One Way Roads

by Erik Foge

  Jamie nodded and turned to face the computer monitor. Within seconds she accessed the database. She typed in the names Lieutenant Commander August Christopher and Lieutenant Commander Laurence Justinian but got no results. While she tried a few other databases, the admiral glanced at her nameplate, Jamie Anderson, and at the photograph of Erik.

  “Is that your boyfriend?” he asked.

  Jamie nodded but kept working. A moment later she faced the admiral. “Sir, are the names spelled correctly?” As, he nodded, his eyes narrowed and he motioned her to keep trying. She tried again, frowning in concentration. How could she miss them? After she had repeated her actions, she shook her head and faced the admiral. “Sir, these officers aren’t in our database. Is there anything else I can do for you?”

  “No.” The admiral grabbed the paper with the names on it and headed out.

  Jamie frowned at him, then pushed back her sense that something wasn’t quite right, and locked up the databases. She looked up at the sound of her boss walking in.

  “Jamie,” he said, “I know Admiral Cole can be intimidating, but don’t worry; he’s harmless.”

  Jamie grinned. “Thanks, I’m fine. It’s just a little strange to be asked to look up data on someone who isn’t even in the system.”

  Her boss chuckled. “Get out of here and have a great time in Paris. See you when you get back.”

  Jamie didn’t know that Admiral Cole had met Brigadier General Plackett down the hallway. He confirmed that Jamie Anderson had been identified and told the Brigadier to go ahead with the plan to tie up all loose ends once Erik was back in 1944.

  Kennedy Warren Apartments, Washington D.C.

  Erik opened the door to his two-bedroom apartment and was greeted by music—the Pet Shop Boys singing Always on My Mind—and the smell of freshly burnt incense. Erik grinned. Jamie, who always attended to his needs, had prepared for his homecoming. Though he doubted he’d have any reason for an altercation with this loyal, understanding, and trusting woman, he appreciated the effort she put into keeping their relationship harmonious. Erik locked the door behind him and glanced around his white-walled condo, analyzing everything he saw and heard. He walked across the hardwood floor and enjoyed the woman’s touch in his otherwise purely functional home and stopped by the first painting that he and Jamie had bought together at an auction house. The painting of late nineteenth century couples dancing in a baroque ballroom with a painted ceiling, large central chandelier, and wall panels of huge mirrors in gilded frames had, in some weird way, taken Jamie back to that time. She’d felt that she and Erik had lived and known each other in that period in history and that they’d made a serendipitous promise to find one another if they were separated. Erik hadn’t believed in soulmates until he met Jamie; now he didn’t doubt that they were linked in exactly that way. He strolled through the living room to the hallway leading to the bedrooms. A sweet, seductive voice called through the doorway to his library.

  “Hi, professor.”

  Erik stopped and looked into the library. Jamie, the love of his life, sat on his desk, slender legs dangling over the edge, her petite, toned body clad in a short, blue-green plaid miniskirt that hugged her hips and defined her curves. Her fitted sheer-white top drew attention to her small, firm breasts and revealed a defined cleavage. White knee-high socks and black high heels enhanced her tan legs. The lamplight gave a shine to her long brown hair, and makeup highlighted her soft brown eyes. She seductively licked her moist red lips and opened her arms.

  Erik, already aroused, grinned and walked into her arms. She wrapped her legs and arms around him like a squid positioning its prey, and a hint of sweet perfume drifted under his nose. Their lips softly touched, and their tongues slowly explored each other’s mouths. Erik wrapped his arms around her, and she squeezed him closer. Their kissing increased in passion. His lips slowly released from hers, then kissed her neck and caressed her breasts and nipples. She moaned softly, then looked up at him and smiled. “I love you, babe.”

  “I love you, too.”

  Jamie combed her fingers through his hair and stared at him with love in her eyes. “What’s wrong, babe?”

  Erik took a deep breath. “The project’s going crazy.” He tilted his head down, closed his eyes, and then looked up into Jamie’s eyes. “I can’t go to Paris next week.”

  Her happiness evaporated. “No, babe! Why not?”

  “The museum needs me to go somewhere and take care of some business.”

  “But you requested the time off. They need to get someone else!” Jamie said with an underlying tone of anger.

