Rick or Treat: A Fae Killers Novel (The Fae Killers Book 3)

by Jaxon Reed

  “Huh. Yeah, your world is certainly different. Well, I’m happy to help in any way I can.”

  -+-

  At the German embassy a tall lanky man with a military crewcut walked into the front door, passing a giant flag bearing the Reich’s swastika. He waited patiently in the lobby until an attractive blonde secretary arrived and motioned for him to follow her.

  She went up the embassy’s grand staircase and he followed, nodding his respect at the giant portrait of Adolf Hitler at the top of the steps. They both silently raised their hands in salute to the portrait as they passed it.

  She headed to the right and opened a door leading to a large airy office.

  A corpulent, bald man looked up from the desk, the silver skull on his black collar denoting his rank in the SS, the feared Schutzstaffel of the Nazi Party.

  The man approached the desk as the blonde shut the door behind him on her way out. He stood before the SS officer, bowed his head, clicked his heels and saluted by raising his right hand, stiff-armed and palm out.

  “Heil Hitler!”

  The SS officer raised an arm casually at the elbow and said, “Heil. Have a seat, Schultzen.”

  Schultzen quickly pulled out one of the small chairs facing the desk and sat stiffly, not looking the other man in the eye.

  He said, “Danke, Herr Oberfuhrer von Ribbentrop.”

  Ribbentrop leaned back in his own chair, which squeaked in protest under his weight.

  “So. Why are you here before me, Schultzen? Your mission was to take down that airplane. You were to grab the controls after the pilots were incapacitated and crash the plane upon landing. It was supposed to look like an accident. I did not expect to see you here. In fact, I expected to see your body at a service in your honor, before it was flown off carrying you home as a hero of the Reich in service to the Abwehr.”

  Schultzen still refused eye contact, choosing instead to gaze at a spot in the middle of the huge desktop separating him from Ribbentrop.

  He said, “Things did not go as planned, Herr Oberfuhrer.”

  Ribbentrop slammed his palm down on the desk, the sudden movement causing his chair to screech in protest. Schultzen jumped, startled, finally making eye contact with the larger man.

  Ribbentrop said, “I know things did not go as planned, dummkopf! Now tell me what happened. Don’t leave out any details. Our planning on this was perfect!”

  Schultzen swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously.

  “There was a pilot . . .”

  “There was no pilot, Schultzen. We made sure of that. The pilot and copilot were given poisoned meals, loaded onto the plane by our agents back in Bermuda. We even made sure there would be no navigator on this flight, or anyone else who could be expected to handle a large plane and land it safely. You were expected to kill everybody in the front of the cabin, including the first class passengers. If anybody survived the crash they would say you tried your best, valiantly trying to land the airplane.”

  “There was a stowaway. An American we did not account for.”

  “An American?” Ribbentrop snorted. “Americans don’t fly airplanes, Schultzen. They can barely drive cars. There are no American commercial airline pilots. Most of them live and work on farms, tending pigs and raising corn.”

  “Jawohl, Herr Oberfuhrer. But this one was able to land the plane successfully.”

  “You should have taken Ambassador MacGraw out by other means, then, as soon as the plane came to a stop. Think on your feet, Schultzen!”

  “I had no chance, Herr Oberfuhrer. Emergency personnel surrounded us as soon as we landed. There was no way to successfully remove the ambassador without being thwarted. Our plan would have been exposed before completion.”

  “You should have demanded to land the plane, then. You should have stuck to the plan.”

  “I was surprised. I was about to offer my services, but then the American showed up.”

  Ribbentrop waved his hand, dismissing the conversation. He leaned back in his chair, which squeaked again in protest. He steepled his fingers over his chest and his lower lip came out as he thought for a moment.

  He said, “I should be more upset with you, Schultzen, but we will have another chance. We will be hosting the All Hallow’s Eve Masquerade Ball here at the embassy. All the important people in the diplomatic corps will be here, including the ambassadors. We will eliminate MacGraw at that time, along with the rest of them.”

