

# Of A Kind

Lucus Anthony Ren

Copyright © 2018, Lucus Anthony Ren

Self-publishing

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# Preface

There being, about twenty formulas going through the human brain, calculating, measuring, what have you, at any given time, which can and often does tire a person, in some cases completely leaving them with little or no understanding of their environment.

Sure, it happens to us all, and at the end of the day we seek nothing more than peace.

I wrote about 1946 because it's an interesting time. Both wars are finished, though another beginning, yet the world wanted change, desperately grasping at 'something'. Well, that could be the very reason itself the Cold War developed as it did. After all what is really happening? Today. Right now.

Wanting change some falsify reality. Some however can't tell which, and is what 'Of A Kind' replays.

Its short story in the sense taking roughly four hours in real time; Tolber's arrival at the scene being the principle start. But what happened during this case he is signed investigating, returns him to that area where black and white are not so clear, maybe a little like our lives, when we finally have a rest, look back wondering what actually have we done...in that time.

For those who ask the right questions.

## Chapter 1 DonaX

Be still. Not a sound.

The most difficult of first steps, nothing known certain neither mundane nor contemplated from any distance as such, yet how her thinking achieved, with what and whom could say otherwise as 'those' without understanding her the least, bolted the door closing her off, reaching their own demise, but was this the place her making...for no escape from their prison? Possibly, yet these crimes committed pointed all acts towards the youth when questions not only from those living closest to her but those investigating; how could she, the age of twelve years placed deep within a distant countries sanitarium, produce such loss?

And it was here my story began, rather the one charged with.

Melissa, whom all referred to as Melli when only three years of age either or reasons they were lazy pronouncing her full name or saw something unkind with the one bestowed at birth, took me by surprise at their immense wealth of stupidity, and lack for understanding the world around often referred as, 'Our Kind'. Rich from generations past inheritance hundreds of years in the making, acknowledged themselves above all others, and only forced due to the crimes spoke their disdain having to deal with such atrocities as commoners, with their stupefied questionings.

It was after all this reason only come in contact with such a group as most crimes undertook were those of a more natural nature and directness. But here was very different. This was not ordinary in any sense of the world those involved in would ever understand, including me. It drove me near insane as with so many involved in the case, and to this day still abuses most of my conscious mind, so much so hardly recognize any of the worlds around me.

But that is now. To start at the beginning would amount a task understanding exactly where that was but still eludes me for in the two-week investigation of her alleged crimes never understood where on the map only placed as a point in imagination, for reality here was difficult managing, simple there wasn't much at the end able holding on to.

A lieutenant detective homicide for Los Angeles since the end of the Second War whereas part of a small intelligence group known simply as 'Once Over' which sounded ludicrous to us not understanding whether it meant some code name we'd never be permitted knowing full operational tasks of, or simply 'once we're over here' or perhaps 'give it the once over' most appropriate seeing our missions entailed infiltrating deep into the German-occupied populace, countries Nazis overtook with incredible speed, and through great strides observe an extremely short duration returning with full details to High Command based outside of London.

We were spies of a rather different sort allowed to retrieve information deemed pertinent to the mission using any possible means. Without prejudice. Were most of our counterparts weren't permitted so much leniency, we were the extreme end of things, so when called to the San Diego suburb of Pacific Beach well out of my area of L.A. at four in the morning rather surprised hearing the sergeants case information while just returning from a case in Malibu only an hour before, hadn't even time to close my thoughts when the phone pulled me into that substance growing every moment thick with maddening despair.

'Lieutenant Tolber. The commander wants you there right away. San Diego. The driver coming now should be arriving in fifteen minutes. Homicide. Body found on the beach. Young woman. Details with the driver.'

Laying on my back eyes blinking watching the dull gray ceiling wondered nothing but by the time reaching San Diego it would be morning and could sleep on the way after reviewing the case file but that wasn't anything near to the truth after reading only the first paragraph knew this had something very different fact the body was fully clothed, young with long brunet-red hair, no markings of struggle, small scars on her right palm still pink indicating recent, no note or ID found on, all the labels from her dress and sweater removed, while the body found sitting on the sandy beach legs extended and crossed, so why all the way to another city, a local detective could easily manage?

With that question in mind, though not too deep fell asleep later woke as we arrived just outside the city asking the driver how long till at the crime scene, began again further through the information looking for any details, yet knew there would be little until seeing the body now at the morgue and talking with those from the scene wanting first viewing than meeting others, along with the deceased.

There wasn't much to read in the standard information of the death only the location and time. Yet a homicide, how and why the case already listed as such, and who would have imagined but the commander himself gave the order, assigning me the case. Or were others involved? Who gave him the one prompting me out for the commander knew I was overworked with other cases more important than something so common as a dead girl on a beach, which weren't in great number that was certain, still did cause an alert in my mind warranting why my involvement. But the commander was instructed obviously by persons of importance and while searching the sand, looking at the wall she'd leaned against, looking out at the ocean no more than a few yards away, couldn't think of a single detail as to why.

And that was the first clue; there were no details, the entire area was sterile. Perfectly normal.

The tide came in removing any footprints, except those of a young couple out walking discovered the body at five-thirty in the morning, and the arriving officers were careful not to tread all over securing the area, permitting only assigned detective and those from the morgue entrance.

Taking into account tidal times only footprints from the young couple, and a set of the arriving officer remained, therefore whoever disposed of the body, or the killers, perhaps both, had their footprints removed, most likely aware of this, conclusive with the autopsy establishing when she died and where hoped, concluded by today wanting a return to L.A., yet knowing it would take time.

But that wasn't true.

Gazing toward the ocean smelling the sea air clearing my mind, the driver approached informing me the results were indeed in and they were waiting for me, several thoughts sprang forward thrusting their way into the front of my brain as to why the exam was so quick, and who were 'they'? Also, needing coffee or rather some very strong black tea which while in London during the war brought me further awake but harder to come by here. Asking the driver while en route to the morgue stop and get whatever we could for he as well needed a bolstering as the man seldom spoke, only when required reminding me of attaché drivers in London.

And that was the second clue; he wasn't from the regular police force. He was different of which he understood I knew possible that very moment remembering his mannerism around the crime scene, and our journey including collecting me having opened the car door and his greeting, the way he did which hadn't registered till now. So we both talked little only when necessary. It was a sub-conscience part of the entire situation recognized the moment he informed me of the results.

From lack of sleep, not picking up the situation as I should have, certainly during the war would have for senses then was greatly sharper. But since, practically fall asleep waiting for test results or tedious developments most of the cases were rather clear for me compared with dealings of the war and their complexities, which though greatly different from Los Angeles, were in themselves unique insofar you were chasing a suspect through the woods of Romania in the morning, and that very evening while exchanging information with Budapest underground militia usually over several bottles of wine, were shot at from marauding Gestapo agents.

At the moment all was as far as you could get from those years. Where all was extreme. And here, simply a dream.

A dream slowly waking from staring further seeing no signs of convulsions or vomiting at the scene common with alcohol or drugs, or even poison, nor signs of a struggle. The victim it appeared sat down, stretched out her legs and simply died. Naturally, the post-mortem examination would prove further of this, my thoughts in that direction motioning to the driver and within a short time, we sped off to the coroner's office when the slight shiver just behind my left ear alerting me to another area of a crime not yet reviewed, or trouble's coming.

It started when seven; the shiver. Nothing more described it but that while attempting mathematical problem yet understood. Though the teacher having reviewed several times with great patience, no nearer, exasperated and gave up from my lack of simply understanding the equation. Seemingly insurmountable might as well have been swimming through a frozen lake than figuring sums, till my mother beat me hard enough, and locked in the downstairs basement where certainly the boogeyman lived, coming out from under the old bed my granddad died on, probably was since mom always said he was a mean son-of-bitch and would eat stupid children who couldn't figure out their goddamn math. And when locked there alone only with the math book and pencil with a small lamp because she'd turn the lights off saying, 'You don't have much time Russ so get the fuck move on or when that battery goes...so do you!'

Starting with what believed pestered from an insect in the near dark, most possibly a giant blood-sucking thing landing on just where the base of the skull attached to the neck, certain but still wanted desperately finishing this equation or the sensation grew pulling my focus towards the message growing from within somewhere secretly instructing me, whispering the correct essence of the total amount including how to arrive at the end, which promptly bleated out creating a unison outcry from the students knowing once this was accomplished class was excused for lunch. But first had to be dealt with in the basement.

Since without knowing, this sensation occurred coming forward when needed the most yet was never 'called upon' either through prayer or demand, yet never failed to bring about my attention insofar close of another direction one of which neglected.

And it was in this I observed more clarity, than at any other point.

What arrived in the rear seat while observing nothing particular of the city around us as we drove through its seamless environment, a single thought did not flash as one might believe though in themselves this might be very true, yet here often they floated coming low from a nearly invisible horizon of my consciousness that often enough an area less delved in than usual which grown grateful for. This place where ideas and concepts worked themselves but not wanting to interrupt their process, never fully ventured for fear indeed suspending some marvel, otherwise would simply fade away along abstract daydreams more often than not amounted entirely from discarded relics of their once explored fantasies.

From youth this 'factory' witnessed drove, relentlessly at times pronounced more so from the war and its meaning, not simply observation of which cracked all recollection of that existence, that youthful mold we all held so desperately onto. Because once passing through the conflict Europe and the world was under, we aged. Grew tired. Not simply our values changed, but moreover, an understanding of what lay beyond life pushed through forcing itself upon us which for all parts, must have been planted at our own births, yet lay hidden among our cherished beliefs and reasoning, only arriving with the butchery.

Looking out the window thinking of reasons why wanting order in life, a demand of justice, the scent from swaying palms and cool air filled the car, mounting the difference between the two of just a year ago stood in Stalingrad and Berlin surveying a ruined world we'd all in effect brought about, wondering was it all worth this. Remembering glancing down at my muddied, torn boots where a doll having lost its body, its few strands of probably once blond hair remained in the half-crushed head, its one eye gazing up into the gray clouded and smoking sky knowing then probably never see the light of day again. That I had become simply a toy like so many waiting for whatever master came along.

It was the weight. Others too spoke of such, their tones low not wanting either others to hear or waking something deeper inside. Some animal they'd want nothing more of, at least a moments reprieve from, nevertheless, kept them alive through war. And worst of all they knew would rise again.

Once discharged from the Army sought only peace and quite hoping for a life of finding someone, having a family forgetting all of the past life which four years brought an end of, and through a newer one would arrive as we all spoke of for most wanting nothing more of what we'd seen and done.

And most did.

But when boarding the flight returning to the world untouched yet by bombs and death as Europe had suffered as well as Asia with the Japanese, was pulled aside escorted to another building on the airbase by three military police twice the size of any normal human feeling the Army wasn't through even though my orders showed discharge in less than eight hours allowing me when the plane landed in New York to celebrate freedom with a long bath and a quite hotel room of which already made arrangements and critically looked forward too.

After fifteen minutes striding at quick tempo my escort, one in front two directly behind stopped at a door without any markings of distinction, were a pause only a moment the door immediately flung open the lead guard stepped forward allowing me entrance into the room where at first glance my eyes could not adjust for it was quite dark. Immediately the alarm rose as would the case when danger approached or already the shiver telling me this wasn't what I believed. Suddenly interrupted by a thick sounding grunt somewhere in the room's darkness directly informing the guards who promptly withdrew moving off down the hall disappearing. The three, as if one for all held identical mannerism of complete and utter obedience without question nor hesitation entering what mind possessed them, for they surely held none of their own.

Waiting, allowing time for eyes to adjust, became the perfect silhouette, in realizing this the moment the door opened perhaps the shiver heard, after years of extreme careful attitude toward even the simplest of elements growing no way indifferent of, yet now stood in plain sight was the cardinal sin and motto of counterintelligence; never be seen.

'Get in here Russ before you get shot you daft fool,' the stern voice boomed not bother hiding the fact he knew my real name as only the very few did, claiming so wondered was he himself utter stupid for actual identification was one of the best-kept secrets in this business. Even those working within the field, those killed with, loved, got drunk, had sex none, ever aware of my real identity. Now, this idiot sounded it out like a goddamn trumpet.

There was an immediate sense of rage flowing now for only three people knew my name, and this ass wasn't one. Initial fear suddenly swept away replaced with a loathsome disregard for this person when the lights blinked on in the room and there the loudmouth sat on the other side of a small desk smiling looking me over with quick eyes telling me we were associated only in regards both working with intelligence, he though without. Much.

Even the best operatives had trouble controlling eye movements. You could tell, their eyes moving too quick, gathering information. Most agents even the more experience having given them away caused a fatal error in the death of their own and those involved or at the very least a lost mission. Of course, being captured where interrogation often resulted in divulged information was another aspect known well enough were you seized.

Yet all was instinctual from birth that first recognition of the world around us as humans. We were visual animals. Relying on sight more than anything. Our down-fall if only higher intelligence not intervened we'd have died off centuries ago; 'dying monkeys on the planes' we'd say to one another in training. Now here before me, was a baboon.

'Russell Tolber as I ever wondered. Come in, come in goddamn it and shut the door!' he half smiled while the other wasn't sure what pulled tension in the air between us which neither enjoyed, but stepped through the doorway looking immediately left and right wondering what other surprises might await.

This was a simple room of nothing more with simple desk having a folder on it, and one chair. And a stupidly simple man behind it. But he held power. The air was thick with it. Suffocating.

'I'd ask you to sit but...' he tried humor with both hands in the air and a hunched-over twisting of the head gesturing this as a joke along with his lack of supremacy as one animal succumbs to another groveling for he was nothing more inside.

Closing the door stood no more than three feet from the desk as the room resembling no more than a rather large walk-in closet, hand loose at my sides. Calm. Waiting. Ready. Feeling there were only two possibilities here; the guards would come back and beat the shit out of me or had to do what this man wanted.

