by Erik Foge
“In the car,” Bonesteiner said, “there’s a duffle bag containing $100 bills from the 1930’s and 40’s. This will help you with your financial matters. Now go.” He jerked his head toward the entrance and Jamie headed off.
Jacques turned to Bonesteiner. “Do you think this will work?”
“Yes, I do,” he replied with the utmost confidence.
“Sir, you are aware that it is virtually impossible to get into Grid Eight unless you are a part of ONE or the Phoenix Group.” Jacques paused. “Also, how are you going to avoid running into Cole and Plackett?”
“Nothing is impossible. You just have to know how to do it,” Bonesteiner replied with a peremptory gesture. His cell phone rang and he answered it.
“But, Sir …”
Bonesteiner raised his pointing finger, indicating that Jacques should hold his thought. “When did they leave?” He asked into the phone, then looked at his watch and grinned. “Have you heard from Alan?” Bonesteiner nodded and listened with an expression of contentment. “So are we all set when she arrives? Good.”
Jacques tried to follow the conversation but drew a blank.
Bonesteiner continued. “Okay, Greg, we’ll be there in four hours.”
“Greg?” Jacques whispered.
Bonesteiner stared at Jacques with a conspiratorial grin.
* * *
8. Central Intelligence Agency. https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/additional-publications/the-work-of-a-nation/items-of-interest/medals-of-the-cia.html, n.d. December 2011
9. Central Intelligence Agency. https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/additional-publications/the-work-of-a-nation/items-of-interest/medals-of-the-cia.html, n.d. December 2011
10. Central Intelligence Agency. https://www.cia.gov/library/publications/additional-publications/the-work-of-a-nation/items-of-interest/medals-of-the-cia.html, n.d. December 2011
12. UNKNOWN FUTURE
“I know not what the future holds, but I know who holds the future.”
— Homer
Audrieu, France
The door swung open and struck the wall with a thud. Erik looked up from the narrow bed and blinked. The interrogator and two armed escorts stood in the doorway.
“Time for you to go,” the interrogator said with a dismissive gesture.
Erik nodded and mustered all his strength to get up. Pain scattered throughout his body and it was not all from physical wounds. He’d spent the night trying to come to terms with the assassin’s claim that Jamie was dead, and he’d failed. In the depths of his despair, he would have been glad of his physical injuries because they distracted him from the much harder to handle emotional pain. The prospect of life without Jamie would be no prospect at all. Only his training and the fact that he had a job to do kept him going.
Erik breathed shallowly in deference to his cracked ribs and he made his way through the château toward the Kübelwagen.
“Sleep well?” The interrogator asked.
“No.”
“I’m sorry we couldn’t offer you more medical attention, but we’re short of medical supplies. We put additional petrol in your automobile.”
“Thank you for everything you did.”
“No problem.”
Once they reached the car, the interrogator unfolded a map on the hood. “I have drawn out the route,” he traced it with his finger, “that you can take to General Bradley’s headquarters.”
Erik nodded in appreciation and folded the map. Rommel arrived, accompanied by two armed members of the Résistance. One jerked his head toward the car to indicate that the German Field Marshal should get in, but they didn’t open the door for him. Rommel climbed into the Kübelwagen without saying a word, as he glared at Erik.
“Your vehicle is marked so the Résistance will know not to ambush you,” the interrogator said.
“Thanks.”
“You will still need to be alert for American and British fighter planes.”
“Do you have locations for safe houses on the map?” Erik asked.
The interrogator shook his head.
“Can I have my Luger back?”
The interrogator pulled it out of his holster and gave it to Erik.
Erik extended his hand; the interrogator was a little hesitant at first, but then he extended his. “Once again, thank you for everything. What’s your name, since you know mine?”
“Valensky.”
They shook hands, and while they said a few departing words, a man placed a basket of bread, cheese, fruit, and a few canteens of water in the back seat of the staff car.
