by A. D. Winch
Finally, the Major spoke, “I’m sorry, Professor.”
“For what?”
It wasn’t easy to talk through the mask, but Major Marshall understood.
“You’re not to blame for what happened. I can only imagine one of the gas canisters exploded and set off a chain reaction.”
Professor Schwarzkopf nodded, “You’re probably right.”
“Once we know it is safe to go down we will investigate that. Have no fear. Obviously you’re in shock but I’m deeply sorry for your loss.”
“It’s not a great loss, Major. I’m alive, and I have it all stored up here.”
He pointed weakly to his head with his right hand.
Major Marshall’s face dropped further, and he looked up to the sky before speaking again, “You don’t know do you?”
“Know what?”
“I think you’re the only survivor, Johan,” said Major Marshall, visibly uncomfortable.
“Of course I am. I was the only one down there,” he replied, raising his voice as he did so.
Major Marshall’s face almost crumbled, “But you weren’t.”
Lying on the desert floor under the setting sun, a terrible chill came over him. He didn’t want to hear anymore but felt that he had little choice than to ask the Major to continue.
“Ingrid wasn’t feeling so well and asked me if she could leave the base tonight rather than tomorrow morning. I agreed, but she wanted to see you first, so I drove her up here personally. She wasn’t herself at all and kept muttering a poem to herself,” explained Major Marshall.
“She does that when she is worried. Where’s Ingrid now?” he stammered. His head was in a spin.
Major Marshall rocked back and forth and let out a sigh.
“I can only assume…, I’m sorry, Johan. I truly am.”
Time doesn’t heal everything, thought Professor Schwarzkopf wiping his eyes and looking at the bunk above him.
When the firefighters had finally got down to the lab, the fire had been raging for three days and all that was left were embers. Everything had been reduced to ashes except the body of the alien. It was the only body they found, and it looked untouched. They could not find any remains of Ingrid; she was pronounced ‘missing, presumed dead.’ There was no funeral nor a memorial service. Over fifty years later, Professor Schwarzkopf knew that these three words were still written on her file.
A loud rapping on the door stirred him from his memories, but he welcomed the intrusion. The door slid open, and a soldier entered. He was dressed in desert fatigues, but there was no indication on these of his name, rank or regiment.
“Sorry to disturb you, Sir.
“You weren’t disturbing me.”
The soldier’s response was immediate and unexpected, “We know.”
Professor Schwarzkopf was not altogether surprised. On occasions, he had woken Henry downstairs with the loud volume of his coughing. The whole corridor outside his room had probably heard him.
“Agent Angel has requested your presence at midnight in the briefing room, Sir,” drilled the soldier. “I shall collect you at twenty-three fifty-five and please wear your heat sensor I.D. otherwise you will attract the attention of the base’s security team.”
He handed Professor Schwarzkopf the I.D., pass from the floor.
“Thank you Lieutenant. Dismissed,” replied Professor Schwarzkopf, unaware of the soldier’s actual rank. There were no insignia on his shoulders.
“It’s Corporal, Sir,” corrected the soldier, who turned on his heels and marched out of the room.
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Chapter 4 – Working Day and Night
In a small rented laboratory not far from the Eiffel Tower, Andrea Duna and Doctor Alexander Johansen had been at work day and night. Neither had changed clothing for a while but whereas Andrea’s leathers and ‘Marilyn Manson’ T-shirt looked barely worn, Alexander’s clothes did not. His clothes were ruffled, and sweat stains were clearly visible on his red T-shirt. They worked doggedly trying to find a cure to keep Eric and Ursula alive beyond the age of fourteen. No one knew for sure that they would pass away before this age. However, by analysing DNA and blood samples they were sure it wasn’t a case of ‘if’ they would die young but ‘when.’
Andrea’s and Alexander’s dedication was evident in their surroundings. In one corner of the lab, there was a blow-up mattress and a sleeping bag. Take-away food boxes, facial wipes and cans of energy drink spilled out of the bin near the door.
Covering the work surfaces were test tubes, petri dishes, a dog-eared notebook, microscopes, computers and a small fridge. Inside it stood two bags of deep, crimson blood that had been reluctantly donated by Eric and Ursula.
It was almost eight in the morning. The sun was already warm and had started to stream in through the open window. Alexander was hunched over a microscope and barely noticed that the night was over. Andrea was sat upright on a stool, staring at strands of DNA rapidly flicking across the computer screen. She occasionally glanced at her smart phone which showed a map of Paris and two flashing dots over Saint-Denis. They had been working eighteen hours straight trying to prove a theory that they thought may lead to a breakthrough.
Demonstrating little control or coordination, Alexander pushed the microscope away from him and towards the window.
“I admit defeat,” he said, struggling to hold back a yawn and slurring his words. “It just doesn’t hold up. The theory was sound, but it was just a theory and doesn’t work practically.”
Without taking her eyes off the screen, Andrea replied, “Get some sleep.”
“Good idea.” Alexander acted as if he was delighted to see the day. “The sun is up, so it’s a perfect time to catch-up with some much needed rest. After all...”
