For a long while, the mahogany boat pressed through the sea. The blue water was full of floating algae. Flying fish flew along the bow, and some landed on the deck. The flock of noisy gulls bobbed up and down in the air behind while the spray from the constant pounding left all the passengers coated with saltwater spray.
They ate liverwurst sandwiches for lunch. Franz and Heine fed some of their food to the gulls, which squawked and fought over the scraps. Porpoises played along the seaward side of the Marybell Lee. All five spies fell asleep after their meal. Canasta thought she might discover more about the man in the Zoot suit.
In English, she said, “You seem to be the leader of these men. What is your role in the grand plan of your Führer?”
He nodded. “Gewiss, gnädige Frau ... I apologize for the lapse into German. I’ll speak English. Madam, I’m the coordinator of all German intelligence efforts on the Atlantic and Caribbean coasts of your country. I do logistical support for every agent in every port from Portland, Maine, to Galveston, Texas.”
“I had surmised that you were an important man. How many agents, in total, do you control?”
“Let’s see. With five agents minimum in each port, I control a minimum of one hundred agents, but in the big ports of New York, New Jersey, Baltimore, and Norfolk, I control many more. Two hundred, at present count, report directly to me.”
“Are we now heading to meet another vessel?”
“Yes. We’ll meet a submarine and exchange cargoes and crew. A new complement of German agents will supplant the former team. We’ll have more dollars, gold, and diamonds for the money laundering. Things ashore will roughly be the same as they were.”
“What would happen to your operation if you were suddenly absent?”
“Frau Murray, I think you are still hoping to kill me before we reach our objective.”
“I don’t see much chance of that happening. Does your Führer have a plan in case of accidental death?”
“Der Führer thinks of everything.”
“So when we arrive at the rendezvous and pick up your new team, do you plan to return to Port Charleston?”
“Yes, but my work is never done. Two weeks from now, I’m off to New York to assure another team is relieved and resupplied.” He looked longsuffering, but he was beaming with pride at the same time.
“You had bound and tortured a bearded man in the chandler’s office. Who was he and what had he done?”
“He was a British agent. He told me everything he knew, but it wasn’t much. He confessed that Lady Charleston was coming to meet him at four a.m. to do an initial assessment of our operation. You were a little early, but that was no problem. I was ready to apprehend you, and here we are. By the time the British spy is found, he will have died of starvation. Such should be the reward for anyone who defies the Third Reich. Heil Hitler!” The excited man snapped his arm to full length to give the ritual Nazi salute.
Canasta ruminated about what the man had said about Intrepid. She thought, Perhaps he doesn’t know what was intended for this boat? Could that mean the explosives and detonators were planted before we motored out of the harbor? If so, I had better start planning what I will do as we approach the submarine.
Canasta decided to sleep to preserve her strength for any strong exertions she might need to accomplish later. She was awakened in the darkness for dinner of sausage and sauerkraut with mustard. She ate and drank her fill. As she calculated, she had two hours to survive before the rendezvous.
The five spies and their spymaster became increasingly animated as the time to meet the submarine drew closer. They joked and argued among themselves about what they would do when they returned to the Fatherland. Heine spoke of medals he expected to receive for his work in America. The others chimed in to suggest that all of them deserved a unit citation. Franz stated that he was hoping to return to his normal naval assignment in the English Channel.
The men rigged a spotlight in the bow. Its beam spread across the water, with a reflective banner streaming over the dark sea. Ahead a similar spotlight was barely visible. The boat steered toward the other light as if it was a beacon.
Canasta said, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to stretch my limbs. Soon we’ll be getting into that submarine, and I won’t be able to get much exercise.”
The man in the Zoot suit nodded. She stood and did a few routine exercises. She breathed deeply and stretched her arms. Stretching her arms to one side and another, she did deep knee bends. The Marybell Lee was rapidly approaching the German submarine now. Canasta gauged her movements, so when she leaped free of the boat, she landed in the water on the side away from the surfaced submarine. As she entered the water, she heard shouting and a single gunshot. Then, swimming underwater as fast as she could, she felt the force of the blast.
