by Barry Reese
“You could lose a lot of that goodwill on Capital Hill saying things like that, Max.”
“I’ll take that chance.”
Benson nodded, looking away. “Might I ask what you did with the body?”
Max smiled a little. When the authorities had arrived, he’d shown them where The Furies had fallen but he’d hidden Sun Koh’s body before they’d arrived. “I didn’t want to see it stuffed and mounted in the Smithsonian.”
“He was a murderer. That fate would be exactly what he’d deserve.”
“I don’t deny it. But there was something noble about him… even at the end, I kept wishing things had been different. That he’d have been willing to listen to me. Outside of Leonid Kaslov, I’ve never met someone as brave and intelligent as this Sun Koh was.”
“You sound quite taken with him.”
Max shifted his body and Benson recognized indecision in the other man. “I just think he had a destiny and there wasn’t anything that would let him change course from that. It makes me wonder if we’ll all just pawns in someone else’s story. I wish he’d had the chance to be the hero he could have been, rather than the villain that his hatred made him become.”
“We aren’t characters in Sun Koh’s heldromans, Max. We’re all free people, with the ability to decide our own fates.”
“I burned his body, along with the Solar Cannon, here on this property.” Max spread his hands wide. “So you can arrest me if you want. But I did what I felt was right. For the record, though, I think you’re right.”
“What do you mean?”
“Real life doesn’t have tidy endings, not the way those magazine tales do. Sun Koh’s final story would have had a very different climax if this had been a work of fiction. Not all of us get the ending we deserve, I suppose.”
Benson, who knew something about unfinished business, could only silently agree. He rose from his chair and offered a hand to Max. “You did a good job. Congratulations and thank you.”
Max accepted the handshake. “Are you going to get into any hot water over what I’ve done?”
“No. The army brass will move on to some other concern soon enough. As I said, there’s a war going on. No one has the time to dwell on recent events.”
Max stopped Benson from leaving, placing a hand on the man’s arm. “Thanks for the help. And for trusting me in the first place.”
* * *
Käthe stepped into Sun Koh’s private chamber, finding her lord and master seated at his desk, signing another of his many proclamations. The war had long since ended, beginning the rather tedious process of building an enduring empire amongst all the conquered lands. It was an ardurous task but if anyone could pull it off, it was going to be King Sun Koh.
“Are you going to keep them waiting all day?” Käthe teased, standing at attention near his desk. “Your Queen wishes me to inform you that soon she will lose patience.”
Sun looked up and smiled. Käthe was pregnant with their second child and she was proving to be one of his best consorts, capable of aiding him in day-to-day running of the empire and also strong enough to provide him with many good, strong heirs. “I’m surprised she didn’t come to get me herself.”
“She wanted me to remind you that the last time she did that, the two of you ended up making love on your desktop and you were even more late than you are now.”
Sun Koh laughed and stood up. He wore a dark suit, the sleeve of which was adorned by a Swastika. All over Europe, various symbols of his power were being erected—the Swastika was only one of those. He had also brought back a number of Atlantean designs and motifs, reminding the Aryan people of their heritage.
Together, they strode down the corridors of power. Once, Adolf Hitler had ruled from here, but his corpse was now piled in a mass grave, along with those who had remained loyal to him. Most people had recognized the power of Sun Koh, especially after he had destroyed Washington, D.C. and personally slain The Peregrine. But there had a few holdouts, particularly those who knew their own power base was going to be weakened under the new regime.
Käthe led her Fuehrer to a balcony from which he would be addressing the people of Berlin. Thousands were crammed into the area beneath, chanting his name. His cabinet of advisors greeted him with smiles and nods. They were all here, the men and women he loved, and they in turn adored him: The Furies, Ashanti Garuda, Alaska-Jim, Sturmvögel, Jan Mayen and his daughter Elsa, Rolf Karsten and Ludwig Minx. Only Arthur Grin was absent, having been dispatched to quell an uprising in Greece.
