Chaos

by David Meyer

Bodies were everywhere.

  “What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?” Beverly stepped around me. “Oh my God. What happened…?”

  The stench of blood and death hovered in the air. Turning on my flashlight, I wandered into the yard. The beam illuminated faces. Faces I’d barely known.

  Faces I’d never forget.

  I spotted movement and headed for it.

  “Didn’t I…didn’t I tell you to go away?”

  I shivered as I knelt down next to the Ghost. The yard was like an icebox. I peeled back his shirt. It only took me a moment to realize that his wounds were fatal. “What happened?” I asked.

  “Help me up.”

  I helped him into a sitting position. As I propped him against the nearest wall, he shot me a determined scowl.

  “They…they’re after die Glocke.”

  “You know about die Glocke?”

  “Of course I do…don’t you know who I am?”

  A tingling sensation rose in my chest. “You’re Fred Jenson, aren’t you?”

  “Damn straight. Never should’ve tried to pawn that gold bar.”

  “Why’d you do it?”

  “We were in rough shape and needed food, medicine. God, I was stupid. Should’ve just forced everyone to go to the hospital. But no, my ego was too big for that. Thought I could handle everything by myself.”

  “That’s not important now. We need to get you to the surface.”

  He pushed away my arms. “I’m not going anywhere. My time’s short. So, level with me. What are you? Army? FBI?”

  “I’m an archaeologist. Well, I used to be one anyways.”

  He chuckled, then coughed, spitting up blood. “Well, doesn’t that just beat all? How’d you get roped into this anyway?”

  “A man named Jack Chase hired me. He runs a military outfit named ShadowFire. I imagine his people are the ones who shot you.”

  His face darkened. “I see.”

  I noticed a glimmer of recognition in his eyes. “Do you know him?”

  “Yes,” he replied after a moment.

  “How?”

  “What’s it matter?”

  “I want to stop him.”

  “I know what you want from me. But I can’t talk about it. They swore me to secrecy, said it was the only way to keep die Glocke from falling into the wrong hands. Kept my word for over thirty years and I’m not going to break it now.”

  “Maybe that worked before,” I said. “But Chase and his men are searching these tunnels for die Glocke. It’s only a matter of time before they find it.”

  He gave me a long look. “You need to hear a story. It’s not…”

  Suddenly, he coughed, wheezing for air. I slapped him on the back. He sounded horrible and I knew that his time was near.

  “…my story,” he continued. It’s…it’s compiled from scraps I picked up from the Sand Demons. Back in 1976.”

  “The Sand Demons?”

  Sweat poured from his forehead. “I’ll…I’ll get to them. But first I need to tell you about the war. A Nazi physicist named Hartek…a real brainy guy…he worked at some top-secret facility.”

  “I found his laboratory. Apparently, you did too, since you recovered one of his gold bars.” I reached into my pocket and removed the badge. “This was in his desk.”

  “That’s the…”

  He gasped, spitting blood all over himself. My heart wrenched as he lapsed into another coughing fit. His fate was sealed. There was nothing I could do to help him. The only question that remained was whether or not he would finish his story in time.

  “Stay with me,” I said. “You were talking about the badge.”

  “It’s a…a Golden Party Badge. Given to the original Nazi Party members. Hartek…he wasn’t one of them. He got his because of die Glocke.”

  “What is die Glocke?”

  “The Bell.”

  “The Bell?”

  “Die Glocke…is…German for the Bell.”

  I recalled the bell-shaped object from Hartek’s journal. “What can you tell me about it?”

  “Saw it only once. Looked like…like a bell. A big bell.”

  “What did it do?”

  “I…”

  His eyes closed. I tried to speak but my mouth was dry. My hands grabbed his shoulders and shook him vigorously.

  Hold on Ghost…just a little longer…

  His eyes fluttered open. “I…the Bell…don’t know what it did.” He swallowed. “Some kind of particle accelerator I think. The Nazi’s…they called it a wunderwaffe.”

  “Wunderwaffe?”

