by A. D. Winch
The drone landed perfectly. It was probably being controlled by a pilot buried deep in the heart of the base. Once on the ground it taxied towards Professor Schwarzkopf and then went through the large cave opening and into the hangar beyond. Even an enemy drone would have found it difficult to locate the hangar from the air, and it would be hard to imagine what was happening inside. Only the runway hinted at what was going on, but it was the same colour as the rock and the surrounding sand.
The drone had slowed down to walking speed as it passed Professor Schwarzkopf. He chose to amble beside it. A camera under one of the wings immediately turned to face him. It followed him with every step he took until the drone had stopped, and the engine had powered down. Almost immediately engineers and technicians swarmed towards the unmanned plane. There were five others like it in the hangar.
If only I had had access to this technology when I was testing the flying disc, thought Professor Schwarzkopf. If I had, Ted and Archie would still be alive today.
Archie’s last words still rung in Professor Schwarzkopf’s ears, “Oh my God! What is…” and then it hit the dart.
Professor Schwarzkopf knew it was foolish to replay the past with modern technologies. He would not have been surprised if this incident, along with many others, had led to the creation of the drones in the first place. He also thought it was likely that at least some of his work had contributed to building the unmanned planes.
As he stared at the drone, he began to feel that he was being watched. Looking around, he saw a number of staff staring at him. The sight of an old man in a dressing gown, slippers and pyjamas walking around a secret base was both confusing and intriguing.
Professor Schwarzkopf gave those who were still transfixed a small salute and walked towards the large inflated tent housing the two pods and the silver dart.
The guards let him pass, and the security I.D. around his neck opened the door to the tent automatically. He stepped into the changing rooms, ignored the protective clothing neatly hanging up, and walked into the area where the craft were housed.
Dr. Khan was sat at a desk with a computer, next to the newest pod. She was not looking at the computer screen nor was she looking at anything else. Her eyes were glazed, and she was muttering to herself.
“I hope I am not disturbing you, Doctor,” Professor Schwarzkopf said. “You look deep in thought.”
After Dr. Khan had got over the shock of seeing a senior scientist in his night attire she answered, “Er, no, it’s fine.”
“Anything I can help with? I couldn’t sleep.”
Dr. Khan wondered how much she should tell the Professor. Jean Kurtz had warned them all about his untrustworthy and vindictive nature. However, it was hard to believe this as she looked at the old man in his pyjamas. She decided to share her concerns.
“It doesn’t make any sense. We have collected numerous samples, but none of the DNA matches and if anything we are left with more questions than answers.”
“Unfortunately that is the nature of science,” consoled Professor Schwarzkopf. “The more we find out, the less we realise we know. Why don’t you go and have a break? Clear your head for an hour and think things over. I am sure it will help you and I am happy to keep watch here while you are gone.”
“But it’s not your shift.”
“And?” Professor Schwarzkopf waited for an answer.
When none came, he told her to go.
Dr. Khan did not need convincing, “Okay, I’ll go get a cola and then come back.”
“There is no need to rush. I’ll be fine,” reassured Professor Schwarzkopf smiling.
When Dr. Khan had gone, Professor Schwarzkopf turned to the open pod and through his thoughts, tried to levitate it. He tried with eyes open and closed but neither seemed to work.
It occurred to him that he knew the dart better than the pods. After all these years working on it, maybe he had formed a ‘relationship.’ He walked around the two pods and stood in front of the dart.
According to human time it was considerably older than the pods, yet it looked slicker, smoother and newer. The X-shaped supports held it in place like a prized exhibit in a museum, and Professor Schwarzkopf felt that, in many ways, it was. Fixing his eyes firmly on the dart, he imagined it moving upwards. He concentrated as hard as his brain would allow but nothing happened. He repeated the exercise, but the dart sat stubbornly on the supports. Closing his eyes, he tried again. His thoughts were vivid and in his mind’s eye he could see clearly the pod levitating. A small creak, as if metal was expanding, broke his concentration, and when he opened his eyes, the dart was exactly where it was when he had started.
“Reliving old times,” boomed a voice from behind the pods.
Professor Schwarzkopf turned to see Agent Angel marching towards him.
“You two go back a long way,” he joked, patting the dart.
Professor Schwarzkopf said nothing.
“You’re too old and too intelligent to sulk or to be moody. So stop acting like a broad and say hello.”
Professor Schwarzkopf remained quiet.
“I had reports of a crazy old coot dressed in his PJs hobbling around the base chasing aircraft like a stray dog chases cars. You’re not crazy, are you John?”
“I’m not crazy,” replied Professor Schwarzkopf. “But I am crazy at you!”
“Why?” Agent Angel waved his palms in the air innocently. “Because of that photo?”
“Of course it is because of the photo!” Professor Schwarzkopf tried to hold his temper.
“Not telling you was the right decision and I stand by that to this day. You thought she was dead, and that kept you focused on your work. It also helped you to move on. If I had told you the truth what good would that have done you? To know that your wife left you? To know she was behind the Iron Curtain?”
“You could have brought her back!”
