by Bill Walker
The intercom buzzed.
“Jawohl, mein Führer?”
“Send them in, Bormann,” the voice said.
Even through the tinny-sounding speaker, Hitler’s hoarse and gravelly voice commanded respect. It sent an electric jolt up Kruger’s spine.
“Immediately, mein Führer.”
Kruger and von Bock stood as Bormann directed them through another magnificent set of doors. Von Bock swept past Bormann, his head held high.
“Thank you for your gracious welcome, Herr Reichsleiter,” he said.
Kruger caught the subtle dig, saw Bormann frown, and thought, von Bock has just made a dangerous enemy. A moment later they stood in Hitler’s office. The floor was covered by an immense carpet of red and gold, the ubiquitous Eagle and Swastika embroidered in heavy gold wire in the center. The windows, a full story-and-a-half tall, had the red and gold velvet drapes drawn. The room lay swathed in a Gothic gloom, the only light emanating from a single lamp on the Führer’s massive desk. It sat nearly fifty feet from where they stood. Hitler, like Bormann, appeared preoccupied with reams of paperwork. He held a sheet of vellum at arm’s length while studying it with spectacles. It was the first time Kruger could ever remember seeing the Führer wearing glasses. Grunting at something, Hitler tore the paper in half and tossed it in a wastebasket. He then looked up.
“Ahh, von Bock. It has been too long. Come here.”
For a man facing the largest invasion in history, he appeared uncharacteristically jovial, especially to a general he’d removed from command. Von Bock moved and Kruger kept a respectable two paces behind. Hitler stood up and came around the desk, his hand outstretched.
“We are on the threshold of greatness, von Bock, the very threshold. Can you not feel it in the air?”
“Yes, Mein Führer. It is always the case when I am in your presence.”
Hitler shook his hand warmly then turned his gaze to Kruger. Kruger now knew what others meant about Hitler’s magnetic personality. It radiated from him in waves.
“And who is this you have brought me?” he said, his eyes narrowing appraisingly.
“May I present Werner Kruger, Mein Führer. He is the young man I told you about.”
Kruger stepped forward, snapping his heels together and throwing out his arm. “Heil Hitler.”
Hitler smiled and returned the salute in his characteristically casual manner. “So, what can you tell me, Herr Kruger, that I don’t already know?”
Kruger felt his heart accelerate. “I believe what I have to say will make all the difference in the world, Mein Führer.”
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Berlin, Germany
17 May 1944
The heavy, velvet drapes masked the light of their arrival. They were perched on the sill of a colossal window that must have measured over one story in height. The sun poured in through the glass panes behind them, making Denise feel like she was standing in a greenhouse. Looking out, she saw they were only one story up, but not easily visible from the street. But where were they? Had they made it into Hitler’s study, or were they somewhere else?
Did she dare to look through the drapes to find out?
“Where are we?” Jack whispered.
Denise punched him in the arm and glared at him.
“Quiet,” she mouthed silently.
Jack blanched as the sound of muffled voices carried through the heavy drapes. Denise smiled, squeezed his hand, then put her eye up to the crack in the drapes. The light behind her and the darkness inside the huge room made it difficult to see anything at first. Gradually, her eye adjusted and revealed the magnificent interior. From her vantage point, she could see they occupied a window toward one end of the room. Directly in front of her, about twenty feet away, sat Hitler’s desk, a grotesque monstrosity that held the only illumination in the vast room. Her breath caught when she spied Hitler and Kruger sitting opposite one another, appearing like two fighters about to spar with one another. The third man in the uniform could only be von Bock. The field marshal looked exceedingly nervous. Although the drapes hid her and Jack from view, she could hear them clearly.
Kruger sat forward in his chair and began.
“Mein Führer, I have come to you as a loyal citizen and because I have vital knowledge concerning the coming invasion—knowledge that will change the course of the war and bring us total and glorious victory...”
Hitler sat watching Kruger intently, his face a mask of stone. Kruger continued.