She remained underwater until she thought her lungs might burst. Then she swam to the surface. She looked back toward what had been the Marybell Lee and the superstructure of a submarine. All she saw now was a wall of fire, and all she heard was the screaming of men in the water. The boat no longer existed. The bow of the submarine pointed straight up before it plunged into the deep.
Canasta stripped off her wet Lady Charleston costume. Underneath it, she wore her swimsuit as Intrepid had advised. As she stroked toward the shore, she took her time so she would not get a cramp or become exhausted. She thought she might have four hundred yards to swim. Then she thought about the sharks in the water. Finally, she repressed all thoughts except for her objective. After four hours of strenuous effort, she felt the soft curl of breakers. She let her feet dangle and felt sand. She walked through the surf to shore and, reaching dry land, at last, collapsed.
She did not know how long she slept before she heard voices calling her name. It was her mother and Nancy, the maid.
“I’m over here!” she cried.
Flashlights blinded her. Then she felt the warmth of towels. She felt Nancy take her in her arms, guiding her to the margin of the highway where the car was parked.
As Nancy drove the car south to Charleston, between gulps of refreshing water, Canasta told her mother the whole story of her voyage. In return, Lady Charleston told her daughter how Nancy had freed Intrepid, who recovered but vanished soon afterward.
Her mother said, “The authorities are going to send a seaplane to search for survivors of the tragic explosion and sinking of the German submarine. It was Intrepid’s idea.”
“Mother, I believe I’ve accomplished my mission. It’s, therefore, time for me to go home to my husband.”
“Nancy and I will drop you at your door before we drive home. You performed a miracle, and I’m grateful.”
Canasta fell asleep and remained sleeping until they arrived at her home. Lady Charleston and Nancy did not wait for her husband to answer the doorbell. He took Canasta into his arms.
“THIS IS HOMER RANSOM of WXTC radio news. The story of the hour is the sinking of a distressed German submarine in the waters off Myrtle Beach. Overflights of the area indicate there were no survivors. Floating on the surface were splinters of a boat and a life preserver from U-278, a German submarine.
“The overflying seaplane sighted floating in the water a costume similar to the one worn by super-heroine Lady Charleston twenty years ago. Did the city’s heroine return? If so, what was her self-appointed mission? Sticking strictly to the facts, though, the tragic loss of life that resulted from the freak accident aboard the submarine is a reminder of the transitory nature of life itself. Shark fins sighted in the water around the wreckage may account for the lack of survivors. Again, this is Homer Ransom. Good night from Port Charleston.”
Lady Charleston did not hear from her daughter for several weeks after the incident off Myrtle Beach. Homer Ransom stopped by to inquire where the editor of the former DA’s memoirs happened to have gone. In passing, he mentioned the new vogue at Woodward’s Prep School. The girls were sporting mauve and red in Lady Charleston’s memory. Canasta Murray’s heroism wa
s, of course, buried in a tide of mayor-instigated public revulsion to the “lawless” acts of vigilantes like the so-called superheroes and superheroines. Ransom had doubts, but he could not resist connecting the appearance of Lady Charleston’s costume in the sea with the disappearance of the prim and proper editor.
AGAIN, ROXY APPEARED before the guardian crone, who had dispatched her on her assignment in Charleston.
“Well, done, Canasta ... or Roxy. You, among a host of other travelers, have prevailed and accomplished your mission flawlessly.”
“I have a multitude of questions.”
“I’m sure you do, but those are about the past. I have your next assignment, which will require your full attention. For your information, the menace of Adolf Hitler was quelled for a time. Another greater trial for humanity arose from his demise. If you are ready, you’ll be sent to play a role in quelling the potential for catastrophe. Of course, if you need time to recover, I can accommodate you, to an extent.”