“We may have been able to bring her back but what good would that have done? She would have arrived back to a country with McCarthyism still in people’s memories and the fear of communism growing. The moment she arrived back she would have been tried, found guilty of spying for the commies and then shot. You know that as well as I do, if you choose to think about it clearly. And then you would have had to deal with her death a second time and the stigma that would have accompanied it. Now you may well hate me for the picture I showed you, for keeping you here and for the threat I made. But I swear to Jesus above that if I had showed you this photo years ago, your life would have been far worse than it is now. On top of that, you would have been forever wondering why?”
Professor Schwarzkopf didn’t want to accept what Agent Angel had told him, but he knew that it was true.
“You’re right, Buddy. I hate to say it, but you’re right. All I want to know now is why she left?”
“Broads,” said Agent Angel, shrugging his shoulders as if this was an answer.
“Where is she now?” asked Professor Schwarzkopf deflatedly.
A loud ring prevented Agent Angel from answering. He took out his cell phone and turned away from the Professor.
“You better have good news for me, Hoover,” and he listened to Agent Hoover’s long reply.
After Hoover had finished talking he said, “To have three agents put out of action by these two children is not good news.” His voice developed a sinister tone and grew louder, “Please tell me how this could possibly be good news?”
Agent Hoover informed Agent Angel of his investigations into the images of Alexander and Andrea. When he had finished Agent Angel’s mood was slightly better.
“Three possible I.D.s on the man, you say? Now that is good news.” He repeated out loud what Agent Hoover told him. “Edmond Dorneanu, date of birth September twentieth, nineteen seventy-three. Antonio Dos Santos, August twenty-second, nineteen sixty-nine. And Dr. Alexander Johansen, date of birth June twenty-fourth, nineteen sixty-seven.”
Professor Johan Schwarzkopf turned white. He was a scientist, a
nd he did not believe in coincidences. He became so absorbed in the last name spoken that he did not notice Agent Angel leaving or Dr. Khan returning.
Only when he had arrived back at his quarters, and sat down at his desk with a pen and paper, was he able to piece together his thoughts into something more coherent. He wrote down the date that Ingrid had left and then tracked forward to the birthdate of Alexander Johansen. Johansen. Or in English, John’s son.
The realisation hit him like a punch to the stomach. Ingrid had been pregnant.
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***
Chapter 21 – Fleeing Amsterdam
Alexander Johansen was trying to remain calm and hold his temper. True, his actions had caused Eric some discomfort but Eric’s constant barbed remarks were becoming tiresome and the personal comments were bordering on the offensive. He had tried to explain that there was no way he could have known Eric was under the train, when he had flushed the toilet, but the boy refused to listen. To make matters worse, he had dragged Ursula into his rants and blamed her for his predicament in the first place. Eric was acting like a spoilt brat, and only Andrea’s mediation had finally shut him up.
The four of them were in a second-class compartment with the door shut. Eric sat sullenly by the window looking daggers at both Ursula and Alexander, while Andrea pointed at a map of Amsterdam and spoke. The two of them were sat on the seats opposite, trying to ignore Eric and focus on what Andrea was saying. Occasionally he would look away from them, to smell his skin, before returning to his sulking pose.
“Let me recap,” said Andrea. “In less than thirty minutes we will arrive at Amsterdam Centraal station. We must assume that the OSS will be waiting for us. We will, therefore, leave the train from different carriages to minimise the risk of us all being ambushed. However, this will increase the likelihood that one of us will be captured. Statistically, we stand more chance of a successful escape if we are separated.”
“We should pull the emergency chain,” Eric pointed up above the window, “and stop the train. We can then jump off.”
“If we did that we would bring all the attention on to us. It is much better if we lose ourselves amongst the other passengers at the station.”
Eric huffed and moved as if he were going to pull the emergency chain, but he didn’t.
“We will all make our way to this spot,” Andrea pointed at a stadium, “the Amsterdam Arena. It is approximately ten kilometres from the main station, but it is a convenient landmark. While you are travelling there, I will hire a car and then meet you.”
Andrea took four smart phones from her bag and gave one each to the others.
“These have a substantial amount of credit on them. However, they are not registered to any of you. The numbers of each phone are already programmed in. Do not call unless it is as a last resort. We need them because they have a GPS application. You must now follow my instructions. Please input ‘Arena Boulevard 1’ into the GPS application. This will direct you to the rendez-vous point.”
Alexander and Ursula did as they were told. Eric dropped his smartphone onto the seat between himself and Andrea. Without any fuss, Andrea swapped it for the one in her hand and continued talking.
“Ursula will make her way underground. She will take metro number fifty-four to the stadium. Alexander will take another train to Bijlmer Arena. I will bring the car via the A2 motorway and Eric will make his way by bicycle.”
“Why am I going by bike?” demanded Eric. “Why can’t Ursula?”
Everyone looked at Ursula. She had aged in the last thirty minutes. There were a few more grey hairs; crow’s feet had reappeared around her eyes, and she looked weary.
“We have already discussed this Eric. You are a competent and fast cyclist. You are the best out of the four of us. The ten kilometres will take you fifteen to twenty minutes, and it is most likely that you will arrive before any of us. All you have to do is walk out of the station and turn right. There will be thousands of bicycles parked in this area, and not all will be locked securely. You must take one.”
