Legacy eg-6

by David L. Golemon

  Outside, Lee knew he had to get on that train. The car was as near to death as he himself had been four days earlier. He saw a break between cars coming up and slammed the steering wheel to the left. The Ford once more hit the berm on the tracks and jumped three feet. Instead of sliding back down, the small car hugged the side of the speeding train. Lee reached out and took hold of the railing that protected passengers going from one car to the next. The Ford suddenly jerked right and he lost his hold. Cursing, he tried again, once more slamming the slowing car into the side of the train. The engineer in front started blowing his whistle and the train sped up. Lee was fast losing his window of opportunity to get on the train and help young Hamilton.

  “Damn it,” he yelled, ripping the soaked bandage from the right side of his face. He reached out again through the window, this time holding the steering wheel steady with his wounded leg. He took a firm hold of the railing and pulled. As he did so his right leg straightened and the wheel began to spin crazily. Lee was pulled out of the window and left dangling by one hand as the speeding Ford turned sharply to the right and then simply rolled over, crashing into the tree line that ran beside the feeder road. The OSS colonel found himself in the same situation his onetime student Hamilton had been in a moment earlier as he dangled from the train. His right leg was screaming in agony and he knew his strength could not hold out much longer. He felt his fingers starting to lose their hold on the rail. He closed his eyes and felt the blood from the damaged stitches on the right side of his face begin to flow in earnest. He cursed himself for his lack of strength. Now he would fall and be crushed underneath the train’s wheels. It wasn’t dying that bothered him. It was letting young Hamilton down. He silently wished him luck as his fingers slid from the railing.

  Just as he felt his hand let go, his fall was stopped. He was still dangling as he looked up and saw why. Hamilton had come from the car and reached out and grabbed Lee’s hand at the last second. Lee saw him struggling with his weight and against the forces of the speeding train. Still Hamilton pulled. Finally Lee was able to grab the railing with his right hand. Then, before he knew it, he was pulled aboard. Both men collapsed and sat breathing hard. Hamilton swallowed and then looked over at Lee, who was sitting with his chin on his chest. Ben saw the horrible wound on the right side of the colonel’s face. He grimaced and then stood with the help of the machine gun.

  “If you’ll excuse me, Colonel, I believe General Goetz went thataway.”

  Lee reached out and tried to grab Hamilton’s pant leg but missed. He fell to his knees.

  “Damn,” he said, reaching into his waistband and pulling out the Colt. As he tried to sit up, he found he had to use the railing again since he had no strength left.

  Ben cautiously opened the door on the next car. Looking back at Lee momentarily he saw the big man trying to sit up. He knew from looking at Lee’s condition that he would have to take Goetz alone. He opened the door. He saw the crates that had been loaded and then he saw Goetz ducking behind the largest of them.

  Hamilton closed the door and went to one knee. He watched, waiting for Goetz to show the top of his head. Ben had been first in his class in target shooting and hoped his skill hadn’t diminished in the years he had been inactive here in Ecuador. As he waited, Goetz remained hidden.

  “Mr. Hamilton, I believe?” Goetz called out.

  He listened, but didn’t say anything in return. Ben saw an opening and duck-walked to a crate that was against the far wall of the freight car. He took up a position behind it.

  “Mr. Hamilton, my name is Goetz. I am aware of your record, my boy. I am also aware of the qualifications of the man that trained you. And I also know that Colonel Lee is still alive. Imagine my consternation seeing him driving a car at fifty miles an hour and shooting at me.”

  “I imagine you almost shit your pants. I mean, I would if I knew Lee was coming for me.” Ben used the loudness of his voice to edge closer. He sped across to the next closest crate and hunkered down.

  “Ben… may I call you Ben?” Goetz raised his head for a split second and then quickly ducked back and in that split second Hamilton saw that the right lens was cracked on Goetz’s wire-framed glasses. One advantage of this was that the German would have a hard time seeing. Lee had taught him to quickly count down the advantages and disadvantages of any situation he found himself in.