“Eisenhower and Montgomery will be launching the invasion on June sixth, and it will come ashore at Normandy. Rommel is correct in his assertions. I regret that I cannot offer further proof other than my word as a loyal German.
“Materials I had in my possession were destroyed, pictures of phony armies under Patton’s command designed to fool us into thinking that Norway would be invaded, and that the main thrust will be at Calais. You must not be taken in, Mein Führer, you must move the Fifteenth Army to Normandy no later than June first.”
Kruger sat back and waited. Hitler continued staring, his light-blue eyes unwavering.
Denise reached for the small air pistol in her tunic pocket. Its sleek, streamlined frame felt cold and heavy in her hands. Now was the moment. She was within range; she could take out any of them easily. But which one? Kill Kruger and the threat ended; kill Hitler and all of history would alter—for the better. Sweat poured down from her scalp, stinging her eyes.
Which one—damn it!
She felt Jack grip her shoulder and she turned to face him. He smiled and nodded.
He understood.
Denise smiled back, returning her gaze to the drama unfolding inside the room.
Hitler sat in his leather chair, his arms folded, his visage dark and troubled. Suddenly, he turned and glared at von Bock.
“What have you to say, Field Marshal?” he said, the sarcasm implicit in the way he pronounced von Bock’s title, as if its very existence hung in the balance.
Von Bock straightened in his chair and looked his leader right in the eye. “Herr Kruger has shown me events that leave me no doubts, Mein Führer.”
“No doubts, von Bock? No doubts at all?”
“Nein.”
“Then do enlighten me. What events are these that have you so convinced?”
Von Bock looked stricken. He turned to Kruger, who nodded.
“This man has a power I cannot explain. He somehow moved us both forward in time to nineteen forty-six! Mein Führer, I saw the war over, our dreams shattered, men on trial simply for losing that war. Göring, Kaltenbrunner, Jodl, all of them sentenced to death. It was terrible. I believe that all this can be avoided if we do as Herr Kruger asks.”
Hitler smiled, the expression a dry and bitter one. “And what of me? Was I on trial too, von Bock?”
The field marshal swallowed, his face ashen.
“No, Mein Führer,” he said, swallowing. “You... had not survived.”
“Oh? How interesting. And what is my fate?”
“Suicide,” Kruger interjected, his voice harsh and filled with emotion. “On April thirtieth, nineteen forty-five, while the Soviet Army encircles Berlin, you will put a Walther pistol into your mouth and pull the trigger. Your body will be taken out into the Chancellery courtyard, doused with gasoline, and set aflame along with the body of your bride, Eva Braun.”
Hitler’s eyes bulged and his face turned a dark, mottled red. He bolted to his feet, bellowing.
“Traitors! Fools! Filthy swine! You think your Führer would cower like a dog! That he would take the coward’s way out? You have been taken in, von Bock! This man has hypnotized you with his defeatist propaganda! How can you, a man of intelligence, possibly believe such fantasy!”
“But Mein Führer, it is true! I saw it with my own eyes!” Von Bock said.
“Then you are blind and not worthy to wear the uniform of the Wehrmacht!”
Kruger stood at that moment and approached Hitler, his hand outstretched.
“Let me show you, Mein Führer, let me show you the future as it will be if you do not act.”
Hitler’s eyes widened and he shrank from Kruger’s hand as if it were a poisonous snake and began screaming at the top of his lungs.
“GUARDS! Kommen Sie, SCHNELL! Guards!”
Within seconds, the door burst open and a contingent of Leibstandarte troops dashed in, their rifles poised, their eyes wide with fear.
“Arrest these traitors!” Hitler screamed. “The field marshal will remain in his home, under house arrest until I decide what to do with him.”
Hitler walked over to Kruger, careful to stay out of reach. “This one... take this one into the courtyard and shoot him. AT ONCE!”
