Secret Passage

by Amanda Stevens

  “But you saw what Roth could do. You witnessed his telekinetic abilities with your own two eyes.”

  “A slamming door would be the easiest thing in the world to rig. Besides, you said it yourself. This place is old and drafty.” Zac glanced around. “You’ve probably got doors banging shut right and left in here. You’ll have to do a lot better than that to convince me you’re sane, old man.”

  “You are being deliberately obtuse,” Von Meter accused in exasperation. “You’ve seen all the things I’ve described. You’ve witnessed extraordinary phenomena that cannot even be imagined, let alone explained, in the ordinary world.”

  “And how convenient that I don’t remember any of it,” Zac said dryly.

  Again Von Meter’s tone grew edgy, as if he, a man of science, was unaccustomed to dealing with such a cynical mind. “It’s true your memories were erased after the explosion. But I explained all that. It was a necessary precaution. Secrecy was, and is, of the utmost importance to Project Phoenix. We can’t allow the narrow-minded meddlers of the world to destroy what we’ve worked so hard to achieve.” He took a breath. “As for your memories…they will return in time. Some of them, at least. The ones you’ll need to carry out your mission.”

  “There you go again.” Zac remained unmoved by the strange old man’s prediction. “I don’t know how I can make myself any clearer. I’m not in the service anymore, so I don’t have to take orders from you or anyone else. I left all that behind me. I’m mentally unfit to serve, remember? So whatever this mission is you keep talking about, you’d better find yourself another guy. I’m not interested.”

  “And yet you’re still here,” Von Meter observed.

  Yes, he was still there, Zac thought angrily, but he had no idea why. Von Meter was obviously demented. Interdimensional phasing, telekinetic powers, time travel. Apparently in this crazy old man’s universe, anything was possible.

  And what about the woman? Zac wondered. The one who haunted his dreams. Did she reside somewhere in Von Meter’s universe? Or had she ever really existed?

  “I created her. I put her in your head. She was my gift to you.”

  Well, that answered his question, didn’t it? Assuming he could believe anything Von Meter had told him. And that would be a pretty damn big assumption.

  “There’s still a lot more you need to know, and we’re running out of time. Please allow me to finish,” Von Meter urged.

  Zac shrugged. “You can talk until you’re blue in the face, but my mind is made up. Whatever you’re peddling, I’m not buying.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?” Von Meter’s smile seemed strained as he reached for a cigar in the humidor he kept on his desk. But rather than light up, he merely passed the tobacco beneath his nose, inhaled deeply, then returned the cigar to the box. “The technology I’ve referred to—the interdimensional phasing, telekinesis, psychotronics—the root of all this extraordinary technology can be traced back to the experiment that was conducted on that ship more than sixty years ago.”

  “The Philadelphia Experiment, you mean.”

  The old man nodded. “In World War II, the government was engaged in many classified programs, the most famous, of course, being the Manhattan Project. The development of the A-bomb was concentrated primarily in three secret locations: Hanford, Washington; Los Alamos, New Mexico; and Oak Ridge, Tennessee. Buried within the confines of Oak Ridge was another program known as Project Rainbow. It was run by a man named Nicholas Kessler—”

  Zac turned. “Kessler?”

  “Does that name mean something to you?” Von Meter asked carefully.

  Zac studied the old man’s features. “I’m not sure. Should it?”

  “Perhaps you know him by reputation,” Von Meter said, but his tone seemed evasive to Zac, as if he were deliberately withholding information. “Kessler was an internationally renowned physicist who had worked with the likes of Albert Einstein and Max Born before the war. He possessed one of the most brilliant minds of the time, but, unfortunately, his genius was tainted by his lack of courage and vision. He began to have serious doubts about the work he was doing for the government, and he tried his best to get the project shut down. But he was too late. The military had seen the possibilities such a new technology could offer. The war could conceivably be won, not in a matter of years or even months, but in days.”