  “Sure, why not be on a first-name basis with the man who’s going to kill you?” Hamilton said, looking away from Goetz so as not to give him his exact location.

  “Those are hasty words, Ben, especially for what I have to offer the United States government.”

  Hamilton resisted the urge to speak again. This time he rose up as high as he dared and peeked over the large crate. He brought up the machine gun and waited for Goetz to show himself one last time.

  “It’s a miracle, Ben. In these crates I have a miracle. Your government would be happy to have what I possess, young man.”

  Hamilton knew Goetz wasn’t going to risk another peek above his own crate. The young agent knew he would have to flush the general out. He aimed at a tight spot where he guessed Goetz would appear.

  “What one man possesses one minute, another possesses the next,” he said. “Whatever is here, General, we’ll soon know all about it.”

  “That is true. But what comes with the crates, Ben, is five years of research by the best German minds. It will save you years upon years of study to come half as close as we in understanding what it is we truly have-as I said, a miracle.”

  “All right,” he said as he aimed still tighter on the area he thought the voice was coming from. “I’ll bite. What have you got, and why in hell should we care about it?”

  “Because every human being on this planet wants to know, needs to know… and I dare say, would kill to know. Just a minute’s truce, Ben, that’s all I ask. Then I’ll throw my hands in the air and I’ll become your prisoner.”

  Hamilton thought a moment. The man was small and overweight and this was probably the only time he had ever fired his weapon against a real man and not at some helpless woman or child.

  “Here is my only weapon,” Goetz said and then slid out onto the wooden floor a small caliber pistol. “There, Ben, I’m unarmed. Now I will stand and I will show you a sight you will tell your grandchildren about.”

  Ben watched as Goetz stood up. He had his hands raised. His left was empty and in the right he carried the large satchel. Hamilton stood but kept the submachine gun pointed at Goetz.

  “The satchel, drop it,” Ben said as calmly as he could.

  Goetz slowly lowered the leather case to the top of the crate he had been using for cover. He then raised the now empty hand over his head. “Perhaps you will be so kind as to lower that weapon, my young friend?”

  “I feel better with it pointed right between your eyes, Herr General.” Ben stepped out from his cover.

  “Since the Fuhrer has left the war effort, I think it a good time to surrender,” Goetz said as he stepped further into the center of the car and slowly started to lower his hands. The car swayed as it went around a bend, throwing Ben’s weight to his left. Goetz noticed that no matter how jumbled the ride, the submachine gun never left its mark.

  “I’m sorry, General, but my company doesn’t take prisoners. We keep score in other ways.”

  Goetz saw Hamilton in a light that made him feel very uncomfortable. “Young man, your organization and mine can do business in this matter. I am willing to offer these artifacts,” he said with a gesture, which elicited a menacing forward thrust of the weapon in Ben’s hands, making Goetz flinch. “As well,” he added, “as the expertise behind their discovery and examination. To help you in your decision, I will say that over two hundred German soldiers were killed very recently by machines-machines designed to fight as men. Mechanicians designed millions of years before man walked our planet. Perhaps I may show you?”

  “No, General, you may not. You and your kind may find sympathet
ic ears in my government, you may even find those that will turn a blind eye to what you and other murderers have done in Europe, but I’m not one of those people. I intend to kill you, and the only deal I’ll make with you is if you want it easy or hard. I prefer hard, maybe both of your kneecaps first. What do you say?”

  “You’re insane, young man; you are throwing away knowledge that will astound your superiors!” Goetz said, his eyes never wavering from the machine gun.

  Ben gestured for Goetz to move away from the large crate where he had placed the satchel. His eyes were drawn to the strange symbol marking the sides and top of all of the crates in the compartment. Four circles, each smaller than the one before it, each partially eclipsing the one behind it.

