by Erik Foge
Erik turned to his sentry. “Is this what I think it is?”
“That information is classified.”
Erik snorted quietly at the predictable reply. “Do you have the time?” The sentry glanced at his watch, but before he could respond, Erik said, “Sorry, I forgot; that information is classified.”
His guard’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, just stared straight ahead once more.
The platform vibrated slightly, and, within a few minutes, a sleek blue gunmetal bullet-like train appeared and stopped. Erik took a closer look and realized it was a Maglev train, recalling he had seen one in Germany. The train used magnetic levitation to move without touching the ground, and it traveled along a guideway using magnets. The train had no windows except for the operators in the front and rear, and the doors were flush to the body. The doors opened, people exited, then others, including Erik and his sentry, took their seats and fastened the seatbelts. A few moments later, the doors closed, the lights dimmed, and the train quickly accelerated.
The sentry turned to Erik. “Don’t get too comfortable, we’re almost there.”
Erik stared back. “Gee thanks, I was afraid that was classified,” he said sarcastically.
The train’s speed reduced as swiftly as it had accelerated, and it came to a halt. Only Erik and his sentry got off the train at this stop. A group of armed guards stood on the platform and looked straight at Erik. Above them, a sign read HIDDEN MEADOW APARTMENTS. Erik shook his head in disbelief, actually knowing where he was— the headquarters of ONE, one of many elite government agencies not known to the American public.
Courtesy of his clearance level, Erik knew that Hidden Meadow Apartments, located in Colorado Springs, was a virtually self-contained facility with ONE’s headquarters hidden in plain sight. At first glance, it looked like your typical apartment complex with manicured lawns and landscapes, private gated pool and hot tub, and there were a dozen apartment buildings, a leasing office, and clubhouse. All this hid antennas, microwave relay systems, and security cameras. Surrounding the complex was a ten-foot-high, chain-link fence topped with razor wire and patrolled by armed guards. Hidden Meadow Apartments concealed its real secrets hundreds of feet underground. This huge secret underworld had one and a half miles of corridors and it covered up to nine acres. The corridors spread out like spokes from a wheel from two center locations: the time machine and the command center. Also underground was a sewage-treatment plant with a 200,000 gallon-a-day capacity and two tanks holding 500,000 gallons of water that could last more than a month for the entire staff of 700. In addition, it stored computer mainframes. There were a total of twenty top secret electrical grids in the continental United States that could deflect an electromagnetic pulse (EMP) attack. ONE was on one of those electrical grids. It was known as Grid Eight. Most importantly, this location contained Project Pegasus.
At the door on the edge of the platform, the sentry swiped an ID card, did a retina scan, and then punched in his six-digit security code. The door opened. They entered to an almost exact replica of the last foyer. A receptionist sat at her desk with an inscription above her head reading TRUST IS GOOD. CONTROL IS BETTER. Two armed guards with M4As with a Close Quarter Battle Receiver stood on either side.
“Gentlemen, please identify yourselves.”
After clearing the same kind of security check as they entered the D.U.M.B., the secretary ordered that they both sign in, then she gave an identification badge to Erik, and he attached it to his shirt. The phone rang and she picked it up. “Yes, Sir. They’re on their way in.” She turned to Erik. “They’re expecting you.”
“I feel so honored,” Erik said with a grin.
She rewarded him with a tiny smile but quickly restrained it.
Erik and the guard proceeded through the entrance of GRID EIGHT, across a foyer, and down a bare corridor. The temperature was comfortable, Erik guessed around seventy-six degrees, but the lighting was a bit blinding, though his eyes soon adjusted. He heard footsteps in the distance and saw a man walking toward them. When they got closer, he identified the man as Admiral Cole.
“Welcome, Dr. Függer. How was your flight?”
“Uneventful.”
“That’s good to hear,” Cole replied with a superficial smile.
The guard left them, and Erik and Cole continued down the busy corridor lined with doors. While listening to Cole, Erik analyzed every aspect of the facility. A huge amount of conduits for plumbing and electrical wiring ran over the ceiling fifteen feet above—everything needed to run the agency’s installation. Erik was impressed how such an amazing structure was built. Many of the individuals passing them wore military uniforms, from all four branches, carrying documents in their attaché cases. Others were civilians. Some corridors were twenty to fifty feet high and wide enough for a small truck to drive through with room to spare. Each section was color-coded to prevent staff from getting lost.
Erik was taught at the Farm that perception is everything. He looked for spatial and/or temporal patterns. He noticed that every individual wore a lanyard with an identification tag around their neck. As with the CIA, each identification had a colored border indicating either their security or access clearance. He overheard one gentleman say to another that his department had been busy sending people back and noted that the color of their ID border was black, white and red.
“Why would you keep time travel only to your agency?” Erik asked.
“You will be doing your country a great service and will make the world a better place,” Cole stated in a dismissive, mysterious, bureaucratic tone.
“Admiral Cole, I’m not half the theorist you are.” Erik stopped to make his next point clear. “In my opinion about history, I believe that things only happen once and avoid changing it.” Erik leaned forward. “If they have happened, then there’s nothing we can do to change them— nor should we try.”
