by CW Hawes
“I think you’re right. This is it. We’re done for.”
The first car drove over the kerb and up to the rear entrance, where it stopped about ten feet away.
The second car had just gone up over the kerb when Milano came running alongside the slow moving vehicle. He jumped up onto the car, tossed a grenade into the open turret, and jumped off. An explosion and the armoured car, still running, ploughed into the first armoured car.
Sax was moving up to join Milano. Kit took cover with us behind our thoroughly wrecked motor.
“Milano deserves a medal for that,” he said.
“He does,” I replied.
“I wish there was some way we could get inside the place,” Dunyasha said. “There are just too many soldiers.”
Kit agreed.
“Listen,” I said.
“It’s quiet,” Kit said.
“Yes,” I replied.
“That can’t be good,” Dunyasha added.
There was a whistle and then an explosion.
“Artillery!” Dunyasha exclaimed.
“Whose?” Kit asked.
“Doesn’t matter,” I said. “We’re in the target area and we need to get out of the target area.”
Another round came in and hit the armoured cars.
“Where’s Sax and Milano?” Kit asked.
“They were moving up to the buildings,” Dunyasha said.
“Don’t see them,” Kit replied.
“Hope that shell didn’t get them,” I said.
Another shell dropped in, blowing a big crater in the street.
“Where’s Ernest?” I asked.
“Good question,” Kit said. “Stay here. I’ll find out.”
Kit left and another round came in. The shell penetrated the burning building and exploded.
“I have one magazine left, plus whatever is in the one in the gun,” Dunyasha said.
“The same with me.”
“This isn’t good.”
In the light cast by the flames from the burning building, we saw a group of men run from the ruin. One of them was carrying a satchel.
“They’re making a run for it with the fleece, Dru. Now!”
The group had made the street and was running towards us. My guess was they were heading for the rugged terrain northeast of the city. We opened fire and caught them by surprise. Down they went. I dropped the empty magazine and put in my last one. From across the street, running out of one of the houses, came four men. We opened fire and they fell.
“Where the hell are Sax and Milano?” Dunyasha asked.
“They might be dead.”
We walked over to the group of bodies. I opened the satchel. In the light from the burning building, Dunyasha and I were looking at a bag full of gold.
Twenty-Eight
The Test
Hall Media Offices
Kutaisi, Georgia
Saturday, 24 April 1954
Dunyasha and I grabbed the satchel and made for an abandoned house, out of the shelling zone. We waited until after midnight before making our way back to the Hall Media Office. Everyone had gotten back before us, except for Peter Zholkov, Dorman Shelsher, and Ernest. The robot took two panzerfaust anti-tank hits and “died”. Dorman was killed trying to protect the WUROS and Zholkov was killed by a sniper on the return to Hall Media.
Dunyasha and my arrival was welcomed with much fanfare and when we displayed the golden fleece, we were treated as though we were Jason and Medea. I just hope I’m not Medea. Then again, Jason wasn’t so great either.
Doctors Franzen and Rodman and Mafeking Smith huddled around the fleece to examine it. Their collective conclusion was if it was a fake, it was an ancient fake.
“There is one sure way to tell if it is a fake,” Elise said.
“What is that?” Franzen asked.
Doctor Rodman picked up the fleece and carried it over to the pale and feverish Jake Branson. “We’ll cover Mr Branson with the fleece. If he is healed, we’ll know it is real. But I have no doubt. Holding it in my arms, I can feel its energy.” She laid the fleece on Branson.
We gathered around and watched and waited for the miracle. A minute went by, then two.
Dunyasha touched his forehead. In awe, she whispered, “His fever is broken.”
Another minute passed and we all could see his colour return to normal.
After two more minutes went by, Branson sat up and said, “This is the best damn blanket anyone could ask for.”
Kit Somers stepped forward. “Now I have to take possession of it in the name of the United States government.”
Dunyasha said, “Not so fast, Somers. Dru recovered the fleece and she is getting it back.”