  “I wish they could, I know I promised, and I do really want to go, but …” He stepped back.

  Jamie slid off the desk. Tears filled her eyes, but she hugged him tightly. Erik hugged her just as tightly. “Erik, I love you,” she said. “Can’t you do anything to change their minds?”

  “I know you do. And I wish there was something I could do.” He shook his head, then wiped tears from her eyes. “I’d much rather be with you.”

  “Erik?” She narrowed her eyes slightly. “What do you do for the museum?”

  Erik frowned and cocked his head. “You know what I do. I’m one of their historical researchers.” He avoided her gaze, hoping she wouldn’t see the lie in his eyes. “Why?”

  “Like some of the people in the intelligence branches, all hush-hush about what they do.”

  “I’m working on a World War Two Project. You’d probably find the details boring. My work at the museum changes people’s view of history. That makes me feel good.”

  “Babe, I love when you tell me about the past,” Jamie said sweetly as she stroked the line of his jaw. “But the way you don’t talk about your work makes me feel you’re hiding something. It reminds me of the people I work with at the Pentagon.”

  Erik frowned, not liking her probing. “Like who?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe some government agency.”

  Erik gave a fake laugh. “I don’t think so.”

  “Come on, I’ve known you for three years, and I’ve never heard anything about your work.”

  Erik sighed. “Okay, you’re right. But let me say this: I’m no James Bond.” He took her hands. “I’m doing the exhibit at the museum on Field Marshal Erwin Rommel.”

  “We watched a documentary about him and D-day last week.”

  “Yes, he was the German field marshal who designed the defenses on the Normandy beaches. He also fought the British in North Africa. He was the commanding officer of the Afrika Korps.”

  “I think I remember Rommel’s name from my grandmother who spoke about meeting a German general in France during World War Two.” Erik grinned and Jamie smiled and gave him a peck on the lips. “I love it when you talk to me about things like that. Like the second time we met, remember when I was on a field trip with my college.”

  Erik nodded. He remembered; it was clear as yesterday. “I’ll never forget it. But, Jamie, sometimes my research would bore you..”

  “Never. Remember when you told me about the Tucker Forty-Eight?” Erik nodded. “Well,” she continued, “if it interests you, it interests me.”

  Erik smiled and met her gaze—so full of love and passion—he kissed her deeply, and a wave of emotion overcame him. He pulled back and looked at her again. “I love you, Jamie.”

  “What was the name of your grandmother? Was she one of the nurses who took care of the German general?” Erik questioned.

  “Raquel Bonheurve.”

  Erik grinned.

  “Babe, when you go on your trip, will you promise to be careful and not do anything dangerous?”

  “I will.”

  “Promise me.”

  Breathing in a sigh, he replied, “I promise. Now, what would you like to know about in history?” Before she could answer, he covered her with kisses, picked her up and carried her to the bed. They lay together, staring into each other’s eyes.

  “Tell me about the opening of the Eiff
el Tower.”

  Grinning at her, and with love in his voice, he began, “Imagine us back in Paris on the thirty-first of March, 1889.”

  Erik finished his story, and Jamie squeezed him tight. “I love you, Erik,” she mumbled into his neck; then she kissed him passionately and rubbed her hands across his back. “Will you tell me that story when we see Paris?”

  “Yes, I promise.”

  They snuggled together, their lips embraced once more, and eventually their bodies became one.

  5. SEEN AND UNSEEN

  “Like all travelers, I have seen more then I remember and remember more than I have seen.”

  — Benjamin Disraeli

  Erik handed his attaché case to the driver as he glanced back at Jamie and saw tears falling from her eyes. He ran back into her open arms. The embrace was so strong they didn’t want to let go.

  “I’ll try to be strong,” she murmured into his chest. “I just hate not knowing when you’ll be back.”

  He gazed into her eyes and brushed a finger across her cheek, wiping her tears away. “I promise you, we will go to Paris.”

  Jamie sniffed, and she knew he might be away for quite a while. Erik replied, “I’ll always come back to you.” Hope dawned in Jamie’s eyes at Erik’s assurance. “Besides, our love keeps us together, no matter where we are.”