“What if I get caught by someone while taking the bike?”
“What if any of us get caught?” interjected Alexander. “If you remember correctly we are doing this to try and avoid the OSS.”
“I can remember just fine, thanks,” replied Eric bitterly and refused to say anything else on the matter.
“We are ready. It is time to move to different carriages. Please take your things. Eric, I will take your skateboard. I will see you all later.”
“Are you crazy?” spat Eric. “I’m not going to walk onto the platform if they will be waiting for us.”
“If you have a better idea, you have had plenty of time to share it,” said Alexander.
“Until now, I didn’t think of one, thank you very much,” replied Eric sarcastically. “I have two much better suggestions. We could all go through the hole in the gangway between the carriages. That way we could move along the track, under the train, and then onto another platform. Or we could open the doors opposite the platform.”
“The doors that are facing away from the platform will not open without considerable force,” Andrea pointed out. “However, your first suggestion has considerable merit. It will give us an advantage and a greater chance of success. We shall do it.”
Once Andrea had finished talking, she picked up her bag and Eric’s skateboard and left the compartments before anyone else could offer an opinion. Alexander and Ursula followed, but Eric made no attempt to move and gazed out the window wondering what he could possibly do to get his life back to the way it was. He stayed there until the train slowed down as it entered the outskirts of the Dutch capital city, at which point he lethargically got up.
The landscape outside the train windows rapidly changed as they entered Amsterdam; green fields and golden trees were being replaced by roads and buildings. On the train, passengers were collecting their belongings and making their way towards the carriage doors. The four fugitives from the OSS walked past these people as they made their way back towards the sleeping wagon. When they reached the couchette, there were no passengers waiting to alight. Everyone had gone to find another door off of the train. It soon became apparent why. A pile of clothes lay between the toilet and the gangway. They were the items Eric had been wearing while he was under the train, and they reeked. Alexander tried not to retch but was unable to. Eric looked at him with scorn, but it gave him an idea.
“We need a diversion as we enter the station. If someone throws my clothes onto the platform as we slow down, I think it will scatter people like gun fire.”
He turned to look at Alexander.
“I think Alexander should do it.”
Andrea looked towards Alexander before replying.
“This is a good idea, but I shall do it,” and she walked towards the pile of clothes.
The train had begun to slow down and had just reached the platform. Andrea bent down to pick up a stained sock and opened the carriage door window. Families waiting to greet relatives, guides waiting for tourists, business people meeting clients and the Amsterdam police were all milling around the platform.
Andrea launched the sock and followed it in rapid succession with the rest of the clothes. Initially, people greeted being hit with a piece of clothing with mild anger. However, this soon changed. When they became aware of the stink that accompanied each item they looked as if they were being attacked by rabid dogs. Hands and arms waved in the air until the item of clothing was thrown off them and onto someone else. By the time the train had stopped at the platform, people were shouting at each other and blows were exchanged.
The Amsterdam police could no longer attend to the matter of the missing train guard and vandalism on the train. Their attention was now focussed on breaking up the many scuffles on the platform.
Professor Schwarzkopf lay on his bunk wide awake and his brain buzzing. He had thrown his dressing gown over the green floor lights, and his quarters were n
ow pitch black. The darkness helped him think by removing all other distractions. It was a technique that he used when he thought he knew the answer to a question but just couldn’t find it.
The question was simple. If Ingrid were pregnant, why did she leave? Piece by piece he tried to put the puzzle together. He decided to work backwards from what he knew.
The picture was taken in the ex-Soviet Union, at the time, the enemy of America. To have gone to the Soviet Union, she must have had a purpose or a reason. Perhaps she feared America for some reason? He knew nothing of what had happened to her after leaving the base, so he went further back in time to the day she left. According to Agent Angel, she had caused the explosion in the underground labs where he had been working that day. Had she meant him to be there?
Professor Schwarzkopf shook his head. He couldn’t believe it and then he remembered why. Fragments of their last conversation floated to the edge of this mind. And then, he instinctively remembered. Ingrid had insisted that he come home early that evening before the time of the explosion, but he got absorbed by his work and was late. They were going to have had a last meal together before she went on sick leave.
Sick leave! How could he have been so stupid? She had been complaining of sickness, but he had been too blind to see why. It had been morning sickness. She had been pregnant.
But why would she have wanted to destroy his work? On her previous and only other visit to the labs, she had acted most strangely and fled; claiming that the aliens were not dead. Surely this alone was not a reason to detonate explosives?
At home, they had never talked about their separate assignments though he knew she had been working on cybernetics and artificial intelligence. Perhaps she knew what his work had been. Did she know about Operation Mulatto? It was possible. On a few occasions, he had taken homework, and she could have read it. Maybe she knew about his experiments to combine alien/human DNA to create Identical Hybrid Beings. Professor Schwarzkopf thought harder, trying to take his memories still further back in time. Nothing came to him and all that he had was speculative; questions without concrete answers. He decided to turn these into a workable theory.