“I’m sorry,” Kit said. “You all just witnessed what it did. It healed Jake Branson. Doctor Rodman spoke of the power it conveyed just with her holding it. This thing is too powerful to be in the hands of a private citizen. The government will keep the fleece in a safe place.”
There was a brief scuffle and Franzen, one arm around Klara’s throat and the other holding a pistol to her head, said, “I’m sorry, Mr Somers, if you don’t want anything to happen to your wife, you will kindly put the fleece back into the satchel.”
“Wilbur, what is the meaning of this?” Elise Rodman demanded.
“I’m sorry, Elise. You see the fleece must go to the most deserving man of the age. It must go to the Führer!”
“This is crazy!” I exclaimed. “All this death, all this destruction for a goddamn sheep skin?”
Franzen went on, “This sheepskin will enable the Führer to personally lead his thousand year Reich for its duration and in so doing bring a new golden age to all mankind. Now, Mr Somers, put the fleece in the satchel.”
Kit did so.
“Now everyone step back from the bag,” Franzen ordered. “Mr Smith?”
Mafeking, armed with a pistol, took Klara from Franzen and the professor retrieved the satchel.
“So you’re a Nazi, too,” Kit said.
Mafeking shrugged. “No. They just paid better than everyone else.
Kit pointed his finger at the antiquities dealer. “I will personally see to it you never set foot in the United States again. And maybe even Britain!”
Mafeking shrugged again. “The Germans have been good to me. Home is where you make it.”
“Now, we will be on our way,” Doctor Franzen said.
“What about Klara?” Kit asked.
“We will let her go when we are sure no one is following us,” Franzen said. “Who has the keys to the truck?”
Karl took them out of his pocket. “I do,” he said.
“Give them to me, please,” the doctor ordered.
Karl did as Franzen requested.
Franzen left the office with the satchel and Mafeking, holding Klara, followed.
Suddenly there was a gunshot and then a second. We rushed to the door as Klara came running back in, straight into the arms of her husband. Mafeking entered next with the satchel. Kit stuck out his hand for it. Mafeking shook his head.
“Sorry, old boy,” he said. “This goes to Lady Hurley-Drummond.” The group made way for him and he handed the satchel over to me. He explained, “Because I’ve done business with the Reich, they sought to recruit me in case Franzen failed. I accepted the assignment and got Ernest to help secure the fleece. However, I also got an offer from British intelligence. The fact of the matter, though, is Mr Hall hired me first and paid me more. I never intended to work for the Nazis. I was tempted to do my duty for the Queen. In the end, money and a long standing business partnership won the day.”
Dunyasha muttered, “Goddamn mercenaries. Can’t trust them.”
Elise was found outside, sobbing over the body of her colleague. I think she loved him and even in the face of rejection and betrayal she wasn’t going to let him go.
Another person dead because of the fleece. How many more? I had the thing and yet I didn’t trust Mafeking. Kit wanted it. The so
ldiers would do their best to make sure the government got it. The jury was still out on Branson, as far as I was concerned. I felt I could trust Karl and Dunyasha. Until we got back to the States and I could turn the thing over to Mr Hall, I had a feeling I wasn’t going to get much sleep.
Twenty-Nine
Mikhail
Hall Media Office
Kutaisi, Georgia
Saturday, 24 April 1954
Unbeknownst to us, Malz had, prior to our arrival, cabled Mr Hall asking for help due to the deteriorating situation on the ground. About the time we left Lakehurst, a Boeing seaplane, carrying thirty heavily armed Pinkerton agents took off for Istanbul. Yesterday, Malz cabled saying the situation was desperate and we could use those agents any time now.
This morning, just after Franzen’s death, the Pinkerton men arrived.
Malz explained, “Mr Hall doesn’t want to give up the office. The situation, though, is becoming too dangerous.” To Karl, he said, “Ten agents will go with you to the coast and provide protection until Argo arrives.”
Karl asked, “Any word from Admiral Rosendahl?”
“Nothing,” Malz replied.
“Then we’ll just have to hope for the best,” Karl said.