And what was this man? His near bald head shined either from some form of sweat which wasn't flowing, but somehow stayed in place glistening from the single lamp light its bulb swinging very slowly a foot above with sharp near black eyes watching my every movement wondering my every thought all the while countering my actions as people in this trade always do, even subconsciously. Even in line for food rations. Waiting for a bus. Going to the toilet. Your mind never relaxed while awake. Ever.

Always seeing options from the, 'what if' aspect looming ghosts without shape would attack any moment from any direction, had to be ready so you played this endless practice game of escape or counter-attack so much so you found it difficult understanding what was real. Another aspect of a doomed officer; unable differentiating the two. Or not seeing the danger as it arose. Usually, the later brought about from too much 'practice'.

We were all warned of this in our training; the mind is the most powerful weapon you have. Helpful and destructive, for, and against you. Trained how to cope and manage, to control, drilled effects adrenaline changes upon the body and mind, and proper steps are taken when this occurs. We were also given drugs making us stronger more alert, not requiring sleep. Able to focus clearly. Conduct operations more coherently reducing possibilities of errors. Our immunity for pain lowered. Most profoundly, we believed in ourselves. Our confidence expanded one hundred times. Fear eliminated replaced with the sound understanding of our environment and association within it.

The drug called 'DonaX' after some said it feels like immediately before and after having sex you can do anything because you're so relaxed, more aware the world, yet not directly connected to it. Redundant situations simply passed through you; you became more focused on the task at hand as one moment you sought lustfully with great power; after orgasm a calmness. Still.

I felt this; remnants of. The doctors instructed would last up to an hour. Afterward, you'd feel exhausted for a day or two. But the more you took it the shorter its duration while longer side-effects appeared. The doctors simply told us to take more of the drug. It became uncontrolled very quickly due to our missions, and ourselves. We wanted an escape from what we did and this was a way without getting drunk and dealing with hangovers which most had or sex, for you hadn't the desire of while on the medication. Sexual attraction, longing for, stayed totally removed.

Your mind worked on another path than that of self-fulfillment. Your focus was only the mission. And success. You were also informed should you disclose the facts of the medication you would be imprisoned. The duration of which unknown left all with profound understanding never discussing even with fellow agents.

But as the body is organic it suffers. The drugs side-effects grew apparent with increased mission failure brought from various elements chiefly with the inability understanding reality. Agents could not detect their own surroundings. Thinking the gun in their hand wasn't real so how could the round in the chamber harm them as they pulled the trigger muzzles in mouths, that the bus or train wasn't there as they stepped in front as it passed. There were cases of their inability under detention giving information that would have saved them instead resulted in being tortured to death especially by the Gestapo which often enough lasted days if not weeks. True disclosing information would be extremely damaging for other operations but being skinned alive as those captured routinely were caused some agents to wonder exactly what it was they were taking. What exactly was this? What was it that kept men laughing all the while their skin peeled off?

News of such reached High Command were reportedly three cases of captured agents signing and smiling as their genitals were set alight and all slowly burned alive their fingers and toes, ears and lips cut off while further sawing through legs and arms over a two-week period till they finally died left all involve distrustful. Some agents through suicide left the program, while others knew nothing more than their name. Not their own though. This they'd forgotten completely.

High Command stated only those captured and treated as such suffered from torture and stress. The program was not altered in any way.

Till the end of the war.

Till the time stepping foot into that small office, where across from the desk the bald man pushed two white large 'DonaX' pills across which under a folder marked 'TOP SECRET' in bold red letters, was about to tell another story.

## Chapter 2 A Certain Type

Screeching static from the radio jerked me back to the palms and cool breeze. San Diego was nice. Cleaner than L.A. Pleasant. Full of the military though. Mostly naval. But as Army Intelligence we had contact with very few from other branches. Marines were in the Pacific along with most of the Navy. Knew some from the Air Force but that was RAF. London was our main posting. Also where we relaxed. Till Paris was liberated. After which few of us seldom stepped foot in England again. Though most of us spoke fluent French, the locals knew we weren't, and though thankful for our efforts freeing them from Hitler, we always felt their resentment as the French were a proud nation and fought fiercely against the Nazis, sacrificing greatly for their freedom.

Why thinking of this when the driver answered the call brought on after the squelching radio I'd no idea. Nor why the damn thing belched out some sort of alarm announcing an incoming call fascinated me the very least wondered what the point was until focusing more realized there was constant chatter from other calls and when one directed at you needing your attention the alarm sounded waking you up. I suppose some slept. Thus the alarm, but this car and this driver no idea where they originated from and was about to ask for the entire situation suddenly aroused my curiosity when the chauffeur finished the call replaced the headset phone, turned slightly and spoke still watching the road.

'The medical examiner asked when we'd arrive and if so to come directly to storage.'

That's odd. Why wouldn't we go directly to his office? This sort of this was always conducted first with the coroner then accompanied together viewed the body. But this is San Diego so perhaps things are done differently. Perhaps police here simply stole around passing cadavers till finding one in their case and have a look. Christ if we did in L.A. the examiners there would have our heads. Also, it was strictly invitation only; directly from the examiners themselves contacting you when and were to meet as they were a very busy bunch and sticklers for details. Fanatic. Always completely detached commenting on the case as if reading a shopping list, they ran off details hardly reading their notes for it was already burned into their brains every cause of demise.

And was homicide any different? Felt the same many occasions. So often thinking of something other than the case, just another death with the likelihood being solved less than thirty percent. Wondering at times what the city would attract in fifty years. And the result thereof.

'How much longer to the examiner's office?' asking the driver.

'Ten minutes,' he calmly replied.

'You and this car are from exactly where?' finally questioned looking at the palm trees, never seen so many not even in L.A., but here Jesus these things are practically everywhere.

'Central depot,' he replied.

Leaning over grabbing the seat with both hands my head almost foot from his and asked, 'Think we can stop for a bit? I'm starved, and by the way what's your name seeing we're driving around together?'

Noticing he had only his right hand on the steering wheel when asking about stopping to eat. The shiver started immediately in my brain knew something odd about his body position, which twisted slightly his left shoulder more forward, causing his back not to be flush with the seat.

In a flash, knew his left arm was low along his waist toward his right side and when asking about his name only gave a second as the bullet fired blasted a hole through the front seat.

A second can either amount to lengthily period or none at all. And in this field, amounted to nothing further than an eternity.

My daydreaming caused the fatalities. Had I been more focused would have asked earlier to see the orders, his name and closer inspection of his uniform whereupon would have learned very easily I was in trouble just a few yards from home, not miles away without any possible support from local law enforcement for the simple reason they didn't know I was even here. In fact, my own dispatch wouldn't either. They probably are knocking down the door thinking I'd over-slept, too drunk to answer both the phone and the door. Or not at home. Which of course wasn't. Just somewhere closer to the Mexico nonetheless loved visiting but never having passed through San Diego, why I hadn't clue, but if this is any indication as to what laid in wait, than very pleased in taking the eastern route when traveling to that often sought sanctuary, camping in the Sonoran Desert where within its capabilities, brought that much desired rest.

Making the lethal mistake that of assumption, not questioning those initial thoughts while viewing the crime scene, even if it was actually one, to begin with. There were no signs of struggle only a woman dead probably from poison self-induced, however with such there would indeed have shown some indication of convulsion or vomiting, some evidence at least depicted in the sand, which appeared nothing more than a woman having walked to that particular spot, sat down and with no difficulty, promptly died.

And what of all the clothing label removed? Well, what of it. At the time it didn't seem anything striking perhaps they were from the thrift store which commonly removed such so as not divulging the actual designer therefor reducing quarrelsome problems should they have any great worth. Now however thinking their bloody well was a reason for their absence seeing the driver's intent on killing me greatly increased with a second round fired exiting the seat an inch above the first.

But where was I in all this?

Still holding the seat with both hands? A foot separating our two heads? Indeed, not as instinctively spoken to the driver on his 'left' side placing myself neatly in the middle of his back with the two fired shots fired from his pistol held under his right elbow missing me by a solid four to five inches.

With the wind caused from open windows, cast my voice in another area of the car other than where it actually was plus noise in our passing of other automobiles, the driver grew confused and just at that particular moment speaking having had already committed himself, fired his weapon.

Surprised for a moment my concern erupted fully understanding with one option, could snap his neck in a second but that would bring our car out of control for his body would block attempts my reaching the steering column; the other to open my nearest door on the left jump hoping not to injure myself too severely whilst at our present speed would surely incur broken bones, that and possibly being struck by vehicles coming from the opposite direction not to mention those in our own from the rear. The matter was resolved on its own from a third shot fired whose recoil struck the chauffeurs right elbow forcing his arm upward causing the steering wheel to abruptly turn us into the opposite lane where we were immediately struck by another car head-on.

The drivers of both were thrown through their automobiles windscreen the body of my chauffeur twisted and bleeding laying upon the engine's hood, the other's upper body broke through the jagged glass stuck there, shoulders with head split open from the force drooped completely lifeless, while each car rear-end lifting off the road momentarily from the impact, landed abruptly then spun slightly freeing one another although our right fender was caught somehow with the others left front wheel. Both steam and smoke immediately spewed from the engines. Then silence. With only a slight tinkling of water or possibly fuel from underneath one, or both cars, caused the greatest shock upon the mind for one moment the rush of sight and sounds; then abruptly...nothing is recalled most of the entire episode. The quick silence of which came only a certain type of death.

## Chapter 3 Details Of The Body

She had no identification. The labels in all her clothes cut away. She was dressed in a dark green skirt suit with three ornamental buttons. A wide-brimmed white colored hat laying on her lap. There was no handbag found. She was five foot six inches tall, weighing one-hundred and twenty-four pounds, having hazel colored eyes which were dilated larger than normal. Her brunet-red hair shoulder length. Her age estimated between twenty and twenty-five years. She suffered from hypodontia missing six teeth which most likely had never grown in due to a genetic defect, low birth weight, or disease. She had small scars on her left wrist, both forearms, and left elbow. Her hands and feet were clean and callous-free, indicating she did not do manual labor. Stomach contents showed she'd eaten eight to ten hours before, meat and pastry, all internal organs showed normal along with negative blood analysts for alcohol and common poisons. Time of death between twelve and two in the morning.

While talking with the coroner he suggested there were two deadly poisons which decomposed in the body in a short time, leaving no trace; strophanthin and digitalis. Either could have been used in this case, and degrading before the autopsy was performed. He then stopped turned his head slightly looked at me having numerous cuts brought by flying glass produced from the shattered windscreen and passengers window which at the time being partially rolled up, wondering could see through his worn-out expression, why I'd asked such a question when to him this case was as dead as the girl laying in front of us, meaning suicide, as again no indication of struggle found at the scene.

Using the first policeman's radio on the scene of the two-car accident calling my commander in L.A. explaining what happened without local police nearby feeling it best at the moment to leave the entire situation of my investigation out of their traffic report. To them, I was just a lieutenant detective from Los Angeles here reviewing a case which I told them as they wanted proof naturally of my identity. Once that was cleared they tended to the issues of clearing the road allowing traffic moving again.

My senior, Commander Anderson was also in the war. He was a colonel with Patton's Third Army and fought bravely in Bastogne, Belgium at the Battle of the Bulge against the three German armies mounted an attack with over a quarter-million troops against the Allies, mostly the U.S. 106th Division which was nearly annihilated yet held the ground. Though there stood a silent camaraderie among service personnel Anderson did not favor me the slightest. It was always business with him, reason his outstanding success as a combat officer, anticipated his reaction of either bewilderment with my being in San Diego on a case he hadn't authorized let alone never heard of; or how the hell could arrive in such a state as the present calling from a patrol cars radio in the middle of a busy boulevard with two dead sticking through the others windscreen, but I'd be given something not expected from the commander; an order to leave the county.

Anderson didn't wait nor seemed to have any interest as to the case with the woman, and now the attempted murder of myself by what initially believed a driver of the central depot assigned to me. Once he heard my voice simply talked about the weather in market garden, what a 'blood mountain' and mustag morning turned into; to not forget next of kin and brace myself for it; the 432118N, the 582585N and the 421239N report 80 of which due by 10:30 Eastern time needed urgent review; and how the sight on the 583 snap squad looked in my review of them, whether they were up to the task and needed to try again, and not forget to try that good glass of scotch whisky he'd told me about, to inspect the bottle properly with the dark green label well and make certain it was of the correct brewery he'd spoken earlier of. After that, he promptly hung-up, while still holding the handset his voice accompanied only with the constant blaring of automobile horns left me to wonder the words spoken and heard correctly.

Yet something of the victim from the beach seemed very familiar; a simple natural beauty. Tired, more concerned with the driver trying to kill me, grew more compelling and certainly relevant than just another corpse. Staring down, her firm naked body, the pale skin tight without any trace of fat, barren without sign of life on the examination table, the continuous droning of the examiners, his cigarette hanging from one corner had developed a two inch ash curving downward caught my attention wondering when it would fall as it seemed connected for it had almost reached the filter in a way not noticed, defying gravity with such a great unwillingness of releasing itself practically believed there was some magical trick this overweight examiner had produced through either his own boredom of the job in wanting to see my reaction, or for my benefit alone as we were the only two live humans in the room.

Suffering from a mild headache after cleared from the accident found the coroner's office without delay, except losing fifteen minutes for something to eat and drink the cab thankfully waited then speed straight to the address given, after first downing a couple of pills taken as a prescription sedative knowing their effect would stop the shivering my brain produced. In a way, it was no different that of L.A. or any large city for that matter as dead people die and have to be managed accordingly San Diego also large metropolis had several morgues, but where the girl laid was connected with the police so most of the corpse believed here were crime related.

'You should get that looked at,' the examiner stated breaking my thoughts thrashing about what the commander said, their meaning. It was, of course, a code used. He didn't want anyone to know meaning others were listening to our conversation. Who and better why were the further most questions to establish answers, for just now, mostly interested in his 'green bottle,' 'mustag' and 'market garden.'