  As the general moved to his right, Hamilton felt movement behind him. At that exact moment one of the guards sprang up from behind a row of crates Ben had not been paying attention to. The man must have been there the entire time. Ben turned and fired. The machine gun spewed forth bullets in an arc that caught the man across his chest. Too late, Hamilton saw Goetz rush forward, producing a long and lethal knife as he did. Before Ben could bring the machine gun to bear, Goetz brought the knife up and into the young agent’s stomach, slicing deep into his abdomen. Several more shots sprang from the weapon Ben was holding but all they did was slam into the largest of the crates.

  “You see, we are pretty good at conducting business also, my young friend.” Goetz withdrew the knife and rammed it into Hamilton a second time. Ben felt his body go numb and he let his weapon fall from his hands. He thought he could smell the German’s hair oil and the powder he used against being chafed by the South American wind. As he slid down Goetz’s small frame, he tried desperately to stay on his feet. He reached out and grabbed for the top of a large crate on top of another the same size. Ben’s mind started swirling, even the sound of the train seemed distant, but he could swear the crate he snatched at looked like a coffin. He finally held on hard enough that he thought he had arrested his fall when Goetz pulled the long knife free of his insides. As he continued to fall, he pulled the crate free and Hamilton fell along with it to the train’s shaking floor. The crate broke open and its contents fell over Ben. It and he rolled and then all was still.

  As Ben was starting to lose consciousness, he smelled dust, old mildew, and dirt. As he tried to focus he could see rocks and black shoes. The shoes moved as the sound of large caliber rounds filtered through Hamilton’s dying breaths. The shoes Ben was looking at started dancing and then they magically flew away. As he closed his eyes against the flying dirt, Ben thought he heard cursing. As he opened his eyes again and tried to sit up, he came face-to-face with a grinning skull. Ben blinked and tried to clear his eyes. When he opened them the skull remained. It was encased in something round-a helmet, he thought. Yes, a helmet. The view was confusing because everything-the skull, the helmet, even bits and pieces of clothing-looked to be made of stone. He was questioning what he was seeing when his body was pulled up. He blinked again and then he saw Garrison Lee was looking at him. His wounds had opened up and he was bleeding heavily.

  “We better get you to a doc,” Ben said, so low that Lee had to get close to his mouth to hear the words.

  “I’m fine, Hamilton,” Lee said as he shook his head.

  “I guess I could have done better,” Ben whispered.

  “No, you did fine. You remembered your training. You helped capture the man who will probably have his way in the end as far as my life is concerned.” As he said this last, he felt the river of blood pouring out of the open wound on his face. “I’m proud of you, boy.”

  Ben tried to shake his head but found he couldn’t. He tasted the blood in his mouth and then tried to focus on the colonel.

  “I think I bit my tongue,” he said, the words trailing off to nothing, and the light in his eyes dimmed.

  Garrison Lee looked at the young face of Ben Hamilton for the longest time. He brushed a strand of dark hair from his face and then after a few minutes lay him gently next to the strange body and even stranger-looking rocks that the Germans had unearthed. As he did he heard General Goetz moan and cough. Lee, without even looking at the injured German, raised the. 45 automatic and emptied his remaining rounds into him. He then turned and slowly collapsed from his own wounds. His body slowly fell and landed next to Ben, and also next to the most important archaeological find in the history of the world. Lee saw they all had the same symbol stenciled onto them-the four circles in a straight line. As the blood flowed freely from Lee’s fully opened wounds, his good eye fell on the symbols stenciled on the crates. He tried to focus, but the blood loss finally took him down into the black abyss of unconsciousness.

  In the far corner a corporal, a clerk attached to the SS division in Ecuador, stood and with a frightened expression made his way out of the car. Joss Zinsser, who was no more than a boy, moved away, one of the last witnesses to what had been uncovered in Ecuador.

  As the last visages of the real world twirled and spun, Garrison Lee wondered about the fate he had chosen for himself.

  Operation Columbus had been momentarily halted on train tracks outside Quito, but would not remain there for long. Soon a secret that belonged to the entire world would be reburied behind steel and concrete.

