Portals in Time 1

by Michael Beals

  THE ADVENTURES OF

  KAT IN HELL

  PORTALS IN TIME:

  PART ONE

  By Michael Beals

  Copyright © 2020

  All rights reserved.

  Book cover

  By Michael Beals

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either used fictitiously or are the fevered products of the author’s twisted imagination.

  If you like my book covers and would like to see more of my art, take a look at https://www.deviantart.com/mpbeals

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  CHAPTER SIX

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  CHAPTER NINE

  CHAPTER TEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Slaughter in the Desert

  Prologue, London

  Part I

  7th Armored Division

  Outskirts of Misrata, Libya

  Tawerga Oasis

  Ras Lanuf, Libya

  Bir al Akhariyah Oasis

  CHAPTER ONE

  Good morning California. It’s 7:30 and a beautiful morning at 55 degrees. Some of you are already out and about, but there are bound to be lazybones still lying in bed. Whichever group of folks you belong to, Fred Norse can’t promise a stress-free day, so I’ll just wish you a friendly one. The weather today…

  J ohn! Jane! Your breakfast’s ready. Come downstairs now! I need to go to the office soon.”

  Hearing her husband’s voice, Alice Becker rolled over and hit the snooze button on the radio for the third time, then lay there for a moment. She smiled when she heard the children storming down the stairs. She was usually the first one up, but not today. Today was her turn to sleep in. Fat chance, she thought, throwing back the covers.

  John’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Dad, why isn’t mom doing the cooking today?”

  “Mom went to bed late. She’s tired and needs some rest.”

  “But I prefer her waffles. Yours taste like cooked butter mixed with raw egg. They’re yucky.”

  “How dare you? I taught your mum how to make waffles!”

  “Well, she sure does them better,” Jane smirked.

  Quickly dressing, Alice made her way down the stairs. She was in no mood to cook, but at least she could mediate. Alice found Harry frantically scraping a fried egg from a smoking skillet, and the kids were still in their pajamas. “There’s nothing wrong with your father’s cooking,” she quipped. “Just not in the morning.”

  “Fine, how do you prefer it, milords?” Harry said, imitating a royal bow. “How about with bananas and honey? Waffles also taste amazing with cream or melted chocolate… or peanut butter. Even strawberries are OK…”

  “Dad?” John interrupted. “Can you stop waffling on?”

  Alice stifled a laugh. “John! Your father’s doing his best.”

  “Good morning,” Harry said, sliding a half-cooked egg onto Jane’s plate. “I thought you were sleeping in.”

  “The radio woke me. I forgot to switch it off last night. I’ve also got to go to the store. We’re out of coffee.”

  “Don’t worry about it honey. I’ll pick some up on the way back from work,” he said lovingly.

  “Don’t be silly. I’ll nip out and get some. I’ll be back in five minutes. Kids, you need to hurry up, or you’ll be late for school.”

  Jane nudged her brother and giggled. “Mom, do you know what day it is?”

  For a moment, Alice just blinked at her seven-year-old daughter. John’s sixth birthday was last month, and no one had a birthday in May. “What?”

  “It’s Saturday, Mom. We don’t go to school on a Saturday.”

  She slumped against the fridge. How could she have forgotten? “Oh my God, so it is. Then why are we all hurrying?”

  “I’ve got to secure that damned file,” Harry said. “And I’m not even dressed.”

  “Which file?”

  “The one that Delany’s trying to get his hands on.”

  “That file? The one worth millions? I thought you did that yesterday.”

  “I was supposed to, but I raced to the office and left the file in the safe.”

  “Our safe? The one upstairs?”

  “Yeah, I know. It was really stupid of me, so I’m going in this morning.”

  Racing back up the stairs, Harry threw his bathrobe on the bed and dived into the shower.

  There was a hammering on the bedroom door. It was John. “Dad! Can I borrow your camera?”

  “Sure you can!” he shouted, switching off the shower. “What’s Jane doing?”

  “She’s painting in her bedroom!”

  Toweling himself dry, he quickly dressed. Harry then extracted the valuable file from the safe and locked it in his briefcase. It would be good to secure it in the company safe. Unlike his home, the offices were like Fort Knox. If all went as planned, he should be home by lunchtime. Then he could call Kat. He hadn’t seen his cousin since before the war. It would be good to spend time with her. The kids liked her, and so did Alice. He’d never been to the ranch she was staying at, but she’d said it was beautiful. Maybe they could all go riding together.

  He was putting on his jacket when he heard the front door burst open. Thinking something had happened to Alice, and she was panicking to get in the house, he ran half-way down the stairs. Expecting to see Alice, he saw three unknown men standing in the entrance hall. For a split-second, he froze, his heart thudding in his chest.

  Adams gazed calmly at the man on the stairs. He’d never met Harry Becker, but he’d studied the photographs and was surprised by how tall, and athletic the man was. Not that it mattered. They would never come into close contact. It was annoying to have to do this on a Saturday; the neighbors would be home, but at least Mrs. Becker had gone out. They’d seen her race down the road in her car, and the children were very young, they’d be easy to deal with. All they had to do was find the file, then get the hell out of there.

