by Pro Se Press
He reached the upper level and exited onto the catwalk. He had to cross the catwalk and then go through the door at the far end of the warehouse. That would put him on the lowest section of roof. From there he could climb down.
He was about halfway to the stairs when he heard a sound far below. It was a faint pop, followed by another, then another, and he knew that he was out of time.
The Eagle ran as hard as he could as the fireball rose beneath him.
He crashed through the roof access door without breaking stride and not bothering to look back at the chaos erupting behind him. At the fire escape he leapt over the edge without looking. He knew from his earlier reconnoiter that there was a ledge about six feet down. He hit it hard, but managed to keep his balance despite the building shaking to pieces all around him.
He dropped down to the next level without the use of the ladder. Once he reached the second level he was out of time. He leapt from the grated fire escape and angled himself toward the trees that lined the backside of the factory. The branches slowed his fall, but it was not a soft landing.
The Eagle hit the ground at a run and dove into the drainage ditch just beyond the trees. He covered his head just seconds ahead of the wave of dust and debris that trampled over everything in its path.
***
Everything was going according to plan.
The saboteur had timed her every move down to the second. As soon as the first detonation happened at the factory set, her men set off a similar blast, albeit much smaller in scale, at Johnson Filament.
The building was all but empty and only two cars were in the parking lot. Those belonged to the two security guards that routinely patrolled the floor. Getting in was easy, thanks to the small directional explosive that took down the brick wall at the rear of the building. According to her plans, the lab was not far from the breaching point.
Jennifer Sterling and one of her men climbed through the smoking crater-sized hole, each of them armed with a pistol. Masks covered their faces. The room they entered was littered with overturned equipment as well as broken pieces of red brick, plaster, and dust.
The door was unlocked and led to a corridor that was sanitary enough to be in a hospital. It was a short walk to the door on the right that held their target. This door was not unlocked, but that was to be expected considering the valuable equipment this room held. A second small explosive was placed on the door lock. A faint pop and puff of smoke was the only signal that detonation had occurred.
Sterling was surprised that the security guards had not approached. They were ready for them, but it was odd that they hadn’t come to investigate. She eased through the door and flipped on the light, bathing the sterile environment in florescent hues. She pointed toward the locked cage where a piece of equipment sat. It was a bit bulky, but was undoubtedly the component that was nearing completion.
“Get the component,” Sterling ordered. “I’ll get the plans.” She pulled open the file cabinet and began leafing through folders full of various blueprints and memos.
“It’s not there.”
Sterling spun at the familiar voice behind her, leading with her gun.
“You?” she shouted when she saw who was waiting for her.
The Eagle leaned casually against the doorframe. He had every right to feel superior. Behind him stood enough armed soldiers to fill up the corridor. This had all been an elaborate trap.
“This was a set up?” she asked, even though the answer was obvious.
“Guess I’m not the only one feeling like an idiot today, huh?” the Eagle said.
“How long did you know it was me?”
“I didn’t. Not until we were on the catwalk.” He shrugged. “What I did know was the target. On the off chance that I couldn’t ferret out the saboteur before the set was scheduled to blow, I had my buddy Everett move the plans to a secondary secure facility. They’ve been gone a couple of days.”
“It doesn’t matter, American,” Sterling said, her features no longer those of a young idealistic girl from the Midwest. Hatred twisted her features into a ruthlessness that made her truly ugly. “You may have stopped us from acquiring Project Ragnarok, but you don’t have it either.”
“Maybe not,” the Eagle said. “The plans are safe. We made copies that were kept off site at each facility. As a back up, just in case something bad happened.”
“You’re lying!”
“Am I?” the Eagle asked. “I don’t think so. You see, folks in my line of work have this... let’s call it a commandment... that we live by. It’s really come in handy a time or twelve.”
“And what would that be?” Sterling asked as the soldiers placed her in handcuffs.
The Eagle smiled. “Thou shall not put all your eggs in one basket.”
THE END
A BLACK FRIDAY IN AUSTRALIA
by Lee Houston, Jr.
CHAPTER ONE
ARRIVALS
The man stood within what little shade the awning in front of the dock office provided while discreetly observing the passengers disembark the HMS Galee. He was careful not to be too conspicuous. These were troubled times for the world, and he took every precaution possible before meeting his contact.
He watched carefully as men, women, children, and even some military personnel cleared customs and entered the country single file; but there was one passenger that interested him most.
The man in the gray suit was almost as tall as the watcher, with brown hair visible under the outfit’s matching hat. He was younger than expected but traveled light, with just one grip in his hand. More important was the hint of a spare tie sticking out of his case, as if left that way by a careless customs inspector. The new arrival made sure to always hold the grip in such a way so that the tie point would always be visible, as if indicating which direction he was headed. That was the sign. This was the man to meet.
