A Gift from the Gods

by Martin Gunn

  ***

  The Führerbunker,

  100 Miles West of Great Falls, Montana

  19th July 1985

  As the sound of a helicopter began to get louder, Martin Bormann walked out onto the veranda of the country house set in the Flathead National Forest. The land had been purchased in 1948 and construction of the house and its hidden underground complex had begun almost immediately. The grounds to the front of the house were surrounded by two rows of tall wire fencing, spaced twenty feet apart, both topped off with razor wire. To the rear of the property the land was protected by a high concrete parapet painted in green camouflage and draped in camouflage netting. From the air it was virtually undetectable. Guards patrolled the parapet, all clothed in green camouflage uniforms and armed with Colt M4A1 carbines.

  He watched eagerly as the chopper flew over the house and then moving through to a bedroom, he observed it set down on the rear lawn. Two men disembarked, ducking their heads as the helicopter took off again. Bormann made his way down the imposing staircase to greet the man who had disobeyed orders.

  Looking around, von Brandt took in the grand country house in front of him and the well-kept elegant garden, surrounded by a slightly incongruous concrete wall patrolled by armed guards. Before entering the complex, he was already impressed.

  “Follow me,” commanded Kolbeck, as he strode towards a rear door into the house.

  “This is impressive,” commented von Brandt, “not at all what I expected.”

  “It took over ten years to complete,” replied Kolbeck, “keeping this place a secret has been a real headache.”

  They entered the house and were greeted by Bormann in the hallway. Immediately von Brandt clicked his heels and saluted.

  “Please, Hauptsturmführer von Brandt, at ease,” smiled Bormann, “I’m sure you would like to eat and rest before your debriefing.”

  Looking at his watch, Bormann turned to Kolbeck,

  “Shall we say one hour in the drawing room?”

  “Very good,” nodded Kolbeck, motioning for von Brandt to follow him.

  Kolbeck left their guest to eat his lunch in peace in the kitchen, and as he made his way across the hallway an arm came out of a door opening and pulled him in. Dr Liesel Schill was lying in wait in the study, ready to intercept him.

  “So that is the other time traveller, eh?” she teased, “he is very handsome.”

  “You like him, do you?” frowned Kolbeck.

  “You’re the only man I’m interested in, my love,” she cooed, placing the palm of her hand on his cheek.

  They started to kiss in this rare moment of privacy, only to be interrupted by a guard opening the door.

  “They always know where you are,” sighed an exasperated Liesel.

  “That’s their job,” replied a stoic Kolbeck, turning to the guard, “what is it?”

  “Herr Bormann would like to see you right away Sir.”

  “Duty calls,” shrugged Kolbeck and left the study.

  “Duty always calls.” muttered Liesel rolling her eyes.

  Exactly an hour later, von Brandt found himself in the drawing room sitting on a sofa facing Bormann and Kolbeck. He was keen to break the ice.

  “Judging by your looks, I am guessing that you both took the drug,” commented von Brandt.

  Kolbeck looked uncertainly at Bormann who simply laughed.

  “Indeed, we have, as I’m sure have you.”

  “I hope that is acceptable,” nodded von Brandt.

  “What isn’t acceptable is the fact that you disobeyed a direct order by using the time machine,” Bormann’s annoyance was palpable, “what justification have you for this?”

  “I had no choice,” uttered von Brandt, taken aback somewhat, “we were about to be overrun by Soviet troops. We couldn’t allow it to fall into their hands.”

  “We?” enquired Kolbeck.

  “Dr Sprick,” explained von Brandt, “he stayed behind to destroy all the evidence.”

  “What happened to the doctor?” asked Bormann.

  “He knew what it would mean to be captured. He and all his men were issued with cyanide capsules.”

  “You did the right thing under the circumstances,” reassured Bormann, “what have you been doing since you arrived?”