“Why would we miss an opportunity like this and avoid it? Time travel is a reality and we will change history.” Cole pointed to Erik. “I know you would love to change history for the better.”
Erik shook his head. “I don’t have your appetite for playing God with history.”
“Any questions before you get ready?” Cole asked.
Erik’s eyes sparkled at the opportunity to satisfy his curiosity. “Who else knows about Project Pegasus?” he asked bluntly.
“Well … myself, Brigadier General Plackett, the people who work here, Bonesteiner and yourself,” Cole replied cautiously, then his voice became cold. “Why do you ask?”
“I’m just curious. No particular reason.”
“Dr. Függer, your job is not to be curious. Your job is to be a historical analyst. Be ready at 1230 hours,” Cole snapped. Eventually, they proceeded to a corridor that had few doors and little traffic but seemed to go on for miles. Cole stopped outside a door and held it open. “You can prepare yourself in here. Anything else, Dr. Függer?”
“Just curious about one thing.”
Cole raised an eyebrow. “Hmmm, what might that be?” he asked with a wicked squint.
“Why is ONE involved with Project Pegasus?” Erik asked as he stepped into the room.
“What did you ask?” Though Cole replied in a hard tone, carefully schooled to be devoid of emotion, Erik heard a tinge of disbelief and surprise.
“Oh, it’s nothing. I’ll be ready at 1230 hours.” Erik closed the door on Cole and locked it. Cole’s footsteps faded into the distance.
Erik quickly took in the bare desk and chair. The coat rack held a German uniform, and there was a camera hidden in the ventilation—he waved to those watching on the other side. He sat at the desk, pulled Jamie’s photograph from his pocket, flipped it over and read, focusing on one line, whenever you’re down, think of me and I’ll be smiling back at you. He turned it right side up and kissed the photograph before slipping it back into his pocket. Then he stood and took a look at the German uniform.
It is an officer’s tunic
—silver thread on the eagle on the right breast and around the collar tabs—everything appeared to be okay. In the jacket’s inside pocket, he found money and official papers that identified him as a major in the German Army. He flicked through the pages, felt the texture, and looked at the stamp impression and the photograph. Erik’s eyes widened. What are they trying to do to me? Are they trying to compromise me? He sighed. Just as well I didn’t trust them to get it right. Erik would have to do what he was taught on the Farm, “improvise, adapt, and overcome.”
Aware of the hidden camera, he walked to the light switch by the door, turned the knob to unlock the door, and quickly switched the more genuine identification paper in his pocket with the badly reproduced one they had given him.
Erik stepped outside and noticed a man approaching him, with the same color ID border of black, white and red, that he had seen in the hallway earlier. As Erik subtly got in the way of the man, he accidently bumped into him, causing the man’s ID to come off, removed his own ID and swapped them as they landed on the floor.
“Excuse me, I didn’t see you coming,” Erik said.
The man stopped and turned to face Erik. “It’s okay. I am on break and then back to the grind. You know how it is.”
Erik nodded. “Everyone needs fifteen minutes to recharge.”
“I agree.” The man looked at his watch. “Well, I have thirteen minutes left.” The man started to walk off.
“You dropped this.” Erik handed him the guest ID badge, keeping the other.
The man smiled, walked back and took the badge. “Thanks.”
“No problem. Busy day?”
The man nodded. “Yeah, we’re sending another guy back today.”
“What time?”
“Around thirteen hundred.”
“Fun, fun.”
“Yeah. See you later.”
The man continued down the corridor, and Erik headed back the other way to an office he had passed on his way in. He smiled at his good fortune and knew he had about five minutes to get information sent to Jacques, who was in Langley, and get back to the prep room to get ready. It’s not easy for outsiders in a secure facility to move around, but the border of his new ID would give him clearance all the way to the time machine room. He needed to send information quickly, and some role playing was needed. Erik noticed security cameras in key areas. If they saw him, would they escort him back to his prep room? He opened the office door and walked up to what looked like the secretary’s desk. She and some of the other office staff looked up and stared at him. Erik took a deep breath and composed himself.
At least the secretary had soft eyes. “Can I help you?” she asked in a pleasant tone.
“Yes, can I have an overnight envelope, a pen, and a piece of paper, please?”
She reached in a desk drawer, pulled out an envelope and a piece of paper, and handed it to Erik. “There you go. Pens are over there.” She pointed to a container of pens on the edge of the large desk.
“Thank you.”
He grabbed a pen, found an empty chair, and quickly wrote a short note on the paper, then to a secure address on the envelope. He placed the note, the switched ID badge, and the bad reproduction identification papers in the envelope. Then he sealed it, walked to the desk, and handed it to the secretary. “Will this go out today?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks.” Erik left the office and headed back to the prep room. Once inside, he dressed in the uniform, filled his pockets with handy items, including a Zippo Chrome Lighter, and adjusted the ribbons on the left breast. He hung his own clothes on the rack, then wrapped the German military belt and holster containing a 9mm Luger around his waist. A solid knock came from the door. Erik opened it to another mindless-looking sentry.