“Get some sleep,” repeated Andrea bluntly. “You are of no use to anybody if tiredness causes you to make mistakes.”
Alexander did not wait to be told again; he picked up the notebook and drunkenly stumbled towards the mattress. He fell down upon it, lay on his back and looked at the brown and tatty book.
“Get some sleep,” ordered Andrea.
“I just want to check something first,” replied Alexander, looking intently at the book.
On the front cover, he read ‘Professor Larsen - Notes and Diary,’ written in neat, cursive script. Andrea had found it in the pod she had located twelve years previously, and it contained Professor Larsen’s most up-to-date records before she was killed in the space station explosion. Andrea had kept it with the other Professor Larsen books she had in her possession before passing it onto Alexander. In the last three months, he had thumbed through the pages so often that he knew exactly what he was looking for. He flicked to the back of the book. On the last page, Professor Larsen had written ‘Fears’ in big letters at the top of the page. Alexander scanned through them again.
Number 1 – there is at least one extra-terrestrial being in Roswell. It is powerful, controlling and could be looking for a new home. A hotter Earth?
Number 2 – Agent Angel is becoming more powerful and will stop at nothing to create his Identical Hybrid Beings. A super army for a super power?
Number 3 – Adam and Eve will not live beyond their 14th birthdays.
Underneath them, written in tiny script in the margin at the bottom of the page was one word – ‘Alexander.' Next to his name, the book had been torn, and a piece of the page was missing.
Alexander looked at his name until the need for sleep gradually took over. He held the book to his chest like a teddy bear, closed his eyes, and was snoring soon after.
As he slept, Andrea continued to work, oblivious to the sun beams entering the room. Rays of light crept across the work surface and shone strongly onto Alexander’s microscope and the glass slide of blood it held.
Alexander slept through another glorious morning while, in another district of Paris, Eric and Ursula spent most of the day sunbathing. The sun beat down incessantly a
nd up until dinner time not a single cloud appeared in the bright, blue sky.
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Chapter 5 – Weapons of Mass Destruction
On the stroke of midnight, Professor Schwarzkopf was shown into a plain room with grey walls and no windows. Near the door was a black lectern, and behind it a digital screen showing The Stars and Stripes flag fluttering in the wind.
There were twelve chairs in front of the lectern, and all but two were occupied. Six soldiers wearing desert fatigues were sat at the back, and Professor Schwarzkopf found it hard to tell if they were male or female. Their hair was cut short, their clothes spotless and their muscles visible. Professor Schwarzkopf was confident that they were all Special Ops. None of them showed any emotions, they were all sat bolt upright, almost to attention, and they all looked like they would kill in the blink of an eye. Professor Schwarzkopf couldn’t help thinking they looked like six Dobermans, ready to pounce on command.
Just in front of the soldiers sat four sleepy and grumpy looking scientists whom Professor Schwarzkopf already knew. They were Doctor Khan, Professor Li, Professor Warne and last, but by no means least, Jean Kurtz. He could handle the first three and did not find them entirely disagreeable company, but he could not say the same about Kurtz. In spite of the bags under her eyes, she sat like the soldiers, trying to look expectant and eager. Next to her the other scientists slouched, closed their eyes or held their heads in their hands.
The two free seats were beside Kurtz. Professor Schwarzkopf slowly approached them, greeted Kurtz through gritted teeth and sat down. As he did so, everyone else jumped up; Agent Angel had marched determinedly into the room. He was also wearing desert fatigues and looked as if he had just returned from the desert. He took up his position behind the lectern and looked over the small audience in front of him.
Professor Schwarzkopf stared at Agent Angel and tried to understand how he could look this good when they were both nearly the same age. Agent Angel was the size of a bear, and his strength was still evident. His arms were huge, his neck like a tree trunk and his chest like a barrel. Admittedly there were signs of his age. The hair covering his face and arms was grey, his face wrinkled and his teeth and nails were yellow from years of smoking. However, these were small things compared to the ailments that Professor Schwarzkopf suffered from.
Agent Angel gripped the lectern with fingers the size of sausages and addressed those present in a deep voice scarred by years of smoking.
“For the last twelve years we have been trying to locate the whereabouts of two escape pods jettisoned from a space station orbiting our planet.
“As you all know, we located these escape pods in Italy and Romania, and we brought them back here. The work of our scientists has provided me with indisputable evidence that these escape pods each contained a passenger. Passengers that, though human in appearance, are clearly alien in their DNA make-up. They go by the names of Eric Meyer and Ursula. Until we can break into her school database, we will not have the surname it has chosen for itself.”
Images of the children appeared on the screen behind him.
“But these are not mere children and we should not be duped into thinking they are only kids. They are powerful and from now on we will refer to them as White King and Black Queen. Already they have escaped capture by Team Omega, which only a rare few ‘most wanted’ have done.” He pointed at the pictures of the children, “These creatures pose an imminent and deadly threat to our own way of life on this planet.”
Agent Angel banged his fist on the lectern for effect, startling the scientists who almost fell off their chairs. Professor Schwarzkopf remained unmoved. He had heard a similar speech from Agent Angel not that long ago.