  “But of course, Herr Oberfuhrer.” Schultzen bowed in his chair, dipping his head low.

  When he came back up to eye level, he raised his eyebrows and glanced down at the desktop again. He thought for a moment before speaking, very delicately addressing his superior in both tone and choice of words.

  He said, “Naturally, we have a plan to divert public attention away from the fact the ambassadors are to be assassinated in our embassy, and not on the streets somewhere. Public outrage and suspicion would fall on the Reich, otherwise.”

  Ribbentrop said, “Assassinations are tricky things, as you well know, Schultzen. But, they don’t call it ‘assassination’ in times of war.”

  3

  MacGraw assigned Angela to Rick, and she took him on a tour of the Texas Embassy. She showed him the guest wing and pointed out the room he had been assigned as his personal living quarters. Then she showed him other parts of the mansion, including the cafeteria, the library, and the main offices for State Department personnel.

  As they walked through the halls toward the end of the tour, Rick struck up a conversation.

  He said, “So, you work with the State Department?”

  “That’s right. I’m assigned to the embassy as staff.”

  “I see. I’d have pegged you as OSS.”

  Angela jerked her head toward him a little too quickly. She recovered and continued walking.

  Nonchalantly she said, “And what would have made you say that?”

  “Well, on my world the Office of Strategic Services was the precursor to the Central Intelligence Agency. It came about during the Second World War. Started by a guy named Bill Donovan. I actually met him once, on a mission to interrogate German POWs at Camp Hearne, down near Bryan, Texas.”

  “Yes, well . . .” Angela cleared her throat. “Let’s go visit the basement.” She pointed toward a stairwell.

  On the steps she said, “Down here we’ve got our latest counting machines and communications equipment. You’ll be impressed.”

  They walked through a set of double doors and into a hallway festooned with machinery. Oscilloscopes, open breadboards fitted with vacuum tubes, wires and shielded speakers all crowded for space with metal cabinets, lightboards, and teletype machines.

  Rick looked around at the equipment and smiled. He said, “What is this? ENIAC?”

  Angela looked at him sharply. She said, “What do you know about ENIAC?”

  “On my world, ENIAC was the first major full-scale electronic computer. It was all vacuum tube-based, and became obsolete as soon as transistors were developed, but it was something back in the day. It was huge. It would fill this whole basement.”

  Her expression softened somewhat. “It’s hard to tell if you already know everything, or you’re really telling the truth about your world. Yes, we call this ENIAC. It’s an acronym for something, I’m not sure what.”

  Smitty walked out from behind some metal cabinets, wearing his lab coat with the pocket protector. He said, “‘Electronic Numerical Integrator and Computer.’ Right now, it’s mostly involved in coding and decoding our messages to Austin. Its twin sits in another basement back home, and together they help keep communications via the trans-Atlantic cable secure. We’re concerned a German U-boat has placed a tap on the line somewhere in the Gulf of Mexico.”

  Smitty stuck out his hand and said, “I didn’t get a chance to introduce myself earlier. Brett Smitty. I’m in charge of the basement.”

  Rick shook his hand and said, “Rick Strickland.”

  Sm
itty said, “I know. And I’m glad Angela brought you down here. ENIAC has been talking about you.”

  -+-

  Rick and Angela sat in Brett’s office pouring over a teletype printout. Everything appeared in capital letters. Rick read it again, scarcely believing his eyes.

  RICK STRICKLAND THIS IS CAIT STOP

  THIS ALTERNATE IN EXTREME DANGER STOP

  FAE DISGUISED AS RIBBENTROP STOP

  PLANS KILL DIPLOMATS STOP

  PRECIPITATES THIS ALTERNATES WORLD WAR II STOP

  Angela read it over Rick’s shoulder a second, then a third time. She said, “What is this all about?”

  She and Smitty stared intently at Rick. He swallowed hard and tugged at his collar to loosen it.