Market Garden, of course, was the code name of the failed operation attempted by the Allies shortly after D-Day to take nine high-valued bridges in Nederland's that could have provided a planned invasion into Germany where estimated, would end the war in a matter of two months if successful.

It failed because of a failure in planning, intelligence, poor leadership and tactics, and a lack of understanding of the nature of the terrain. Was Anderson driving at this when the examiner comments caught again, quickly looking at him questioning his meaning which must have appeared obvious on my face as the man with his right index finger, pointed to my forehead.

Following his motion found a laceration which must have closed quickly for there was little blood noticed looking at my reflection before entering the morgues main office front door cleaned it quite easily with my handkerchief.

'Yes. Yes, thank you I will,' I mumbled still caught with Anderson's words, and then it appeared. What he might have meant. Quickly asked the man where the woman green dress was and if I might have a look.

He pointed to a small locker on the opposite wall behind us with his thumb, looking observed many all with numbers. Reading my mind, the man informed me simply match the locker number with the body of the girl, and that on the wall; there you'll find all the belongings.

Asking was anything examined since the body arrived he said no, then commented he had other business and if no longer required would leave agreeing he may, pushed the body tray back into the cool locker, but not before taking my penlight turning the lights off in the room and with my light held above her head, shown the beam down across the girl's face examining closely the eyes. Finished thanking him, watched as he shuffled out, marveling how still the ash now reaching the filter, hadn't fallen as the door behind him closed with a soft click without the slightest of interest ever passing upon his face. Then the silence came.

Always in the very moment, only yourself standing in a room such as this surrounded by those for the most were still alive less than twenty-four hours earlier, a feeling approaches of your own mortality knowing you too will be here. Not exactly within a police morgue, but insofar deceased, and with that, a brief time of reflection moved about where normally none managed. Life it seems was to busy to let you bother with such notions, and only did so either when your mind took leave of its own self; the ego. And just as now, did.

Surprised by the youthfulness and beauty of this girl, at their fullest. Her having passed less than twelve hours before would be a shock for those closest; family and friends. But who were they?

For a minute everything fell. This was the first time since leaving my apartment there was quietness which held secrets, inasmuch as when calm answers come to close the eyes. Think of nothing, simply focusing on the offered quietness.

Flashes of the accident appeared. The driver's seat cushioned the impact, my body already against its back when the two cars struck, had I gazed out the window most seemingly would have been thrown forward into the seat or windscreen where with such force probably through its glass, killed.

Often during operations in the war, you turned left instead of right and were saved. Each had their beliefs having survived when others not, and this was no different. Hell out here you could get killed just walking along the street, yet here I stood.

The green dress. Market garden. Scotch whiskey. There were small scars on her wrist and elbow and one under her left eye. Opening my eyes, turned and walked over unfastening the latch on the locker door of her belongings, the metal door swung open easily. Pulling out the tray noticed inside immediately the green skirt suit with three ornamental buttons having symbols, which lifting carefully beneath her black shoes, cream-colored shirt, and undergarments, including slip and stockings. Nothing more. No handbag nor jewelry of any kind. The only thing of value it seemed were the buttons.

The shoes appeared new as with all the clothes. No wear or fraying of any sort on the suit and stockings, while the shirt had only the slightest odor of perspiration. No perfume of any kind was detected, nor that from cigarettes. It was as if she'd bought the cloths just before her death, perhaps the first time worn, walked onto the beach, sat down then promptly died.

I'd noticed her fingernails kept short and well manicured. There was no discoloration in her hair showing she might have colored, but in this case not. Her hair was her own.

There was nothing out of the ordinary. She might have died from heart failure but the examiner ruled her organs were of normal condition. There was the poison issue of course, but that test would not be conclusive for another week. Needing answers now and hadn't the time of standing here any longer wanted to get out as this wasn't a city used too in the very least. My commander sent codes, and, nearly assassinated which the traffic police questioned three holes in the seat put their minds at ease as best as possible within the situation, stating on the basis they were present when collected by the driver earlier this morning in L.A., of which their reply, 'the City of Angles was furthest from the truth here,' left me knowing they would soon track me down after calling the main depot whereby dispatch would inform them no car on that date was assigned for a Lieutenant Detective Tolber.

It could turn very bad with the entire San Diego police thinking I tried to kill my own driver as insane as that sounds, yet a very strong feeling since answering their questions, and right now were the very last moments in that room before making my escape out of the building hopefully the city of San Diego itself, which would be sad and disappointing seeing how I couldn't solve this in the time before their police sprung its net across it.

Quickly feeling through the dress found nothing, holding it up against the light provide little other than the material was thin. Doing the same with the slip, and blouse, stockings showed no evidence. The shoes also gave no further clue. Returning the cloths onto the tray, slid it back closed the locker and about to latch the door when hearing voices from the hallway approaching it struck me; the 'squad'.

Anderson spoke of the 584 snap squad. There is no such squad in the L.A. police nor likely San Diego either. Besides he didn't refer to the squad rather 'cnap' which apart from French and Italian, in Gaelic, translates to 'button' as Anderson spoke fluently the three languages making him even the more vital as a combat officer aiding and communicating with the local French and Italian resistance forces during the Ardennes offensive against the Germans in that horrible battle those long winter months. And while training the year before in Scotland learned Gaelic with the British Intelligence working cryptanalysis used in breaking security systems accessing contents from their encrypted messages pushed the idea his codes linked here with something definitive from the past, perhaps the war itself.

Still not knowing what he meant of '583' thought at the time snap hadn't heard properly seeing the circumstances, yet even more so, this being very strange, why the button clue if perhaps meaning those from the girl's dress...the three buttons on her suit?

The voices nearing the door quickly opening the locker pulled out the tray lifted the skirt up and finding the buttons yanked them off dropped the skirt back onto the tray pushed it back into the locker, closed and latched the small door just as the outer door opened.

## Chapter 4 The Way Back

'The last. They promised,' the bald man mumbled lighting a cigarette watching me smoke drifting around the slick shining head. Of what little oxygen the room held quickly being consumed from us both, but mostly from the foul stench of his American tobacco recognized immediately as low quality fitting the man inhaling it.

Constantly hiding, their type believing their seniority over this 'new' domain especially now the war had ended not yet six months, aimed with results poignantly toward themselves as if the whole affair had become a bank of credit having collective rights hoarding the world.

In 1940 after enlisting, the lines formed clearly. They were nothing now. Faded perhaps depending on one's view, even comparing was a lost reason Europe carved-up in such a fashion exactly that, 'the habit of the times' and with that, tradition rolling through flattening all; a manicure of the right order.

In the end, most agents simply applied their trade for themselves ceasing to exist. Their usefulness would soon become corrupt feeding a different animal than the one believed in wanting to forget what we'd done, knowing all the while, this, the true perversion.

Some knew and embraced the change with considerable artistry. Excelled beyond their own intention as there was a void in the world they well provided for with near perfection, while those having fled became targets themselves; 'not with us - against us' being their countersignature.

Knowing if I took the folder, the mission brought me closure to a side trying to escape, of which marred, swelling through its own infectious poison corrupting all. It was as if you were running for the high ground of which there wasn't any, yet believed desperately to be so since preached from all beginnings, your only true salvation, understanding anything before your life in war, was simply an illusion, and that the act of war was in itself, the true reality of which so many upon returning from, found entirely disquieting.

Taking the folder letting the pills slide off its cover onto the desk, opening read the first page. Having enough, quickly closed along with my eyes for really couldn't face this man any longer without rolling the folder into a tube and ramming it down his frog-like throat. His sitting there resembled something demonic first seen in a small rural village at the Ukrainian border with Russia after the Nazis passed through, where they beat severely then stripped off the priest's clothing leaving him naked, nailed his hands and feet to a wooden door which they hoisted above the altar for all to see.

The village was then 'allowed' to pray for the priest, but the Germans grew bored quickly, fashioned a branch into a spear and slowly pushed it into the side of the priest just as the crucifixion of the village Savior depicted. The soldiers later raped all the woman in front of the alter forcing their families to watch. Afterward, shot them, allowing only the very old to survive so they may tell what happened, along with their message left behind painted on the church walls; 'Das ist erst der Anfang'...'This is just the beginning.'

Before leaving, the soldiers set fire to the entire village except for the small church. Arriving the next day only smoke from smoldering debris and charred remains of the villagers were seen. It was after an hour search my Ukrainian guides located two very old women hiding in the forest who told us what happened, this, after I'd gone into the church with two resistance soldiers and one Ukraine sergeant acting as my 'official' escort, should the need arise for an explanation why I was doing which simply amount to scouting the situation as advance reconnaissance.

There is war. And there is another type of war. This being the latter the Germans used till the very last day of fighting. It wasn't till three months later while returning to London speaking with officers having viewed details of the Pacific battles and how the American Marines endured months engaged with an enemy who never surrendered were as merciless as the Satin itself. That the officers telling this strongly believed the gates of hell indeed had been opened and on two fronts, Europe and the Pacific, where those doors swung wide. Generally excepted entering that small church, that what drove those to act in such a manner was beyond a common understanding, that humanity was lost and might never find its way back.

Visiting seventeen other villages just as this in Ukraine alone, certain, and reported such, what happened here was throughout all lands the Germans touched, and now watching the bald man understood clearer, abomination had many forms, and with the quick glance at the paper told me little imagination required what to expect on this, my 'final assignment' other than meeting another sort of atrocities.

Turning reached for the door when the bald man spoke.

'Forgetting something...?'

Not bother turning, nor even replying, directly opened the door walked out knowing he referred to DonaX still on the desk. Moving down the hall could hear him rise from his chair the wood moaning under his weight, walking a few steps heard the door close knew he hadn't followed with some snide remark people of his kind found appropriate firing off in their only line of defense.

With the silent hallway thought freely of the task at hand for the mission and what would a successful probable outcome entail, when the peacefulness soundly broke my transport having taxied, flew off just overhead. Looking up seeing my escape, the one taking me out of here pass what seemed only an arms distance, imagined if reaching out could...

'Yes,' the sudden voice behind and to the right startled causing a shudder drop through my head down to the knees. Believing completely alone wanting desperately to be on that flight, now caught surprised me even more convinced seeing any movement along the deserted hallway from the corner of my eye.

Unrecognizing, the voice raced through my brain quickly turned immediately wondered what exactly I was looking at, for there stood a man in a perfectly white tailored suit and vest having nearly the same color short cropped hair, flat at the top, wearing gold-rimmed eyeglasses supported by a black cane the end tipped with silver as well as a hand grip could only just see for both his large hands resting held it firmly in front of his tall thin stature. But through all this, the most striking was the man's piercing blue eyes, the very instant meeting, felt the faintest burning sensation causing them to water growing surprisingly attracted toward, insomuch never willingly removed from, their immense addictive stare.

Standing no more than six feet distance off my right of which the puzzlement on my face certainly apparent seeing couldn't for the slightest, wonder how, or where he appeared from as the only door in the hallway was that of the bald man's, yet here he stood.

And then he spoke.

'Pity you'll not be on that one, Mr. Tolber. Another perhaps,' finishing with a slightly upturned corner from the left side of his thin lips which undoubtedly his form of a smile, left the air chilled and quite still.

Exhaustion from the war having finally caught up, a new mission, seeing my exit from this broken part of the world pass above, the combination of all, produced a weight upon me I'd not felt...since... couldn't...remember.

Something at the forefront of my brain used as a map for comparison, abruptly evaporated leaving me doubt-struck staring at the man who now placed indeed lavishly engraved handle of the cane in the nock of his bent left elbow, all the while the eyes never leaving my own, slowly with profound composure removed his glasses, taking a small cloth from his breast coat pocket began methodically cleaning the lens, spoke softly and with great care.

'You feel...not necessarily...needing the medication, Mr. Tolber? Might I ask... why?'

My head began less to swim, but my throats dryness increased trying to remain calm, felt this person knew exactly what I thought, and began answering his inquiry. Continued cleaning, slow the glass in a hypnotic notion found myself attracted to and soon became only interested in circles he made with the cloth.

He nodded as I continued always rubbing the glass never altering the speed till I stopped. After a moment he said something couldn't hear only seeing his mouth move as there appeared a loud noise covering his voice permitting not in the least any coherent form of communication.

How long the disrupting noise lasted, wasn't certain. How long I spoke, I'd no idea. Couldn't even remember what was said after saying it. Understanding some reading his lips in-part for the noise grew somewhere instantly becoming a deafening state taking considerable concentration blocking the roar otherwise might have well simply shut itself off out of pure preservation.

He spoke of time being most important, not to trust it or anyone, traitors were cutoff and something related to a red eye.

More information was spoken but hadn't any ability contemplating further for the sheer volume doubled, seemed impossible for that would certainly burst the auditory nerve in both ears since rubbing his glasses at which point immediately ceased the moment he stopped. All the while his eyes never breaking their stare.

Immensely relieved slightly swayed, lifted a hand to my forehead steading at least my head hoping to gain some control over what happened and what might just as well begin again for the man still held his glasses in the handkerchief between forefinger and thumb of his right hand, having only ceased the circular rubbing motion.

Certain he waited for some reaction of mine, in any case with or without, if were to commence with the cleaning, the noise rebound deeper. As most who held power over another, once they progressed after a short interval, their force growing insurmountably, was very common with interrogations, knowing this exactly that, but in a polite nature.

Comprehending there remained a few seconds, opened my mouth to speak, of what had no clue only wishing more time to think. So I asked a question...

'When is the next flight?'

His look upon me never wavered. There are certain elements a person possesses. The element which alters not only themselves but what surrounds them. Here was a man with such capabilities not one of science nor wizardry, remained at a loss as to his sudden appearance in the empty windowless hall. As if through sorcery, or scholarly knowledge obtained from disciplined years of study, though both proved themselves ample here, asserted altogether through not only his eyes but stature as a whole.

There is no doubt so ever a magnetism with the simplest of natures demands in no greater form of overwhelming desire possible than that of hunger, and it was which drew me toward him. He tapped the primordial root; direct without reverence or reluctance. Nor the very least, shame.