Erik hobbled to the driver’s side and opened the door. “Ready, Herr Field Marshal?” he asked as he slid in and adjusted his leg so it wouldn’t cause as much pain during the trip.
Rommel said nothing, just stared out the passenger side window.
The alternator choked as the engine tried to turn over, then the air-cooled engine sputtered into life and Erik drove off. “How are you feeling, Sir?” He asked as they left the Résistance behind.
Rommel sighed. “Better now, since they are not in our presence.”
“I understand, and I know you are not pleased…”
“You’re damn right.” He turned to Erik, eyes blazed. “How in the hell did you persuade him not to kill us and, much less, let us go? Did you tell him you were OSS or whoever you belong to?”
“Yes.”
Rommel’s eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“I was not informed that the Resistance was there,” Erik explained.
The field marshal snorted. “How would your intelligence service not know that? And who was that SS officer you killed?”
“I think it was planned, and he was after me.”
Rommel regarded Erik with cold speculation. “Your government wants you killed?”
Erik shrugged as if to say maybe, maybe not, and kept on driving.
Rommel gawked in disbelief. “I didn’t think the American government would do something like that.”
“Well, they do.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I’m sure they have their reasons.”
“You’re trying to help them? Aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am, damn it!” Erik smashed his fist against the steering wheel. “I volunteered.”
“So you were willing to risk your life to try to end the war.”
Erik nodded.
“That’s very noble of you.”
Erik drove on in silence, trying to sort everything out. He recalled the conversation he had had with Jacques in the restaurant.
Rommel cupped Erik’s shoulder. That broke his concentration. “You okay?”
Erik nodded and focused on the weather-beaten road. The dreary, uninviting grassland stretched to the horizon. Silhouettes of abandoned tanks, from a previous battle, appeared like islands in the vast ocean of open fields.
“Do you have any family?” Rommel asked.
“No, my parents and my brother were killed five years ago. Now the same agency that wants me dead killed my girlfriend.” Erik thought to himself, I was going to marry her. Erik’s eyes moistened and a pain not associated with physical injuries pierced his chest.
“My condolences.”
“I hope she knew how much I loved her,” Erik said as he looked up to the clouds and blinked to clear his eyes.
“I’m sure she did.”
“I’ll never know now.” Erik grabbed the postcard of the Eiffel Tower and tossed it out the window. “It doesn’t matter anyway; she’s dead.” He pulled Jamie’s photograph from his coat pocket and placed it on the dashboard in place of the postcard.
“Was that your girlfriend?”
Erik nodded, his face felt tight with sorrow. He suddenly pulled over, parked the Kübelwagen under a tree and turned the engine off.
“What is it?” Rommel asked.
Erik pointed to the sky. The silhouettes of several aircraft roamed above them.
“Ah,” Rommel said with a nod
of approval.
Erik turned and grabbed the basket. “How much do you know about the Miracle Weapons?” he asked as they started to eat.
Rommel’s eyebrows raised. “What do you know about those?”
“Not much, just rumors mostly.”
Rommel frowned. “What rumors did you hear?”
Erik finished a mouthful of bread while he carefully considered how to tackle the question. “I’ve heard there’s a new panzer in the developmental stages.”
Rommel grinned in rapport and motioned Erik to continue.
“They said the armor is thicker and has a bigger gun than the Tiger I. Thus it will be able to go up against any allied tank.”
“What else do you know?”
“How about SS Obergruppenführer Hans Kammler who’s in charge of Peenemunde East and West?” He tried to suppress his knowledge but an incriminating grin overcame Erik’s face.
Rommel steepled his fingers and assumed a judicial expression. “How do you know about that, Herr Major? There are only a handful of individuals in the Reich who know about that.”