  WALTER REED GENERAL HOSPITAL, JULY 4, 1945

  The woman sat in the same chair in the same spot in the room that she had been in for the past three months. She sometimes read books, and at other times just watched the slow rise and fall of the patient’s chest as he breathed steadily. He was no longer being fed oxygen underneath the small plastic tent. His wounds were healing and his color was improving. She watched patiently as Garrison Lee slowly recovered from the massive loss of blood he incurred while on duty in South America. The woman had waited day in and day out.

  The young woman had dark brown hair that was usually tucked up under a large hat. For the first two months she wore one of many black dresses as she sat and waited, never standing and checking on Lee with a physical touch, but always watching. Gone now were the black mourning dresses and in their place were nice, clean, sensible skirts.

  As she sat she heard firecrackers somewhere off in the distance. It was the Fourth of July and she was marking her sixtieth day at Walter Reed. As she looked down at her small and elegant hands, she heard something over the pop of firecrackers. She looked up and saw that Colonel Lee was moving under the blanket. His head turned first to the left and then slowly to the right. She saw the large bandage covering the entire right side of his face and the forehead area. The blood had stopped seeping through as soon as the doctors got the infection under control last month. The bandages were now clean and dry. His one good eye blinked in her direction. She could see that he was having a hard time focusing after so long a sleep. She stood and walked slowly to the bed, placing a hand on Garrison’s cheek. She smiled.

  Lee, as he finally focused on the young woman standing next to him, thought that the smile he received was a sad one. He tried to remember where he knew this beautiful face from. He had met this young girl before. He swallowed and tried to speak. The woman reached over and brought a large glass of water, using a straw to guide it into his mouth. Garrison took two long sips and then lay his head back. Once again the woman touched his cheek.

  “You rest now. You’ve been hurt for a very long time.”

  As his eyes fluttered shut, he tried to see the woman clearly. Her face was partly hidden in shadow because of the big-brimmed hat she wore. He gave up and let sleep take him once more.

  ***

  Garrison Lee sat up when the nurse brought in his breakfast. He examined her face closely. It had been two days since he had awakened for good and ever since then he found himself looking at each female face as they came in to feed him, take blood, or just check his wounds. The woman this morning was not the same one he had awakened to three days ago.

  A knock sounded at the door and the girl stepped back. She smiled and then nodded tha
t whoever it was should come in.

  Lee, with a half spoon’s worth of oatmeal in his mouth, saw a heavyset man walk into the room and remove his hat. He knew the man well.

  “Well, it’s about time you woke up.” The big man stood over Lee as if examining him. “And, you don’t look as bad as everyone made out. I’ve gotten worse wounds while getting a haircut and a shave.”

  Lee placed the spoon on the tray and looked the man over.

  “Then you damn well ought to get another barber.” He looked at the large man with his one good eye. “How are you, Bill?” Lee asked, his voice still raspy.

  “Tolerable, Lee, tolerable. Everyone thinks we can relax now that the war in Europe is over, but to hell with that, I say. We’ve still got one hell of a problem in the Pacific.” He leaned over after nudging the young nurse out of the way. “And to be frank with you, my boy, the Reds are starting to rear their ugly heads in Berlin, not to mention a dozen other places.”

  Lee closed his eyes. “Well, they can’t say you didn’t warn them about that one, sir.”

  “Damn right I did, Lee.” William “Wild Bill” Donovan, the head of the Office of Strategic Services, shooed the young hospital nurse away and then sat on the edge of the bed. “Well, until you get out of here you can keep this in your pocket, my boy. Too bad you can’t show it to anyone or wear it on some fancy uniform.”

  Lee was handed a small case. He clicked it open with one large hand while his eye studied Donovan. Finally he looked at what was inside the case. A set of silver stars gleamed under the harsh fluorescent lighting. He snapped the case closed as though he had discovered something distasteful.

  “Congratulations, General,” Donovan said as he stood.