As the traveler stepped off the gang plank and looked around, the other man cautiously approached. “Karl,” he said in a relatively friendly voice with no sign of a foreign accent, “it is so good to see you again.”
“Yes brother. You too,” the stranger replied in his own neutral tone, giving the proper countersign.
“How are mother and father?” the first man asked, as if he genuinely cared about the fictitious parents.
“Father is as stubborn as ever, but mother is well,” said the second, in accordance with the previously made arrangements. Simple, innocent words in case anyone nearby might overhear them, but spoken in the proper sequence, for anyone else would have naturally answered in the original order of the inquiry.
“Good. Come, my car is this way,” replied the first, as he began to walk away from the dock.
“There is one question I must ask you right now though,” said the new arrival.
“Oh?” replied the other, as he began to carefully look around again. If something was wrong, it could be dealt with, but he preferred to do so in more private surroundings.
“I know we are below the equator, so January weather in Australia is quite different than what it would be… elsewhere,” began the second, cautious not to mention their true nationalities or points of origin, “but is it always this hot?” he finished asking, while taking a handkerchief from his suit pocket to wipe the sweat from his brow.
“No,” said the first man, with a slight smile of relief on his face. “We are in the midst of a heat wave down here, but one can adjust to it,” he replied, indicating his native attire of a light shirt, shorts, and hat. While he did show signs of perspiration too, his were not as bad as those of the new arrival. A quick glance at the thermometer attached to an advertising sign trying to urge people to drink a specific soda cold said it was already over one hundred degrees Fahrenheit-forty degrees Celsius outside. Considering it was not yet eleven local time…
As they walked to the waiting vehicle, neither man was aware of the stranger that now attempted to follow them on the crowded dock.
***
As they approached a four door 1937 Alvis Firebird; the driver got out and opened the rear passenger door.
“This is William, my second here in Australia,” said the first man by way of introduction, as he took his hat off before entering the car.
William said a quick hello and took the grip from the new arrival so he could put it in the boot. The visitor noted the man’s bulging biceps. William appeared to be as strong as humanly possible without straying into the clichés of being ‘muscle bound’. With blonde hair and blue eyes, he was dressed about the same as his employer, although possibly in a slightly lesser quality of clothing.
As he removed his hat to enter the automobile, the new passenger pretended not to notice his host grabbing a holstered handgun from under the front seat and storing it behind his back.
With the case secured and his charges inside, William closed the door behind them. Then after reentering the vehicle himself, started the car and pulled out of the parking lot.
***
Fate was against the other man. People stopping to reunite with loved ones, strangers asking for directions, and those just going about their normal business on the docks all conspired against him without realizing it.
He made it to the parking area just in time to see the car with his quarry inside pull away. Frustrated that he was too late to intercept them, the third man searched for the closest public transportation.
“Follow that car!” he ordered, while hopping into a taxi.
“Are you kidding me mate?” asked the driver, as he turned his head to face the man climbing into the back of the cab.
“Does this look like I’m kidding?” inquired the new passenger, as he threw a handful of cash over the seat into the empty space next to the driver.
“No sir, it doesn’t,” replied the taxi man as he started the cab.
***
Driving and the roads in Australia were based upon the European arrangement, with the operator and the steering wheel situated on the right hand side of the vehicle as the automobile travelled down the left lane of the road.
As the car entered traffic, the man asked, “Now that we are on our way and alone, can I see your papers please?” The request was polite, but spoken in German, his native language.
In response, the passenger started to reach into the outer pocket of his suit when the other man added, “Your real papers.”
Silently, the hand went from the outer to inner pocket of the gray jacket and pulled out a different set of documents. These were officially issued in Germany, compared to the false set that was allegedly created elsewhere.
“Commander Jorgen Mueller,” said the other man aloud as he read the credentials. “I was told to expect someone of your rank, but not who specifically. I must admit that by my way of thinking, you’re quite young to already have such a high position within the Imperial Navy,” he observed, while handing the documents back to his passenger.
“Like yourself, my rank is solely based upon actual achievements, not favoritism. But while I also was not told many details about my assignment for security reasons, I must admit that it is an honor to meet you Commander Hans Meerozean,” replied Mueller in perfect German, while saluting his host.
“It’s Admiral now, but you recognize me?” he asked in surprise. “It has been a while since I last commanded an unterseeboot.”
“Ja,” said Mueller. “Your service achievements are legendary. Your portrait hangs in honor at—”
“I see,” replied Meerozean, while sitting a little straighter now. “But what exactly were you told?”
“Basically, to covertly come here and report to whoever gave me the proper contact signals. Then I was to inspect whatever they showed me and make sure it is up to Imperial Navy standards.”
“I can assure you it is,” the Admiral said proudly. “The assignment I am on was too important to trust to any underling. I have been in Australia since 1933 establishing my cover and secretly working on Project: Safe Harbor since thirty-five.”