A sense either left you or inhabited, either way, felt completely engrossed while a strange creature stirred deep below slowly raised for the surface of what believed my own balanced, mature conscious mind finally accepted, yet this mind neither balanced nor mature in any meaning, faced a real fathomed from its own falsehood lying since one wished recollection or forced now, realized one could never withstand greatness from themselves unless they escalated above their own deepest shadows which constantly baited, entangled, thrived upon...fear.

All ensued a very mad scene achieving an almost comical apparition difficult finding anything further than the truth, for who would possibly believe later should confess those few yet seemingly endless moments where not only grew the distinct feeling this person knew my innermost thoughts but actually was a malignant twin of my very own having somehow escaped, now stood arms length for never had I glimpsed more into a lunatic's world than now; that of my very own!

Primal fear was in all men no matter what discipline laid over them, a weary mantel fraught with regret in showing the 'true' self, believing through innocence of the decision doing so meant certain success such as the angry child stomping their foot when not allowed, of which felt immediate that youthful soul within shrivel completely scurrying off into some distant corner of my subconscious for anything conscious, would certainly come under vindictive attack.

The lumbering beast of madness approached where not only did my feebleness bolster itself, altering that crave, that hunger of forbidden strengths creating not simply an illusion of such, but placing all before a high altar for all to worship while slaying those who failed without prejudice; I had become the 'true belligerent' having the least afterthought of action conducted, diffidently for the cause of duty assumed my own ends effortlessly.

Never forced confronting anything other than yourself stood basically in our training, as it were, naturally you were your own best enemy, where overcoming one's fears and weakness the task, not entirely prevailing over the mission, conquering opposition. They were simply byproducts. Training only took you so far. What remained was the darkness within the pit we all carried, you learned to release. It was the training we underwent keeping it maintained for never was that controlled. Not in the least in fact what dwelled within that darkness often saved you from death, or worse; captured.

From the start we were told if apprehended there would be torture beyond our own imaginations all the while the task of our training officers would colorfully form pictures allowing our imagination the better of developing what most dreamed but forgot thankfully. Grateful having woken from such dreams of these remembering only slight threads of which slipped away as the conscious mind ebbed through what resembled eternity as often nightmares do, regained authority and that its 'self' was such a falsehood believed till witnessing what war is.

And here in this hallway seized by nothing more than an illusion of my own self, that of what we fear and hate the most. That beauty doesn't seem through eyes simply those unwillingly witnessing the actual world closely. Those preaching 'there is beauty in everything' are either liars or cowards succumbed with propaganda imitated from something much greater they have no understanding of, with only a desire in part of whatever trend played out.

## Chapter 5 One Second

'Are you absolutely sure? I was lead...' the voice of a rather tall man spoken with authority as he stepped into the morgue's examination room broke immediately once his eyes caught me standing next to the cabinet of the girls belongings just closed, my hand still on the latch, which suddenly released making a loud audible click as it fastened sending what seemed a metallic echo through the large empty sterile room holding just two examination tables, and twenty cold storage corps lockers along with their smaller personal effects cabinet.

As the large man stopped his speech so did his colleague slightly shorter directly behind him both gazed wondering who the stranger was in their morgue, and what the hell was he doing shouted from both their expressions. They were not medical staff but detectives more likely senior for their body carriage was that from authority based on years of experience where they were listened too without interruption nor questioned of their acts.

They hadn't entered the room more than one step when both began their observation of me with closed expressions neither judgmental or surprised, but that only of witnessing facts crossed their faces, and knew they would ask direct questions requiring a frank and honest response. At least this's what they believed, because of their nature who would be foolish to do otherwise questioning their authority.

The buttons still in my hand, had to move with unquestionable convictions yet caution for any false movement here bringing about certain situations that later, would amount to a near impossible defense on my part, and fortunately having removed my suit jacket while examining the articles from the dead girls cabinet laying it over my left shoulder having two effects; one, covering my holstered weapon under my left arm, and two; allowed me reaching with my right hand putting on the jacket, slip the buttons into the breast pocket without the two noticing unable seeing my hand.

But instinct was the better of these two when the papers they held immediately dropped from their hands both reached for their revolvers the exact same moment dropping the buttons in my pocket.

If recording the number of situations life came down to a decision made less than a split second where in fact the mind actually played no bearing, where instinct ruled swifter of the two, would be incomprehensible. Any number of missions assigned during the war and now after thorough investigations, amounted to countless opportunities of factors the human mind couldn't possibly weight their outcome in the allotted time. It would be the same our instructor in training once stated, once being only required the profound impact lasted through our lives whenever we thought the maddening sequential possibilities in our actions - 'In chess there are more than nine million positions after three moves apiece, the mind calculates at best only twenty-two, and only four within the following second after committing oneself.'

Nature illustrates often how futile the brain works. And becomes excessively clear seeing what's accomplished in the amount of time we've existed. How many different species within an hour after birth establish independence from their parents compared to ourselves taking years? And even then, some not at all. The only element protecting our existence is our instincts, where more often than not, preserved us without ourselves ever being mindful of the fact, yet here we stand masters of our own domains, proud from accomplishments, steadfast in beliefs. And this being no different, opened my hand releasing the buttons, grasped the handle while pivoting my holstered Browning semi-automatic, and fired all before the two reached their own weapons.

All before even known what I was doing. All before the process to weighted down by logical reasoning, had time which there wasn't any of, 'thinking' things through.

The first two rounds struck the chest of the man who'd entered last blocking any escape of the first who took the third round in the abdomen. Both dropped immediately to the floor, rounds passed through without any whiplash effects of a body being thrown about from the impact of a larger caliber used, and with such close range both hadn't but a foot in the room when the shooting commenced.

Pausing a moment counting; three fired from my thirteen round clip, plus four reserve clips on my belt left me with sixty-two rounds. This was a morgue with perhaps six to eight armed officers, at least four seen when entered, more than not willing to lay down their lives would for the most instinctively take cover and call for assistance rather than face head-on something they weren't properly prepared for.

With twenty-six confirmed kills, nineteen from hand-held weapons now more than likely twenty-eight, knew those upstairs for at least ten-seconds would do little but gaze at one another in wonder apart from what was all this, to, how the hell survive, chances were none had ever been in a firing situation, let alone in their own office space.

Impossible listening, the ringing from the shots fired in the windowless underground room blotted out perceiving whether anyone approached. Bending, watching the motionless bodies other than occasional twitching of fading nerves, swiftly collected the buttons from the floor by my feet along with three spent Browning casings, placing all into my suit vest pocket put on while stepping forward, collecting papers the two brought, not bothering with their still holstered firearms normally would have collected seeing both men were very close to or already deceased resulting in valuable time lost, rather checked the lead man's pockets where finding a set of keys, rose, stepping over both bodies and walked hugging along the hallway wall toward the exit stairs.

Throughout training we fired a number of weapons establishing proficiency of a certain level, though not expert of which required considerable practice and unless this being your specific skill illustrating exceedingly high natural abilities in marksmanship, most agents opted a more rounded service expertise in several fields, commonly knives, other hand-to-hand, demolition, even poisons, along with developed instinctual judgment again without even aware of doing so, hadn't taken the fallen officers weapons understanding my abilities lower in accurately hitting the target, would ultimately pull away from the more professional usage of my own Browning, of which extremely confident using, and might well result expending considerable ammunition before exiting the office complex.

Five steps on the staircase leading to the door earlier through opened into another hallway this with four window on the street side while two large rooms containing various medical equipment the opposite passed during my entrance brought through by the examiner with his drooping cigarette who only willfully after taking twenty dollars from a colleague in order the man have a day's vacation. This being apparent with the roster posted on the clipboard hanging next to the door of which showed only two examiners names glanced when passing were checked-off one matching his name tag wherein the pocket just below part of the twenty showed slightly; one examiner marked 'Day Off' while the third also checked was on duty very possibly we'd meet just beyond the door.

Naturally all this somewhat conjectural, though further established my belief administrative conditions were extremely relaxed for a California State office including security for no locks on any door other than the main which though wasn't guarded had a receptionist busy with duties and meeting any great force upon leaving the morgue was anticipated noting the reaction from both detectives proved in itself an alert already issued against me is that of very probably 'considered armed, extremely dangerous; shoot to kill'. Which oddly enough is there any other reason to shoot other than to kill?

Their eyes gave all the information needed. Both men having experienced very possibly the Second War for their reactions confirmed they too lived very close with their gut feelings, these premonitions undoubtedly saving their lives a number of occasions shined brightly the moment the door opened. My instinctual response the same as theirs knew they were approaching gaining a second.

A second in time is a great measure. The entire concept continues governing our lives and has since our own very being formed so much so we are consumed by; possessed.

Yet managed, time is an influential ally - driving the mind past once unthought-of capabilities - greatly diminish fears - take advantage - manipulate. That matter of DonaX rising in the system greatly amplified.

Discovered in 1937 from a Swiss psychiatrist, the sole purpose blocking certain signals in the brain of the mentally ill, while transfiguration, amplifying, redirecting 'new' alerts toward other regions of the undamaged patients' mind bypassing the brains impaired areas. Several governments took notice questioning similar drug application for mass populace management, reducing imagery in a 'police state' while maintaining full control.

The benefits from a profoundly reduced security enforcement meant funding of such was allocated for more problematic objectives, first and foremost, those of clandestine operations whose popularity grew with great attraction primarily under 'Operation Hummingbird' increasing Nazism in Germany, a purging of Hitler's enemies placing himself as their Führer. It was in which during these covert operations the gathering of names and details, lead the way for 'Hummingbird' or more commonly known, 'Night of the Long Knives' wherein three days' time Hitler's SS killed over an estimated one thousand of those he believed 'direct threats' for himself and Germany. It was in itself more of 'getting even' with those who denounced him in his climb toward domination, and it was also during those same operations leading up to 'Night of the Long Knives' where Heinrich Himmler began setting up a counterintelligence division of SS, where DonaX discovered along with ideas forming how on a mass production of such would benefit the Nazis, above all since Himmler eventually became one of the most responsible for the Holocaust, was already planning concentration camps with Hitler.

However further testing was essential of DonaX, not simply those in controlled environments of mental hospitals, but in the full-flung fields of society without limitations, though some management would incite optimism against agents turning rouge, consensus dictated they becoming the 'new drug recipient' since conditioned, highly trained operatives positioned world-wide permitting any scenario possible. But spies in the SS were placed at risk and far too valuable with such a narcotic since details from Switzerland informed the SS 'itself' an alternative must be sought.

But in Scotland there was.

As the taxi drove me from the accident to the morgue my mind raced over what Commander Anderson spoke of but wasn't till in the room itself staring at the naked body of the girl lying before me and the examiner with his damnable drooping cigarette, did the clues finally begin revealing themselves.

Not snap squad, rather 'button' in Gaelic meaning cnap and squad must have meant 'squadron' of course now understood observing the ashes from the examiners cigarette remembering Anderson once spoke to me what they called the 'Button Squadron' in the RAF whose mission was to release ash from the exterior of their planes aimed at interfering with ground-to-air radio communication the Germans used.

Referred as the 'button your lips squadron' was solely designed as a disinformation ploy, for British Intelligence knew they had a mole based in Scotland sending details to Berlin; Scotland having a latitude and longitude of '584'.

It's the reason for taking the buttons from the suit, and grabbed the papers the men believing the held more information as normal details of a case where kept together in their own folder jacket, and not held loosely about in your hand as these were, telling me the two come to examine the girl as I had.

Reaching the steps taking two at a time placed my ear against the door listening. My heart beat raised considerably though hindered slightly as blood rushed through my inner ear pulsing its deep hypnotic rhythm as the brain if little to manage during stress often attaches itself to almost anything staving off that inevitability adrenaline produces of rushing too quickly, as in many cases the prime cause of death.

Taking a deep breath for the hallway hoping remain quite ringing in both ears interfered thankfully still revealed nothing with a quick glance returning to the bodies now completely motionless, the dark red of blood flowing slowing out away from them on clean tiled white floor producing incredible contrast of which its coppery odor hadn't risen above the gunpowder yet. My attention in such a sight caused me to see the entire hallway clearer, curved slightly to the left the walls and doorway splattered with thick globes of tissues and blood-forming now trials from dense toward thin red lines all holding the same strake white background all morgues possessed in their sterility.

Instinctively my weapon followed my eyes down the hallway and while seeing only the white and red focused early down the gun sight ready should movement come either from those on the floor or the hall, my other hand on the doorknob after hearing nothing but the ringing still profound placed my cheek against the door weapon still raised, pressed my right ear fully onto the wooden door, which seemed odd as a morgue usually has metal doors. In fact, state law requires them.

'State law requires them!'

Then...this isn't a morgue.

Stop. Think. What did I actually know and see?

Thoughts sprang back thought from the accident. A cab brought me. Spoke to the driver who simply acknowledged, nodded his head and drove. Drove where? I'd told him the address yet hadn't watched the street signs when the taxi pulled up to the building.

Could be anywhere. Anywhere either wasn't or was supposed to be.

Wasn't surprised, the two who also came to inspect the girl, a routine inspection it appeared by the lack of just one-second those two men lapsed in. But again, the glint in both their eyes produced a different picture entirely. They were different. Very different. They held a certain air about themselves, not of ordinary law enforcement. Relaxed in their manners. Yet with great focus when the need arises, which arrived too late.

This was their home and I'm intruding. They were very calm entering, even their speech, 'Are you absolutely sure? I was lead...' arrived above concern, more of a comment than a question. As if they already knew the situation, simply abided the rules completing tasks for which both overqualified holding disdain knowing...

Voices now came through the door, two probably more. Regardless these conceptions must be settled further back in my thinking, placing my attention that ten rounds remained in this clip, drew a breath quieting myself, and pushed the door open.

## Chapter 6 Don't Be Late

Absolute clarity essential, the entire duration, without which any number of problems could, and usually do, produce themselves in any number of manners. After all, we were spies. Some of us rather poorly more often than not, exchanged sides after the war if they weren't killed or captured inevitably during, as you never really knew yourself what was going on.