  He said, “Cait is an acronym for our computer. It stands for ‘Computerized Artificial Intelligence Terminal.’ She is far more advanced than ENIAC. She has a human interface that could pass for a real person, except she doesn’t show much in the way of emotions. Does your alternate have a guy named Turing?”

  Smitty nodded. He said, “I presume you mean Alan Turing? He’s one of the top British computer scientists. I know of him, but I don’t know him personally.”

  “Well, he suggested something called the ‘Turing Test’ on my world. When artificial intelligence gets to the point it can fool you, make you think you’re dealing with a human instead of a machine, it’s passed the Turing Test. And Cait can pass the Turing Test any day of the week.”

  Smitty said, “So, your computer is reaching out to our computer? How is that possible?”

  “Well, like I say, she’s very advanced. The only thing is, in the attack I went through before landing here, her human interface was destroyed. Then several of us got swept away when the Wildflower Room was annihilated . . .”

  Rick noticed the blank stares Angela and Smitty gave him.

  He said, “I can see this isn’t making much sense. Let’s just say, ordinarily she’d have a way to contact me directly, but I suspect she’s only able to operate in a limited fashion right now. It’s probably too soon for her to have her full capabilities back.”

  Angela said, “But how . . . I mean, if you’re from another world, and it has a much more advanced computer . . . how is it able to access our computer here on this world?”

  “Cait has a presence on practically all the worlds of any significance, from what I understand. She has sensors on as many alternates as possible. I suppose she has sensors here, too. And, somehow she has figured out a way to tap into your little communications system.”

  Smitty’s back stiffened. He said, “This is the most advanced communications system in the world!”

  Rick nodded and said, “No offense, but in five years it’s going to be woefully obsolete. And by the time your grandkids are born, they’ll be carrying around computers a thousand times more powerful than this one in the palm of their hands.”

  He looked at Smitty, then Angela. Both stared back at him with deeply skeptical expressions.

  Rick said, “I know it’s hard to believe but just trust me on this. You’ll learn about something called Moore’s Law when transistors are invented. It states that processing power essentially doubles every couple years.”

  Smitty’s eyebrows arched in surprise, and the skepticism in his face slowly ebbed as this new thought crowded it out.

  Rick said, “Look, is there a way I can talk back to Cait? Maybe send a telegram or teletype, whatever this is, in the same direction or something?”

  Smitty said, “Well, we can certainly try. This came through a couple hours ago from the cable to our embassy in New York City. We could send something back on the same line.”

  “Your people in New York aren’t going to think something’s odd about that?”

  “Honestly, not much happens in New York. It’s something of a backwater. Let’s go into the communications room and I’ll have one of our staff key in your message.”

  Rick followed Smitty out of the room. He chuckled and shook his head.

  Angela said, “What?”

  “New York City is a backwater? What a crazy alternate.”

  -+-

  Smitty brought Rick and Angela into another room filled with men and women sitting at tables listening to bulky leather headphones. A handful had telegraph keys on the tables in front of them, along with notepads. Some had typewriters. Teletype machines clattered in one corner, a steady stream of paper spitting out.

  An older woman in her 60s approached the group as soon as they entered the room. She stood rail thin and wore her gray hair in a tight beehive bun. Half-moon glasses perched on her nose. She looked at the newcomers with an air of authority, and without smiling.

  Smitty cleared his throat and said, “This is Mrs. Hilary Maples. She is in charge of our communications room. Mrs. Maples, you know Ms. Dorn. I’d like you to meet Mr. Rick Strickland. He would like to send a message out on our system.”

  Maples’s composure fell. She gasped and the glasses jumped off her face. Fortunately, the chain around her neck caught them before they fell very far.

  Rick grinned and said, “I understand ENIAC has been trying to reach me.”

  Maples recovered quickly, placing the glasses firmly back atop her nose. She said, “I thought it had to be some trickster playing jokes in New York. Americans have the worst sense of humor.”

  “Wouldn’t it be Texans if it came from your embassy?” Rick asked, with an innocent expression.

  Maples scowled back in reply. “Whoever it was, my counterpart at our embassy in New York swears it did not come from one of her people. Is your name really Rick Strickland?”

