. And that’s more wrong. Right?”

“Well, yeah. But why can’t he do it himself?” Leila asked. “Without us?”

“Because this bombing did not work,” Corey said. “If it did, Hitler would have died. We also know it destroyed that chandelier. Which means the explosion went off. What happened? Did the timer fail? Did he escape?”

“Kinder! Kommt!” Brög called from deep inside the shop, gesturing for Corey and Leila to join him and Georg. They were standing at a set of shelves, where Georg was examining a wooden box.

Georg smiled as he ran his hands over the box’s surface. “It is simple. Beautiful. I work on this for many weeks. Brög helps me. Inside goes the Bombe. But it makes tick-tick-tick . . . people hear.”

“The timer,” Corey said. “You’re saying that you’re worried about the ticking of the timer.”

“Ja,” Georg replied. “Now look.” On one side of the box was a small door with a tiny handle, and Georg pulled it open. Inside, it was packed with a thick, black, rubbery substance.

“Ha HA!” Brög blurted out. “Ganz still!”

“‘Completely quiet,’” Leila translated.

“Insulation,” Corey said.

“Yes. This is last thing I need for plan.” Georg shut the door of the contraption and slipped Brög a thick wad of bills. “Danke, mein Freund.”

“Leila, did you see that?” Corey remarked under his breath. “That looks like a fortune.”

“Maybe not,” Leila said. “German money wasn’t worth too much before the war.”

The two men huddled near the fireplace, talking in muted German. Brög cast quick glances toward Corey and Leila.

“What’s he saying?” Corey asked.

“I can’t tell,” Leila replied. “Something about a train trip.”

Now Georg was heading for them, walking quickly. “We go now. Brög cannot stay here. I cannot stay here. After die Bombe, Nazis will look for us. I give Brög enough for train trip to Stuttgart and hotel.”

As they headed outside, the sidewalk was empty. The streetlamps cast small pools of amber light. “So now you have the last thing you needed,” Corey said. “What’s your plan?”

Georg put his finger to his mouth, eyeing the buildings around them. His pace was brisk. He didn’t say a word as they trudged back through the empty streets. Approaching the Bürgerbräukeller, Corey could see that his entire body was shaking. “Hey, it’s going to be okay,” he said.

Georg spun around, as if he’d forgotten Corey was there. The bag with the contraption slipped from his hands. He let out a gasp and flailed to grab it back.

Leila lurched forward, snatching the bag before it hit the pavement. “Whoa. Easy, Mr. Elser,” she said. “You don’t want to blow us up.”

Georg rested his arm against the side of the Bürgerbräukeller archway. He took deep breaths. “Entschuldigung. I am sorry. It is a long time I am planning. Much dangerous. I hold much secrets.”

“You can tell us any secrets,” Leila whispered. “I mean, you don’t have to. But we’re here to help you, remember?”

The man eyed the surroundings nervously. Then he swallowed and spoke in a whisper. “I work for months. I find material. I test die Bombe in the woods, where nobody hears. I fix pillar. I work in Bürgerbräukeller until morning. Day for day, week for week. Every day I worry someone sees me, someone tells Nazis. They will shoot me. It makes me feel . . . I don’t know how to say . . .”

“Nervous,” Leila said. “Nervös.”

“Ja, nervös,” Georg repeated.

“It’ll all be over soon,” Corey said.

In the damp air, Georg’s head seemed shrouded in mist. “I was not afraid before today. Now you bring me part of chandelier. You tell me Hitler does not die.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t have to be that way,” Corey said. “That’s why I’m here. You have to trust me. I can change history. I’ve done it before. If Hitler dies, you will be a hero for all time.”

Georg let out a deep sigh. Under the streetlamp, in the damp air, his head seemed shrouded in mist. He looked confused, torn between hope and skepticism. “I do not see how you will know what to change. You tell me you do not know what went wrong.”

Leila looked at Corey. He tried to give her and Georg a brave, confident smile.

But Corey didn’t feel brave at that moment. And he didn’t feel confident. The words stung. Georg was right. This was not like trying to thwart a robbery. It wasn’t like saving a pet from being run over. The stakes here were crazy.

And maybe he and Leila were crazy, too. Trying to kill a monster was one thing. Doing it in a crowded restaurant full of Nazis—without a plan—was another.

There were limits to superpowers.

“So . . .” Leila said. “Tell us everything, Georg. All the details about Wednesday night. Mittwoch Abend.”

“Hitler’s speech begins at eight thirty,” Georg said. “He will talk two hours. But Hitler . . . he sometimes talks all night.”

“So he’ll finish ten thirty at the earliest?” Leila said.

“Ja,” Georg replied. “There will be many people. They all want to say hello, Heil Hitler. . . . I do not think he starts on time. Maybe eight forty-five, maybe nine.”

“How many people?” Corey asked.

“Vielleicht drei tausend,” Georg said.

“Three thousand people in a closed room with a bomb?” Leila said. “This sounds insane.”

“Nein,” Georg said. “I test die Bombe. Many times. In four meters around, is dangerous. That is where Hitler will be. And the other Nazis. The customers? Closest will be ten meters.”

“How can you be sure?” Leila said.

“Maria will have tables more than ten meters away,” Georg said. “With rope. She tells Nazi soldiers to protect the Führer. They will be like . . . Schilde?”

“‘Shields,’” Leila said.

“Bombe must not go off early. So we set timer for nine twenty.” Georg turned and looked through the archway toward the restaurant. “Maria will let us in now. Then she must lock up. You go to your rooms. I hide. It is early. The night guard has left. I will install die Bombe.”

“We,” Corey said.

“We?” Leila said.

“We’re a team,” Corey replied.

Georg stood and turned toward the Bürgerbräukeller. A tear ran down his cheek. “I am sorry. Germans do not cry. But I have many Gefühle. Emotions. In zwei Tagen stirbt der Affe.”

Corey cocked his head. “And that means . . . ?”

“In two days,” Leila translated, “the monkey dies.”

As Georg turned to walk through the gate, Leila followed. She gave Corey a glance over her shoulder.

He tried to give her a confident smile. But he realized he was clenching and unclenching his hands. He looked down and stretched them out. They were the way they’d always been. None of the signs of transspeciation he’d been warned about.

As he followed the other two into the building, a thought began forming in his head. Failure wasn’t really an option here. Knowledge was power. And knowledge about what happened Wednesday night was a quick time hop away.

Maybe Leila’s suggestion was right.

A Throwback had to do what a Throwback had to do.