A Gift from the Gods

by Martin Gunn

  ***

  During his lunch break, Slater made a point of avoiding his girlfriend, Hazel. He knew that she would have questions that he wouldn’t feel comfortable answering. So, until the time of the meeting, Slater kept a low profile.

  Just before 1400 hours, he opened the door to the conference room to find everyone there, either making their way to a seat at an oval wooden table or pouring coffee from a side cabinet.

  “Ah, Slater,” greeted Garner, “now we are all here we can get started.”

  With that, everyone sat down; Slater declined the offer of coffee, preferring to pour himself some water from a glass carafe provided on the table. He was nervous and his mouth was dry. An attractive young woman handed round a file to each person at the table and immediately left the room. Opposite him sat Darren Garner, Slater’s case officer; next to Garner sat the head of the Directorate of Operations within the CIA, Christine Kaplow. To Slater’s left sat Deputy Director of Counter Intelligence, reporting to the FBI, Colin Bolman, and finally next to him Major James Hannon, representing Delta Force.

  “Okay,” announced Garner finally, “we can all open the file in front of us.”

  Slater looked down to see a buff file with his name at the top. Below this were the words Top Secret written in red and further down written in black, Operation Solar Eclipse. A white band of paper surrounded the contents, preventing the file from being opened. On the band was written, Not to be Opened Without Official Consent.

  As Slater watched everyone else tear through the band, he duly followed suit, sliding the edge of his hand easily through the thin paper. Turning over the cover, the first thing he saw was his report and some photographs.

  “This is a report by Agent Slater,” stated Garner, “which also includes these photos. If you could talk us through it, Liam.”

  All eyes fell on Slater and he wriggled uncomfortably in his seat.

  “Right, well,” replied Slater gathering his thoughts, “I was abducted from the underground car park of my apartment block, by what turned out to be the Mafia, and taken to a secret location.”

  “Secret? You have no idea where you were?” interjected Kaplow.

  “No, I was sedated for both trips,” confirmed Slater.

  “How were you treated?” enquired Bolman.

  “With utmost courtesy,” replied Slater, “I think it was important to them that I take what they had to say very seriously; that an arms dealer, who I suspect they eliminated, procured weapons-grade nuclear materials for a Nazi cell, operating here in the US.”

  “What do we know about this arms dealer?” asked Major Hannon.

  “The only international arms dealer who has dropped off the radar recently is Sarmin Agolli, an Albanian with close links to the Soviet Union.”

  “Is it possible that he could procure radioactive isotopes?” enquired the major again.

  “Obviously we can’t be sure,” advised Kaplow, “but if anyone could, it would almost certainly be him.”

  “One anomaly,” asserted Slater, “is these photos. One shows a Nazi known as Luki from 1953, who has clearly aged, but this one from the same time period of a high-ranking Nazi called Kolbeck, who clearly hasn’t.”

  “This is bizarre,” exclaimed Bolman, “have we an explanation?”

  “No,” advised Garner, “it makes no sense.”

  “The Mafia hinted that the nuclear materials were being taken to somewhere in Montana,” continued Garner, “we have done an extensive reconnoitre of the state and have come up with only one probable site. If you look at the aerial photo in your file, you will see an area marked where this site is located.”

  They all pulled out a photograph showing the woodlands of Montana with a red arrow, indicating the position stated by Garner.

  “The land was purchased directly after the Second World War and a large country house built there,” added Garner.

  “What’s so extraordinary about that?” blurted out Major Hannon.

  “We have learned that heavy construction work took place here, over a period of about ten years,” he continued, “way more than was needed to build this house. We need to check it out.”

  “My proposal is that we send someone in to look the place over.” advised Garner, “If it is legit, well, then we look elsewhere.”

  “And, if it isn’t,” commented Major Hannon rhetorically, “you send my men in.”

  “What if the place isn’t legit and the agent is caught?” enquired Slater.