We gathered our equipment and were about to leave, when a machine gun opened fire spraying the front of the office with bullets. We dived for the floor, lead and glass flying toward us.
Branson yelled, “Stay down. I’m checking the back door.”
In a moment we heard machine gun fire coming from the rear of the building. Sergeant Sax low crawled past us towards the back of the building.
Dunyasha said, “Great. We’re surrounded. How many lives have we used up on this trip?”
“Just to remind you, we’re not cats,” I said.
“Damn it. Back to another crap shoot.”
Karl crawled over to where we were. “Dru, Dunyasha, we are in a jam. We all know what they want. Our only alternatives, as near as I can see, are to give up the fleece or try to shoot our way out. To be honest, I’m sick of all the killing.”
We heard a voice amplified by a megaphone. My skin crawled at the sound.
“Lady Hurley-Drummond, surrender the fleece and you will live. You all will live.”
Dunyasha spat. “Neratoff is the proverbial bad penny.”
Branson crawled back. “They have us surrounded,” he said. “Mr Weidner, do you know where Malz is?”
“Somewhere over there, I believe.”
Branson continued, “I need to know if there is roof access. Might be our only hope.” He crawled off in search of the office director.
I said to Karl, “See, he’s going to tie all our shoelaces together into one long string and walk across the canyon, leading us to safety.”
Dunyasha burst out laughing and Karl smiled. Karl said, “I am interested in seeing what manner of escape plan he hatches.”
“I’m sure it will be a doozy. Maybe he’s our Medea.”
At that the three of us laughed.
Neratoff spoke again, “Come, now, Lady Hurley-Drummond, this is not so very difficult. Turnover the fleece to us and we both leave in peace.”
“I’ll stall,” I said and high crawled over to the shattered window. A couple Pinkerton men had gotten killed in the initial barrage. More lives lost for that goddamn sheepskin.
I formed my hands like a megaphone and yelled, “I’m not in charge, my lord. The situation is being discussed.”
Neratoff replied, “You have five minutes.”
“We need ten, my lord.”
He chuckled. “You would bargain with God for better accommodations in heaven and with the Devil, in hell. I’m sorry. You now have four and a half minutes. You see, Lady Hurley-Drummond, you have the losing hand this time.”
There was a strange noise. Then I saw the German helicopter floating down out of the sky. When it landed and the dust cloud dispersed, the door opened, and out stepped Mikhail. My heart skipped a beat.
Karl joined me and whispered, “Branson and six of the Pinkerton men are going up to the roof. Sax and Milano have set up one of the machine guns at the back entrance.”
“Karl, we don’t have much ammunition left.”
Dunyasha joined us. She took one look and said, “Oh, my God, it’s Mikhail.”
Karl said, “Captain Turbanev?”
“The very same,” Dunyasha replied.
Mikhail spoke, his voice amplified. “My little rose, please, end this foolhardiness. Bring me the fleece.”
Dunyasha and Karl were looking at me.
Kit joined us and said, “They’re ready on the roof.”
Mikhail spoke again, “Drusilla, please, let us talk. We will meet in the street. Just you and I.”
His voice very soft, almost a whisper, Karl asked, “Well, Dru, what is your decision?”
“I’ll talk with him. Maybe we can end this. Come to an agreement so no more blood has to be shed.”
Karl nodded.
Dunyasha touched my cheek. “Good luck, Little Kitten.”
Kit said, “Yes. Good luck, Dru.”
I walked out of the building and when Mikhail saw me he began walking towards me. We met in the middle of the street. Just he and I. We stood there looking at each other.
“Hello, Dru.”
“Hello, Mikhail.”
“Dru, I love you. My offer still stands. Bring me the fleece, my little rose, and I will marry you. I will make you the Empress of all the Russias. You and I, my darling, will rule the greatest nation on earth. Please say, ‘yes’. Please.”