  “Wonder weapon. To turn around the war. Fortunately, they ran out of…out of time. SS bastards didn’t want the Allies getting the technology. Murdered over sixty scientists.”

  “But Hartek survived.”

  He nodded. “SS spared him. His Bell…it was going to help them build a Fourth Reich. But our guys got to Hartek first. Brought him here. He slipped away a few years later…built a lab to continue his research…in secret. Hired a couple of kids…Cook. Gretchen. And Rictor…Sam Rictor.”

  “There were only two bodies in the lab.”

  “Rictor betrayed Hartek.” Jenson coughed and his voice became scratchy. “Killed the two kids. Kidnapped Hartek with his two brothers. They…they…stole the Bell. Planned to sell it to the highest bidder…Jack Chase. Sand Demons…they found out about it. And they…”

  His eyes closed. Gritting my teeth, I shook him again.

  His lids opened ever so slightly. “What…?”

  “The Sand Demons. You were just about to tell me about the Sand Demons.”

  “The Sand Demons. They were sandhogs…subway miners. They liked Hartek, even helped build his lab. They learned…about Rictor. Came to the rescue….”

  “What happened to Hartek?” I asked. “And where’s the Bell? Did they destroy it?”

  Jenson’s voice suddenly grew feeble. “Didn’t destroy it…couldn’t destroy it…don’t know why. Sand Demons put the Bell into the Omega…there’s a tunnel although it doesn’t look that way. Oh, and don’t forget the gold…it’s the foundation…the foundation of Hartek’s…”

  His eyes closed.

  His raspy breathing slowed, then stopped.

  I shook him violently.

  But he never awakened.

  Chapter 31

  “Is he…?”

  I nodded. “He’s dead.”

  Beverly paused a few seconds. “What do you think?”

  “Jenson mentioned that the Bell was some sort of primitive particle accelerator. Does that sound familiar to you?”

  “No.”

  “He also talked about some group called the Sand Demons. And there was something about the Bell being in the Omega. And a tunnel that didn’t look that way. I don’t know. Maybe he was just delirious.”

  “Let’s assume that’s not the case.” She scrunched up her forehead in thought. “So, a third assistant named Rictor decided to steal the Bell and sell it to Jack. Obviously, he wouldn’t want Jack to steal it out from under him. So, he kept the laboratory’s location a secret.”

  I stood up. “That’s right. Then Rictor killed the other assistants and took the Bell with the help of his brothers. But before he could sell it, the Sand Demons intervened. That explains why Chase never got his hands on the Bell. The Sand Demons stole it.”

  “And did what with it?”

  I shrugged. “Who knows? Unfortunately, that’s when Jenson started babbling.”

  “Did you catch what he said about not being able to destroy the Bell?”

  I heard the edge in her voice. “Maybe he misspoke. After all, that’s when he started to get delirious. Anyways, it’s a moot point unless we actually find the Bell. And unfortunately, we’re no closer now than when we started.”

  “What about that journal you found? Maybe it can tell us where the Sand Demons took the Bell.”

  “It’s nothing but observations and equations. Anyways, Hartek left the journal behind. So, eve
n if he knew where the Bell went, he never got a chance to write it down.”

  “What do you think happened to Hartek?”

  “We know that Rictor kidnapped him,” I replied. “As to what happened afterward, well, I have no idea.”

  She sighed. “We’re out of leads. I say we go back to the tunnels and keep an eye on Jack.”

  I stood still for a few seconds, mulling over our options. Finally, I cleared my throat. “Maybe it’s time we went to the police.”

  “If you do, you’ll end up with a bullet in the back of your head. Jack’s untouchable. Believe me, I should know.”

  I looked around the yard, seeing the sad, still corpses and the meager possessions scattered about the space. My gaze lingered on Jenson. It struck me that he seemed to have a troubled past, one which drove him to become a hermit. He existed outside the mainstream. Respectable people shunned him. In short, he was like me, post-Explorer’s Society.