Stunned, von Bock began to sputter in protest as two guards grabbed him and frog-marched him from the room. Oddly, Kruger went with the other guards quietly, a wry smile on his face.
Denise watched with mounting horror
“Oh no,” Denise said.
“What? What’s wrong?” Jack said.
“No time. Hold on.”
Denise grabbed his hand and they snapped out, reappearing back behind the pillar in the Chancellery lobby.
“Hurry,” she said, pulling him along. Denise began to run, dodging past the people moving further into the building.
“Malloy! What the hell is going on?”
Denise ran faster, dashing past startled bureaucrats and soldiers. Jack kept up, increasingly alarmed when they ran deeper into the recesses of the Nazi government. Reaching a doorway, Denise burst through it and into the courtyard. There, encircled on three sides, sat the upper reaches of the bunker, a hulking concrete structure that only hinted at the vast complex far below the surface. Jack caught up with her and spun her around.
“Hold it!” he said, breathing heavily. “Will you tell me what just happened back there?”
“Come here,” she said, pulling him around a nearby corner. “Watch.”
Totally confused, Jack stared into the courtyard as Kruger and a contingent of SS guards emerged from a different exit. They marched in formation, the commander calling the count. Kruger matched their pace with a calm assurance that belied the tense situation.
“HALT!” the commander called out.
The commander, a Hauptsturmführer, ordered his men to line up and escorted Kruger to the wall.
Fascinated, and a little horrified, Jack and Denise watched as the firing squad assembled. The commander of the squad offered a blindfold, which Kruger declined. Nodding, the commander stepped back to his men.
“Ready!” he shouted.
The soldiers raised their rifles.
“Aim!”
The rifles zeroed in.
“You are all fools!” Kruger said, and began to laugh a loud, maniacal laugh.
“Fire!”
In the split second between the command and the explosion of shots, the air became oppressive, smelling of ozone. Kruger glowed bright blue and a sound like ripping paper rent the air. The soldiers began muttering, their voices turning to alarm when Kruger snapped out of existence right before their eyes.
Denise turned to Jack, her eyes filled with fright.
“We have to go back, don’t we?” Jack said.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“But I don’t understand. Why didn’t he do that when Hitler was watching?”
“Because he remembered one simple fact. Hitler was mad. When Kruger told him how he would die, it went against all of Hitler’s cherished beliefs in his own invincibility. Even if Kruger had popped out right then, Hitler wouldn’t have believed it. Would have put it down to ‘mass hypnosis.’ Kruger knew he had failed. But he also knew something else...”
Jack felt a chill run up his spine as a horrible thought crept into his mind.
“That he’s got time on his side. He’s going back to try it again, isn’t he?” Jack said, already knowing the answer.
Denise nodded, her face grim. “And this time he’ll bring undisputable proof. He’ll be waiting for us every step of the way. He might even go back further and try to eliminate us before we became involved. We’re sitting ducks. We have to go back.”
“But when? If we go back, which timeline will we appear in?”
Denise frowned as she tried sorting out the Gordian knot of paradoxes. Suddenly she smiled.
“When did everything change, Jack?”
“What?”
“When did you wake up and realize everything had changed?”
“Hell, I don’t remember.”
“Come on, Dunham. Think! There has to be a moment, a date that the two timelines converge. You’ve got them both in your head.”
Jack hated to think under pressure, had never done well with it. Now here, in the courtyard of the Reichschancellory, in the heart of Hitler’s madness with soldiers all around them, he had to try and remember the most important moment in his life. And he couldn’t.
“Halt!”
Jack looked up and saw an SS guard pointing a rifle at them.
“Get us out of here, Malloy!”
The soldier ran toward them, joined by others, their faces intent, their weapons raised and ready.
“WHEN, JACK?”
Then it came to him.
“August fifth, nineteen ninety-three!”
“Hold on!”