  “I suggest we give him twenty-four hours to get in and out,” mused Garner, “and if he doesn’t show up, then we send Delta Force in.”

  “Have you got anyone in mind for such a dangerous mission?” asked Kaplow to Garner, but before he could answer, they were both distracted by Slater interrupting.

  “I’ll do it!” he declared.

  “Do you think that’s wise?” asked Garner.

  “I have a vested interest in this mission. My father was sent on a fool’s errand to assassinate what turned out to be a person posing as Hitler, and got himself killed in the process,” argued Slater, who didn’t want to miss an opportunity to avenge his father, “not only do I want to do it, I need to.”

  Garner looked around the room for approval of Slater’s request; he knew the agent was capable, but was he too close to the case? And would it jeopardise the mission? Eventually he got a curt nod from the Director of Operations, Christine Kaplow.

  “Okay then Slater,” agreed Garner, “report in first thing tomorrow for a briefing. Is there anything else before we wrap this meeting up?”

  “Yes, I have a question,” proffered Kaplow, “how the hell did this happen under our very noses?”

  “When the construction was taking place,” interjected Garner, “we were preoccupied with Korea and Vietnam and when we were looking for Nazis our attention was drawn to South America.”

  “Hurrah for the Mafia,” replied Kaplow sarcastically as she stood up and gathered her files together. She was clearly annoyed that the CIA had been embarrassed by them on this occasion. The rest followed suit and left the room.

  Later that day, Slater was at his desk when Hazel approached him with a smile.

  “How did the meeting go?”

  With an apologetic look on his face, Slater replied,

  “It looks as though I’m going to be gone for few days again.”

  ***

  The Führerbunker,

  100 Miles West of Great Falls, Montana

  23rd August 1985

  Twelve hours, that’s all they have given me, was all that Slater could think of as he made his way through the forest towards his target. It was agreed that twenty-four hours was too long; agreed by everyone except Slater that is. He had been dropped off about a mile from the house and watches were synchronised at 0400 hours. With two hours until dawn, Slater knew he had to get in and out quick, if he was to remain undetected.

  After about half an hour, he came out of the trees into a short clearing that led up to a highly fenced perimeter, topped off with razor wire. Beyond the fence was yet another fence identical to the outer, again protected with razor wire. The message was clear to anyone who stumbled upon these confines, and that message was – keep out.

  Using his night vision goggles, Slater scanned the area inside the perimeter. There was no activity whatsoever; all he could see was a large expanse of lawn leading up a slight slope to a large country house. A track cut through the middle from the main gate, culminating in a large gravel parking area outside the house. There was some kind of construction, obscured by trees beyond the house, making it difficult to discern what it might be. Slater took out his wire cutters and gained access through both fences, taking care to straighten out the fence again to make his entrance less obvious. Keeping low, he skirted along the perimeter and then made a dash for the house. Surprised at not seei
ng any guards, Slater looked around him; all was in darkness including the house. Moving carefully round to the left-hand side of the property, he came to the trees and yet another high fence. Cutting through it, Slater had gained access to the rear of the house, and as he scanned with his night vision goggles he could see a gangway leading from the end of the house, on the first-floor level, forming a bridge to the parapet. As he continued to pan around with his night vision optics, he observed a large area of lawn bordered by a huge concrete wall, about thirty feet high. At last Slater noticed some movement. He counted six armed guards patrolling the parapet. It suddenly occurred to him, this isn’t a country estate; it’s a fortress. Still scanning with his goggles, Slater could make out something at the far end of the garden through a line of small trees. Slowly and stealthily, he made his way nearer, keeping close to the wall and hoping that the shrubs and bushes would help to conceal him. As he reached the trees, Slater peered through. Six circular hatches could be seen, about twenty feet in diameter. Slater’s heart jumped into his throat; his first impression was that these were missile silos.