“My questions can wait indefinitely. I’m ready to serve wherever you want to send me.”
“Good girl. You remind me of myself as I was long ago.”
“If you’ll forgive me for asking, have you ever regretted your service as a guardian?”
The crone smiled, and her face took on a reflective air. “That’s a fair question, but we haven’t time to address it fully. Hold it for some future time.”
Roxy’s transportation in geography and time was not instantaneous and not without pain. Her female mentor merely laid her hands on Roxy’s shoulders, and the younger woman felt drowsy. Then her soul seemed to levitate and take flight. She felt sensations of light and dark, of heat and cold, of portentous loneliness ...
Roxy then felt her body being hoisted alongside a noisy and noisome camel. The mingled smells of burlap, apricots, figs, and dates were overpowering. She thought she smelled her own aroma too as if she had not bathed in weeks. Her mind relaxed as she heard the Islamic calls to prayer. A brief hubbub ensued, but it was subdued by an authoritative voice and the sound of a switch in the air. The camel rose from its kneeling position unsteadily. Then it responded to the beating of the switch on its haunches. Roxy’s hammock rocked as the beast ambled in the caravanserai. Roxy wondered where this timeless ritual would lead her. She drifted off to sleep as her guardian-mentor’s instructions invaded her consciousness.
Temporal Agent Walker
Owen Morgan
Temporal Guardian Keep, 2989 AD
THEY SAY A TEMPORAL agent is never late. How can a time traveler possibly be late?
“Agent Walker, report to the High Council,” a woman’s voice intoned over the loudspeaker.
Walker strode down the concrete hallway, lights flickering overhead, metal plates clanking with each step. Two guards flanked the doorway to the inner sanctum; one acknowledged her with a curt nod and opened the door. She stepped into a circular room that was bright white and spotless. The League of Guardians, comprised of six men and women, sat around a glass table where images of different time periods flashed across the surface.
Marshal Thompson, head of the league, tapped his tablet and offered it to her. “Look.”
Walker watched the images and frowned. “I asked for proof ...” Pausing, she looked at the images again. “... and there it is. Thank you for providing this evidence.”
“It was no problem.” His calm voice belied the gravity of the situation. “You are one of our fastest rising stars, and we felt your ...,” he paused and folded his hands before him, “... connection to the perpetrator warranted special consideration.”
“What are my orders?”
Thompson settled into the plush leather cushioning of his chair. “Find and contain the perpetrator, and then we shall isolate the temporal rift and lock away the event as a separate timeline.”
“No termination?” She swallowed, garbling the last word.
“We don’t believe that is necessary. However, the temporal anomaly must be corrected.” He fixed her with a hard look. “We will brook no further damage to the timeline. If the target resists, you are authorized to take any and all measures to complete your mission.”
Walker saluted and exited the room. She followed a yellow marker along the second level of the complex, which guided her to a ship known by the temporal guardians as The Donut. The ship was an elongated tube with a massive sphere in the middle, and here, a door slid open from the otherwise seamless alloys. Inside the sphere, a computer voice activated as she sat in the pilot’s chair.
“Please secure your harness properly, or you may be unaware of the change in time when you arrive at your point in history.”
Walker struggled to fasten her special piece of temporal attire as the velcro straps were in need of replacement. The harness, as the technicians called it, looked like a sports bra. She preferred the male version, which resembled a bullet-resistant vest. Despite her misgivings, the garment did wick away perspiration, and internal censors prevented the worst effects of time travel on the human mind.
Walker drew her finger across her closed eyelids, wiping away tears. She murmured under her breath, “Why can’t this be an easy assignment? Couldn’t the guardians send me back to preserve Richard the Lionheart, or to make sure the Wright brothers’ first flight went off without a hitch?”
“Pardon me?” the computer voice said. “I didn’t quite hear you.”
“Nothing’s wrong ... just give me the historical notes.”