  “For a start I have found a way to replicate the drug with the help of two biochemists, plus I have someone building a timer directly from the alien plans.”

  “You’ve deciphered the plans?” blustered Kolbeck.

  “Yes, he is going to build a timer just as soon as I return,” replied von Brandt.

  “This is excellent news,” congratulated Bormann, “and did you bring any of the drug with you? Our supplies are virtually depleted.”

  “I have some here,” confirmed von Brandt, reaching into his inside jacket pocket and producing three phials. He passed them to Bormann, who picked up a phial and held it up to the light to inspect it.

  “You have done well,” declared Bormann, “with regards to the timer, I am assuming it would be just as easy to make more than one?”

  “I suppose so,” mused von Brandt, “why do you ask?”

  Bormann smiled,

  “Follow me,” he urged enigmatically.

  The three men left the drawing room and walked into a part of the hallway where stairs led down to a basement level. From there they walked along a short corridor until they reached a heavy metal door. Kolbeck punched in a code and steel bolts were heard to retract. Then Kolbeck pushed the door open. As they entered the underground bunker, von Brandt couldn’t help but be awestruck by the immensity of the whole operation. Armed guards lined the perimeter, and men in white coats were busying themselves with various tasks. Then, as they got into the centre of the bunker, von Brandt saw them. Six Die Glocke time machines lined up in a row, sitting on dished plinths as if ready for take-off.

  “If you can make one,” smiled Bormann, “I’m sure you can make seven, can’t you?”

  “Of course,” spluttered von Brandt, “but why so many?”

  “I will let the Führer answer that question,” confided Bormann, “he is keen to meet you.”

  “He’s here?” exclaimed von Brandt, “he’s alive?”

  “Very much so, and because of the drug, in rude health,” stated Bormann, “follow me, he’ll see you now.”

  With great trepidation, von Brandt followed Bormann into Hitler’s private quarters. A guard opened the door and as they stepped in, both men clicked their heels and gave a Nazi salute.

  Just over an hour later, von Brandt was led back into the main house by Kolbeck.

  “You will sleep here tonight and then be flown back to Los Angeles first thing tomorrow.”

  “Understood,” replied von Brandt, taking one last look at the six time machines.

  As he lay in bed von Brandt ran the stratagem through his mind, blown away by the sheer ambition of it.

  We’re going to kick seven bells out of them, he thought, chuckling to himself, amused by his own joke.

  ***

  A week after von Brandt returned, Scott Anderson had been set up in the warehouse, working on the design for the new timer. He was surprised to be told that he was to make seven timers instead of one, but since they would all be identical, it shouldn’t take too much longer.

  Scott was working at a drawing-board laying out the design for the printed circuit, when he was dazzled by a light shining directly into his eyes. The light became annoying, so he looked up to investigate the source of the beam. It appeared to be coming from the middle of straw bales, stacked high in a corner, some ten yards opposite him. With great curiosity, he walked over to investigate. The light appeared to be emanating from a gap in the roof and reflecting off something metallic behind the bales. With all the strength he could muster, Scott began to lift some bales away to
expose the mysterious object. Pulling a few away from as high as he could reach, caused the rest to come tumbling down and he scrambled backwards and fell to avoid being hit.

  As the dust settled, Scott pushed himself up with his arms and focussed on the object in front of him. The dark-bronze-coloured bell-shaped vessel was there for all the world to see.

  “Whoa!” he exclaimed as he wondered what on earth it was.

  Scott stood up and dusted straw from his clothes, then he approached the time machine and opened the hatch. Peeking in, he could just make out in the dim light a seat, controls and various wires running around the inside wall. Most notably he noticed a gap where the timer he was building would plug in. Clearly, he realised, the timer was a component for this machine.

  Von Brandt walked into the warehouse, and to his horror saw a pair of legs protruding from the hatch of the Glocke. Without hesitation, he walked straight up and grabbed them by the ankles. Then he yanked them vigorously and Scott, much to his shock came tumbling out onto the floor. Anger welled up in von Brandt and he grabbed the boy by his shirt front, lifted him up and slammed him against the side of the vessel.