  Becker was about to speak when two shots rang out. He jerked as the first bullet hit him in the chest, then collapsed with a loud thumping sound when the second bullet pierced his forehead, the back of his head blown out, blood splattering the walls.

  Adams shoved the shooter, “What the fuck, man! What’s wrong with you, Stickler? We shoulda left your dumb ass in the car.”

  “The dude opened his mouth to yell his head off.”

  “You think gunfire’s quiet?”

  At that moment, Jane and John appeared at the top of the stairs. When Jane saw her father lying at the foot of the stairs in a pool of blood, she let out an ear-piercing scream, “Daaaad!” and thundered down the stairs.

  The man known as Stickler winced at the sound and raised his gun again. Adams went to grab him, but it was too late. Stickler shot the running girl in the throat, then finished her off with a shot to the head when he saw her gagging.

  “Man! Are you fucking crazy?” Frost yelled.

  “She was screaming, for Christ’s sake!”

  “She was a kid, asshole. You could have covered her mouth or something.”

  John had run down the stairs with his sister but froze with shock seeing her shot.

  “Dumb mother fucker,” Adams said. “Go look for the goddamn files! Hey kid, come here! There’s nothing to be scared of.”

  John was too terrified to move. So Adams walked over to him, patted him on the shoulder and ushered him away from the scene.

  “Now listen carefull
y, boy. We’re not going to hurt you. Your father and your sister were an accident. Your father owns a briefcase. Do you know where he keeps it?”

  “Don’t… know.” John said, terrified.

  “C'mon kid. Snap out of it. Help us find what we want, and we’ll go.”

  But John just continued to stare at his father’s and sister’s bloodied bodies.

  Realizing it was a lost cause, Adams spun around. “For Christ’s sake, search the house. Frost, you search the study, Stickler, check the living room, I’ll look in the main bedroom.

  Although petrified, when he saw Adams charging up the stairs, the boy moved slowly towards the kitchen, looking for a way of escape. The man called Stickler was now in the living room, and Frost had disappeared into the study. John could hear the neighbor’s lawnmower. If he could reach the back door without anyone noticing, he could climb the fence and call for an ambulance. Maybe it wasn’t too late to save Daddy and Jane. He could see Stickler through the kitchen doorway, holding an autographed baseball bat and smiling.

  Holding his breath, he edged nearer to the back door, but just as he was reaching for the handle, Stickler saw him. He froze. “I wasn’t trying to escape,” he cried. “I was looking for the cat.”

  But Stickler was already running towards him. Dropping the baseball bat, he grabbed John by his collar and forced him down onto a kitchen chair. Tying the boy’s hands behind his back with a dishtowel, he pulled out his gun and stuck it in the boy’s ribs. “You trying to snitch on us, boy?

  “No sir. No sir. I was just looking for the cat.” Out of overwhelming fear, John’s body began to shudder. He wished his mother were here. She would know what to do. She was the smartest person in the whole world.

  “You’re lying, boy. You were trying to escape.”

  Tears began to well in John’s eyes, but he held them back. He was more scared than he had ever been in his whole life. John thought about his mother and how she always told him how proud she was of him for not crying when he had skinned his knee or cut his finger. He wasn’t going to cry or let the awful man see how scared he was. Mommy would be so proud of him.

  At that moment, Frost appeared in the kitchen doorway. “Get your filthy hands away from the boy!” he barked.

  Already nervous, it was too much for Stickler. Without thinking, he squeezed the trigger.

  There was a loud report. Something sharp and burning stabbed John’s chest. John’s eyes went wide as he held his breath against the intense pain.

  “You sick bastard!” Adams shouted, storming into the kitchen with the file under his arm. Grabbing Stickler, he slapped him across the face. “You Goddamn son of a bitch!” Adams then walked over to the boy who was now gasping for breath.

  The neighbor’s lawnmower was now silent, and a police siren was wailing in the distance as Frost reached the back door. “Give it up, Adams. The police are on their way. You can’t help him. We gotta go!”

  Stickler and Frost had already exited when Adams reached the back door. He looked back at John before stepping out and said quietly, “Sorry, kid.”

  As John’s short life faded into darkness, he gently rested his head on the kitchen table, his little hands still tied behind his back. Tears trickled down his cheeks, and with his last shallow breath, he thought, I’m sorry, mommy, I tried not to cry.

  CHAPTER TWO

  K at was cinching the saddle tight when she saw a sedan turn into the ranch, and it caused her to pause. The car belonged to Preston, a retired OSS agent, now known as the CIA, and she’d asked him not to come here unless it was urgent. She and Dore were holed up on the ranch, and its owners had no idea who she was. MI6 didn’t want anyone to know she’d been a spy throughout WW2 or worked for the intelligence agency. Kat had been part of the Desert Eagle mission. She knew about Hitler’s fully functional nuclear bomb, and his plans of dropping it on London, before Kat and her team of commandos destroyed it. That knowledge was extremely dangerous, even for Kat.