  Rick nodded. Maples lifted an eyebrow at Smitty, who also nodded.

  She said, “Alright. What do you propose doing, Mr. Strickland?”

  “I’d like to try and send a message back on the same frequency. Or cable, or whatever.”

  Maples nodded and turned to walk down one of the rows of tables. The others followed. Over her shoulder she said, “Lena is in charge of the New York line. She doesn’t stay very busy, anyway.”

  They stopped at the space occupied by a pretty blonde who looked up as they approached. Rick realized with a start she was the doppelganger of one of the women he had met on his home alternate.

  Maples said to her, “Take his message and key it in.”

  Lena nodded and looked up expectantly at Rick, pencil in hand, ready to write down his words.

  Rick paused to think then said, “Cait, this is Rick. Message received. Please advise.”

  Everyone waited patiently as Lena typed in the message on her teletype’s keyboard, glancing at the notepad to ensure accuracy.

  Smitty said, “ENIAC will take the basic text and encode it. Then it travels by cable to New York where its counterpart will decode it for the staff there. We should know in a few minutes if the message was received, by, uh, Cait or whoever.”

  While they passed the time waiting, Rick struck up a conversation with Lena. He said, “So, ever been to Tennessee?”

  She laughed and said, “Oh, no. I’ve never been on the other side of the Mississippi. There’s not much over there but farmland and wilderness, from what I understand. I’m a California girl. Born in San Diego.”

  “Oh. So, California is a state . . .”

  “A state of Texas, yes. It’s part of the republic.”

  “So, is there is a, uh, state named Texas in the republic . . . or, how does that work?”

  “Oh, yes. The original territory is still called Texas, but the other states are all part of the Republic of Texas. You aren’t from there? Your accent seems normal. Where are you from?”

  “Uh . . . New York, I guess. It’s hard to explain.”

  “Oh. Well, you don’t seem like an American.”

  “What are they like?”

  “The ones I’ve met have all been country bumpkins. You know, they wear stained overalls.

  They’re smelly. They chew tobacco and spit everywhere.” She shr
ugged and smiled. “They’re not too sophisticated.”

  “They can’t all be simpletons.”

  “Oh, they’re not simpletons. Some of them are quite intelligent. They’re just . . . ‘agrarian’ is a good word for them. You know. Country folks.”

  A teletype clattered in the corner of the room, interrupting their conversation.

  Lena said, “Oh, that’s mine. Let me go see what your response is.”

  She returned a moment later with a printout and handed it to Hilary Maples who glanced it over, then handed it to Smitty. He read it quickly then handed it to Rick. Angela read it over his shoulder.

  MY CAPABILITIES LIMITED STOP

  RIBBENTROP IS FAE STOP

  YOU THWARTED EFFORTS TO KILL AMABASSODOR MACGRAW ON PLANE STOP

  NOW RIBBENTROP PLANS KILL GUESTS WITH TNT AT ALL HALLOWS EVE BALL STOP

  4

  Rick said, “So, did you guys have a Guy Fawkes?”

  Angela and MacGraw stared at him blankly.

  Rick said, “No? ‘Remember, remember the fifth of November?’”

  Angela shook her head.

  MacGraw said, “Ah have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Rick smiled and said, “Alright, so look: on my world, and I think on a lot of worlds, there was a fellow named Guy Fawkes. He tried to take out the British Parliament back in the day by planting a bunch of gunpowder under the building. It failed, though, because too many people knew about it. You know what they say about having a secret and sharing it. You had nothing like that happen here?”

  Angela shook her head again.

  Rick said, “Okay. Well, I guess that explains why Ribbentrop thinks this is a good idea. Nobody has heard of the idea. Even better, he’s got TNT instead of simple black powder.”

  MacGraw said, “Ah’m still having a hard time grasping the idea of your computer sending you a message from New York. It’s not the advanced computer part, mind you, it’s the part about New York City that troubles me. Why would she be over there? It’s barely a one horse town on that island.”