“Our intel is reliable and we firmly believe these creatures to be weapons of mass destruction.”
Professor Schwarzkopf couldn’t help but cough. When he had finished, he wearily said, “But they’re only children, Buddy. I told you that a few months ago when we were on the island of Vis, and I’m telling you it again now.”
A vein in Agent Angel’s neck started to pulse, and Professor Schwarzkopf could sense Kurtz looking daggers at him.
“Were Adolf Hitler, Jozef Stalin and Pol Pot weapons of mass destruction, Professor?”
Professor Schwarzkopf thought for a second before replying, “They were people. Bad people, but people nevertheless.”
Agent Angel’s fingers gripped the lectern tighter.
“Collectively they killed between forty and eighty million people. Therefore, we can safely say that they are weapons of mass destruction.”
“No,” replied Professor Schwarzkopf, fighting back a cough. “They are instigators of genocide.”
“You quibble over semantics, Professor,” replied Agent Angel menacingly. “The fact is simple, if you had killed these three men when they were children you could have saved millions of lives.”
“Even if it were possible to go back in time, you can’t kill someone for something they haven’t done yet. That’s wrong, morally wrong, and would surely be against human rights.”
“And so is mass genocide!” stated Agent Angel with finality and resumed addressing the whole room. “Black Queen and White King are weapons of mass destruction.”
Pawns in a game you’re playing, more like, thought Professor Schwarzkopf.
“I was thinking they should be disposed of, but…,” Agent Angel paused for just the right amount of time, “taking into consideration the opinions of Professor Schwarzkopf, I have decided that we should adopt a more humane approach and render them instead. We shall bring them here or to another destination.”
I’ve just played right into your hands, thought Professor Schwarzkopf, I gave you the move you wanted, and you took it. You had no intention of killing those children. You could have killed them in Italy, but you chose not to. It was always your mission objective to capture them. If you were going to kill them then why would I and the other scientists be here?
“I have previously used Team Omega but their missions have not been as successful as expected. Therefore, I have personally selected a new team for this mission. They will be called Team Jupiter and from this point forwards each of you will be known as one of its moons,” he pointed, one by one, to the soldiers sat at the back of the room, “Carme, Arche, Carpo, Metis, Thebe and Elara. For your first mission, you will be in charge of the rendition, once we have a location for Black Queen and White King. Kurtz and the scientific team, plus Professor Schwarzkopf, will continue to work on the escape pods. When the rendition is complete, and we have these two creatures, the scientists can use them to assist with their experiments. Dismissed.”
While the soldiers and scientists filtered out of the room, Agent Angel approached Professor Schwarzkopf. He loomed over the Professor, who was coughing violently.
“All those years and the cough never went away. Must be hard, John,” he said, lighting up a cigarette.
“My lungs were damaged in the underground lab fire. You know that as well as I do, Buddy. I survived; that’s the main thing.”
“You sure did,” replied Agent Angel reminiscing, “I remember it as well as…”
Professor Schwarzkopf was not in the mood to relive those memories again and cut him off.
“Why am I here?”
“To help that Klutz Kurtz and her clowns.”
Crossing his arms, Professor Schwarzkopf replied, “I’m going home, Buddy. I’m very old, and I’m tired and I want to be left in peace. I’ve no interest in helping you with whatever you have planned for those two children. You have not convinced me of the danger, and therefore, I don’t agree with what you said, and I don’t believe what you said.”
Agent Angel showed no emotion as he reflected on Professor Schwarzkopf’s words.
“I won’t stand in your way, John. I’ll have a plane waiting for you at fifteen hundred hours. I’d like to have a drink though before you leave, for old time’s sake. Let’s say fo
urteen hundred hours in my quarters. I’ll send someone to collect you.”
Professor Schwarzkopf was going to say ‘no’, but he changed his mind when he saw the look of apparent defeat on Agent Angel’s face.
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Chapter 6 – Stade de France
Electricity was in the air, and dark storm clouds were gathering on the horizon. They blew menacingly over the city while the Benjamins and Eric tucked into their dessert.
Eric finished eating and walked to the window. His clothes were grey and black. Against the backdrop of the coming storm, he was almost camouflaged. Ursula joined him, and she was dressed almost identically.
Are we still going to do this tonight? thought Ursula.
Of course, thought Eric, the storm will provide even better cover for us.
Behind them, Mémé cleared the dishes from the table and took them into the kitchen for Granddad Benjamin to wash-up. She stood behind him like a parrot perched on his shoulder, telling him what to do while Granddad Benjamin carried on regardless, apparently deaf to the ‘correct way’ of washing-up. However, when Ursula asked if she and Eric could go out onto the roof to watch the storm, he replied immediately, “Yes.”
“But only if you take your raincoats and umbrellas,” added Mémé and went to fetch them. She returned with a black travel umbrella, a large ‘Roland Garros 1982’ tennis umbrella and their waterproof jackets which she made them put on straight away.
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” she fussed. “I worry when you two are up there.”
“We know,” answered the children together.
“We’ll be fine,” reassured Ursula. “The worst that could happen is that we get wet.”
“And I love storms. I can watch them for hours,” added Eric.