  The Explorer’s Society was as much a part of me as my college education, my days as an urban archaeologist, and my memories. But I was now an outsider to its hallowed halls, something I doubted would ever change.

  I knew I could never fully return to that world. The past three years had seen to that. I was a different person now, irrevocably changed in ways I had barely begun to contemplate.

  Yet, I could never fully leave that world behind either. It was too much a part of my past, too much a part of me. Regardless of where fate led me, I would always have one foot within the Explorer’s Society and one foot outside it.

  As I mulled over our situation, my mind suddenly focused. I knew what I had to do. I needed to stop thinking like a respectable urban archaeologist and start thinking like a treasure hunter.

  “You follow Chase and his people,” I said. “I’m going to the surface.”

  “You’re leaving town?”

  “No. But we need more information. Chase spent over thirty years searching for the Bell. If we can get our hands on his files, maybe we’ll be able to match it up with Jenson’s ramblings.”

  “His files?” She laughed. “And how exactly do you plan to pull that miracle off?”

  “I’m going to visit ShadowFire’s headquarters.”

  “You’ll die before you get through the front door.”

  I grinned. “Who said anything about the front door?”

  Chapter 32

  It wasn’t the tallest building in Manhattan, not even close. But as I stared up at the towering urban precipice, it looked as if it rose into the heavens themselves.

  Rain swirled above my head, soaking my bloodied and mud-caked clothing. I was so damn tired of rain. Tired of Manhattan.

  Tired of everything.

  Lowering my eyes, I looked around. The sidewalks were clear and the streets were mostly empty, thanks to the storm and the late hour.

  Thunder cracked. Lightning ripped across the sky.

  It jolted me into action. I sprinted across the street and leapt over a metal railing that separated the sidewalk from the building. As I banged into the wall, my fingers closed around a slippery concrete windowsill.

  Kicking my feet against a small, granite block, I struggled to gain traction. But my fingers started to slip.

  I dug my fingertips into the windowsill, halting my descent. Pain raced through my hands and I screamed silently. Swiftly, I hoisted my body into a crouching position and jammed myself into the window frame.

  I leaned out and slowly traced the building as it lifted into the dark clouds, before vanishing from sight. Scaling the structure was reckless, even dangerous. And climbing it without equipment was downright suicidal.

  No ropes. No camming devices. No sky hooks.

  Nothing.

  Still, I wasn’t unprepared. I knew how to free-climb a mountain. On the other hand, there was something wildly different about free-climbing an industrial mountain. Especially one engulfed with rain and surrounded by powerful winds.

  My eyes drifted up and down the skyscraper, mapping out a path. A direct approach looked impossible. Flat granite blocks, thick columns, and smallish windows stood between the top floor and me.

  Fortunately, urban cliffs abounded off to the side. I saw window ledges, frames, decorative piping, and ornamental outcroppings. Plenty of opportunities for hand and footholds.

  Crouching on the sill, I rubbed my sore fingers. Then I carefully edged out of the frame and grabbed hold of a protruding brick. I pulled my feet onto another brick, keeping two points of contact between the building and myself.

  I started to climb.

  I moved hard and fast, doing my best to ignore the howling winds and drenching sheets of rain. My fingers and toes danced from bricks to vents to pipes to windowsills. It wasn’t pretty and it wasn’t precise but slowly, very slowly, I ascended the building.

  I caught a brief rest at the fourth floor and then again at the sixth floor. Feeling renewed, I headed out again, eager to finish the climb. Eager to at last fully understand the Bell.

  Rain soaked my body as I worked my way up a piece of piping to an outcropping. I lifted myself onto it and edged my way toward another pipe.

  Suddenly, I heard a crack.

  Something crumbled under my foot.

  I slipped.

  My hands flailed out, looking for something, anything.

  Nothing.

  Air rushed into my ears.

  I felt myself falling.

  I thrust my hands at the building and my fingers brushed against a hard surface. I flexed them, forming claws.

  Horrible pain shot through my hands.

  My body jolted to a halt.

  I looked up. My fingers were stiff and extended, wrapped around the edge of a windowsill.