Sun Koh stopped long enough to kiss Ashanti on the lips and then he moved to the edge of the balcony, leaning out over the railing. The sea of Aryan faces below went wild, chanting even louder and pumping their fists into the air.
They loved him, their Prince of Atlantis, their Aryan King. In the tongue of the ancient Aryan peoples from whom he’d sprung, Sun Koh addressed the crowd. “Sons and daughters of the master race, I salute you! Our victories have been won on the field of battle, with honor and blood. And now an era of Aryan peace is upon us!”
The cheers were so loud that they drowned out what Sun Koh was about to say, but the King of the Aryans did not mind. This was heaven and he was glad to be here.
Sun Koh had won and his heart was filled to with happiness.
THE END
THE SINS OF THE PAST
An Adventure Starring the Peregrine
by Barry Reese
CHAPTER I
A Stranger in Town
He rode up from the desert, a weather-beaten sheepskin lined coat wrapped over his powerful frame. His clothing was covered with dirt and he smelled of sweat and horse, the result of a long, hard ride up the Southwestern corner of the state. His dark hair had a slight wave to it and his olive complexion hinted at Mediterranean ancestry. But it was his face—strong and well-defined—that caught the attention of the men and women he passed as he entered town. There was a dangerous cast to his eyes, as if this was a man who had seen his fair share of death… up close and personal.
His chestnut colored horse ambled through town, making a beeline for Mabel’s Bed and Breakfast, the only decent place to stay in the town of Eagle Eye. There were a few rooms for rent above the bar but most of those were snatched up by the drunks who couldn’t find their way home in the evening.
The stranger dismounted in front of the Bed and Breakfast, tying his horse to the hitching post. A stiff wind was creating little dust devils about his boots, further obscuring their black surface. They were the kind of boots worn by the military but there was something in the man’s manner that suggested he wasn’t cavalry. He was something else entirely.
Once inside, the stranger removed his hat and pulled open his coat, revealing a pair of odd-looking pistols. The desk clerk who leaned across the counter, watching the new arrival with undisguised interest, thought to himself that he’d never seen the likes of them before. The gun chambers seemed fatter than usual and the clerk wondered at what sort of bullets could be stored in such things. From where he was standing it looked like each gun held several hundred miniature rounds.
Curious now, the clerk took in the rest of the picture, examining the man’s dusty boots, rugged dungarees and a flannel shirt. The clothing was all very nice, despite the worn nature of their appearance, making theclerk wonder if the stranger was from the big city. In the clerk’s right hand was clutched a clasped box about the size of a small shoe box. It was carved of wood and looked very old.
“Can I help you?” the clerk asked. As the stranger approached, the clerk made sure to show off the hand-made name tag he wore. It read ‘Rusty’ in big block letters. “Need a place to stay, I reckon?”
“Yes. Thank you.” The stranger’s voice sounded strangely disbelieving and Rusty straightened, wondering if he was going to be like the last city fellers who came through… always laughing and pointing at the ‘hicks’ in Eagle Eye.
“Where from?” Rusty asked, pulling a ledger out from under the desk. He pu
shed it towards the stranger, who deftly picked up a pen and signed his name in a flourish.
“Atlanta.”
Rusty nodded, taking a gander at the ledger as he did so. “Well, that’ll be four bits, Mr. Davies.”
“Just call me Max,” the stranger replied, pushing several shiny coins at Rusty. The clerk stared at them for a moment, lifting them up and examining them closely. “Those are United States currency,” the man said, seeking to soothe Rusty’s doubts.
“They look funny,” Rusty muttered. He deposited them in a drawer with a last glance at Max and snorted. He set a key on the counter top. “Nice set o’guns, Mister.”
“Thanks. I modified them myself.”
“Mind if I ask what you do for a living?”
“I’m self employed. Where’s my room?”
“Upstairs, third floor. Room 6. There’s a small dining area right around the corner from here. That’s where you’ll find Mabel. She bakes the best apple pie you’ve ever tasted.”