With the war drawing to a close this becomes ever so poignant knowing comrades you worked with either disappeared completely or were killed, replaced with dread in realizing your values sliding. Your moral issues in a collapsing state. The avalanche began.

'Your flight is waiting,' speaking that calm clarity as before, accompanying a slight smile opened his hand believing offered in friendship but looking down saw the two pills with their distinct 'X' marking.

'First rule they taught you...' he paused a moment letting my eyes return to his then added, 'Use every possible means...'

Without hesitating took the pills, turned and in walking down the hall focused on the droning from all types of aircrafts their arrivals departures, the airstrip which now constantly full with troops returning home on any flight possible, was heading the other direction into a heart of Siberia and Moscow itself where spending four months during the winter of 1941-42 monitoring the winter campaign better known as the Battle of Moscow and Stalingrad the end of 1942 till February 1943, desperately wished never return again, was a mere few hours flight away.

To declare the outcome of the Second World War hung in the balance during this nothing less than all-out massive attack lasting from October 1941 till January the following year, was no exaggeration. Monitored, relying back to London this devastating setback for the Germans, the end of their 'Grand Plan' of a fast victory in the USSR, which as the German offensives were halted, a Soviet strategic counter-offensive and smaller-scale offensive operations forced the German armies back of which they never recovered, ending with the Red Army's entry of Berlin at the end of April '45.

I also established networks within Moscow, the Allies realizing once the war was over, Russia would close everything off securing its 'new borders'. Now, heading into this world just a short time ago was open and receptive, had nearly shut all branches of communication with the West permitting only designated flights into Moscow itself, that in itself serious, but more so though my Russian passable would not stand up to security forces undoubtedly encounter who'd promptly throw me in prison if lucky, but rather end with execution as a spy right where they caught me.

Needn't worry of either language issues nor permitted flights, immediately after turning from the man and his gold-rimmed glasses, met again by three large men though different from the first, with sidearm in British uniform wasn't sure of which branch thinking it possible with the end of the war London had thought up something wanting to be different. Actually leaving all behind wasn't far from most simply wanting to get on with life having survived the entire wretched ordeal war had thrown at them, civil and military alike. Desperately wanting to shed this uniform and live the rest of my life in obscurity, such as the Dakota's working a farm with only horses and large dogs to worry about, not being tortured to death hiding information didn't know then, already carried with me and had for some time; the DonaX pills.

Surrounded, the three marched me to a waiting car where once seated, they along with me of course, opening the folder that bald bastard gave me and began reviewing the mission, which growing thankfully of taking my mind from the encounter with this 'ghost' of a person in white believing at the time he was somehow myself almost made me laugh aloud till my brain froze as scanned a single document the mission folder held.

Didn't feel the car moving any faster, being too engrossed with the information. Why would it? This being a large secure airstrip just outside Zurich. The war was over. My guard was replaced with a peace of mind which shattered the moment finished reading the file; when the shiver in my brain threw a fit.

Glancing quickly at the two on either side of me from the corner of my eye without turning my head so as not to alarm them, that now most certainly alarmed by their unknown uniform, realizing the shiver there all along probably the moment turning from the bald man till seeing the three their holstered weapons, not British yet something altogether different, where 'something' failed noticing might cost my life.

It wasn't just their uniforms different. Their weapons hadn't the required attached lanyard preventing someone taking the weapon where it wartime this was removed. But there wasn't a war. And this neutral Switzerland, for all intent purposes due to their stand on the war viewed by some, not even part of Europe, creating their own pit hiding from the carnage raging around them.

But always enjoying the Swiss and the land itself, that's what made the reading so profoundly shocking. That's why the car sped at such speed only at the last moment the driver braked, swerving as the truck in front stopped causing us to just pass its right side and doing so our car exploded from flying glass as the windows burst under rapid machine-gun fire from the inside of the truck.

Immediately thrown about in the back seat the driver assuming defensive tactics veering so as to change direction all the while increasing speed. There came a roar as the soldier in the front passenger seat fired his weapon over the seat through the non-exiting rear window having been blown inward, his back against the dashboard it seemed for better aiming when in fact the entire car shuttered as the blast nearly caused my entire mind to shut down as the sheer collapsing from lack of any from this world contained my sense themselves under direct fire from the concussion which followed.

The only thing fortunate of that very moment, my head almost on the floor helped reduce the sound wave which shatters eardrums of the two soldiers in the rear who themselves were ready waiting to fire their own weapons when suddenly the car came to a scratching halt its engine sputtering. We'd spun so our broadside faced the truck no more than thirty yards away, where calmly my three escorts stepped out, raised their weapons, fired and through it all observed this complete form of detachment with anything other than the task a hand; protecting the asset.

The three were acting almost as in a dance. Each having a role, played to perfection, with the exact results as if rehearsed a thousand times. Not once did they hesitate nor communicate. It was as if they were oblivious to their action. Only reaction. And I knew. They'd taken something different than DonaX.

In a moment as with most combat, it was over. Extreme but brief lasting no more than eight to ten-seconds we waited watching the truck, then together the three returned to the car and the driver sped somewhat slower but would surely have the car at top speed if it wasn't for the practically flat rear tire, and steam billowing from the engine at times blocking the drivers few as the front windscreen contained only half its original glass.

Quickly taking into account whether injured from rounds, surveying with only scratches from shard glass. There was blood on the seat both front and back along with chunks of the upholstery blown away from high impact rounds used when the truck's occupants fired of who and how many were hard to say. Three for sure dropped to the ground dead. And the driver sprawled over his wheel covered in glass also; all shot in the head tearing half away. If any more survived they didn't bother showing though would communicate back their mission situation.

The escorts didn't bother checking, there appeared a timeline in place and this was simply a slight hindrance, very possibly informed a high probability from the start, and only death preventing me missing my plane would be tolerated, unless it was my own. They returned to the car which immediately sped away as best under rapidly eroding conditions.

There wasn't any point thinking much why the attack; who these unutterable men were, their secrets never spoken, taken certainly to their graves for this type only existed in extreme situations. They appeared when only a mere nothingness remained, where only scarce frayed threads strung holding rational worlds together.

Not bother knowing details other than when the car would stop, simply braced me against the wind and smoke from the engine relentlessly pouring through what remained of the auto's windows, noticing the soldier in the passenger, reload his weapon with a bloodied left hand for two fingers were missing the dark crimson blood shined along the seat.

Looking at the driver who with both hands grasping a convulsive steering as the front tire also quickly lost air knowing any moment would give way while at this speed would very well summersault the car as often the case, brought back when in fact a Hungarian driver, shot in the shoulder had the same calm determined look about the situation, acknowledged either you made it or not, both ways you were going to finish the task assigned, as it would finish you should you fail. And during these moments, life was at its simplest. Only the 'now' existed. There was no future you might never meet.

Also, the problem constituted weapons fired in close vicinity seriously damaged the ears so much so few ever spoke loudly knowing this would bring attention toward the problem you couldn't hear a damn thing except loud continuous ringing lasting at times several days, ultimately jeopardizing the mission. Just as the present case both driver and passenger had blood oozing from their ears which showed this wasn't by any means the first rupturing of their eardrums, insofar the severity of the damage increased causing serious fragility of the inner ear whereby even the clapping of a hand could initiation a near deafening tone. This now the effect might very well suffer from a near complete loss of hearing.

That they were experienced commando military from some countries branch left little idea for their uniforms carried no distinguishable insignia, only they were British for in the hallway when first meeting, not from their unfasten lanyards which at the time alerted this being no ordinary situation, rather their odor. Having often surround by numerous militaries promoted a sense in the field knowing whom you dealt with especially on the mission in the near or complete darkened environments of pitch black nights or rooms where hushed voices seldom spoke, relied upon smell and hearing for the greater part. And here noticed the distinct fragrance of heather.

Thinking France had large fields of once, but those now destroyed from the war along with practically the entire countryside of both west specifically Eastern Europe left only a few locations relatively untouched; England for one yet more precisely, Scotland.

But as soon as we'd driven away from the old building with the bald man, sitting close with the four the scent departed replaced with stale upholstery and motor oil, stench of cigarette butts and of course booze, my attention moved away from why the smell of heather, to that of being attacked as no more than twenty yards from the building a truck having rounded the corner, gained on us immediately and if it wasn't for the drivers quick defensive actions steering the car we'd certainly be dead with the large caliber machine-gun mounted in the truck firing uncountable rounds it was any wonder the car could even move. Yet we finally lumbered with a halting jerk next to a small single-engine aircraft together stepping out and though quickly ushered toward the plane, glanced back at what remained of car its twisted metal and broken glass thinking she'd done her part protecting us while oil and possibly fuel now dripping from her undercarriage, steam and smoke billowing over the hood.

The same three kept me close in the center just as before, the driver waited near the car half watching the airplane whose propeller screamed desperately wanting to get off the ground into the air where it appeared from the now burning truck a considerably safer option, the other half eyeing indeed the truck which that very instant exploded lifting its bulk five feet in the air either from ammunition detonating, or another cause possibly the last survivor not wanting any material of their mission found for examination.

The escort neither turned from the sudden blast nor showed any indifference other than moving toward the aircraft but in hesitated a second looking again back seeing the truck return to the ground then looked toward the driver whose own weapon a rifle with scope trained upon the wreck ready to fire should the reason arise. And in that slightest pause of turning one's head as if watching something so simple as an attractive woman having just passed, immediately felt under both arms, strong hands from the men on either side grasp with firm grip almost lifting from the tarmac itself my one-hundred and sixty pounds with the greatest of ease not even themselves missing a stride.

The remaining several yards to the plane were expressed on the tips of my shoes where politely yet with force the escort deposited me directly in front of the small step ladder a moment before thrown out the small door of which a woman stood her arm out-stretched the hand rapidly opening then closing that universal sign of 'get a move on goddamn it before we'll get killed', spoke much louder than any words should they have the chance conquering the horrific sound from the propeller as the pilot push the throttle moving the...hadn't noticed with all the happenings, but the aircraft appeared as a single-seat monoplane fighter of some type converted into three seats carrying Russian insignias.

With my mouth slightly open in wonder moreover grasping as much oxygen as possible for the propeller of the fighter now increasing its forward moments pushed nothing but air of which tasted hot from fuel and God knows what for this beast surely was such, for an expert in aircraft reconnaissance able identifying many from the ground, still this was something altogether different.

Not only the wind pressing upon me but the sheer vibration from the craft itself resonating outward, throbbing applying its untold pressure against my body felt its throbbing pass through into bones shuddered downward into the earth of which wasn't entirely sure now stood upon, the whole area around the ship trembled as if the very fear being torn apart existed as the craft increased its speed.

In a second the lead man from the escort who sat in the passenger seat of out car stepped aside through which the two beside me lifted under both my arms feeling simultaneously two more hands on my belt hoisted me directly into the small hatch where grabbing the woman's hand who mouthed something couldn't possibly hear shaking her head no doubt scolding me for being 'late to class' almost making me laugh the image flashing to mind the case where Mrs. Newton in fourth grade as soon as my hand touched hers believing she meant welcoming me into her new class, swung with great speed and intent a wooden ruler from behind her back slapping my hand with a sting obviously hadn't forgotten as it came with great force, accompanied the high shrill voice, 'Let that be your first lesson in my class. DON'T BE LATE!'

But she was far from Mrs. Newton with no space at all we were thrown together pressed tightly against her as the small door closed behind, and with a massive jerk thrown jointly against the crafts aft bulkhead as whatever this thing was hurdled down the runway at incredible speed.

Both our shoulder forced against the hard metal faces inches from one another what else could I do but have a look and see what sort of mission was going to turn into, looked directly into hazel colored eyes and smooth fresh healthy skin, the deep red hair once tied back, but due to the wind and all this exercise came loose their lightly curled ends just touching her shoulders.

Christ, she's gorgeous which of course she picked up immediately pushed me yelling, then abruptly stopped realizing it was useless. Calmly she reached behind searching a moment the pulled about her thin waist certain a perfect body in unusually tight fitting dungarees which didn't pay much attention of only watching her strong firmness of which thankful even for the briefest of moments having fallen upon, placed a headset into my hand, where she placed her own worn before my entrance as clumsy as it was, but fell down around her neck returning them and tapped lightly on the microphone attached from the right earphone, all the while looking at me as if to say, 'See idiot? This is how it's done.'

Taking the hint quickly donned the set where immediately the pilots voice sprang out calmly with great clarity confirming take off with whomever assumed either us or some important body and knowing in a very short time we better be seated and buckled in tight witnessing from the onset this wasn't some ordinary plane, or be crushed under the force when we lifted from the runway.

Seeing my capability with the headset the woman quickly moved forward in the aircraft, but as there was absolutely no room walking, even hunched-over, she crawled on both hands and knees in the direction of the pilot along a narrow but manageable passage where indeed looking past her the pilot busily working controls looking left and right out the cockpit waving hands moving hoped not in panic as some pilots previously flown with wanting at all costs to get the hell off the ground screaming they were extremely easy targets, made me wonder what they thought once in the air they'd become. At least on the ground surmised as most, one could jump and make a run from harm's way, but hundreds of feet up in the freezing air with diminished oxygen, if your ass was shot off, then what?

This aside within a moment the woman almost in her seat, quickly followed behind pulling myself into mine, which too was something different from your usual reconnaissance aircraft of simple leather and a few springs holding you in place with straps. Here it was padded and soft, curved slightly at the edge where you sat folding along the person's posterior with a high headrest.

Seated directly after hers in a row of which the pilot foremost, feeling the lurching of the aircraft as we increased speed, by just gaining my seat the incredible shuddering of the ground ceased into nothing but blessed smoothness as we left the ground behind, returning my excitement, my love for flight, seeing a different world, and who this girl I dropped onto.

