Breach

by W. L. Goodwater

  For that damn book.

  Ehle had warned her about this. While she had been trying to keep the Wall up, the Americans, the French, the Soviets, the British, and probably even the damned Canadians were all maneuvering to get into Auttenberg before the others.

  Just before they put the bound man in the back of their car, Emile stopped him and reached into his pocket. A moment later, Emile tossed something over his shoulder. They got into the vehicle and drove off.

  Karen pulled up to where they had been as soon as they turned the corner ahead. Lying in the gutter was the artifact that had produced the magical trail she had been following. Emile had sensed it. That meant two things: Emile was a magician, and she couldn’t let that car out of her sight.

  Leaving the artifact and grinding her car into gear, she sped up the street after the Frenchmen.

  Karen waited and hoped they would turn west and take Ehle back to the French sector or back to BOB. But they continued north along the Wall, skirting the more populous checkpoints. She knew now where they were going. Ehle had shown her on an old map of the city where the lost district of Auttenberg lay, and they were heading straight there. The Wall was still standing around what was once Auttenberg, which meant no soldiers or refugees to get in the way.

  She slammed the palm of her hand against the steering wheel. There was no one to help her, no one she could turn to for advice. Just the decision to be made, and very little time to make it.

  Act, or get out of the way.

  Karen put both hands back on the wheel and set her jaw. Let’s do this.

  She did not see the black and chrome Volkswagen approaching from the left until its headlights filled her windscreen and she heard the agonies of steel smashing steel.

  FORTY-THREE

  Arthur had forgotten how cold it got in Berlin this time of the year. Rain or shine, the weather never made much of an impact on his daily pursuits, since he made it a point to stay inside as much as possible. He certainly didn’t make it a habit to wander about in the middle of the night in October without an overcoat, but these were the times they lived in. He puffed out a mouthful of vapor and watched it disappear.

  “So the fire’s out?” he asked.

  “Yes, sir. We were able to stop it from spreading much.”

  Well, that was something at least. “And the sprinklers?”

  The agent swallowed nervously. “They’re off now.”

  “How much damage did they do?”

  “Well, sir, it is hard to say at this point . . .”

  “Take a guess.”

  The man straightened up. “More than the fire, sir.”

  Figures. The cure is often worse than the disease. The agent’s shivers were only reminding Arthur how cold he was, so he sent the man inside to warm up and continue the cleanup. Wasn’t like any of them were going to get any sleep tonight anyway.

  “If you don’t mind me saying,” said a deep, burred voice behind him, “you gents look like a nest of drowned rats.”

  As if the evening hadn’t been eventful enough. “Have you come to help towel the place off?” Arthur asked as Alec approached. “Or just offer His Majesty’s condolences for our misfortunes?”

  “As an esteemed member of His Majesty’s intelligence service, I can offer English condolences,” Alec said, “and Scottish whiskey.” He handed an amber bottle across to Arthur. The weight of the dark gold in his hand made his mouth go dry and his muscles twinge. He knew exactly how it would burn in his mouth, how it would feel going down his throat and into his veins. No, not now. He could run this place drunk or exhausted, but not both.

  “Thank you for each,” Arthur said, reluctantly relegating the whiskey to a nearby agent.

  “Strange happenings on the wind tonight,” Alec said.

  “It’s a strange world,” Arthur said.

  Alec grunted. “Ehle is gone?”

  “Spirited out of his cell.”

  “By whom?”

  “I think you already know, or this visit might have waited until a decent hour.”

  Alec grunted again. “Not sure this city has any decent hours left. Our boy Jim leave a trail of bread crumbs to follow?”

  “That’s what my magicians are trying to figure out now.”

  “Magicians? There’s magic afoot?”

  “Ehle was a magician, so it seems likely,” Arthur said. And Karen too, but he decided to keep her vanishing act to himself for now. “Plus anytime something goes to hell, magic usually isn’t far from the scene of the crime.”

  “Speaking of crimes,” Alec said, staring off down the street, “you heard anything from our prickly French cousins this fine evening?”

  Now Arthur wished he’d kept the whiskey. “No. Should I have?”

  Alec shrugged his bulky shoulders under his heavy wool coat. “I wouldn’t bring it up, certainly not with so much on our minds already, except . . . well, we’ve got word that the frogs had eyes on BOB these last few days, ever since the good Mr. Ehle took up his residence.”

  “You got word,” Arthur said. This night was threatening to become memorable. “And you decided not to share this word with us?”

  “We all keep our own secrets,” Alec said. “But if the French were watching your offices, they must have seen Jim make his escape. And yet, here we are, standing alone without even a croak to be heard.”

  Because they were too busy making their own move. This was the chief mistake of getting old: you started trusting people.

  “Come on,” Arthur said. “Let’s go see if these damned magicians have any bright ideas.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  By the time her car had crashed into the curb and everything stopped moving, Karen was sure she was going to be sick. The sharp spike of adrenaline had punched her in the gut and the feeling of her car spinning sideways on mist-slicked asphalt certainly hadn’t helped. Her hands refused to let go of the steering wheel even as she slowly began to realize she wasn’t going to die. She was profoundly grateful for the heavy weight of her car and that the impact had been near the trunk, and not the driver’s door.