“I’ll have to give it a try,” Max said. He dropped the key in the pocket of his shirt and leaned forward, subtly pushing the box he held towards Rusty. “Do you know where I could find a man named Joe Gentry?”
Rusty nodded, smiling a bit. When he did, he revealed several missing teeth and several more that looked in poor shape. “Sure. Joe hangs out at the saloon. He’s there most every afternoon and evenin’.”
“Thanks.” Max glanced past Rusty and noted the yellowed calendar that hung on the wall. It was nothing fancy, just a large sheet of white paper on which a series of squares had been drawn in pencil. A number of the day squares had been crossed through with a large X. “Rusty, can I ask you something you might find a little strange?”
“I’ve heard just about everythin’ in this job,” Rusty answered with a laugh. “What do you need to know?”
“What year is this?” Max asked, his face serious.
Despite his bluster, the question caught Rusty off guard. He sputtered for a moment before answering. “Why, it’s 1884. Why on Earth did you ask a question like that?”
Max said nothing, instead choosing to incline his head in thanks. He headed up the stairs, box still in hand. The clerk’s answer had confirmed his suspicions… there was something terribly wrong in the town of Eagle Eye—while everyone seemed to believe themselves still in the 19thcentury, the truth was that it was currently October 1943… and a World War was raging outside the confines of this anomalous little town.
CHAPTER II
The Peregrine Goes Hunting
Max Davies washed off and took a few moments to rest his tired bones before heading back downstairs. Though he was surprisingly vital for his age, he was 43 years old and the hard ride into town had left him weary. He’d flown a private plane as far as he could but the engine had begun sputtering nearly a hundred miles outside of Eagle Eye, confirming the rumors he’d heard about the area. Modern technology seemed to be adversely affected by something in the area… and that was just the beginning of the problems Max was now confronting.
Eagle Eye itself had once been a thriving town, the very epitome of the rugged Wild West that had become a staple in popular fiction. But in 1884, things had gone horribly wrong… every man, woman and child had vanished, leaving behind all their belongings and homes. The place had become a ghost town, forgotten by all but the most ardent of history buffs.
Two weeks ago, the strange little box that Max now possessed ended up in Atlanta. Its owner told of a bizarre town into which he’d wandered with some friends. They’d run afoul of the locals and all but one of the group had been killed… the man who’d fled ended up passing on the evidence of his journeys to Max.
Truth be told, the transfer of the box hadn’t been done willingly. Max was known in the darker shadows of Atlanta as a masked vigilante, one who called himself the Peregrine. Under that guise, he had done his best to clean up the city over the last decade… and his exploits had sometimes spanned not just the nation but the entire globe. When he’d heard rumors about the box and its contents, he’d gone in search of its owner… and found a man who should have been in his mid thirties, but who instead looked like he was over 90… and aging fast.
The Peregrine had forced the truth from the man, who had seemed unwilling to part with his treasure: a box containing a number of gold coins, all dating back to the 19th century. Max had carefully handled the box after procuring it from the man, who had literally crumbled to dust before his eyes. At first he had feared that any contact with the box might be enough to activate whatever curse lay upon it… but now he had changed his views on the matter. He believed that it wasn’t the acquisition of the box that had brought death upon this man… it had been something else related to his time in Eagle Eye.
All of that had brought Max to the place that should not exist, a town that existed outside of time.
Max sauntered into the saloon after having a brief but delicious meal in Mabel’s restaurant. True to Rusty’s word, the apple pie had been delicious.
The saloon was a noisy, boisterous place. Two women were doing a high-kicking dance on a stage nearby, their movements accompanied by the steady rhythm of a piano player. Max still held the box of coins at his side and he scanned the crowd for a man who matched the description he’d gotten from Rusty after dinner. He spotted Joe Gentry towards the back of the bar, a shapely brunette perched on his knee. She was playfully pushing him away from her neck, which he’d been attempting to kiss. Max had a feeling that this particular scene had played itself out many times before.