## Chapter 7 Frozen Meat

Quickly circling the airport in looking down the scene of which many from before where troops swarmed onto some element covering the area as ants upon their victim, surrounding the truck still on fire as well as the escort car, yet of them none were seen having vanished into the chaos, as the fire brigade followed with even more troops.

Buckling the safety harness sat back as we moved away from Zurich another large city in partial ruin from the war some parts still smoldering from controlled fires set the burning off of disease and waste first and predominate against pandemics, while at the same making room for the reconstruction, returned to the case at hand noting we were climbing northwest at a speed not capable of any craft such as this for the turbulence alone would damage the structure shearing off wings at the very least but here we were doing the opposite.

The canopy glass thicker, only the seat an inch beyond my own knees, while as with her and the pilot, we had little if no room to move, except the head, with no navigation instruments to work with meaning the plane relied solely upon one person, brought me back with my examination of this aircraft. Completely at ease reviewing the craft making mental notes, very different to my first encounters with enemy forces suffering mild shock of the attack no matter the experience a person has in such situation, primarily adrenaline has its reaction with the body resulting with nearly all suffering from shakes to dizziness even vomiting.

Except with DonaX. There you felt nothing in the form of anxiety. The opposite occurred.

Still, having placed the pills in my pocket, the usual feelings associated with adrenaline-charged nearly diminished leaving only a quietness after the storm as often the case; the body returning to normality. Continuing our ascent simply waited as what else could one do but enjoy the quietness, the serenity flight always brought. There was peace as no other, except in sleep were simply one lies unconscious for most of, here the opposite comes about when...

'You still there Tolber?' a voice called through the headset yanking me about more than contact with the ground.

'Yes,' I voiced waited patiently. No point asking questions these two probably had nothing to do with my mission other than the pilot and for the woman I'd no idea. Navigation maybe?

'You seem to draw attention,' the voice returned.

'Unwanted I assure you.'

'I assure YOU Tolber this almost killed us. A moment later and they would have taken the entire operation.'

Is he blaming 'me' for this? Christ, less than five minutes before was heading home and besides...

'Your silence proves your guilt. Good. Gladly accept your apologies don't we Inna? But that will be Major Inna for you Tolber. She is in charge of this mission and you will do exactly as she orders. Do you understand?'

What the hell is this almost speaking freely into the microphone.

'Again good your silence shows you know your place. The bald man said you would be fine, but I have my doubts. I think you are an idiot, over-rated American to big to know he's out of touch. Especially where we are going.'

Actually, he was correct on several counts. I had no idea our final heading and destination, this wasn't listed in the file that bald bastard screwed me into, and as for being idiot over-rated...

'Not to worry Inna will watch over you so you can get back to that bald bastard who screwed you into this. Haha, you people are all alike. So easy to read.'

'Fuck you,' I spoke softly having enough of his bullshit.

'Good you have some balls Tolber I am happy bald man gave this time man with something other than for pleasing himself, but say that only this one time. Because I am Colonel Romintov of the Soviet Air Force soon to be Lieutenant General which is two-star general for your military Tolber because all the one star generals will be sent to Siberia which is where we are headed, so if you want to play, this is not the place because I will leave you here where you will never go back to your Hollywood. Now don't talk Tolber till we land. You only have some ball, but not much brain.'

Without a pause, Romintov spoke Russian quickly with Inna concerning the course change coming up and to verify with her records if this was indeed correct. Considering what the pilot mentioned concerning Siberia, knew of a Colonel Romintov who indeed preformed extream heroics in the battles of Moscow and Stalingrad providing cover fire for relief conveys practically single-handed for the Soviet air force was practically non-existent, where in truth secretly Stalin marshaled his breakout plan which proving not only successful allowing relief into the cities, also initiated the major counter-offensive push toward Berlin. And Colonel Romintov was its 'spear' head.

This though was only propaganda most in the West believed Moscow invented aimed at raising moral for such a person who'd having been shot down, survived trekking miles in freezing conditions fighting off Germans patrols all the while mapping enemy weakness as well as strongholds so later Soviet arterially zeroed in annihilating entire German divisions, was simply to farfetched.

How else though could such a map exist and accomplished attack if not a well trained group at the very least were on the ground mapping the terrain, let alone one single man?

Did Colonel Romintov truly exist? And was he piloting this...this craft looking every moment more a cross between a Messerschmitt 109, the principle fighter of the German Luftwaffe and a Russian perhaps 1940 trainer now converted into a fighter of some type?

All flashed through my mind while quickly opening the breast pocket of my jumper uniform taking the one-sheet mission report, scanning for coordinates whether they matched those of Inna's which Romintov quoted fifty-nine degrees, thirty-four minutes, zero-seconds north, one-hundred degrees forty-eight minutes zero-seconds east.

There were several sets of numbers to review taking my time, as what else was there seeing the conversation now rather limited. But after going over them noticed they weren't exactly the same but very close to Romintov's. In my other jumper pocket taking the map of Europe including one always carried of Russia, which could prove difficult explaining seeing some might view this as a form of espionage along with my compass seeking their location, quickly established Romintov wasn't joking as hoped, that indeed we were heading to the blackest heart of Siberia, a major transit center for prisoners sent to labor camps in the most northeastern oblast known as Magadan over five thousand miles from our present position.

Checking both figures again they were correct. Letting out a sigh gazing at nothing from the cockpit window except the widening intermitted expanse below between clouds and farmland feeling exactly as the fragmented landscape below, checkered uniformed while in other complete chaos recalling what I'd known of Magadan and the Kolyma region where winter temperatures range from minus nineteen degrees Celsius to minus thirty-eight degree Celsius. Now in December where summer left several months ago, will be very cold compared to Zurich and had no clothes in the least protecting me from such conditions as the jumpsuit now worn, placed on my bunk along with new boots by the flight sergeant informing me new regulations dictated all trans-Atlantic flights to the States required this particular uniform worn with boots were completely inadequate for what lay ahead.

Only noticing now our rapid increased altitude surely dropped the temperature in the cockpit, yet strangely the only areas feeling such were hands, face, and head. Running my hand along the sides of the jumpsuit nothing appeared different to standard issues jumpers except around the collar was slightly puffy as well as both wrists, and there were two large pockets on the middle thigh which other jumpers hadn't.

As the increased cold began affecting the hands their dexterity of which a near-certain lack of use from them would come within a matter of moments the temperature rapidly falling, a solution had to come forward with two options as all my extremities not only hands were affected but my head and actually thought how funny it would be to crack off half my thick mustache from the cold, the stopped realizing Romintov was right. I'd become lazy the past few months and here the results stood clear.

One option either asked Romintov, preferably Inna, if there was high altitude equipment onboard; or find out myself. Looking around there weren't any storage compartments. We were in effect right against the skin of the aircraft for all intense purposes, without anything between us and the frozen metal except ice crystals mushrooming into beautiful patterns holding my somewhat lethargic attention admiring their simplicity.

Hypothermia began. The cold battling both mental functions as well as physical. If I don't call out will simply fall asleep and that will be a quiet end of affairs. Strange surviving compounded conditions for five years of the war and now this.

Relaxing, placing my head against the seat rest feeling the bulge around the collar preventing even this as hoping to fire an imaginative spark finding a solution just a moment without thought might give way...

Quickly reaching back feeling the collar with hands nearly unresponsive, a slightly thicker strip of material existed, a thin inner lining against my neck as if it were a pocket. Instinctively pulling the strip where immediately a long tearing sound alerted my thinking at a time like this I've torn my jumper, yet finished nevertheless pulling the collar open fully where material expanded outward against the bare skin of my neck of which working with now claw-like hands the cold having almost clamped them into a fist, realized was a hood.

Fumbling at first able only using the thumb and index finger where all others now seem glued together in near frozen ball, finally able opening the garment fully without any further loss pulled it over my head where fitting snug against my face left only a small circle allowing for just the eyes, nose and mouth exposed.

Within seconds the warmth began filling the hood having fully enclosed my neck and head, entirely cocooned. Almost.

Except for the hands. In a minute they would be useless. The cold nearly unbearable upon them, but there were no gloves anywhere nor have the energy to ask the cold having taken that too.

Wrists same as the collar. But my hands were now too frozen to work. Stiff from the cold they'd become nothing more than lumps of frozen meat. Staring down upon them wordlessly exhausted frustrated not paid attention earlier with the rapid climb of the plane certainly the cold produced now grave consequences. And here they were turning both pale blue and white and how vivid the hairs on both appeared so bold almost standing erect. Hairs at attention laughing out loud my mind drifted away affected by the cold.

There was some movement surly but felt rather than saw my eyes blurred near frozen too, a hand touching my legs rapidly working toward my own where suddenly, felt both arms jerked about, as sight faded into a blurred, darkening grey.

Only the engine pulling the plane ever higher followed with ear-splitting whistling then jarring, the ships metal frame trying to escape the nearly unbearable stress the duration of which impossible knowing must have lasted a minute as counted down from sixty often used when calming the mind and body, when at four finally peace arrived, altitude achieved with Romintov leveling the aircraft.

Sometimes what's required is only a moment. A minute with sixty-seconds can change a great many events and situations. Even one-second, enough in certain factors, capable altering eternity. And with the quieted engine filling the cockpit somewhere into that second-minute needles began jabbing deep first back of the hands then slowly into fingers as slowly circulation painfully resorted itself.

From missions deep in Norway twice nearly frozen to death, survival there prepared me as warm blood moves through severely restricted vessels and capillaries opening them wider. If too quick the person may wish they'd died.

Then Romintov's voice in Russian came through the headset asking Inna something about papers and coordinates. Darkness approached exhausted feeling thankful my entire body hadn't frozen; perhaps.

Then Inna's voice faintly, 'His hands are bad but will recover. Face also. No papers found, Lieutenant General.'

'Well, he found the hood. Has at least one ball. We'll need his hands. We don't even need suits like this. Wait till Sevvostlag and Butigichag...then he tastes 'real cold'.

Inna's voice quietly confirmed, 'Yes, Lieutenant General,' as darkness closed around the ship.

## Chapter 8 A Few Walking Pedestrians

Surprised they had little if any idea the door swung hitting one in the hand as he reached for the handle pushing him back into the second man with enough force, bone clearly heard snapped that of dry wood, probably from the first mans hand as he yelled from the injury and surprise this brought. His being pushed into the second gave a moment where not waiting, fired point blank into the second's face the round disintegrating a large part of the head showering it into the room and along the wall covering the area with a deep crimson red against the stark white walls.

The blast terrified the first, fell directly to the ground dazed probably thinking he himself had been shot as the rounds impact forced chunks of the second's head landing on his back and side of his left face. Lowering my weapon his sitting hunched over now shaking body reacting to shock, knew in a moment he'd be useless, possibly blubbering as most do their first serious encounter seeing someone nearly blown apart, especially right next to you, bent slightly my weapon a foot from his head spoke with clarity, directness, as simple as possible seeing the situation dictated such.

'Where are we?' looking, directly after quickly scanning the room, at his unblinking eyes also a by-product of the on-set of both fear and trauma for which a person seldom closes their eyes, instinctually out of primordial fear ingrained over thousands of years hunting, surviving on savannas and wildernesses, fearful should you close the eyes you'll be eaten alive being lower on the food chain.

The man's mouth worked without sound, again a normal anticipated reaction encountered yet prepared for requiring in this case, as every situation carries with it different weight having to be judged independently, and in his took one step toward him being enough where he blurted out through bubbles of now steady flowing saliva drooling from the corner of his right mouth, his head tilted downward in such a direction seemed to hang heavily as he cupped the broken wrist in this left hand, 'La... La...La...'

'I know San Diego,' speaking clearly at him. 'Which...street?'

'Wha..What?'

I could see something flare in the man. Surprise. He was surprised by the question.

Now through clenched teeth, as indeed time was running rather quick and against me spoke again, 'San Diego but what street goddamn it?'

'La, La...' The same reply. He's in shock. Raising, stood now directly above him pulled the hammer on the weapon the concept always pushes a person out of shock is to push them deeper into without them realizing and usually, the pulling back of a weapon's hammer pointed at their head worked extremely well.

'Last time,' speaking softly watching his eyes and good hand knowing he was still armed his weapon holstered under the left bent arm he was holding.

'I told you...I told you!' blurted out near screaming in obvious pain. 'L...a...Los Angeles. Morgue on Topanga Canyon.'

Interrogating those apprehended I didn't care for. Part of the situation war brings about a harshness people donned, a beast-like persona a very short time simply applied protecting what lay underneath. And as an agent, you witnessed more than the usual brutality fighting offered for the straightforward reason for extracting high-quality information quickly.

In training, taught how to retrieve details, but they seldom were applied in the field where things were very different than a training room with men standing around observing their instructor ask questions to the 'captured offender'.

Realistically these tactics never worked better than applying pain and fear simultaneously either physical or psychologically where within a short time you get what you want. Why the Gestapo took so long torturing their captives was because they loved to torture knowing they would get the information sooner, and hoped because of their love for the art, would come later preferably when the accused was near death.

Naturally, there were those that did hold out under atrocities witnessed as German soldiers caught were brought forward by Russian interrogators. Not thinking for a moment the Russians wanted information more then wanted to tear the prisoner apart as they often did, literally with bare hands, not concerned by any means whether he was screaming about troop movements or chick soup and who could tell if they were even words.

The Russians simply shredded their enemies with a hatefulness not understood unless having witnessed what Germany did to Russia and her people, as well as any country they consumed. The Germans thought themselves above everyone and thing, therefore, no one was spared who stood in their drive for supremacy, not even the elderly or children. It was a full-scale genocide on all accounts of not just Russia, but in advancing the Aryan blood.

Looking down at this man crying tears streaming down his face, the mouth opening and closing a fish gasping, speaking some pantomime language forgotten or never really understood, 'please don't kill me...' of course the countless individuals witnessed in that very same position before being shot paraded across. Especially those from my own hand.