  Jamie squeezed him tightly and kissed him with so much passion that it bordered on desperation. “Have to go,” he murmured, as he slowly disengaged himself.

  As they parted, Jamie slipped something into his jacket pocket. “I love you, Erik,” she said in a hollow voice.

  “I love you, too.”

  “If you don’t come back, I’m going to come for you.” Her tone and the suspicion in her eyes told him that she still suspected that he was more than a historical researcher at the museum.

  “I know.” That’s pretty much impossible, Erik thought. If she knew where he was actually going, she might never let him go—and with good reason. This was his third trip without her knowing where he was going and when he would be back. He was, after all, going into a war zone. Being a Paramilitary Operations Officer, Erik knew operations were rarely the quick in and out. He hoped this one would go quickly.

  Jamie turned and ran inside. Erik stepped into the car, closed the door, and looked back at the apartment. He felt as if he’d left a little of himself behind. Jamie appeared in the window, used her warm breath to fog up the window, and then wrote the numbers, one-four-three-seven. Just before the car drove off, Erik mouthed, “I love you, Jamie” and blew her a kiss. Then he sat back in his seat and they proceeded toward the Dulles Airport. A few minutes later they turned onto the congested highway and the driver maneuvered carefully through the traffic. Erik stuck his hand in his jacket pocket and pulled out an antique-looking black and white photograph of Jamie looking innocent and loving. He flipped it over and read:

  My babe, Erik, though our paths might split us apart, my love for you will never die. Whenever you’re down, think of me and I’ll be smiling back at you. Stay healthy and safe until we meet again. I’ll be thinking of you. Hugs and kisses. Love forever and always, Jamie.

  He took a deep breath and released it slowly. Thoughts of Jamie raced through his mind, but he pushed them aside and turned his attention to his mission. From his inner suit pocket, he pulled a German Officer’s ID book from World War Two. Greg, his contact in ONE, gave it to him back in 2006, said that he would need it if he ever went back in time. Back then, Erik had thought it was highly unlikely, and Greg had been unable to confirm or deny that such a thing was even possible. And he said little else, just insisted that Erik remember the book should such an opportunity ever arise. As instructed, Erik planned to keep the book to himself. Though Greg couldn’t say why, he’d given it to Erik for a reason.

  As Erik neared Dulles, the main terminal slowly got larger and the details of architecture became more defined. Sounds from horns, people yelling for loved ones, taxis, and car brakes screeched and their sounds bounced off the car windows. As the car pulled into the departure zone, it slid into a parking spot, and the driver jumped out and opened the door for Erik, then retrieved his luggage and handed it to him. An armed escort, made up of two individuals, stood nearby. One of the escorts stepped forward.

  “Dr. Függer?” he inquired. Erik nodded. “Follow me, please.”

  Erik followed the man and the rest of the escort fell in around him. The terminal was filled with people of all shapes, sizes, and states of consciousness. Each had their own agenda. The multitude of languages merged into a loud mumble. As he walked, Erik noticed a sports trivia question in a sports bar: WHAT TEAM WON THE WORLD SERIES IN OCTOBER, 1943? ANSWER: THE NEW YORK YANKEES. Erik took note of the fact, even though he cared little about sports.

  Erik and his armed escorts bypassed the metal detectors and headed down the apron. Erik followed closely behind them, and they came to a nameless gate with an intimidating emotionless gentleman standing guard in front of the entrance of the gangway. He instructed Erik what to do before allowing him to go down the gangway. There was a door at the end, and just beyond the door was a set of stairs that led to the ramp. Immediately as Erik opened the door, cold air hit him, but his jacket kept his warmth in. A jet stood ready before them. Erik saw the pilots in the cockpit busy checking gauges. A stewardess stood outside and welcomed Erik. He gave her a smile in return, and as he entered the jet, the ground crew performed their pre-departure duties. Erik took a seat by a window and heard the jet’s hatch sealed behind him. He glanced around the interior of the Gulfstream V C-37A and realized that he was the only passenger, minus the pilots and stewardess.