Gentry was in his early fifties and grizzled to the extreme. His skin was leathery from exposure to the sun and his prickly beard looked unkempt. He wore a scarf about his neck and a hat was perched roguishly atop his head.
Max approached their table, stopping just a few feetaway. The girl noticed him first, looking up at him with interest. Gentry followed her gaze and frowned as he did so. “You want somethin’, mister?” he demanded in a gruff voice.
“I want to ask you a few questions about Harry Pinsler. He came through here a few weeks back with some friends of his and—”
“What about him?” Gentry asked, roughly pushing the girl away from him. She let out a huff and stalked away, smoothing down her dress. She cast an angry glare at Max, obviously blaming him for the loss of hard-earned money this evening.
“You and your friends gunned down the men who were with him,” Max stated without emotion.
“Yeah and we’d do it again, too. They were good fer nothin’ city fellas. Laughed at us like we were hicks. Are you a good fer nothin’ city fella?”
“He stole this from you, I believe,” Max answered, refusing to be baited into a conflict with Gentry. He had no doubt he could take the man in a fair fight but nothing about Gentry made him believe there’d be anything fair about the conflict.
Gentry’s eyes widened when he saw the box. Max set it down just in front of him but the grizzled cowboy didn’t make any move to take it. “He didn’t steal it from me. He stole it from… someone else.”
“Who? Who did he steal it from?”
“Why do you want to know?” Gentry seemed to recover his footing and leaned back in his chair, taking out a rolled cigarette. He lit it after striking a match to his boot. “Seems to me if you know what happened to him, you’d know that this isn’t something you should be stickin’ your nose into…”
Max reached and turned over Gentry’s table, spilling his drink on the floor and knocking the box to the very edge, where it hung precariously. The entire room grew quiet as everyone turned to stare at the scene unfolding in the corner. Several of the men quickly began placing bets on who would survive the confrontation. Max drew one of his pistols and pointed it straight at Gentry’s chest. “I don’t have time to play games with you. Every second I’m in this godforsaken place puts me at risk. So I’m going to ask you one last time: who does this chest belong to?”
“Better put down that gun, boy,” someone said f
rom behind Max. Gentry laughed and nodded but Max’s only reply was to sigh in annoyance.
The Peregrine dropped down and spun, kicking out a foot and using it to sweep the legs out from under Gentry’s friend. A tall man went down on the ground, losing his grip on a handgun he’d been brandishing at Max’s back. The Peregrine quickly rose to a standing position and fired two bullets into the man’s leg. As the wounded man began to moan in pain, he turned back to Gentry. “Are you going to answer me or do you want to join your friend on the floor?”
Gentry stared at him coldly for a moment before breaking into a hearty laugh. He stood, holding his hands upright. “I’ll be more than glad to take you to him, stranger. But I gotta warn you… you might wish that you’d just turned tail and left.”
“I’m willing to take my chances.” Max gestured for Gentry to head towards the door and he followed the other man at a close pace, ignoring the faces of those who were watching them. Max couldn’t help but notice that many of the men and women seemed to have knowing smiles on their faces.
CHAPTER III
Acts of the Devil
“So were you a friend of his?” Gentry wanted to know. He was leading Max through the dusty streets of Eagle Eye, sauntering along with his cigarette dangling from the corner of his mouth. Every now and again he’d glance over his shoulder at Max, obviously making sure that the gun was still pointed at him.
“Pinsler? No. I only met him once. It was right before he died. His skin turned to dust and he fell to pieces.”
Gentry didn’t look surprised, confirming Max’s suspicions that he knew about the curse. “I’m not the most educated of men, mind you, but I know that this here town is under some sort of spell. A very bad thing occurred here… and when it did, all of us kind of went to sleep. It’s the strangest thing… but I have a feeling we do just about the same thing every night and every day. Until Pinsler and his boys showed up… and then things kind of changed. And now there’s you…”