And the anger came. Burning rage at this whole wretched affair. From the goddamn war leaving you half dead to this cringing fucking pile of shit just want to blow his head off for the spite of it having witness women and even children with more courage then this bastard brought that rage full-on. The only thing tapering this the possibility how could this be L.A. when it had to be San Diego? But looking at this horse shit was certain, he's too stupid for lying.

Rethinking the way into the building, from here on the left through the second door was the main entrance of which arriving about thirty-five minutes since, and in checking my wristwatch, realized with surprise the glass was broken showing it stopped nearly two hours; during the traffic accident.

The main entrance would be filing by now, possibly secured allowing no one in or out of the building, yet when arrived there was only a receptionist and not security. Why would there? Most everyone here is dead, leaving only staff conducting examinations when required; literally, on-call as it were. Law enforcement personnel came and went accordingly. Those two dead in the cold storage room were just making a call, checking paperwork. And these two?

Quickly stepping to the side of the man slightly behind him placed the muzzle against the back of his head, bent removed his wallet checking details, specifically the badge.

I could have attempted exiting through the door into the main reception facing whatever waited, but instead felt more inclined to get some information first of which proved interesting as the badge and ID card as well as driver's license were all forgeries, very well done, but nonetheless fake.

A movement slight, yet clear, brought my eye back to the man on the floor who shifted his weight the second time meaning he's attempting what he shouldn't, then without warning fired through his own shoulder from a second weapon.

Possible carried in the belt or ankle removed while checking his wallet the round passing over my left shoulder just missing the head by a few inches, pivoted on my heals once he'd shifted positions anticipating his attack brought me out of range now directly behind his right shoulder the Browning's muzzle against his head which I fired into the back of.

Pocketing the wallet with the badge, decided for the main reception it being not the logical choice but perhaps least expected. Most would retreat further into the building searching for security and an exit, but here now wanted an exit as soon as possible.

Approaching the second door entered through only a half hour before, pausing to listen removing the reserve clips holding them in my left at the ready, hearing nothing, opened the door calmly and stepped through weapon down at my right side, arm relaxed, not looking to quickly nor walking either, noticed the reception station empty, along with the entire room. Vacant.

Three large floor-to-ceiling glass windows showed the street empty except a few walking pedestrians. Two parked cars, both empty on this side of the street next to the building. The opposite side, another parked car also empty. Moving toward the exit leading onto the street putting my hand on the door ready to push then paused.

Of course, empty. They're waiting in the cars till out from the building then open fire. If staying they'd corner me. In leaving they'd cut me in half. Not a great difference fighting through Warsaw or Nuremberg as the options here produced the same feeling as during the war were not helplessness set in fate, that you controlled very little in the situation and circumstances around you, and your intuitive impression became the governing rule.

How often thoughts jumble upon themselves leaving nothing more then misleading signposts where case-in-point became a common ground, a common arena of argument where rational battled insanity for the upper hand; whether the winner heeded or not, depended solely on perspective at the time, for time the true master of all domain regardless argument for or against, was supreme.

Unless that was all managed.

Yet slipping past only slight recognition, aware of the existence, nothing dealt in accordance with attempting the structure, and harness of such by which doing so changed destiny, though altering slightly this route of the outcome, had to its consequences where no act ever missed the mark set before as you would, watching the clock's hands slowly turn, desperately wishing they moved along with much greater liveliness then their accursed right.

Waiting grew exasperatingly difficult. Battled since birth, wanting at all costs movement even the slightest, for remaining motionless you'd perish as ash in a wind. This madness grew consuming till the sniper fired. A flash of a moment before would not have even believed in my own enigmatic purpose that afternoon in Stalingrad when told this particular shooter was elite, simply waved-off the suggestion, having taken shelter from the previous barrage of shell fire, believing he'd moved on thinking we were all dead, rose to my knees ready to clear the debris gaining access into another building, never heard the shot fired aimed at my head.

During the very moment, the shooter fired along with mortar rounds striking several feet from where myself and two other 'observers' for the Battle of Stalingrad. Reporting to Allied command directly first-hand as to conditions, the blast threw me against the burned-out wreck of a Soviet tank we'd taken cover for over three hours knocking me unconscious.

Recovering woke in the dark either on my own accord the body forcing itself through fogs produced from combat, or the intensive fire-fight ensuing around me, leaving with the large head wound which during further examination showed fragments of indeed both from a high-powered sniper rifle and German mortar along with a metal they'd no idea disclaimed simply due to combat conditions. In any event, some too minuscule for removal if there wasn't any pain or discomfort, then better get on with living seeing how extremely fortunate surviving the battle.

The other two weren't, leaving me the only source relaying details to Allies regarding the progression of Stalingrad, which immensely important for should the city fall, Nazi Germany would be near impossible stopping and seeing American had just entered the war with Japan was very reluctant becoming involved with a European campaign.

Always believing more reconnaissance agents then just myself involved relaying details to London, but for security reasons, High Command always asserted I the only source, which of course they told everyone involved creating a complex picture relaying upon anybody but themselves since nothing could be confirmed through a quantified second party.

It was a wonder Soviet soldiers didn't shoot us by mistake, thankfully we wore similar uniforms but with the chaos of such an environment who looked that closely at what the hell someone wore. The distinctions between both German and Russian uniforms pronounced and we tried all the more not to look like either, only carrying a secure document should we be captured or killed of what and who were truly were; Allied spies.

Naturally, the document hidden well enough if the Germans caught us they couldn't find it. On the other hand, they'd torture us to death or till we broke. If the Russians grabbed us we showed, then the document directly and hoped they would understand. Actually prayed. For most Russian soldiers hadn't the tolerance of listening to someone after witnessing their cities and country ruined before their eyes.

High Command informed Moscow we were in Stalingrad. That the three of us were solely for reconnaissance ascertaining how best Allied material could best be utilized assisting the Russians further. Moscow said if caught they will be shot for espionage. High Command informed they'd contacted Moscow and should issue arise produce a document stating we're with the Allies at which point they will treat us accordingly, and in good favor.

Though our Russian was good it wouldn't pass well if interrogated. We knew to avoid all patrols and unnecessary contact with the general populace. Our uniforms matched those from Ukraine so we could if need, say we're from the region, also explaining our accents. While orders from High Command were simple, monitor and report daily, we knew there was more to the mission than informed, and why would they tell Moscow we were here? This not only alerted the Russians of our activities but also endangered us where under normal conditions we'd have a fifty percent chance surviving the three weeks ordered to stay in the city which that being what High Command calculated Russia could hold before collapsing whereby, we three, would escape to our designated collection point and taking back to London.

From the very start, the mission was a mockery from the 'document' High Command instructed us to present should the Russians detain us, which was hidden in the sole of our boot! We were dumb-founded rehearsing how we would first ask the soldiers holding us to wait while we take off our boots because inside would explain everything; 'in good favor' of course as to our meaning running around Stalingrad in Ukrainian uniforms...without weapons.

Also we had to leave all our identification in London before dropped twenty kilometers from the city where we would then have to travel 'by any means possible' to the city center where then we were to send coded messages to High Command, but first we'd have to get past the city siege where with an initial count over two-hundred and seventy thousand German soldiers surrounded had nearly collapsed from lack of food and water, low ammunition, since August over four months earlier when they began their siege upon the city.

But the Russians didn't give up commencing in November with their counter-offensive, of which we landed in the middle of where now both armies swelled to over one million soldiers each fighting in close proximity within the city.

Our drop coincided with a radio transmission intercepted from the Germans a Russian relief convoy attempting to break through from the north and it was here, this train of over two hundred trucks along with carts pulled by horses, we were to establish ourselves securely within thereby undetected enter the city of which of course was only rudimentary maps of printed from the First World War at our disposal, practical useless being outdated and from all the heavy fighting most buildings and landmarks would certainly have been destroyed.

Why also hadn't we received word from Moscow itself of such a convoy? We were after all allies. Or so the subterfuge being planted sizing our options and tactics during the briefing with High Command, that were simply part of bigger ruse, that the relief convoy, of course, was to be attacked by the Germans drawing them off where another smaller convoy entered with not so much food and water, but weapons, and ammunition of which there seemed a greater demand than a piece of stale bread or rotten potatoes. And that any information we did somehow miraculously transmit to London, would in turn deemed of any value seeing what could we possibly tell them... that 'Everything has gone to hell,' perhaps 'Haven't a clue of anything' because that's exactly what was going on and we all knew it so why the hell send us.

Show of faith. High Command's response. Tells Washington and Moscow...London stands with you.

Right then and there should we have told them, any soldier, from any army, would have shot us dead for being so bloody stupid being mixed up with such a mission.

All that went through my mind in a flash was how the hell to get out of this. And with flashes, they sear the brain. Some of what we learn burns deeper while other less important information simply burns off, and at that very moment as the ashes fell away realized there was indeed something much bigger at stake here that we three agents being told.

And it came clear when we were confined to a simple room together while two armed American military police posted outside the door as American hadn't yet entered the war, and the following morning escorted to the airfield where once going through a final briefing boarded for Stalingrad; still none the wiser as to the real reason of our apparent certain death either by Russian or German hands.

Looking through the glass door nothing on the street moved. Already watching the hot sun shimmer from the hoods of the automobiles parked on the road made me wonder why hadn't any traffic since entering the reception passed? Roadblocks? Was all this expected? And the final shootout on the street? And it was just the same on that airfield just before we boarded. The sun was bright. But was cold. No mirage from the heat on runways here, still everything seemed the same, these two completely different situations years apart, were the same.

## Chapter 9 Small Crosses

Madness had me. Must have. Head ached, ears rang firing the Browning in such a small room. Tired, hungry, and thirsty as hell unable recalling the last time drinking water must be just before bed last night as there wasn't any in the car from L.A. and certainly none, only that one small cup since the accident till now, which there was no way telling accurately noticing my wristwatch broke about... what...forty-five minutes ago? When was the water? The heat here...

Focus. The time near ten, putting it about eleven hours since last drank water; am I sure...? and in this temperature dehydration sets in quick plus lack of food, only that one small sandwich soon bringing about cramps and chills, and a more profound generally aching of muscles and head as the body begins utilizing any nutrients stored in order maintaining functionality. And slowly make mistakes which otherwise wouldn't occur. Important mistakes which might get me killed. And what of killing when it wasn't necessary?

Were these four dead within the span of fewer than two minutes justified? Was there other means allowing me to disarm them...Jesus who the hell am I talking to? OF COURSE they were!

Don't have the time nor energy to go along with this, only proving if I don't get out of here, come by some rest along with food and water will be running into walls, which nearly happened thinking in the manner questioning actions taken while still actively involved with a street-level investigation, especially where one slight miscalculation would determine the outcome in your own demise. No wish to die in San Diego preferring L.A. under a shady palm on Malibu Beach. Certainly not here in a morgue!

And sweating more. From the stress. And heat, though they said this city was always cooler than L.A. right now didn't appear so. Possibly the building heating up. Getting on toward afternoon. The reason there's no one walking about. Not roadblocks cornering, instead, people simply eating lunch.

Next to the glass window using the cement wall as cover looking out there certainly wasn't a soul. Nor car. Yet plenty of both when arrived honking their horns in fact as the cab stopped letting me out in front of this very same metal door.

Metal door...but there weren't any metal doors. That's the point! California law requires medical examination facilities must have metal doors. And here they 'were' metal. But now...glass.

Wondered quickly turning back, both dead laid where they fell, wanting them to raise up and tell me with clear loud voices each a fist in unison lifting up toward the ceiling proclaiming together, 'Yes. Yes, by God Tolber, you're right!'

But they didn't move of course. The sweat rolled, burning into eyes a little more. Stinging just slightly. The grip on the Browning loosening. It became cold suddenly. At this temperature? Giggled madly. Or maybe it was those two dead bastards making that noise. They were. Sure of it. Jesus they had smiles on their face, each of them. From ear to ear. Same as those two Gestapo interrogators who wouldn't tell me anything. Over three hours peeling the skin off their tied down arms and legs. They wouldn't tell me what I wanted to know, that vital information of the entire mission when asked after seeing what they did to countless prisoners, to know why the hell they tortured anything and everything, the answer just before their brains blown out, in that same goddamn smile. That same exact fucking smiles THESE TWO HAD!!

But shot one-point blank in the face and the other in the back of his head blowing the front of 'his' face away so how the hell can they be laughing because THERES'S NO MOUTH TO LAUGH OUT OF!!'

Christ get a hold of yourself. What the hells wrong with you and why are you bleeding from the arm? Look...you're bleeding from your left arm. Look down damn it!

Taking my eyes from the bodies following a train of blood splattered drops upon creamed colored tiles, rested where pooling at my feet by the glass door-widow-stone-wall of a prison now fallen through, while that same instant, movement at the door a moment earlier entered through caught my attention and yet before returning there, trailed from that expanding deep red crimson pool up across my left side cloth stuck upon chest and upper left arm, stuck as seen a hundred times before upon others, whose meaning exact, did finally continue their journey raising to meet a man wearing a perfectly tailored, pristine white suit whose pair of cold blue eyes shined behind gold-rimmed spectacles.

Of course, he's behind all this. San Diego or L.A. what did that matter.

'Indeed why matter at all.' His voice still smooth yet slight accent as before. Hypnotically powerful, full assurance in actions and words, he knew how to command, only uttering a few carefully chosen words. Aware of your very thoughts never minding the surroundings whether a formal dinner, walk along a busy boulevard, meeting in a morgue, always that air surrounded, a presence as it were, looming disconcerted. As if the path diverted slightly, and worse of all you watched your 'other' path now parallel understanding you couldn't get back, simply pull away. And that was the safe one.

In all likelihood others saw him while acknowledging a great fear grew; one he'd gain near total control over of. So they kept quiet as dead rats in a frozen cellar believing, 'without seeing, how could it harm'. Here concerned very little of 'seeing' or even 'believing' rather should he rule their fear, those dreads evolved having been shackled in languish, roamed free.

And what would they then amount too? Withered with terror knowing one day they would perish knowing of which drove the madness further, desperately staving off the inevitable attack of death by any means possible, whatever keeping their apparent world's survival, prayed relentlessly for, offered sacrifices for?