  Zac stared at the old man. “You almost sound as if you really believe all this.”

  Von Meter’s gaze admonished him. “Of course, I believe it. And soon you will, too.”

  “So you keep saying,” Zac muttered.

  “An experiment involving a U.S. warship was scheduled for August 15, 1943, despite Kessler’s repeated warnings regarding the crew’s safety. But the military overrode his objections. The sacrifice of one ship’s crew, they reasoned, wasn’t such a high price to pay for the millions of lives that could be spared.”

  “The good of the many outweighs the needs of a few,” Zac said.

  “Precisely. But on the eve of the experiment, Dr. Kessler stole aboard the ship and tried to sabotage the generators used to produce the magnetic fields. He was apprehended before he could destroy them, and the experiment went on as planned the following day. When the generators were fired up, a strange, greenish glow enveloped the deck. The ship began to fade until only a faint outline remained. Then it disappeared altogether, only to reappear some five hours later in another green haze. It must have been the most amazing spectacle one could ever hope to witness,” Von Meter said reverently.

  “And the crew?”

  He hesitated. “There were problems just as Dr. Kessler had predicted.”

  “What kind of problems?”

  “Several of the men became violently ill. The others were either dead or suffering from confusion and dementia. And at least one man was missing. Those who survived were eventually dismissed from the military as mentally unfit to serve.” The old man nodded at Zac’s quizzical look. “Yes. Just as you were nearly sixty years later.”

  “Are you implying there’s some kind of connection?” Zac asked doubtfully.

  “I’m merely suggesting that there are no real coincidences in this world.” The old man rubbed a hand across his eyes, as if he, too, were tiring of the conversation. “After the experiment, Kessler was so appalled by the condition of the crew that he lobbied even harder to have the project shut down. He managed to convince a congressional oversight committee that the new technology not only had the power to change the world as we know it, but could challenge the very essence of human-kind.”

  “Was he right?”

  “Yes. But Kessler refused to consider the possibility that the ultimate outcome of such an amazing science might be a better human.” Von Meter shifted restlessly in his chair. “Politicians have never been known for their vision, and this group was no exception. They agreed with Kessler and cut off funding for the project. Kessler even burned his own notes in the hopes that the experiment could never be repeated, but luckily some of them were saved and became the basis of Project Phoenix.”

  “That’s quite a story,” Zac said. “But aren’t you forgetting something? You haven’t explained the wormhole.”

  “Ah, yes, the wormhole.” Von Meter tented his fingers beneath his chin. “You see, a wormhole is an inherently unstable entity. When the ship rematerialized, the tunnel through which it had traveled should have collapsed once its power source was cut off. But Kessler did something to those generators that night. He damaged them in such a way that at least one of them couldn’t be shut down properly. As a result, the wormhole was able to gather enough negative energy—exotic matter, we call it—to overcome the gravitational pull and stabilize.”

  “Sounds like a lot of mumbo jumbo to me,” Zac said.

  “I don’t see why. The existence of wormholes has been theorized in quantum physics for decades, and the existence of this particular wormhole has been known by us for years. Until recently, howeve
r, we were unable to locate the entrance despite exhaustive searches. And, all the while, it was right under our noses.” The old man’s boredom faded, replaced once again by a subtle excitement.

  “And now that you’ve found it, you want to send me through it,” Zac said. “For what purpose?”

  “To destroy it.”

  Zac’s eyebrows shot up. “Let me get this straight. You’ve looked for this thing for years, and now when you’ve found it, you want me to destroy it? Why?”

  “Because it’s the only way,” Von Meter said with heavy regret. “Think about the consequences of such a passageway. Someone from the present could travel back to 1943 and, using their knowledge of modern technology, literally change the course of history. The outcome of the war. Imagine a world in which the Allied forces had been vanquished.”

  Zac grimaced.

  “Now do you see why the wormhole must be destroyed?” Von Meter asked quietly.