  So she and Dore had taken a holiday in Virginia until they were sure it was safe to return to England. Kat loved horses, and her cousin Harry lived nearby, so she’d booked two months on the Devis Ranch, where she was teaching Jock Dore to ride. But she wasn’t naïve enough to think they were safe without someone watching their back, so she’d hired agent Preston to keep an eye on them. Now his sedan was heading towards her with a trail of dust in its wake. Something was wrong.

  She glanced at Dore. “We’ve got company.”

  “And he’s in a damn hurry.”

  Handing Dore the reins of her horse, Kat made her way to the end of the paddock and waited. Watching the sedan as it race towards them, Kat wondered what on Earth was causing him to breach protocol. Even if MI6 had found out where Kat was, Preston could have told her by phone. It would have been faster… and safer.

  The sedan made a full circle and pulled up to the paddock gate. Preston made no move to climb out of his car. He just sat there. So Kat climbed the fence and walked over to him. Even though there was a cool spring breeze, Preston was sweating.

  “Is there a problem?” she asked as she approached the open window.

  Preston ran a hand through his hair. “There’s no easy way to say this, but your cousin and his children have been murdered.”

  “Oh my god. By who? What happened?”

  Preston shook his head. “I don’t know who they were. I keep an eye on your cousin’s house because of your connection. I saw your cousin’s wife drive away when three men walked up to the house and went in through the front door. It’s Saturday, and I knew Harry and the kids were still at home. So I thought maybe they were workmen.”

  “The men were only in there for minutes when I heard gunfire, and then one of the kids started screaming. I got out of my car and ran over there, but I was one hundred yards away, and I had to climb the gate. By the time I reached the house, the men had gone.”

  Preston shook his head. “I’m so very sorry, Kat.”

  An icy chill washed over Kat’s face. “They even murdered the children? John and Jane? Who in God’s name murders children?”

  “I can’t possibly imagine. They tied the boy’s hands behind his back… before they shot him.”

  “Shit! Are the police there?”

  “The place is swarming with cops. At least, it was when I left. It’s taken me an hour to get here.”

  Racing round to the passenger side and wrenching open the door, Kat climbed into the car. “Take me there.” She wound down her window as Dore walked up with the horses. “Something terrible’s happened. A bunch of maniacs have murdered my cousin and his children. I’m going to their house?”

  “You want me to follow in the rental car?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Kat stared at the road ahead as her mind raced.

  The police and ambulances had gone by the time they reached Harry’s house, but a forensic team was still working there, and one of them yelled at Kat when she tried to enter the house.

  “You’re not allowed in here, lady.”

  “I’m CIA,” she replied, waving Prescot’s ID badge at the man and continuing into the hall. Stepping around the chalk marks, she gazed up at the blood-splattered staircase. Harry had been halfway down the stairs when they shot him, and Jane’s chalked body position had been at the foot of the stairs. She must have run down to help her father.

  “I don’t care if you’re the chief of police,” the forensics guy said. “Don’t touch anything.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” she said, wandering into the kitchen to examine a pool of drying blood beneath the kitchen table. Kat then turned around and peered into the living room. A baseball bat lay on the floor, but what caught her eye was the small camera. It was Harry’s Leica, and he would never have left it lying on the floor. Glancing at the forensics guy to make sure he wasn’t watching her, she picked it up. It had film in it, and the camera’s counter showed three shots had been taken. Glancing at the forensics guy again, she slipped
it into her pocket and went upstairs to the main bedroom.

  At first glance, nothing seemed out of place, but the safe was open, and it was empty. Had Harry taken something from it, or had one of the attackers cracked it? Either way, it was a clue. And then she noticed Harry’s briefcase on the floor. Its lock had been broken. Kat opened it and peered inside it, but the briefcase was empty. Had the attackers taken the contents?

  She next went into Jane’s bedroom. A set of watercolor paints spread across the floor. A half-finished painting of a house with flowers in the garden, the sun shining brightly in the sky. She wandered into John’s bedroom. As usual, it was a mess, but an opened packet of film sat on the bed.

  Dore was deep in conversation with Preston when she went outside again. Preston was tensely smoking a cigarette and looked at Kat as she approached.

  “What do you want to do?”

  She thought about it for a moment. The bodies would be in the morgue by now, but she wouldn’t learn anything by going there. “I want to find Alice.”

  “She’ll be at the morgue or police station,” Preston said. “You want to talk to her?”

  “Yeah. I want to ask Alice if Harry had any enemies.”

  “You gonna take Jock?”

  “Yeah,” she said, pulling out the camera and giving it to him. “Three pictures have been taken with this camera. Would you mind getting them developed? It was lying on the floor near the shooting.”

  “You think Harry had time to take pictures?” Preston asked incredulously.

  “Maybe. I found an empty film wrapper on John’s bed; maybe he took them.”

  “I’ll get the film developed. Where will you be?”

  “I’ll be at the police station, then the nearest café for dinner with Jock. Then I’ll be back at the ranch.”

  Kat and Dore found Alice at the police station. She was sitting with a female police officer, and her eyes were red from crying. She leaped to her feet when she saw Kat, a crazed expression on her face.