CHAPTER 2

One of the things Sam always had to do when he went on a leap was learn how to adapt to his surroundings. This meant pretending to be somebody he wasn't, and acting like he actually knew who the person was and what their life was like. Sometimes, it wasn't that big of a stretch, and it was actually fun—like the time he leaped into an understudy for the leading man in a production of Man of La Mancha. Once he got his bearings, he loved being onstage, and the payoff was that he was able to save the leading man's reputation, as well as his life.

Other times, it was a royal pain in the ass. If there was one leap he wished he could forget, it was when he was this kid named Butchie. Not only was his big sister a sadistic bully, but he had to stop his mom from abandoning the family to find herself, so to speak. And the fact that his dad was one of the most inflexible, set-in-his-ways people that ever lived sure didn't help, either.

Then there were those leaps where he could've actually been killed. For example, one leap had him in Maine in 1964. He was an amateur horror-novelist who had to figure out why people kept dying in such horrible, gruesome ways. It turned out that the hologram he thought was Al was really the devil in disguise, and the real Al was tied up with trying to fix Ziggy. Thankfully, it was all just a dream that Sam had had after he fell down the stairs and knocked himself out, and the only good thing that came out of that mess was knowing that he'd met a teenage Stephen King.

But anyway, of those three kinds of leaps, Sam could tell that this was going to be of the potentially dangerous variety.

The bar was jam-packed with both Munich citizens and athletes alike, and you better believe it was noisy. Heavy-set, buxom waitresses were running around like headless chickens as they carried trays loaded with food and drink. Big bearded bartenders were scrambling to keep up with the never-ending flow of drink orders as they filled countless pitchers and glasses with beer, whiskey and liquor. A jukebox in the corner was playing a lively, upbeat brass band song. Behind the counter, over the customers' heads, a 17-inch black-and-white TV was showing live coverage of the girls' gymnastics competition. And over in a booth sat Sam and Tobias, each with a glass of Schwarzbier—a dark, chocolate-tasting lager—and their dinner: a small German pizza for Tobias and two sauerkraut-covered knockwursts for Sam.

"Oh, here it comes, Sam!" he heard Al exclaim over the racket. They looked, and Al was standing behind the counter with his eyes glued to the TV. The bartenders, completely unaware of Al's presence—and they would be, with him being a hologram and all—continued going about their business.

Oh, the perks of only being an observer.

When Sam got a good look at the TV, the first thing he saw was Soviet gymnast Olga Korbut begin her routine on the uneven bars. She was flawless, as usual, but then she did her now-legendary backflip off the upper bar. There was a huge gasp from everyone in the bar, and when she made her dismount, they all started cheering and clapping up a storm as Al turned around, rushed through the counter, and joined Sam and Tobias at their table.

"Did you see that, Sam?!" Al shouted ecstatically. "God, I remember when I first saw her, and I still can't believe she didn't get a perfect 10! Were those judges idiots or what?"

"Yeah, I saw it, Al," Sam answered, somehow making himself heard. "Do you have any more information on Tobias?"

"Yeah?" Tobias answered.

"What?" Al shouted at the same time.

"Tobias!" Sam repeated, louder. By this time, the customers were now booing and cursing in German, which obviously meant that they were pissed off over Korbut's score.

"I'm right here, Moishe!"

"Oh, yeah, Tobias!" Al remembered, taking the handlink out of his pocket and press-ing a few buttons. "Aw, dammit."

"What's wrong?"

"We got a problem here, Sam. I can't tell you out here; it's too noisy."

Sam knew what was coming next: meeting in the men's room. Sure, it was quieter there, but it seemed like a lot of their conversations took place there, especially when Al had important news.

"The men's room, right?" he guessed, and Al nodded.

"Probably wouldn't hurt," Tobias decided. After finishing the last of his beer, he got up from the table, laid the tip beside his plate, and made his way through the crowd just as Al pressed the side button on the handlink and disappeared. Sam went up to the counter, paid for their food, and went to the men's room, somehow dodging passing waitresses and bouncers. It's a wonder nobody accidentally hit him in the face or spilled anything on him, but that wasn't important right now. Whatever Al had to tell Sam, it was urgent.

Sam had just entered the men's room when Al appeared by the fire exit door. "Okay, Al what is it?" he wanted to know. Luckily, Tobias was in one of the stalls and the room wasn't nearly as crowded as the bar itself, so Sam didn't have to worry about drawing too much attention to himself.

"This isn't good, Sam," Al told him, and there was no mistaking the concern in his voice. "I just spent over an hour and a half in the waiting room talking to the real Moishe and trying to calm him down. He told me that the reason he and Tobias survived the attack is that they weren't even in the Olympic Village when it happened, like I said earlier. Anyway, Tobias was so upset over the attack that as soon as his arm healed, he joined in the fight against the Palestinians and died in a gunfight along with six others."