Before me stood a promise of what all girls dream of. To be a princess, a queen, an empress. Mikhail was offering me a dream. My mind flashed back to our nights together. Nights of intense and passionate lovemaking. Looking over his shoulder, I saw Neratoff. His face a blank slate. I looked at Mikhail’s eyes. Yes, I saw love there. I saw the fulfillment of my wish to have a husband to love and care for. Perhaps even children. Everything I’d dreamed of — and more.
He reached out his hand and touched my cheek. A thrill went through me. I felt my nipples harden in anticipation. I reached up and covered his hand with mine. Then removed his hand from my cheek.
“I’m sorry, Mikhail, I am no longer available. I’m committed to another.”
“I see. You will not change your mind?”
I shook my head.
“Very well. Then I ask you to turn over the fleece. Don’t let this become a blood bath.”
“I can’t, Mikhail. I made a promise. I can’t break it.”
“Come now, my precious rose, for you are, even though you reject me, all promises can be broken. Isn’t the saying ‘promises are made to be broken’?”
I nodded and said, “But I can’t. Not this one.”
He sighed. “Then at least let me take you away from here. Protect you.”
I shook my head. “No, Captain Turbanev. I cannot abandon my friends. If you intend to get the fleece by killing, then you will have to kill me for it.”
There was a sadness in his eyes. “I want it and you won’t give it to me. What other option is there?”
“Perhaps you can make an arrangement with Mr Hall to share the fleece.”
Mikhail laughed. “I believe, Drusilla, that will be highly unlikely. I doubt he will want to give it up once he has it, even if I had you and Mr von Weidner as hostages. Compared to the fleece, people are nothing. Once he has it, everyone will be expendable. Even you and Mr von Weidner.”
I said nothing. I had a feeling Mikhail was right. Sharing the fleece was out of the question. The thing was simply too powerful. Another gift from the gods that was just too goddamn much for people to handle.
“There is another option.”
“What is that, Drusilla?”
“You could give up the fleece and let us leave. You don’t have to be my executioner.”
Mikhail was silent. We looked at each other. Neither of us speaking. I looked into his eyes and I saw sadnes
s and loneliness. I also saw a hardness and a determination.
Time passed. Minutes, hours, days, months, and years. We stood there looking at each other. Two lovers who’d loved and lost. Doomed, star-crossed lovers who’d dreamed and then watched those dreams vanish with the rising of the sun.
Were there the beginnings of tears in his eyes? Perhaps. It was difficult to tell because of the tears in my own.
He spoke. His voice soft and tender. “Goodbye, Drusilla. My precious little rose.”
He turned and began walking back.
I found my voice and said, “Goodbye, Mikhail.”
For the briefest of moments his steps faltered. Then he resumed his pace back to his troops. I turned and walked back to my friends.
Karl, Dunyasha, and Kit were waiting for me. I don’t think they’d moved an inch. Karl started to speak, but it was Dunyasha who got the first word out.
“Well?”
“He wants the fleece and once again asked me to marry him.”
Dunyasha asked, “What did you tell him?”
I looked at Karl. “I love you and we have promised to marry each other one day. I am yours, Karl. Yours. I told Mikhail, ‘no’.”
He was looking down. I think he didn’t want to meet my eyes. Then he looked at me and spoke, “Thank you, Dru. Thank you.”
“Then we had best get the hell ready for the onslaught,” Dunyasha said.
Kit nodded and took off.
“Come you two,” she said.
Mikhail and Neratoff were talking. Mikhail nodded, got back into the helicopter, and it lifted off.
The three of us started for the back of the building.
“Your time is up, Lady Hurley-Drummond. I told Captain Turbanev you will be spared, if possible.”
I turned and looked. He made a hand motion and the fusillade began. Kit and Mafeking brought up the remaining machine gun and two Pinkerton agents had the Brownings. Then, like a tidal wave, partisans surged forward their number impossible to count. Karl, Dunyasha, and I moved further back to make room for the Pinkerton men. I grabbed the satchel and the three of us headed for one of the offices. I nabbed Klara on the way. We entered Malz’s office and found him hiding under his desk.