“I see,” replied Mueller, while studying the other man more closely. Meerozean appeared to be in his late sixties, for what hair he still possessed was totally gray. He knew that Hans had made his way up the naval ranks through hard work and achievements, not favoritism. The man was known for his cunning strategies and remaining calm even in the midst of the most heated battle, which was why he was always victorious. But the Admiral was only a decorated Commander at the end of the Great War, and no one had heard much about him since that conflict. To find him here, now…
“So, what is Project: Safe Harbor?” asked Muller, sensing it was of great importance.
“The culmination of a dream,” answered Meerozean. “Germany is on the verge of initiating the greatest military action in history. What I have created here is the prototype in plans for the Imperial Navy to assist our country during the course of coming events.”
“And it is?” prompted Mueller.
But before Meerozean could answer, William announced in English, “We’re being followed,” while peering deeply into his rear view mirror.
In unison, both passengers took a brief glance over their shoulders to see a taxi cab following their vehicle.
Then Meerozean turned back and addressed his driver in English. “This is a public thoroughfare and my cover identity is a respected figure within the local community. Even if it is us they pursue, we cannot take any evasive action to lose them, for doing so might arouse suspicion. But keep an eye on them William. If they follow us all the way back to the shire, so be it. We will deal with them there.”
“Yes sir,” said the driver.
Then Meerozean turned and addressed Mueller in their native tongue again. “While I had to recruit locally, I made sure to pick only those who truly believe in the cause. William has earned his place as my trusted second, and so knows more than the rest in my employ. But the fact that none of them completely comprehend the German language helps with secrecy,” he said with a smile.
“I see. But Shire? As in that book by that Englishman?” asked Mueller.
“Nein. It is just what they call some of the land divisions here. But when did you read that unsinn?” wondered his companion.
“There was a copy onboard the Galee. Looking as if I was reading it while in public helped me maintain my cover on the voyage here.”
“I see. Do you have any idea who might be following us?” asked Meerozean, while looking at Mueller a little more closely.
“I’m afraid it might be an enemy agent code named: The Eagle.”
“I have heard a few whispered rumors of such a man, but thought it idle gossip at best.”
“And I thought him dead,” replied Mueller.
“How so?”
“It was two nights ago, after 2200 hours. I was taking one last stroll on deck before heading to my cabin for the night when a man approached me. Claimed he knew who I really was, despite the fact my passport says that ‘Joseph Miller’ is a simple Hungarian import-export merchant. He didn’t believe that and wanted to know why I was really travelling to Australia.”
“And then what happened?”
“I of course denied everything and tried to leave, but the man kept insisting. I told him he was either drunk or delusional. That was when he claimed to be The Eagle, and vowed to stop me and whoever I was meeting, whatever the costs.”
“I see. And what makes you think this Eagle died then?” asked Meerozean.
“Our confrontation turned physical and we fought. But I had both skill and luck upon my side. He lost his footing on the deck and hit his head upon falling. While he was dazed, I took advantage of the situation and tossed him over the railing to the open ocean below.”
“Did you actually see him drown or the body be washed away by the currents?”
“Nein,” admitted Mueller, while shaking his head. “We had been alone on deck up until that point. I thought it best to retreat to my quarters and not further risk discovery.”
; “A wise precaution,” agreed Meerozean. “But if it really is him following us now, when the opportunity presents itself, we must clip this Eagle’s wings for good.”
***
Unable to contain his excitement as he pushed his cab hard and fast through the streets, the taxi driver commented, “I must say, this has been the most exciting fare I’ve had in many a fortnight mate.”
“How are we fixed for fuel?” asked the passenger, concerned about how long they had already been on the road without reaching the other car’s destination yet.
Although it appeared to be all open country, most of the land was actually privately held spreads according to the boundary markers and the occasional sign that could be seen along the way. But no matter where he looked, there was no indication of a public business or private residence immediately accessible on either side of the road. The last thing he wanted to do was become stranded in the middle of nowhere and left in a vulnerable position.
“I still have plenty of petrol. Mind you, the return trip might be touchy without a refill, but I can get you there and back again in time,” boasted the driver.
“Good,” replied the passenger. But whatever happens, this will be a one way journey for me.
CHAPTER TWO
PAST PERILS
As the road trip continued, The Eagle leaned back in his seat and remembered the recent events that led him to this moment.
With growing concerns throughout the world about the emerging Axis Powers, counter-espionage agent Jeff Shannon was finding his services very much in demand of late, despite the fact that war had yet to be formally declared in Europe. The only details given in the briefing about his latest assignment were being told it involved ‘a delicate matter’ that could only be discussed privately with his contact upon arrival in Australia. And so the crack secret agent of G-2 found himself onboard the HMS Galee when this situation arose.