As soon as Sam heard that, he slumped shoulder-first against the wall. He knew this wasn't good, but even he wasn't prepared for this. "Oh, that's just wonderful," he muttered sarcastically.

"It gets worse. He left behind a girlfriend in Tel Aviv." As Al continued pressing buttons on the handlink, he continued, "Dalia Friedenberg, 16, born and raised in Tel Aviv. As a matter of fact, Ziggy says she's watching the Games on TV right now."

"Did she see any of the footage from the attack?"

"Oh, yeah," Al answered grimly. "She also saw the report after the shootout at the air base in Fürstenfeldbruck."

"I remember seeing it like it was just yesterday," Sam recalled. "So, what do I have to do?"

"Let's see," Al said. "Ziggy says the attack will happen in ten hours—make that 9 hours and 58 minutes—so you have got to stick to that kid like glue, and whatever happens, do not go back to the Village."

"So basically, we have to stay out all night?"

"Basically. Sure, it'll get you kicked off the team, but at least you'll be alive. And besides, the security at the Village is inept as hell, so they won't miss you."

"That's okay, Al. I'm not exactly looking forward to putting on another lackluster performance in Montréal."

"Oh, it wasn't that bad."

"That's easy for you to say," Sam shot back. "You didn't embarrass yourself in front of an Olympic legend."

The stall door opened just then, and out came Tobias. "Who were you just talking to?" he asked as he went to wash his hands—which was a real chore, with his arm being in a sling and all.

"Huh?"

"I heard you talking to somebody named Al. And what the hell is this talk about not going back to the Village tonight?"

"Don't tell him the truth, Sam," Al whispered frantically. "Ziggy just said if you go back, the odds of Tobias dying will go up another 29%."

Now Sam was really caught between a rock and a hard place. He knew the attack was just hours away, and he therefore had to keep Tobias out of the Village so he'd stay alive, but he also knew he couldn't tell him who he really was because that was against rules of Project Quantum Leap.

And that's when it came to him.

"I, uh—I was just going over some dialog," he lied. It was the best he could think of under such pressure, but as brilliant a scientist as he was, he couldn't ignore that little voice in the back of his mind that was telling him that even he couldn't bullshit his way out of this.

"Dialog?" a thoroughly puzzled Tobias inquired.

"Uh—yeah," Sam quickly answered. "Did I forget to tell you? I guess so. I'm auditioning for a play when we get back to Israel. You must've heard me practicing some lines."

"Auditioning for a play?" Al muttered incredulously to himself as he put his hand over his face. "There's no way he'll buy that."

Somehow, Sam was managing to act like nothing out of the ordinary was happening, but he was also fighting the panic that was rising. I need time, he thought. Time to think this through. But there is no time.

All the while, customers were flowing in and out of the men's room, and Sam was hoping against hope that they wouldn't notice their conversation—especially since, to them, he was talking to somebody who was invisible. And if they did, with any luck, they were too drunk to care.

Tobias turned off the water and turned to face Sam. The look on his face said it all. He didn't believe what he was hearing for a second. Even though he was a young kid, he was no dummy.

"Moishe, come on," he said, in a voice that was clearly telling Sam to stop playing him for a fool. "I've known you too long to not know when you think something's up."

And that's when Sam knew what he had to do.

"Okay, Tobias," he said at last. "I'll level with you. We can't go back to the Village tonight."

"What? Why?"

"We just can't, okay? Trust me on this."

"Trust him, kid, he knows what he's talking about," Al quietly added.

"Well—okay," Tobias finally agreed, which made Al let out a huge sigh of relief. And yes, that was another perk of being an observer. "Now that you mention it, the security over there is pretty lousy. Also, I know we're supposed to put politics and all that other stuff aside, but I don't trust any of those Palestinian workers any farther than I could throw them across the street."

Thankyou, thankyou, thankyou, thankyou, Sam thought ecstatically.

"Say, now that I think about it, there's an inn just a few blocks away from here," Tobias continued. "We could stay there for awhile."

"Good thinking, kid," Al grinned as he looked at the handlink. "The odds of you dying just went down 34% and falling."

"Good idea," Sam agreed. "It's pretty late anyway, so let's call it a night."

Tobias nodded and followed Sam out the door.

No sooner had they left did a light on the handlink start flashing wildly as the link itself let loose with an ear-splitting whistle. "What now, Ziggy?" Al demanded, giving the handlink a shake and a smack. And that's when he found out what was wrong. "Oh, shit! Gooshie, center me on Sam! Now!"

With a quick push of the side button, Al vanished. He didn't know whether Sam and Tobias were walking down the street, in a cab, or what. All he knew was he had to find them. And fast.

Being just an observer did have its advantages, but that didn't mean Al was immune to bad news. And according to Ziggy, this was as bad as it could get.