His shovel was useless now. It was his fourth and final one. He threw it fifty feet in the air toward the earth's surface, sending it soaring into the snowy landscape high above. He retrieved his ice pick from his pack and began to swing it at the thick crust below his feet. His long beard was frozen solid. It was now so heavy that it tugged constantly on the skin of his face like someone was pulling him around by it.
He swung the ice pick again and again until he shattered the layer of ice and hit something that made a different sound. The metal tip of his pick struck something metal and sparks flew, lighting up the dark hole like fireworks.
Pryce ran frantically for his torch and grabbed it, holding it down over the metal surface where he saw the outline of a black swastika engraved on what looked like the lid of chest buried just below his feet.
"I found you," he whispered.
The artifact was his.
A black limousine pulled up in front of the vacant building that once served as the Headquarters for the Office of Strategic Services. William "Wild Bill" Donovan got out of the back of the limo and told his driver to wait.
"Do you expect any trouble, Colonel?" the driver said.
"No, I'm just meeting an old friend," Donovan said. Good kid, he thought. Still calls me Colonel even though I wouldn't fit in a uniform anymore if they greased me up and used a crane. And the man he was meeting did not qualify as a friend, exactly. Can a mortal man be friends with a God? When you make a regular man angry, he might punch you, or even try to shoot you. If you made someone like Omega too angry, he could throw you into the upper atmosphere and watch you tumble out of the sky back down to earth.
But do you trust him?
That was the only question, really. At least the only one that mattered. It had been years since Omega vanished and Donovan woke up each morning wondering if he'd been lost in a previous time, or disintegrated during teleportation, or been killed and was now wandering lost with no idea of who he was. And now he was back, and he wanted to meet at their old HQ.
Do I trust him? Donovan thought.
He grabbed the door handle to their old building and thought, "Damn right."
The door handle turned easily. Someone had unlocked it from within. Donovan walked into the dark lobby and looked around but saw no one. That didn't mean anything. His eyes were going bad. "I'm here, Sean. Just like you asked," he said aloud.
"Did you come alone?" a voice in the darkness said.
Donovan saw a shadow move on the upper walkway. It was probably a rat, he thought. "Yes," Donovan said.
"Who's the driver?"
"A kid who works in my law office. Just a college student. Gets violently ill at the sight of blood. Our secretary got a paper cut last month and he was puking in the trash can." Donovan looked around, trying to see where the other man was. "I've been worried about you, Sean. It's been a long time. Where did you go?"
"It wasn't a long time for me," Pryce said. He stepped out from behind one of the support columns to show himself to Donovan, but stayed deep in the shadows. He was holding a long olive drab bag, the perfect size and shape for a rifle. "I only left a few hours earlier and when I came back, everything was different. What happened?"
"Years passed here, Sean. With you gone, the bastards ran me out of town. I took over prosecuting Nazis at the Nuremberg Trials. That was a sight, believe me."
"How many of them did you hang?" Pryce said.
"Not enough. You'd be amazed how many were able to cut deals with different governments to hide out. They're living under assumed names all over the world now, safely out of reach."
"What government?" Pryce said.
"This government. A few others," Donovan said. "You'd be amazed at some of the things that happened since you left, Sean. It hasn't been easy." Donovan looked around the decaying building and said, "Look at this place. Old and run down, just like me. Not for long though. They're starting up a new Agency and basing it here. Some good people are involved, Sean. I could talk to them and see if there's a place for you there. They could use your help."
Pryce emerged from the shadows and held up his rifle bag. He showed it to Donovan and said, "Do you think they'd still want my help if they knew what was in here?"
Donovan looked at the rifle bag with sudden concern. "Is that…is that what I think it is? I hoped the damn thing wasn't real."
"It is real," Pryce said. "At least, for the most part. Hitler was looking for a weapon with the power to kill God. But it isn't the God we expected. In fact, it's one very specific god."
"What do you mean?" Donovan said.