“I read a report on it.” Erik tried to keep a blank expression to hide that he knew the truth. The Peenemunde Research Complex was the equivalent of a combination of Silicon Valley and Area 51, with approximately 40,000 staff members and 6,000 institutes all guarded and protected by elite SS units. Peenemunde East, the Wehrmacht’s testing facility, dealt with such things as A-4 rockets and derivatives, new types of artillery, nuclear research, and space travel. Peenemunde West, the Luftwaffe’s testing facility, dealt with designing revolutionary new aircraft, unconventional propulsion systems, new weapon technologies, and rocket powered long-range aircraft. They planned to create “Miracle Weapons” that would be used against the allies and win the war for Germany. “So, have you met Obergruppenführer Hans Kammler?” Erik asked.
Rommel nodded. “I met Obergruppenführer Hans Kammler earlier this year to discuss a highly classified project.”
Erik smiled.
“He told me it would change the outcome of the war,” Rommel continued.
“Project Bell?”
Rommel said nothing.
“Was that it, Herr Field Marshal?” Erik probed.
Rommel’s answer was a blank stare.
“Was it about time travel?”
“Herr Reich Minister Speer would know more about that than I would.”
“So, it’s true.” Erik paused. “Did they get it to work?”
“Why do you think Operation Barbarossa was so successful?” Rommel said. “The first time we tried, not involving time travel, we failed, but the reason it failed the second time was because the individual sent back was killed.”
“I need to know who we can rely on to have Germany do a separate peace treaty with my government,” Erik said bluntly. “Anyone in Hitler’s inner circle?”
“Herr Reich Minister Speer.”
“Would you trust him?”
“I would.”
“Is there anyone else you’d trust in Hitler’s inner circle or the general staff?”
“There are a few. However, we cannot rely on the Reserve Army.”
“That’s because they are under Himmler now since the plot failed.”
“That is correct.” Rommel’s eyes filled with dark portents. “For being in the OSS you are very well informed. Is your intelligence service that good?”
“For the most part, we are very good at what we do. Germany happens to be my expertise.” Erik placed the basket in the back seat, placed the Luger in his holster, cranked over the engine and proceeded down the road. They traveled a good distance. Then Erik left the road and drove down a track to an abandoned barn.
“So, you are a spy?”
Erik gave a demure grin. “No, I’m just an analyst.” As Erik neared the barn, he slowed the vehicle to a crawl and maneuvered the car so he could back it into the structure.
“An analyst?”
Erik nodded.
“So, have you been to Germany?”
“Several times, even Berlin.”
Rommel got out and assisted Erik in backing in the Kübelwagen. Erik did a textbook perfect parking job and Rommel closed the doors to the barn. “You still have any family in the Reich?” he asked as he joined Erik.
“No, they left after the war and moved to the United States,” Erik replied through the open window.
Rommel helped Erik out of the car. “Did you have any family that fought in the Weltkrieg?” 11
Erik climbed out, struggling with the pain. He nodded, and Rommel grinned.
“What do you suggest we do for the rest of the day, Herr Major?”
“Sir, I suggest we have a full day’s rest. That way we can travel at night or early morning.”
Erik reached for Jamie’s photograph and placed it back in his pocket. Then he placed his belongings in the corner and leaned the MP-44 against a wooden wall of the barn. It was early evening, the shafts of light pierced the roughhewn wood, making it dim inside. A gentle breeze embraced the rustic structure, and the earthy smell of compost consumed the atmosphere like the fog in San Francisco Bay.
“Would you like some more to eat?” Rommel asked as he pulled out the picnic basket.
Erik nodded and hobbled over to the field marshal. He took a deep breath and made an awkward attempt to sit down. Rommel helped ease him to the ground.
“Thank you, Herr Field Marshal.”
“What are you thinking about, Herr Major?”
Erik shook his head and bit into an apple.
“Erik, I know it must be hard for you, losing the woman you love.” Erik nodded and blinked to keep tears from filling his eyes. His simmered anger helped to keep them in check, but he mustn’t let his fury jeopardize his mission—or his own safety. “How long had you known each other?”