  “I get your point, old man. But assuming any of this is true, why not just find a way to close up the opening? Or…hide it somehow.”

  “Even if that were possible, the risk would always exist that someone at some later date, some future generation, would discover it. We can’t take that chance.”

  “But if I go back in time, won’t my very presence in 1943 change history?” Zac insisted.

  Von Meter’s expression turned grim. “That’s why you must be extremely careful. You are being sent back to a very dangerous time. There will be those who would lure you into the intrigue of the day, but you must not get involved. There will be temptations, but you must resist them. At any cost. Even the smallest interference could be disastrous. Your mission is simple. You must prevent Dr. Kessler from tampering with those generators so that once the ship rematerializes, they can be shut off, thus triggering an event horizon. The wormhole will collapse, but everything else must remain the same. Is that understood?”

  Zac walked over to Von Meter’s desk and sat down. “Just for the sake of argument, let’s assume everything you’ve told me is true, and let’s say I agree to go back and make sure those generators get turned off…what happens once the wormhole collapses?”

  Von Meter’s gaze darkened. “It’s very possible that you will be trapped in 1943.”

  Zac gave a little laugh. “I can see why you don’t exactly have volunteers lining up outside your door.”

  “To get back to your own time, you must reenter the wormhole before the ship rematerializes. The logistics of the mission will make this extremely difficult…unless…”

  “That had better be a pretty damn big ‘unless’,” Zac warned.

  “Unless you can recruit someone from the past, someone you trust to help you.”

  “You have someone in mind?”

  Something flickered in Von Meter’s eyes, a shadow Zac couldn’t quite decipher. “Nicholas Kessler himself.”

  “And just what makes you think he’d be willing to help me?” Zac demanded. “Or even listen to me? And come to think of it, why am I still listening to you? For all I know, you’re just some nutcase who escaped from a nearby asylum.”

  Ignoring the sarcasm once again, Von Meter opened a drawer in his desk and withdrew a gold chain from which a tiny medallion dangled. He held it out and Zac reluctantly took it. “What is this?”

  “It was given to Kessler by a young woman he knew before he left Germany. She later died in a concentration camp. She had it specially cast for him in her father’s jewelry shop in Berlin. It’s one of a kind.”

  “How did you happen across it?” Zac asked suspiciously. He held up the chain, and the gold ignited in the lamplight, sparking a feeling of déjà vu deep inside him. He’d seen this medallion before. Somewhere, at some time, he’d held it in his hand….

  A shiver ran up his spine as he lifted his gaze to Von Meter’s. “Where did you get this?” he asked again.

  “It doesn’t matter how it came to be in my possession,” the old man said evasively. “The only thing that matters is its usefulness to you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “That medallion will convince Nicholas Kessler to help you.”

  “How?”

  “You must trust me on that.”

  Zac’s fist closed around the chain. “Why should I trust you about any of this?”

  “Because you have no choice.”

  “No choice?” Zac rose. “Think again, old man. There’s always a choice.” He turned toward the door.

  “You can go,” Von Meter called softly behind him. “But you’ll come back, just as you were compelled to come here earlier. Just as you were compelled to return when you walked out the first time. And do you know why? Because a part of you already knows that I’m telling you the truth. You are a super soldier, Zac. A Phoenix warrior trained and programmed to go to extraordinary lengths to carry out a mission. You have no choice because that is who you are. That is what you are.”

  Zac whirled, his gaze contemptuous. But even as the rage slowly built inside him, he felt something else stir to life as well. Excitement. Adrenaline. The thrill of the hunt.

  And deeper still, the awakening of senses he hadn’t even known he possessed.

  THE DREAM FADED. Von Meter disappeared and Zac was left drifting in darkness. He had a vague sense of having been injured, of being cared for. He could feel gentle hands on him from time to time, but he couldn’t wake up. He seemed to be trapped in some shadowy netherworld where dreams and reality were one.