"How is your Norse mythology?" Pryce said. He laid the bag on the floor and unzipped it from end to end, showing Donovan what looked like an ancient spear made out of petrified vegetation.
"What the hell is that thing?"
"The mistletoe spear that killed Baldr."
"Who?" Donovan said.
"A Norse god. The most beloved of them all. It was said that Baldr was protected by all of the plants and creatures of the earth and none would ever do him harm. Loki, the trickster god, hated Baldr and found the one thing that was too inconsequential to be considered dangerous. Mistletoe. He made a spear from it and Baldr's fate was sealed."
Donovan shook his head in wonder and said, "What a goddamn fruitcake. Hitler actually believed that line of crap? Superstitious idiot."
Pryce started to take off his shirt.
"What are you doing?"
Pryce dropped his shirt on the floor and said, "It's time, Bill."
"Time for what?"
"My time. I'm ready to be done with all this, and I want you to be the one to do it."
Donovan looked down at the bag and then back up at him and said, "What, are you serious? Absolutely not."
"Please, Bill. You can't possibly understand what it's like for me anymore. I don't belong anywhere. I have flashbacks of memories and people and loved ones that are nothing more than shadows to me. Every single person I can remember caring about is dead, Bill. Every single one except you, and you don't have much longer."
"Oh, thanks," Donovan muttered.
"Compared to me, anyway. Whatever it is, it's not enough. So, I'm ready to go, and I'd like it to be here because this place, for some reason, is the only home I have. And I'd like it to be you, because I trust you."
"I can't do it, Sean. I'll do anything for you but this."
"This is the only thing I want," Pryce said.
"You're like a son to me, Sean, even though you're probably a hundred times older than me. What father could do what you're asking me?"
Pryce was about to answer when a dark figure came into the doorway behind Donovan, moving with terrifying speed. It was a woman, Pryce could tell that much, and she was moving too fast for him to react. He opened his mouth to scream for Donovan to run, but the woman raised a gun to the colonel's head and squeezed her trigger.
Wild Bill Donovan's temple burst open and sent him cartwheeling across the floor, his body flailing wildly with his bodies final nervous impulses. He was dead before he'd hit the ground.
Amelie Brevot pressed her pistol to her lips and blew on the barrel. She looked down at Donovan's body and the luminous green fluid leaking across the lobby's dirty tile floor, mixing and congealing with the old man's blood. Brevot turned and aimed the gun at Pryce and said, "Do not move, Omega. We both know you cannot outrun me when I wish to shoot you, oui?"
Pryce forced himself not to look down at Donovan. He forced himself to focus on Amelie and her gun. There was blood spattered on her shirt and face that was not Donovan's. Pryce nodded at the door and said, "Did you kill the boy too?"
"Of course," she said sweetly. "I couldn't have him alerting you, now could I?"
"No. I suppose not. Did you bring along your Nazi friends too, or have you abandoned them like you abandon everything else?"
Amelie rolled her eyes, "You are so naïve, like a little boy. The Nazis are what to me? Petty mortals with petty little ideas abo
ut controlling other mortals. They are nothing. If you had any sense you would have let the mortals kill as many of each other as they could. It would make taking over the planet that much easier." She circled around Donovan, holding the gun steady on Pryce. She stepped over the twitching body and looked down at the green spear in the bag. "I heard you, begging him to kill you. How pathetic. You are a god, but you spend your life acting like one of their servants. You are a dog to these governments and made-up countries with their imaginary boundaries. Gods like us have no boundaries, Omega. Why can you not see that?"
"I see your time with the Nazis was well-spent, Amelie. You certainly picked up the key points of their philosophy."
"What is a Nazi?" Amelie spat. "What is a Communist or a Capitalist or anything else these fools imagine themselves to be? It is the philosophy of mice! Do you care how the ant classifies himself? Or the carpenter bee? Or the fish? It means nothing, because they are here only to serve us, Sean. You and I, and the others, if we can find them. Abandon this insane attachment you have to these humans and help me put them where they belong!"
"Wow. You really are a nut, lady," Pryce said.