  Jerking his head round with a start, he heard a whistle blowing in the distance beyond the house. His break in the perimeter fence had been discovered. Without hesitation, Slater made his way back the way he had come, until he reached the house. By now floodlights had been illuminated and the house had woken up. As he hastily fed himself through the fencing to gain access to the front lawns, his clothing snagged on the wire. Cursing, he extricated himself and as he got to the wall of the house, a voice shouted,

  “Halt!”

  Slater froze and turned around to see several guards pointing submachine-guns at him. Two men were holding German Shepherd guard dogs that were barking angrily and straining at the leash. Putting his hands in the air, the discovered agent was prodded in the back with a gun barrel.

  “Move!” demanded one of the guards.

  As he was marched to the main door and into the building, Slater looked at his watch. It was five o’clock and all was not well.

  ***

  After being forced into the dining-room, he was ordered to sit whilst closely guarded by two armed men. He looked around the room, which was elegantly furnished, the décor tasteful but not ostentatious. Five minutes later, though it seemed longer to Slater, a tall slim man in his mid-thirties entered the room carrying a handgun. He spoke quietly to the guards and then dismissed them. Pulling up a dining-chair opposite Slater, with its back in front of him, the man sat down.

  “Erich Kolbeck,” he smiled, “I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure.”

  “My name is Liam Slater.” The CIA agent recognised him from the photo and wanted Kolbeck to know exactly who he was.

  “Slater,” mused Kolbeck, “I know that name. Ah yes, Argentina, 1953. An American named Slater got the better of me, for all the good it did him.”

  Seething inside at the mention of his father, Slater showed no reaction, refusing to be provoked.

  “It turned out he was a CIA agent,” continued Kolbeck, putting a finger to his lips thoughtfully, “so I’m guessing you are his son – yes? And you also are CIA.”

  “It’s an impressive setup you’ve got here,” uttered Slater deliberately changing the subject, “but it’s hardly enough to take on the United States, let alone the world.”

  “We have no intention of taking on your country, or the world for that matter,” laughed Kolbeck, “that would be somewhat foolhardy.”

  “What’s this all about then?” enquired Slater casting his eyes around the room.

  “Come with me,” invited Kolbeck standing up, “but be advised, one false move and I’ll put a bullet in your head.”

  Slater had no intention of resisting, he was keen to know what the hell was going on here. Kolbeck led him into a hallway to some steps which led to a heavy metal door. As he punched in a six-digit code on the keypad, the door slid open. With a slight wave of his pistol, Kolbeck gestured for Slater to enter, and as he did so, the entrance opened up into a massive underground facility.

  Looking around him, Slater couldn’t help but be impressed. Armed guards lined the walls which were draped with red Nazi banners, emblazoned with swastikas.

  Men and women in white coats were milling around going about their business. Kolbeck approached one of these men and spoke to him, who in turn looked at Slater and nodded. Slater’s attention was elsewhere however, he had just noticed the six bell-shaped objects at the far end of the room, screened behind shatterproof glass. Men in yellow hazmat suits seemed to be working on them.

  “I’ve seen photos of you from the 1940s and you have barely aged,” stated Slater, “how can this be?”

  “Ah yes,” grinned Kolbeck, walking over to a cabinet and retrieving a small object, “it’s because of this.”

  Observing the phial in Kolbeck’s hand, Slater was none the wiser.

  “What is it?” he frowned.

  “We call it the Infinity Serum,” proclaimed Kolbeck, “a drug which extends life indefinitely, improves physical and mental performance and protects the donor from illness.”

  “Are you trying to tell me that this drug makes you immortal?” gasped an incredulous Slater.

  “We haven’t used it long enough to know,” assured Kolbeck, “but as you yourself have observed, I have barely aged in forty years.”

  “We have only just recently discovered how to replicate it,” continued Kolbeck, “and now we are more or less ready to carry out our plans.”

  “What do you hope to achieve?” entreated Slater, “You are no match for the US military.”

  “We are not interested in this world – this time period,” mocked Kolbeck, gesturing with his arm, “please – this way.”