  She was there. The woman who had haunted his sleep for so long.

  He knew her intimately by now. Her touch, her kiss. The feel of her pale, silky skin beneath his hands.

  Her voice was like a siren’s song. The soothing tones had the power to lead him from the darkness. Or lure him more deeply into it.

  He could hear that voice now, soft, lyrical, beguiling. “I knew you’d come,” she said. “It was just a matter of time.”

  She laughed, a hard, brittle sound that seemed to pierce Zac’s soul. “But then, time is such a relative concept, isn’t it?”

  She was silent for a moment, and, when she spoke again, the bitterness had faded. “What happened to you? Who did this to you? Who would want to kill you…besides me?”

  Another silence. “I don’t think I can go through with it,” she whispered. “I know how much is at stake, and yet when I saw you lying there…when I thought you were dead…”

  For just a split second, Zac could have sworn he felt her hand on his face, the brush of her lips against his. It was almost enough to make him leave the darkness behind.

  Almost…but not quite. Not yet.

  She sniffed, as if fighting back tears. “Why did you come? Why did Grandfather have to be right? Why did it have to be you?”

  She paused again, and, in the ensuing quiet, Zac could hear the pounding of her heart. Or was that his own?

  “I can’t let any of that matter, though, can I?” she said harshly. “I have a job to do. I have to find out why you’re here so for now I need you alive. You can’t die on me, Zac. Do you hear me? You can’t die…not knowing about Adam.”

  ZAC KNEW HE’D SEEN the boy before. There was something touchingly familiar about that solemn little face and those dark, innocent eyes.

  He had a baseball in one hand and a glove in the other, and it seemed to Zac that the child was bathed in light. A brilliant, white light that warmed Zac all the way to his soul.

  “Hey, mister, you wanna play some catch?” the boy asked hopefully.

  Zac shrugged. “Sure. Baseball’s my favorite sport.”

  The boy squinted up at him. “You any good at it?”

  “Not too shabby.” Zac backed up a few paces and squatted. “Okay, kid, show me what you got.”

  The boy wound up and let one rip, a perfect strike over the invisible home plate. Zac shook his hand as if the ball had stung his palm. “Hey, kid, where’d you learn to throw like that?”

  “My mom taught me.”

  �
�Your mom, huh?” Zac rose and glanced around. “Where is she?”

  “She’s waiting for you.”

  “Waiting for me? What do you mean?”

  The boy walked slowly toward him, his eyes dark and mesmerizing. “It’s getting late, mister. You better go.”

  “Go where?” Suddenly, Zac realized he didn’t have a clue where he was or what he was supposed to do. He’d never felt so lost in his life.

  The boy walked right up to him and gave him a push. “You gotta go, okay? It’s time….”

  “YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD, Mr. Riley,” an angry voice said in his ear.

  That voice pulled Zac from the dream, from the boy. He struggled against it for a moment, but he was too weak to resist.

  The voice drew even closer to his ear. “What were you doing in that mine shaft? Who sent you here? The FBI? The OSS? It doesn’t matter. The military must not be allowed to finish what they’ve started behind that fence. Your interference will not be tolerated—”

  “What do you think you’re doing?” a second voice suddenly demanded.

  Zac sensed another presence as someone hustled into the room.

  The first visitor seemed stunned into silence for a moment, then said calmly, “I was just fluffing his pillow.”

  “Fluffing his pillow?” the second voice repeated doubtfully. “For a minute there, I thought…”

  “What did you think?”

  She gave a nervous laugh. “It looked as if you were trying to smother the poor man.”

  The first visitor laughed, too. “Smother him? Now that’s a good one.”

  “I must be working too hard. I’m so tired I’m starting to see things.” They both laughed again, but something lingered in the second voice that might have been suspicion.

  “Looks like you’re here to take his temperature, and I’ve got things to do myself so I’ll just get out of your way,” the first voice offered.