  She stumbled out of the steaming car on legs unprepared for action. She was met immediately by a rush of angry German words coming from the other driver, a gray-haired man in a suit, tie, and hat who was brandishing his finger at her like a rapier. She didn’t understand a thing he said, but somehow she got the general theme.

  Which way had the French been going? She looked at the street signs for help, but they kept moving, even as she tried to focus on them. How could they expect anyone to read something that wouldn’t hold still? She suddenly felt an inescapable urge to sit down.

  Then she threw up.

  This at least silenced her verbal assailant.

  North. They were going north. To Auttenberg.

  She wiped her mouth and forced herself back to her feet. The man was out of his dented car now and jabbering at her with a slightly more compassionate-sounding but no less incomprehensible flurry of Germanic diphthongs and umlauts. She held up a hand to ward off his help, but now other cars were stopping. Police couldn’t be far behind, or even soldiers.

  North. It wasn’t far. She hoped.

  She looked at the two cars, caved in where they’d had their untimely meeting, and thought she might have the stirrings of a plan. With her stomach seemingly under control, she lurched back to her ruined car and retrieved her satchel. Then, ignoring the shouted protests and her own unsteady legs, she began to run.

  FORTY-FIVE

  It was not the path he would have selected, but he could not argue with its efficacy. This was, after all, the destination he had been dreaming about for longer than he dared to admit. They were at the edge of a park. It was no grand place, just a simple city park with a stretch of green, a few clusters of oak and linden, a pair of benches whose wood had long turned gray. It had been aba
ndoned once the war came, then forgotten when the Wall was raised across it. In an earlier time, it had been the western entrance to the district of Auttenberg. As Ehle watched, the pale white Wall stared back at him, its length quivering like the flank of some great dying animal. His own hands had started this, and now it was time for the merciful killing blow.

  The other men had moved away from him, in fear perhaps. If he were still a young man, such fears might have been warranted. But the magic necessary to subdue four strong men, armed with pistols or magic of their own, was long beyond him.

  “Herr Ehle,” the leader said in German with a terrible French accent, “it is time for you to prove your value.”

  Ehle laughed. He had not meant to; he saw no reason to provoke these men. But the very thought was too comical to let pass. “I place little value on having value,” he said, still facing away from his captors.

  “Would you rather see the book fall into the Soviets’ hands?”

  “I would rather see it burn,” Ehle said in French. “But somehow I doubt that is your purpose here.”

  There was a long silence, and then the leader said, “France has earned the right to safety. From you, from the Soviets, from everyone. My countrymen have earned the right. We purchased it with blood.”

  “There is no safety while the book exists,” Ehle said. “Not for France. Not for Germany.”

  “It was not the book’s magic that scorched our farms,” the leader replied. “It was not this book that razed our cities and raped our women. I do not fear what lies beyond that Wall. I fear Soviet planes. I fear German tanks. I fear telling the next generation that we had the opportunity to obtain something that would keep us safe and that we did nothing.”

  “I have seen this magic,” Ehle said. “It is no tame dragon you hope to capture.”

  The Frenchman paused a moment and then said, “Risk is of no consequence. I would risk the world for this.”

  “And so you are.”

  “I am tired of waiting, Herr Ehle. We have sought a way through Auttenberg’s defenses a long time, and I know that you can provide us with just that. Do so now.”

  “If I could get into Auttenberg, it would already be done,” Ehle said. “But I no longer possess sufficient magical power to do what is required. I am sorry, but you are going to be disappointed yet again.”

  The Frenchman smacked another cigarette out into his palm. “As I said, we have been at this for some time,” he said, cupping the cigarette as he lit it. “We are not unprepared. If you require magical assistance, I can provide it to you.”

  “You have thought of everything,” Ehle said. But then he shrugged. “You will have to kill me first.”

  “Emile!” It was a woman’s voice.

  Karen. She was walking toward them out of the dark Berlin night.

  “Miss O’Neil,” the Frenchman said, in English now. His guards started toward her, but he waved them off. “You are a long way from home.”

  “Emile,” she replied as she neared. “And here I thought we were on the same side.”

  “That depends on the conflict,” Emile answered.

  “What are you doing here?” she said.

  “We are preparing an expedition into a forgotten corner of this grand city,” he said. “A place that, unless I miss my guess, you are already aware of.”

  “You’re insane if you want to take it for yourself.”

  “I want nothing for myself. But for France . . .” He shrugged.

  “When we went into East Berlin,” Karen said, fitting pieces into place, “you disappeared. Turned off your radio. Were you investigating Auttenberg? Or was it you who betrayed us to the Soviets?”

  “I am no traitor,” Emile said. “I do not know how the Soviets discovered us, but it was not from me. But yes, I used the opportunity to observe the Wall from the opposite side, without an escort. We knew of Moscow’s attempts to enter Auttenberg; they started work on the project from the first day after the Wall was raised. We hoped to learn more about their progress, and we found more than we might have hoped, in our German friend here.”