  Leading a nonplussed Slater over to the glass barrier, Kolbeck smiled.

  “What are they?” asked Slater looking at the six bell-shaped objects and fearing the answer.

  “They are time machines,” announced Kolbeck proudly, “this first one is set for a thousand years into the future, and the other five are set for 5th June 1944.”

  “The day before D-Day,” blurted Slater, looking at the bell-shaped objects in wonder and slight disbelief.

  “This one is set for Moscow,” stated Kolbeck, pointing to them in order, “then London, Washington; and these two, well, the fifth is set for the south coast of England where the D-Day troops are massed, and finally the sixth is targeting Oak Ridge Tennessee, the site of the Manhattan Project.”

  “But what use will they be?” reasoned Slater, “there’s no room for troops.”

  Laughing heartily, Kolbeck shook his head.

  “It took thousands of people and years to develop an atomic device in the 1940s,” Kolbeck asserted, “it’s amazing how easy it has become to make one, forty years later.”

  He paused to let this revelation sink in.

  My God, so that’s what the nuclear isotopes are for, thought Slater.

  “Yes,” bristled Kolbeck with glee, “these five time machines are atom bombs, each twice as powerful as the Hiroshima bomb, and all set to detonate as they materialise in 1944. We will destroy the D-Day invasion force, the allied nuclear bomb development programme and three major cities all in one instant.”

  Movement on a mezzanine level distracted Slater, as two men walked over to the railings and looked down at him curiously.

  “Hitler!” he gasped.

  “And Herr Bormann,” confirmed Kolbeck, “it was important that the world’s security services thought that they had escaped and died in Argentina. When all eyes were looking there, you missed what was really happening right under your very nose.”

  “What is the first …err… time machine for?” queried Slater.

  “That will take The Führer and Herr Bormann a thousand years into the future to see the fruits of our labours. They will be expected and treate
d like Messiahs. A second coming perchance.”

  “Six time machines,” muttered Slater, “it’s unbelievable.”

  “Seven in fact, “corrected Kolbeck still smiling, “we have another near Los Angeles, which has already taken-off for 1920.”

  “Why?” was all that Slater could utter.

  “The intention is to meet up with the young Führer and show him the future, guide him to victory,” revealed Kolbeck, “he will be shown history books on how the war went, and how mistakes can be avoided. Also, a quantity of the Infinity Serum will be taken. We intend to breed a super race of soldiers to subjugate our enemies and bring about a new world order. A Fourth Reich to overwrite The Third Reich, if you will.”

  “But won’t that alter our present day,” panicked Slater, as the full implications of this enterprise dawned on him, “what will happen to us?”

  “Who knows,” was Kolbeck’s reply with a shrug, “if this time period suddenly ceases to exist, then so be it.”

  A dazed Slater was led away and taken up to a bedroom overlooking the rear lawns and the silos. Before he left Kolbeck turned and grinned mischievously,

  “I thought you might like a front row seat, as history and the present day unfolds before your very eyes. Oh, and don’t even think about escaping, you won’t get very far.”

  Slater had no intention of trying to escape. He looked at his watch – 0630 hours; the sun had not long risen. He had a nine-and-a-half hour wait before the cavalry arrived. Whether he would survive, though, would be another matter.

  ***

  Three Boeing CH-47 Chinook twin rotor helicopters set down in a clearing within a mile of the bunker. Immediately fifty troops from each disembarked and fell into line. As the helicopters took off and disappeared into the distance, Major James Hannon stood on a rock to speak to his men.

  “We are here to take down a Nazi terrorist cell operating on US soil. A mile from here is a building which we must secure at all costs.”

  The major paused to let this sink in, then continued, “it is most apt that this endeavour is called an operation; there is a canker festering in our country, and we are the surgeons who are going to remove it. Oh, and a heads-up, there may be a CIA agent still alive in the house, so try not to shoot him,” he added finally, stepping down from the rock and leading his men into the woods.