Amelie cocked the hammer back on the gun and said, "I will give the humans this much. They know how to make toys. This one was invented especially for you the Japanese researchers at Unit 731. They found your blood sample oh-so-interesting."
Amelie reached into her jacket pocket and pulled out a large green bullet that was shaped like a small bomb. She held it up to show Pryce the bullet's hollowed-out center that was filled with the same bright green fluid leaking out of Donovan's corpse. "After one of these hits you, it will release into your bloodstream and chemically alter you forever. If it does not kill you, it will turn you into nothing more than just another one of these pathetic apes. Perhaps I will keep you alive to serve in my palace and when I'm bored, I'll amuse myself by tormenting you."
Pryce looked at the gun and said, "Unit 731? It's nice to know they were doing something at Pingfang besides vivisecting living infants and children without anesthesia, Amelie. Kind of gives me a different perspective on feeling good about dropping an A-bomb on the bastards."
Amelie shook her head sadly and said, "Why does it matter, Sean?"
"I don't know, Amelie. It just does."
She sighed aimed the gun between his eyes and said, "I am sorry then, mon amour. Do not try to run. I will put the bullet exactly where you appear. You know it to be true, so just close your eyes and I will put you to rest, Sean."
Pryce folded his arms across his chest and said, "There is one thing I've learned from the humans that you haven't, Amelie."
"And what is that?"
"How to evolve."
Pryce vanished out of existence. He had not moved, or run, or given her any other indication that he was about to teleport. She cursed as his pants clothing fluttered to the ground, empty. She closed her eyes and tried to sense where he would appear next. It was impossible for him to hide from her. She could follow the trail of his molecules as easily as a dog sniffs the blood of a wounded rabbit.
Something was wrong. Pryce was nowhere to be found.
Pryce had sworn never to attempt time-travel again, but even as the tunnel ahead of him began to collapse and he felt his molecules being torn apart, he raced faster and faster, flying toward the open doorway at the abandoned OSS Headquarters' front door as Wild Bill Donovan first walked up and reached for the handle.
Pryce came diving through the portal as one, rolling until he came to stop at Donovan's feet.
Donovan looked down and said, "What the hell are you doing rolling around on the floor?"
"Get out of the way!" Pryce shouted. He leapt to his feet and shoved Donovan aside, scrambling to get past him. "Amelie is here! She's going to kill us all!"
Amelie Brevot was just coming up the side of the limousine, coming in at an angle so that she could not be seen in any of the rearview mirrors. There was a small blade hidden in her right hand as she closed on the driver and said, "Pardon?" loud enough to startle the boy. "Is this the way to the Smithsonian?"
"I'm sorry, what?" the driver said in confusion, but Amelie's hand was already coming down on his neck in an arc, aimed straight at the large jugular vein on the side of the young man's throat.
He opened his mouth to scream and stopped suddenly at the sight of a man's bare arm shooting in front of him to snatch the woman's wrist out of the air. A naked Sean Pryce yanked Amelie's arm backwards and sent the knife flying into the parking lot.
Amelie gawked at Pryce and said, "I-impossible! How did you know? How could you possibly have known?"
"I'm full of surprises," Pryce said.
She spun away from him to grab the gun from her coat pocket and Pryce blocked her arm and slammed his face so hard he was worried it would cave her skull in. Instead, she only staggered backwards and clutched her nose as it spurted blood from both nostrils.
Pryce looked up and saw Wild Bill Donovan come out of the door, holding the mistletoe spear. It was all he had to defend himself with.
Pryce backed away from Amelie, holding up his hands to let her pull out her gun. She cocked the hammer back with trembling fingers and screamed, "You will never leave this parking lot, you fool!"
"I know," Pryce said. He raised his voice loud enough for Donovan to hear and said, "Even gods have to die sometime, old friend. Do not hesitate and make sure your aim is true."
"You are a fool, Omega!" Amelie hissed.