“Five years. She met me when she was a month away from graduating secondary school. Then we met two years later when she was in university.”
Rommel nodded knowingly. “You are older than her?”
“Thirteen years. I was already working with the OSS when she met me.”
“Did she know what you did?” Rommel asked between sips of water. “Or should I ask, were you allowed to tell her what you did?”
Erik shook his head. “I’m going to miss her.”
Erik and Rommel talked on about each other’s personal lives and about the war. Erik questioned Rommel like a reporter and absorbed every answer. All this time, Erik had thought he knew Rommel, but now he learned about the man behind the uniform and spotlight of Nazi propaganda.
For his part, Rommel was amazed at Erik’s knowledge of the Nazis and the Wehrmacht. Over the next couple of hours, the two previous strangers built the basis of a strong friendship. Then Rommel assisted Erik back to his corner in the barn, and Rommel headed back to his spot. He grabbed a lantern and a wooden bucket, lit the lantern and inverted the bucket, and used it for a desk. Erik eased himself onto the floor in the corner and adjusted the MP-44 against the wall. He stared at Rommel and pondered what he might be writing. Seconds turned to minutes, minutes turned into hours, and Erik fell into a deep sleep.
Erik wakened and found Rommel asleep. His forehead throbbed as if someone had struck it with a hammer. It could be stress, sinuses, both, or any combination of things, but the real problem lay beyond his sunken bloodshot eyes, in his psyche—a place very few people knew or were exposed to. He pulled out the photograph of Jamie and stared at it long and hard. Erik habitually buried his problems behind sarcasm and denial. Being a part of an O.G.D.S. Team, he was used to being alone and knew he had no support. He had spent nearly ten years infiltrating different countries’ governments and military installations, all in the name of national security. But, this time it was different. They had killed his girlfriend, and they wanted him dead.
The knowledge gnawed in the back of his mind, and he tried to find a reasonable explanation. Maybe they had tried this before, but he overlooked the signs. B
erlin? Boone’s death? He always did the right thing and was always in control of every situation. He could handle the unnerving thought that he would be stuck in 1944, but not without Jamie. She was the only thing that kept him human. Now she was dead, and there was only one way he would be able to see her.
His eyes swelled and tears ran down his face. With Rommel asleep, he no longer tried to stem them, and a sense of hopelessness overcame him. He pulled out the Luger, removed the magazine, and reloaded it, then stared at the Luger and the photo, eyes bloodshot with pain. All he could do was think about the times he and Jamie had together, her loving brown eyes, her silky smooth skin and the smell of her perfume. Erik pointed the Luger toward his head and squeezed the grip. His palms grew clammy. He stared into the black nine-millimeter barrel and took a deep breath. With his right thumb, he released the safety, placed it on the trigger, and put the muzzle firmly to his forehead. He tried to gather the courage to pull the trigger, but a soft sweet voice drew his attention. He looked up and saw no one, so he placed the muzzle, again, to his head. Once more he heard the voice and recognized it—Jamie.
“Erik, babe, don’t give up.”
His gaze danced around the barn, not knowing if she were somehow there or if the voice were a figment of his imagination. “Why not? With you gone, I have nothing to live for.”
“Yes, you do.”
Erik wiped the tears from his face. “Even if I do finish my mission, I’ll never get to see you.”
“Babe, I’ll always be with you. I’ll never leave your side.”
“But I need you now more than ever,” Erik pleaded. No answer. “Jamie? Jamie!” No answer. Erik slammed the grip against his forehead in frustration, then placed the gun down with a sigh. Whether she was here or not, he knew Jamie wouldn’t want him to kill himself. Luckily, Rommel was still asleep; Erik didn’t want anyone to witness his pain.
He managed to lie on his back, though his ribs and knees flared up in pain as he tried to get comfortable. He propped Jamie’s photo against some hay, then tilted his head and tried to get some sleep.