  The plane taxied onto the runway, then quickly picked up speed. The engines’ hum grew louder as the jet raced down the runway. The stewardess and Erik were forced back into their seats. Then with an uplifting feeling, the jet ascended into the sky. Erik glanced out the window at a sea of blue sky above a blanket of clouds that stretched as far as he could see. The jet leveled off, and the stewardess offered him a drink. While he waited for his beverage, he closed his eyes.

  With a sigh, he flipped open his attaché case, pulled out his binder filled with notes, dropped the tray in front of him, and placed the binder on it. The stewardess arrived with his drink. He took a sip, then set the cup beside the papers and started to read.

  Field Marshal Erwin Rommel, at the Luftwaffe Field Hospital, room 247, in the town of Bernay located on 5 Rue Anne de Ticheille.

  Erik rubbed his chin and pondered his mission.

  Getting to the hospital … easy, getting to Rommel … easy, getting to speak to him … easy, but convincing him about my mission ... not a chance. Getting him to General Bradley’s Headquarters while trying to avoid the Gestapo, French Resistance, Allied Forces and German checkpoints … what am I thinking? You’re probably not going to succeed. Then Erik recalled what his mother always said, “Don’t tell Erik that he can’t do it because he’ll prove you wrong.”

  Erik leaned back in the chair, closed his eyes, and tried to make sense of what he was going to try to do, but thoughts of Jamie raced through his mind. Eventually, with a smile on his face, he fell into a restful sleep. The pilot woke him with the announcement that they had arrived at Denver International Airport. Within minutes, a muffled mechanical sound below him told Erik that the landing gear was being lowered. Soon after, the tires touched the runway with a high-pitched screech.

  The jet finally came to a halt. The hatch was opened, and a rush of cold air raced in. Like water pouring into a sinking ship, it consumed all the warm air in the cabin. Eventually, everyone exited down the gangway. Three men wearing dark suits and sunglasses that hid their eyes but not their apathetic expressions stood at the foot of the gangway. One approached Erik with his hand extended.

  “Dr. Függer, welcome to Denver. May I take your bag for you?” Erik shook hands and declined the hospitality. “This way, Sir,” he said, motioning Erik to the midnight black Suburban wit
h tinted windows. The heavy grillwork and large headlights gave the vehicle a dominating presence that said “get out of my way.” Erik got in with the others, the engine turned over with a deep roar, and the driver navigated off the tarmac and through a maze of airport roads.

  Erik studied the landscape—the usual hodge-podge of airport-related services—then turned to his apathetic sentry. “Where are we going?”

  Turning his head to acknowledge Erik, he replied in a cold voice, “Sir, you are not authorized to know that.”

  The Suburban came to a halt at a metal door at the base of a soot-darkened concrete building with tinted windows. It appeared to be an abandoned warehouse. A sign in chipped silver-leaf lettering, which sat just below the roof line on a weathered white band, read ALL SOURCE INCORPORATED. The driver’s window went down, and the driver gave his identification to a small ATM-like machine. With a creeping metallic sound, the door slowly opened, and the car proceeded through the door and down a gradual incline into a parking basement. The driver parked the SUV, and Erik and the sentry got out and headed for a single door in the distance. Inside a spacious lobby, a receptionist sat at her desk, flanked by two armed guards carrying high caliber weapons.

  “Good afternoon, gentlemen; please identify yourselves,” she said.

  At machines that looked like voting booths, they placed their right hands on a scanner and looked forward and had their retinas scanned. After they were cleared, Erik and the guard were allowed to proceed to the elevator. Once in, the elevator descended hundreds of feet under the Denver International Airport. The elevator came to a halt and the doors opened. Erik and his guard walked into what Erik assumed is a D.U.M.B. (Deep Underground Military Bunker). He knew there were many such places connected to others by a vast network of underground tunnels containing high-speed trains on magnetic rails. Erik stared at everything, impressed by the work of the Corps of Engineers who constructed such underground complexes from 1958 — 2008 under every major airport in the United States. This bunker, like any other subway system in the United States, was filled with all kinds of people, mainly uniformed military personnel, government officials, service personnel, and those not easily identified. They passed a bookstore, coffee shop, and several restaurants and assorted stores, then walked onto a platform by the railway tracks. People stood around them waiting for a train, but unlike other subway stations, there were no maps of the tunnel systems.