  “What the fuck do you think you’re doing,” he growled, “you stupid little runt.”

  The terrified lad held his arms over his face in a futile attempt at some kind of defence.

  “I’m sorry – I’m sorry,” he kept blurting over and over, and then burst into tears.

  Letting him drop to the floor, von Brandt was still seething as Scott sobbed inconsolably.

  “For God’s sake stop your bawling, or I’ll give you something to cry about.”

  Just as he said this, it triggered a memory of when he was very young. His nanny used to say the same thing to him, and here he was uttering the words that helped to shape his childhood – or lack of it. A pang of sadness ran through him; for the boy who had to grow up all too quickly. The resentment towards all those people who should have loved and nurtured him had returned again to haunt his thoughts. He would dearly love to go back and reassure the child that all will work out alright in the end; and ironically, he had the machine to do it, but alas that could never happen. Von Brandt had a far more important mission.

  With his temper assuaged he picked up the boy, who flinched until he realised this man wasn’t going to hurt him.

  “So now you have seen this thing what do you think it is?”

  Scott had already been wondering about that, and had come to the conclusion, no matter how incredible it might seem, that a vessel such as this, which requires an electronic timer, could only be one thing.

  “It’s a time machine,” he mumbled timidly.

  “You’re a clever boy,” replied von Brandt, taken aback but impressed nonetheless, “I need a more reliable timer for my purposes.”

  “This is top secret,” he continued assertively, “do you understand?”

  The boy, with his head bowed low nodded vigorously.

  “Okay, go back to your work,” demanded von Brandt, “and if you talk about this to anyone, I’ll kill you.”

  Terrified, Scott went back to work and got his head down. As he sat at the drawing board, Scott glared at von Brandt who was busy lifting the straw bales back into place. He had developed an instant hatred for this man and wanted him out of his life, as quickly as possible.

  ***

  That same evening, von Brandt had made arrangements to take Laura out to dinner. At 7:30pm, he knocked on the front door of her bungalow. Opening it to the man she was besotted with, who was wearing a dark grey suit and looking to her eyes the epitome of manhood, Laura beamed with delight. She was wearing a long black evening gown and von Brandt had to confess that Laura also looked stunning.

  “Will I do?” she asked coyly and smiling.

  “You look beautiful,” commented von Brandt, smiling back, “I’ve booked a table downtown for eight.”

  They stepped into the awaiting taxi and sped off on their date.

  The evening went by very quickly, with Laura flirting, making it very obvious to von Brandt that she was available. He, on the other hand did what he always did – played his cards close to his chest. This was the first opportunity she’d had to try and get to know this man, one to one socially, and he was acting as inscrutable as ever. This only piqued her curiosity more and she knew that if he made a move on her, she would find it difficult to resist.

  On the journey back, close to Laura’s home, she put her hand on his and asked with a seductive smile,

  “Would you like to come in for coffee?”

  “That would be nice,” grinned von Brandt smugly.

  Inside, Laura had moved into the kitchen and was babbling nervously. Von Brandt wasn’t listening, he had crept up behind her, put his arms around her waist and began kissing her neck. Laura responded by turning around and kissing him passionately. It wasn’t long before they were in the bedroom eagerly undressing each other. Coffee would have to wait until the morning.

  ***

  Laura woke up early and looked at her bedside clock – it was six-thirty. Then as she turned to look at the man she had shared her bed with she winced. Laura was a little bruised from the night’s passion with von Brandt. The sex had been good, but why did it have to be so rough? And his stamina was unbelievable, he seemed to just go on and on. By the time it was over she was exhausted. His impassioned lovemaking had bordered on violence and it had put her off him somewhat. Whilst she studied him he began to stir. Von Brandt opened his eyes, yawned and stretched his arms out. Immediately Laura noticed a tattoo on the inside of his left upper arm. At first, she thought it was a birth mark about the size of her thumb nail, but no it clearly read ‘AB’. This automatically suggested to her that it was his blood group.