Denise grabbed his hand and squeezed her eyes shut. Jack felt the familiar electric feeling and saw the world turn white. He did not see the fusillade of bullets smash into the wall where they’d been standing only microseconds before.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ridgefield, Connecticut
5 August 1993
They appeared just behind the pro-shop, the preternatural light of their arrival masked by a small copse of apple trees, their leafy branches heavy with fruit. The golf course, unlike the clubhouse, stood swathed in pitch-blackness. The air felt sultry and oppressive, hanging over them like a damp dishrag, smelling of the algae that proliferated in the stagnant water traps. Jack immediately broke out in a sticky sweat, born out of nerves as much as the humidity. All around them, crickets chirped ceaselessly. Jack leaned against a small sapling, rubbing his head. It throbbed above his right eye in sharp, stabbing pains. It was taking him longer than usual to gain his bearings, with a time shift as well as a spatial one.
“How’d I do?” Denise asked.
Jack squinted, scanned the area, and tried to make his dazzled eyes adjust to the gloom. Everything appeared as he remembered it.
“You look terrible. Are you okay?” she asked, coming to him.
“Yeah, I think so. God, that one really knocked me for a loop.”
“Did we make it? Is this the right place?”
Jack nodded. “Yeah. The club doesn’t exist in the other timeline.”
“What now?”
Jack stared off toward the seventh hole and frowned. “The main building’s just over that rise. The Nine Old Men will be up in their room. Kruger will be there too. Our best bet is to go right in.”
“You like living dangerously,” Denise said, smiling.
“I learned it from you,” he said, returning her smile. “Besides, there’s only one way in.”
“Any security guards?”
“Just an old man who sleeps more than he patrols.”
Denise nodded. “Okay, let’s take a look.”
Leading the way, Jack pushed through the trees and walked out onto one of the fairways. The ground squished under their feet, wet from the sprinklers. He slipped twice on the slick greensward, cursing under his breath at his clumsiness. He couldn’t shake the eerie feeling that someone watched them. He could actually pinpoint a spot in the middle of his back that tingled as if someone were aiming a laser sight on it. He felt terribly exposed out there in the middle of the moon-drenched fairway, but it couldn’t be avoided; there was no other way to approach the clubhouse. Besides, he reasoned, no one else in their right minds would be out here at this time of night, save for teenagers ben
t on mischief or lovers looking for a secluded rendezvous.
When they reached the crest of the small rise, Jack held up his hand, signaling for Denise to stop.
“That’s it,” he said, pointing to what was once the Anderson home.
“Looks like something out of a bad horror movie.”
Jack scanned the parking lot and saw the limousines, their drivers huddled in conversation. Their raucous laughter and crude jokes drifted over the rolling landscape, a sharp contrast to the utter quiet.
“They’re here,” he said.
“Not all of them.”
Jack turned and saw a lone car driving through the front gate.
“I’ve got an idea who that might be,” Denise said, cracking a smile.
“Oh, no, you’re not!”
Before he could protest further, Denise grabbed his hand and they disappeared.
Dr. Morris Chessman turned into the cobbled drive of The Normandy Club feeling on top of the world. Tonight, all of his theories would be vindicated, his life’s work proven beyond a shadow of a doubt. Aside from Armand Bock’s little drama this morning and the abrupt change in the schedule, he felt ready. Kruger had mastered the abilities and, though Chessman detested the man intensely, he knew that the mission they shared would benefit them all. Passing the clubhouse, he rounded the building and pulled into the parking lot. He saw, with satisfaction, that all the “Waxworks” had arrived, and no doubt waited impatiently for him in their third-floor redoubt.
In spite of their dour natures, he had to laugh at their obsession with all things military. Every wall in the room held weaponry ranging from medieval to modern state-of-the-art, some of it quite illegal. For a fleeting moment he wondered if they would proceed without him. After all, they had no real need of him now that Kruger was fully trained. It would be just like their treacherous natures to cut him out of the deal. But Chessman pushed that unpleasant thought from his mind. They would not dare deprive him of his triumph.