Behind her, Wild Bill Donovan was bearing down on her with the spear, lining it up with her spine. Pryce smiled reassuringly just as Amelie Brevot pulled her trigger, sending one of the hollow, fluid-filled bullets spiraling directly into his chest.
He felt the impact, felt the serum burn through his body like acid, but just before he sank to his knees he watched Wild Bill Donovan run forward and ran the spear through Amelie's heart. Her eyes widened in horror as she looked down at the large, sharp point sticking out from under her chin. The gun fell out of her hands and she staggered forward, harpooned like a fish. "Why, Sean?" she gurgled. Waterfalls of bright red blood spilled out of her mouth as she clutched the spear point, holding it with both hands. "We could have been…so much together."
Pryce could feel blood coming out of his own mouth too. His eyes locked with Amelie's as she came toward him, trying to grab him with her arms and pull him close to her, close to the point of the spear. He let her fall past him onto the parking lot stones to die.
He stood over her for a moment, looking down at the closest thing there was to himself, to whatever creature or being he was, and knew that he was utterly alone.
He turned back and looked at Wild Bill Donovan and found the strength to raise his hand and say, "Goodbye, Colonel. I'll see you around." With that, Sean Pryce collapsed to the ground beside Amelie, looking up at the decaying remains of OSS building.
At least I'm home, he thought.
Chapter 7: Memories of Myself
Walter Beckett gave him a moment to take it all in. The detective sipped his coffee and held the cup between his hands, staring down into the center of the dark liquid like he might find the answers to all of his questions there. There were none. He set down the cup and said, "You've got an answer for everything, right?"
"I wish that were the case, Mr. Price," Beckett said. "My whole life is a never-ending series of questions that can never be answered."
Price laughed harshly and said, "Mysteries within mysteries, huh? Cry me a river."
Becket smiled, "Good point. I'm sorry to make the comparison."
"You know, hating you would be a lot easier if you weren't so polite."
Beckett nodded, "I didn't intend to make you hate me, sir. I just wanted to see if you might be able to find this man."
The detective pulled out his phone and scrolled his thumb across the screen, finding the icon for his internet search feature. "Excuse me for second, I have to take care of something," he said, keeping the phone close to his ch
est. He touched the search bar and typed Eva Braun photo. Multiple grainy photographs popped up on his screen, showing Braun in various poses next to Adolph Hitler or old glamour portraits of her that showed her with bright blonde hair. Some depicted her in swimsuits, frolicking in the water. All of them showed the woman he remembered from his dream. Price shut his phone off and tossed it into his pocket angrily.
That proves nothing.
I saw her on some documentary about the war. Or I studied her in school. Or I have some other reasonable explanation for knowing this woman that makes a hell of a lot more sense than I'm some immortal goddamn secret agent superhero!
Price looked at Beckett and said, "Why in the hell should I help you find this guy, anyway? Let's be honest with each other for a minute. What's your stake in this? So you and your crazy bird-watching friends can lock him up in a cage and sell him to some scientific freak show? Or so the government can use him all over again? What if he doesn't want to be found?"
Beckett looked at him for a moment and said, "Bird-watchers?"
"Yeah," Price said. "Your business card. Aviary Society or whatever it said."
"Apiary," Beckett corrected him. "It means beekeepers."
"Whatever! What the hell do a bunch of beekeepers have to do with any of this." He looked at Beckett as he spoke and said, "Let me guess. Another story?"
Beckett chuckled and said, "Yes, indeed, my friend. Yes, indeed. And we're going to need a lot more coffee."
Chapter 8: The Crown's Secret Operatives
A young man woke up in a military hospital bed, bandaged and connected by tubes to a variety of bags and monitors. "Hello?" he moaned. "Is anyone there?"
A nurse shuffled across the floor toward him, her white sneakers squeaking as she came to his side. She smiled brightly when she saw him and said, "Well, hello there! Don't sit up, honey. Just try and lie still, okay? You are just waking up from one hell of an injury."
"Where am I?"
Agent Omega: You Only Live Forever Page 11