  A gust of wind slammed into me. Gritting my teeth, I switched every ounce of strength I possessed into my fingers.

  But the wind continued to attack me. My fingers began to weaken. Desperately, I swung my legs to both sides, feeling around with my boots.

  Nothing.

  Wait. Back there…what’s that?

  My left toe returned to the wall. It caught hold of something. I couldn’t see it, but I had no other choice. My fingers were about to give way.

  I braced myself against the toehold.

  My exhausted fingers wrenched themselves open.

  I waited for the inevitable plunge.

  But it never happened.

  Exhaling, I flexed my fingers a few times. They hurt like hell. I wanted to give them a rest. But first, I needed to get to safety.

  Gently, I placed my hands back on the sill. Then I dragged myself upward. After a little maneuvering, I slid into the frame and took a quick look at my hands. They were a mangled, aching mess. I wanted nothing more than to just hunker down for a few minutes and give them a chance to heal.

  But then I heard noises.

  Footsteps.

  They were coming toward me. My eyes shot to the window and I realized there was no shade or blinds. I was exposed.

  Totally exposed.

  I rose to my feet, and leaned out the window frame. My eyes drifted to the sky. The rain fell faster. The wind continued to push and pull at me with ease.

  Jumping up, I grabbed hold of an old air conditioning unit. Pain rushed back into my fingers and it took all my willpower to keep them clenched around the piece of machinery.

  I pulled myself out of sight and climbed into another sill. A small part of me wanted to quit, to just climb in the nearest window and hope I could find another way to the top floor. But I immediately disregarded the idea. Between guards and alarms, I knew I’d never make it.

  I continued to climb. The wind picked up speed until I could hear nothing else. It slammed against my arms and legs, threatening to rip me from the building. My limbs grew increasingly numb to the point that they stopped hurting. I could no longer feel my fingers or my toes.

  And still I climbed.

  After what seemed like forever, the dark clouds split overhead. The top floor mat
erialized as if it were the cornerstone of some ancient, forbidden city.

  My adrenaline kicked in and I doubled my climbing speed until finally, at long last, I reached the top floor.

  As I lifted myself into the last window frame, I felt something in my head. It didn’t feel like one of my incidents though. Instead, it seemed more like a dizzy spell. I wasn’t surprised. My body was exhausted and I’d lost some blood during the climb.

  Maybe too much blood.

  I took a moment to peer through the glass. But the shade was drawn and it was dark inside. I tried to lift the window but it didn’t move.

  I unsheathed my machete. My raw, peeling fingers stung as they wrapped around the handle.

  Leaning back, I jabbed the machete at the window. Glass shattered, bits and pieces of it digging into my arm. Wincing, I withdrew the blade and stabbed the window several times, breaking out a large hole.

  I reached inside the window, unlocked it, and lifted it up. Quickly, I crawled through the frame and hopped down onto the floor.

  My head spun and I leaned against the wall for support. My eyes cast about the space. A bolt of excitement shot through me.

  I was in Chase’s office.

  And I was alone.

  As I rested, I looked around the room. It was exactly the same as I remembered it. A clean desk, an antique desk lamp, a bookshelf, a mini-fridge, a few chairs, and a couple of paintings on the walls comprised its contents. But although it hadn’t changed, somehow it still felt different.

  I stumbled across the hardwood floor, leaving a trail of blood in my wake. Stopping behind the desk, I rummaged through its contents. Like the desktop, the drawers were neatly organized. Finding nothing inside, I turned around and examined the bookshelf.

  Hundreds of thin binders, labeled in neat black lettering, filled the shelves. I selected one at random and opened it up. The first page indicated that the book summarized the cleanup of an oil spill during the Persian Gulf War. I returned it to the shelf.

  For the most part, Chase seemed like a neat, orderly person, albeit one prone to fits of insanity. With that in mind, I started at the beginning of the binders and systematically searched through them by date.

  I passed through two dozen binders before I came across one labeled, “Operation Die Glocke.”