  “Good morning,” smiled Laura, “would you like that coffee now?”

  “Yes,” agreed von Brandt, simply.

  Laura winced as she stood up, put on her dressing gown, and turned to him.

  “The bathroom’s through there, if you want a shower.”

  Nodding his appreciation, von Brandt jumped up and headed for the bathroom.

  After a light breakfast and some awkward small talk, he was on his way much to Laura’s relief. She was keen to get rid of him and seek some advice from David.

  “I’ve no idea,” muttered David thoughtfully.

  He was slightly irritated, but not surprised at Laura’s revelation of discovering Gary’s tattoo, first thing this morning; it could only mean one thing, Laura and von Brandt had slept together.

  “I hope you took precautions,” commented David churlishly.

  “Of course!” protested Laura, to a question she considered impertinent.

  There was an awkward silence in the conversation.

  “Is a tattoo like that a military requirement, do you think?” pressed Laura trying to move on, and stay on topic.

  “Possibly,” mused David, “but if he’s, as I suspect, German, then the only soldiers I know of who might have had that tattoo, were the SS.”

  “But that’s impossible, he would have to be in his sixties or seventies surely?” she reasoned.

  “Yes, it is a bit of a conundrum,” he replied, still mulling the idea over in his head.

  “What do we actually know about this man?” continued David, rhetorically, “He suddenly comes into our lives, gets us to replicate a mysterious drug, then we help him to build some kind of electronic gizmo, and for what? … and now this.”

  Laura had to agree, after last night she felt very uneasy about Gary. So later that day she made a decision, she would see if she could find a private investigator to check him out. Later at home, Laura was scanning the classifieds of a local newspaper. One advertisement jumped out at her. It read, Joshua Glassman, Private Investigator – All types of Investigation Undertaken – Complete Discretion Assured. Tearing out the advert, La
ura placed it in her purse. She would be phoning him tomorrow with a view to making an appointment.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Impossible Past

  Chinatown – Los Angeles, California.

  29th July 1985

  An appointment had been made the previous day for 3pm, and Laura now found herself standing in front of a shabby brown wooden door, next to a Chinese delicatessen. All of a sudden, she was nervous; worried that this meeting would open up a can of worms which she might just regret. The door buzzed open as she announced her arrival over the intercom. Immediately, Laura was confronted by a bare wooden staircase which led up to a small landing. The whole interior looked dark, run down and dilapidated. At the top was a partition with frosted glass, and on the door, it read, Joshua Glassman – Private Investigator. Tentatively she knocked.

  “Come in,” called a voice from within.

  Laura stepped in and took in her surroundings. The room was untidy, with files and paperwork piled up on the floor. A desk in the centre of the room was equally cluttered, and the man sitting at the desk seemed to be just as dishevelled.

  “I’m Laura Ellis,” she said and extended her right hand, “I phoned you yesterday.”

  “Indeed, Miss Ellis,” replied Glassman, shaking her hand.

  Glassman’s hand was cold and clammy, and now she had the opportunity to appraise the man, she couldn’t help but be a little repulsed. His features were sharp, with a pointed unshaven chin, and a large red, hooked nose, which suggested to her that he drank too much. Glassman’s thinning hair was jet black and greasy. His clothes didn’t help her overall impression of him either; the brown suit he was wearing being tatty and covering an off-white shirt that looked like it needed a good wash. A musty smell could be discerned and Laura couldn’t tell whether it was the room or the man; already she was regretting her decision.

  The seedy little man leant forwards on his desk, with hands clasped together, brazenly displaying dirty fingernails. He smiled in a way that he hoped would reassure his potential new client; it didn’t.