“They’re ready for you,” the man said in a monotone voice. Erik nodded. He transferred his identification papers and the picture of Jamie from his own clothes to the jacket pocket of his uniform, then placed a major’s cap on his head and walked out of the prep room. “This way,” the sentry said and headed further along the corridor. Erik followed him down several hallways. Security cameras and warning signs announced a restricted area appeared with increasing frequency. Finally, they approached a heavily armored door flanked by guards. Above the door, a security camera focused on those entering and exiting the secure area.
The sentry swiped his identification card and punched in a six-digit security code. A buzzer sounded, and they entered the heart of Project Pegasus, an enormous room, approximately three stories tall and two hundred yards long. Erik glanced around; the room reminded him of NASA’s mission control room in Florida. Eight rows of adjoining, nearly identical, workstations buzzed with activity. Each had one or two computer screens, a keyboard, and an assortment of switches, buttons, and dials. Technicians and work crews were busy checking and rechecking vital systems, like mechanics working on a NASCAR racecar. Erik looked up. Twenty feet above the floor, well-armed guards in black body armor, carrying high caliber weapons, walked up and down the catwalk that covered the full length of the room. Their eyes were fully alert and watched every inch of the control room.
Erik brought his gaze down and noticed that the floor, unlike any he had seen before, was clear, like glass, with pull-back panels and, beneath that, different sized bundles of multi-colored cables branching out and twisting like the root system of an oak tree. The cables merged into several large groups as they approached the gray concrete wall at the front of the room. A single black door sat in the center of the wall. Erik presumed it was the entrance to the time machine.
Brigadier General Plackett and Admiral Cole appeared out of nowhere from among the organized chaos and walked toward him, accompanied by a buffed individual wearing a uniform. The man had an unyielding jaw and grayish-blue, shark-like eyes that raked over Erik.
Erik picked up the last bit of Cole’s conversation. “Mr. Crowley, we’ll finish the briefing at 1800 hours, and, yes, on the second of October, Project Wolf Den will be executed.” Crowley nodded, and the Brigadier turned to Erik. “Ready?”
“Yes, Sir,” Erik replied with a smirk. “Can I have the name of the SS colonel I’m supposed to meet?”
“He doesn’t go by a name. He goes by his rank—Colonel.”
Erik wondered what the full story was. “Colonel?”
“Yes. Colonel,” Plackett said. “He’s one of my people.”
“Do you have the name of the château where we’re meeting?”
“Sorry, we don’t. You’ve memorized the address?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Let’s get you in the machine.”
“How about the French resistance?”
“You don’t have to worry about them. They were taken care of by the German Army or the SS.”
“Are you sure?”
“Trust us.”
“Sure,” Erik said, but he didn’t trust them, not after the dodgy ID papers they tried to pass off on him.
They strolled toward the black door and stopped at the last row of workstations. The concrete wall towered over them.
Admiral Cole glanced at an empty seat at the console. Looking as if he had misplaced something, he turned to the man in the next seat. “Where’s Gordon?”
“I don’t know, Sir.” He paused for a moment and continued. “Admiral Cole, I have recalculated and we have a two-minute window.”
The tension grew in Cole’s face, as Erik questioned. “A two-minute window?”
Cole addressed Erik. “Time travel is not as easy as you think. For the ripples in time to remain ripples, we have to send you back with the least amount of resistance.” Then he turned to the technician. “Can you operate this panel? We can’t wait for him.”
“Yes, Sir.”
Plackett asked with his hand extended, “Your ID.”
“I left it back in the prep room,” Erik replied.
Plackett studied him in silence and suspicion was growing as he got pulled away to get a call.
> “Go through that door,” Cole said, looking as if he wanted to strangle Erik, “head all the way to the back room, and try to relax. And try not to get yourself killed.”
“How many people went before me?”
“Two.”
Erik remembered the two stars added to the Memorial Wall. “Were they analysts by any chance?”
Cole’s mouth tightened into a thin line. Though he said nothing, it was answer enough for Erik. “Do you have their names?” he asked innocently.
Cole thrusted his face right up to Erik’s face. “Don’t you ever stop fucking asking questions?” he growled.
“No. And since I’m volunteering for your mission, I have the right to know.”
“You listen to me, you son of a bitch, I don’t have to tell you a damn thing.” He pulled back and smirked. “By the way, you know what they say about volunteers, don’t you?”
“They’re expendable.”
Cole nodded, and as he turned away, his smirk widened into a grin.
“Now move,” Cole said, motioning him to the door. Cole glanced at each other, then at Erik. Cole looked relieved to get rid of him.
Erik took a last look at the room. All the technicians stared at him. He walked past them and stopped thirty feet away from the wall at a foot-wide, bright red line on the floor. DANGER: RADIATION. ONLY TRAVELERS AND AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL BEYOND THIS POINT was written on it in block-bold lettering. Erik’s heart beat increased, and his palms started to sweat. Why can’t it be like the time machines in the movies? They should’ve consulted H.G. Wells when designing this. Erik took his last glimpse of 2008. His audience looked at him as if he were a rat in a cage.