An image containing all the pertinent notes appeared on the wall of her compartment. She skimmed the text and said, “Any notes on friends and family?”
“No. Corruption of this information did draw the attention of the council and, in turn, contributed to their decision to send you back to correct the timeline.”
Walker slumped in the crescent-shaped chair and pressed her boots against the wall. “Great. Just great. Are we ready for the time jump?”
“Soon, but first, I want to run a DNA scan of your equipment. I’ll start with the temporal harness ... All parameters are in the green. Checking time bullet ... Yes, all is in order.”
A stinging sensation spread over her left shoulder. She winced, but the feeling subsided.
“DNA bullet implanted.”
“Ugh. You would think that after all this time, we could have invented a better way of implantation.”
“Would you prefer a needle?”
Walker shook her head. “No, let’s get this over with.”
“It’s a shame we cannot send you back with more material, but this is based on our current understanding of temporal physics. Otherwise, I would ask you to bring back a relic from the time ... perhaps a mixtape.” The computer voice fell silent for a moment. “Checking for last-second anomalies. Calculations complete. Temporal jump in five, four, three, two, ...”
BLURRY SHAPES SWAM before Walker’s eyes as her head throbbed with the feeling of a hangover. The closest shape coalesced into an end table with an alarm clock, which flashed 5:21 a.m. Walker pushed the warm comforter away and stood up from the bed. She shot out a hand to catch herself from falling as she slipped over a pair of slippers. Swearing aloud, she found the light switch. Squinting against the sudden bright light, she took in a bedroom with a dark-stained vanity and chair to her left, and a partially-opened closet door to her right, where a neatly-arranged pairing of shoes and shirts awaited. She turned to see her image in a full-length mirror attached to the inside of the bedroom door.
Reflected was Ms. White, a woman ten years her senior, tall and athletic with a mass of silver-streaked black hair, fine blue eyes, and delicate bones. Her nails were cut to the quick and devoid of color.
At least I’m in a woman’s body, not like the last time, when I was a Roman general. A jumble of thoughts crashed together. She clutched her head in both hands and fought for control of the woman’s mind. After a couple of minutes, she blinked as the pain subsided. It looks like I’ll need medication to keep Ms. White’s personality co
matose until I’m done—but I need food first. I can’t wait until the temporal guardians develop a different way to time travel. Walker sighed. Of course, this was the best cover against accidental exposure to the people of this part of history. She considered the fine calculations of supercomputers digitizing her essence, firing her back in time, and implanting her soul into another person’s mind.
In the kitchen, she found a calendar with half of the days of March crossed off. The fifteenth—I have three days to fix this mess. Her stomach growled as she searched the room for food. She opened a cupboard and found a package of porridge and, to her surprise, a jet-black pistol in a shoulder holster and a set of fine tools for repairing glasses. She picked up the weapon, its heft and cool steel pressing against her hand. This period is full of surprises. I have to hand it to Ms. White. She kept the Barreta in beautiful working condition. She hit the clip ejection button, and a fully loaded magazine slipped into her palm. Perhaps she’s scared of someone? Walker took the gun and holster and placed them inside the bedside table. She would return for them later.
After consuming a couple of bananas, she placed a bowl with porridge, soy milk, and unsweetened apple sauce into the microwave. As she enjoyed the porridge, Walker used Ms. White’s cell phone to locate a pharmacy. Full of good food, she ventured out into the cold and blustery Seattle weather.
The pharmacist read over her prescription and prepared her medication. Walker grabbed a couple of medicinal items from the shelves. With the combination of drugs, she would be able to suppress her host’s consciousness until the crisis passed, and then she could stand back and allow a better history to unfold. Walker sighed. Poor Ms. White had to live with schizophrenia, an affliction long since cured in her time.
Sweat beaded on her back and trickled down her spine. The other woman was stirring, her consciousness fighting to reassert itself. Walker lurched forward on weak legs and collapsed into a chair beside the front door.
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