  “Don’t be a fool,” Karen said. “Nothing good will come of this.”

  “We have little time,” Emile replied. “Berlin is on fire. We will not be alone here for long.” He motioned forward and Karen was pushed toward the Wall. “I suspect our German friend has already asked you to help him break down the Wall spell. Please do so now.”

  Karen looked at him. There was dried blood on her face. One of her hands was bleeding and it felt like there was broken glass caught up in her hair. Her ribs ached. She wanted to sit down, to sleep, maybe even to cry, though she feared her long night was just beginning. She didn’t fully understand all the steps that had brought her to this peculiar moment, but she knew she wasn’t about to help anyone, ally or not, steal whatever waited inside of Auttenberg.

  Emile sighed. A moment later he produced a pistol from under his coat. “Open the way, Miss O’Neil,” he said, “or I will kill you.”

  FORTY-SIX

  “Here,” Haupt said suddenly. “Stop here.”

  The sedans screeched to a halt in front of what appeared to be an abandoned machinist’s shop. There were no lights on inside, but then again, there probably wasn’t much call for machinist work at four a.m.

  “You sure?” Arthur asked, eyeing the place. Something about it was familiar, or at least reminded him of something he knew he ought to remember.

  “I am certain,” Dr. Haupt replied. Arthur watched as Haupt fumbled with the door handle for a moment before the smirking oaf called George took over and swung the door open for his boss. While Arthur found the OMRD director unpleasant, it was his sneering assistant whose teeth he wanted to punch down his throat. He’d met plenty of arrogant little boys like George who thought themselves invincible despite having been too young to take up arms against the Hun, and every one of them was worthless when it came time for an actual fight. Arthur had a litany of profane words to share with Miss O’Neil if they all made it through the night alive, but he certainly didn’t mind that she had made George look like a fool on her way out.

  On the street, Arthur could smell the river in the damp night air. They weren’t far from the Wall; it shimmered just beyond the old machinist’s shop, as impenetrable here as ever. Good. The farther they stayed from the killing fields of the overrun checkpoints and undermanned breaches, the better.

  “What are we looking for?” Alec asked as he stepped out.

  “No idea,” Arthur said. “But I know that when I see it, I won’t like it.” At least he had his heavy overcoat on now, his last anniversary present. She hadn’t loved him, but at least she had known his size. He waved over a couple of his agents: tall, able boys whose names he’d never remember. “Go check out the shop,” he said.

  There really was no good way for this to end. Maybe they’d find Ehle alive and bring him in, or maybe they’d find his body stuffed in a trash can. Maybe his face would end up on Soviet propaganda posters plastered all over buildings from Pankow to Treptow. Ehle didn’t matter; Jim did. One of his own had gone rogue and would have to be put down. The Soviets got to him somehow when he was captive, probably with that twice-damned magic, and now he was a lost cause, even if he was still alive. Another casualty in a war neither side admitted to fighting.

  And then there was Karen. When he heard the first reports that Ehle had escaped, Arthur had been ready to blame her. And while it was Jim who had been reported fleeing BOB with the prisoner tossed over his shoulder, Arthur still wasn’t ready to let the girl off the hook. His old bones told him something was up, that she was playing notes from a different song; he just didn’t know which key.

  Or maybe his old bones were just telling him he was old, tired, and should have kept that bottle of scotch Alec had offered.

  “Look!” George was kneeling in the gutter not fa
r from where they’d parked. He picked something up and hurried to his boss’s side.

  “What have we here?” Arthur asked when he reached them.

  Haupt held up a crude stone statue. “An ancient Teutonic signaling totem,” he said. He almost sounded impressed. “I have not seen one in decades, but I am certain this came from Erwin.”

  “That was causing the magical disturbance you were feeling?” Alec asked.

  “Undoubtedly,” Haupt said. “He must have activated it so he could be followed.”

  “Followed by whom?” Arthur asked.

  Haupt’s face curdled. George, still a little singed after his run-in with Karen at BOB, looked ready to punch someone.

  “So where is she now?” Arthur asked, not expecting an answer and not getting one. Something in the street caught his eye. He reached down and picked it up between his index finger and thumb. Crushed cigarettes certainly weren’t uncommon in Berlin, though most of them weren’t a French brand. Or still warm.

  One of the agents, a clean-cut kid with a name like Thompson or Andrews, approached.

  “How bad is it inside?” Arthur asked, still eyeing the cigarette.

  “Signs of a struggle,” the agent said. “Some blood.”

  “A body?”

  Shook his head. “But there was a tunnel.”

  Arthur stared at the machinist’s shop, then back at the cigarette. Damn. That was why the place had seemed familiar. He really wished he had had that drink, though he didn’t think it would taste quite as good anymore.

  FORTY-SEVEN

  Under the waning silver light of the Wall, they laid out the requirements for Ehle’s spell: chalk, beeswax candles, saltpeter, ground onyx.

  “I did not expect you to come,” Ehle whispered as the Frenchmen looked on.