None made more sense than now as he approached carrying a satchel of worn leather over his arm, without a sign of hindrance from the surroundings simply stepped over the two bodies and in a moment stood not more than three feet, calm erect as ever, without comment hands me the bag.

Lifting my left arm blood-soaked till fingertips, took the bag without a word, all the while our eyes never apart. Something was different with him. Was it the suit? But he'd worn white before, in fact, every time we met he always wore the same suite but this was cut differently. More stylish. Modern. If anything he appeared, more youthful. Though near impossible establishing his age for no wrinkles except small crosses under the eyes were ever present, even on the hands. The way time lost itself, absorbed supposedly in his presence was extraordinary.

Nor age spots, limps, slowness afflicting with age. But that of his short-cropped stark white hair with its dark black mustache showing neither the sign of this persons' lifespan nor why the two had such contrast in colors. Seeing, of course, men with peppered hair and beard the same, but never the likes of these two. As if they were unto themselves...separate.

Again thinking our meetings either on three or four occasions, had we the chance, or more? Could fewer manage what we accomplished during these 'appointments' brought about stumbling my mind turning with dates and times, places, what was spoken and to whom. Were we along or were there others? And our achievements what became of them?

Had he sold the rights? Was I taken in? He's rather cunning, exceedingly manipulative to say the very least, and might well have conjured the entire situation simply to get me on board...simply to pick what he wanted from my brain as you would apples from a tree not wanting them to fall, yet neither wanting them too early for they hadn't time to ripen.

This is absurd thinking. Turned ludicrous, lack of water, dehydration and rest is all. He wasn't here any more than I in L.A. instead of San Diego which absolutely positive of. And if he wasn't here those shot wasn't either...this building isn't here. Still...

Looking deeply those blue eyes behind the gold constructed perfect mask. Impossible knowing what occurred behind all that discontent for having taken place some part in his life; what else formed that?

Those Gestapo peeled were caught raping a woman while pour boiling water over her back laughing they didn't want to spoil her front. There were three others waiting their turn but the Ukrainian fighters shot them standing outside a farmhouse having a cigarette while the woman's husband ears cut off, the scalp laid open bleeding into his lap, sat three feet away in the muddy ground mixed with animal dung and dark bordeaux colored pools along with his severed fingers scattered about. Several chickens cackled. Besides the laughing and screams from the woman was all there was in that one entire scene remembered, which would have been picturesque except for human intervention.

And we weren't much better.

When the Ukrainian scouts witnessed the gruesome spectacle, you could feel the air crack around them. It wasn't bad enough they'd seen what the Nazis left of their villages for three of them came from one we'd passed through two days ago. And now here before, they knew the devil walked without fear of anything above or below the heavens. That God surely abandoned them, and in so finally opening the locked port once holding back such evil as this.

In these times it is only God one thinks of. Holds onto. Fearful they themselves would fall under the relentless agony before them. Maybe that's what angered God. They hadn't watched well enough over their brothers and sisters interested more in themselves. And now, here, their just deserving's.

Three Germans fell. Two survived. They would be the 'new' offering. Their blood would wash away all others and the Ukrainians wanted every last drop.

While they bled, the husband died. The woman took a razor from the shed used for slitting animals throats and did the same with one of the screaming Gestapo before the blade taken from her, and in this, still able to reach the revolver of her countryman shooting the second in the side of the head before doing the same on herself leaving us all with nothing but her fallen pale white broken body in the muddy world she'd lived, and the echo from that scene following along shallow curved low-slung hills, their small farm disappeared in.

If only this cursed morgue and all within slip through, descending the same, but there wasn't time. The Russians broke the siege of Stalingrad. All German resources ordered maintain their position not to pull back, and with Nazi's surrender, hell surged toward Berlin. Those who'd suffered would receive pay due.

My mind caught within the two, wishing more than demanding, for the love of both grew extreme. The war never so close to humanity a person could ever approach, let alone wanting that secure addictive touch provided, became near unbearable without, proved carnage stood above life. That hatred and jealousy ruled since all existed in the light of only defeat with success humanity upheld as champion. In some form, either conquer one another or ourselves. One way or the other, war raged somewhere.

## Chapter 10 An Eyewitness

The report from an eyewitness:

Green her favorite color she believed the outfit to be perfect. Asked for it wrapped in brown paper and would collect the package after an errand she had lasting no more than an hour which the shop easily accommodated saying the dress would be held and all she had to do was show her receipt.

Thanking them she immediately found a waiting taxi directly in front of the store, stepped in gave the diver the address and relaxed leaning back in the comfortable seat warmed from the afternoon sun knowing what surprise in store for this evening it was to be.

The point here though she'd willfully neglected to tell herself; it was simply not the right moment, always an argument between them. Or perhaps 'then' isn't either.

What it is she tried to say...well quite frankly sounds...aware well enough how most, though by all means not entirely everyone being that well informed, might be seen as contradictory, but the simple fact, none of this is real.

Now before discontent takes full allowance, let her explain because in a very short while from now she's to be murdered.

As chance works, she met while with colleagues during a business dinner, a woman whom she believed to be of no great importance other than her wealth of knowledge regarding a book being read she herself found captivating, unbearable in putting the thing down until well late towards the night, that time after three when everything lay still as death itself had crept over the landscape of her dreary imagination; that is until she started 'reading'.

And so their conversation began while others aimed solely toward importunity over business events showing no regards at all of the two and once having slipped away into a corner of the reserved dining hall were quickly forgotten.

The two now sat, confident without distractions upsetting, began her account nestled between the shadows the woman in the green dress suit of which she now wore proudly having collected from a special tailor three buttons singularly designed matching perfectly, which she felt as did others raising their eyes her entrance dominating such, especially the male counterparts, in how smart she appeared, how very different than in the office, so much so upon her approach, believed she someone else.

'So glad to be away for that pack. Lunatics. Haven't a brain between the lot. Liars too can't trust one, but I simply must tell you this book I'm reading.'

'But isn't one on the right smoking a cigar, your husband?'

'I thought you wanted to talk?'

'I do of course dear but really, are you sure you're up to this you look little...'

'What... a little what?

'Tired dear is all. Champagne and wine. Your eyes...'

'Never mind that. Listen. I don't read much. Don't have the time and too exhausted after work also my husband finishes his humping away like some blind dog on a hydrant, his idea of good sex is just getting off, which so thankful he's void, is finished my scream taken as orgasm, when I found this book while passing the Burton Book Store on Wilshire and Vine. I wouldn't have noticed except something made me turn and look into the window and there it was on sitting right 'there' half covered with other books laying over it. Jumped right out.'

'Did it now.'

'Yes. I stood there a moment thinking what the hell am I looking at because there were a number of books seeing it's a second-hand store with hundreds stacked all over like columns with no order at all some as much as five feet tall. Hell, against the wall they were practically up to the ceiling. Stacked! One complete wall covered!'

'And so...'

'Exactly. So I stood wondering what to do. There was something pulling me into the store. I could feel it. Christ, is it getting warmer in here? Probably those with their constant blithering taking all the air. If I were boss...'

'Yes dear it's a little warmer, but you're fine. Go ahead you were standing there and...'

'And I felt this pull in the middle of my stomach. First started tingling like your foot fell asleep and now waking. Like that. Then my face got warm like when you laugh a lot, you get that. 'I' get that. Anyway. Got warm. Then the tingling started...moving.'

'Moving...?'

'Lower. Went down between my legs. And hotter!'

'What... dear, you're great but I think really you should stop whatever you're having because...'

'I thought maybe I have to pee. And then I got wet. You know...'

'Wet...?'

'Yea and all I could do was stand there wanting to screw somebody horribly bad. You ever get that you see someone and say, 'Hell if I don't fuck that person I'll drop dead! Huh..yea I bet you do. Right!'

'Are you really the senior adviser in bookkeeping here?'

'You bet baby. Damn right. I got all the numbers. And those squirrels up there with their fucking nuts in their bags don't know shit. If they knew what I do about this company they'd walk into the next bus if it weren't so stupid. Sort of like turkeys you know...for Thanksgiving dinner and all. Heard they were so dense during the rain they'd forget to close their little mouths and drown from all the water while staring up into the sky wondering what the hell was falling on 'em. Jesus...!.'

'Yes that would be, but...'

'Uh hu. Well. Birds of a feather like those fuckers there...they all flock the hell together. You know....right?

'Yes dear they do.'

'Right. So where was I...?'

'You wanted sex.'

'You bet... ya sure... sure...all right...sure'

'So dear. You said you wanted to have sex while standing looking into...'

'Yea..yea the window. The bookstore. I wanted the book and a good one...book and...you and...so...well I held myself as best I could be hoping what I felt wasn't showing on my skirt, cus that would be really bad, Christ. Hahahaha...'

'Did it?'

'Did what?...No! At least no one said because I turned and walked into the store getting hotter, wondering if I was dripping all over the place my thighs swimming against each other. Then thought, 'Hell can they hear that?!' All that splashing around, HAHAHAHA...'

'Hey honey what's all the fun about? Um? What you girls talking about?'

'Excuse me, but who are you?'

'What...?'

'He's my dog...HAHAHAHA'

'I'm your what...?'

'My....HAHAHA...Goddamn...HAHAHAHAHAHA'

'You must be her husband?'

'Indeed. What's wrong with her?'

'It's the heat I'm afraid. We're just over here cooling off. In the shade.'

'HAHAHAHAHAHA...shade...HAHAHAHAHAHA good one. Yea so move along humper. Hump hump, humpy HAHAHAHAHAHA. I need some air. Christ!'

'Hell yea you do babe you want to go in the back there's a lot of good air there. Yea...'

'I think what she needs is some quiet time to collect herself.'

'Who are you?'

'I'm...'

'She's my friend...you...you...'

'Please let's all just take a moment I think we'll be fine if I go outside with her she'll be just fine so why not finish your cigar with your associate and friends... and we'll be back in...'

'Yea what you two gonna do 'outside' that you can't get 'inside'...yea tell me that Miss Friendiedenden?'

'Hey don't...don't ttataalk to her teeny peeny...like that.'

'Who...what... teeny...shit...you telling popel that... uh...YOU TELLIN THAT?!'

'Really higher management acting in such a manner in public with your associates, and to your wife!'

'Uhm..I am. I...fuc...cukin ham...am.'

'Why have you too much to drink tonight...please just...'

'Tight you tight. Good I want...let go my wife...we'll go have ummmha tightmma LIGHTT...NIGHTTIREGOOO...AHHARR...fuuuu... ma head...shiii...uuuhh...Goooaaad ma fucking heeeaaad....huuurtsssaaa.... ahahahha AHGGHHHAR!!!'

A loud audible snap burst from the man's throat. A thick branch cracking, then suddenly with a wild spastic jerk the head snapped back then again forward as if nodding, agreeing the woman's disbelief, indeed yes there's something dreadfully wrong from all this drinking and it can't be stopped.

The woman in green laughed reaching eerily higher tones climbing then before where it was more of a hidden shadowy sort of affair one has between the sane part of their mind and the one unhinging itself lustfully, ravenous as it where having now sufficiently smelled freedom's intimate moment approaching, before she collected the buttons while in the cab probably thinking to herself, 'my how grand tonight will be when they finished their first session, indeed such a night', she then promptly stood began clawing at her dress.

That's what I saw.

But not all. I saw who took the woman in green. I know who took her away. I know what made her crazy and her husband wasn't drunk. Did you see he was fine? Then changed. In a moment was crazy as she.

But not the other woman. No, she was unaware only believing they'd both had too much to drink. Unaware more was at work. Content knowing only that. Because everything she knew was wrong. Since birth. Yet didn't know that. No. How could she? Believed what her mind told her was all. Why search further when everything is right before you. And you're safe. Why wouldn't you be? Why would anyone want to come for you? Want to have a session with you? No. She was fine. But that could change. If only one thing had she done differently; ask about the book.

But she hadn't. Did she though would have known there is no Burton Book Store on Wilshire and Vine. Because there is no Vine intersection with Wilshire in San Diego. There isn't even a Burton Book Store, nor Wilshire, or Vine.

But there is in Los Angeles. This I know.

## Chapter 11 Dark Cold Shadows

Inna pulled down the material identical to the jumper over my face. She'd done the same with my hands loosening around my wrists providing a mitten for each protecting them from completely turning sold frozen flesh. Having done this with her hands from behind her seat obviously unable to turn around, a feat thanking her repeatedly, twice as it were, then ordered me frankly to shut up and check my coordinates as she and Romintov wanted information whether mine was the same as their own.

Regaining consciousness passing out an hour when remembering their conversation just before, in fact, might be aware my fluency of Russian knowing details of my history, yet hadn't concealed this. Perhaps they believed my incapacitation speaking freely, compiling with their game provided numbers heard both spoke of, pleased with myself giving the illusion we had the same heading for that specific direction, when in fact mine slightly different.

Inna confirmed a simple 'fine' ending the conversation leaving me to wonder how long it would take to fly across Russia landing in some of the most unearthly 'Frontiers for Damned' referred of which those surviving such truly are for the Kolyma region owned a 'Gulag' forced-labor system stemming from the depths of agony unimaginable unless witness.

In the Russian Far East under Joseph Stalin's rule thousands were sent working in the Soviet Union 'Gulag' camp operation housing a wide range of convicts, from petty criminals to political prisoners where small crimes and even jokes about the Soviet government and officials were punishable by imprisonment, of those nearly half of political prisoners in the gulag camps sentenced without due legal process or trial. The total estimate from the various categories of prisoners held from petty criminals, POWs of the Russian Civil War, officials accused of corruption, sabotage and embezzlement, political enemies, dissidents, and other people deemed dangerous for the state accounts over eleven million people imprisoned from 1929 to 1945. Most prominent stands where in 1931 alone, over 1,800,000 people were exiled, through which a large percent perished. Those fortunate returning, recalled horrors endured some more than twenty-five years where temperatures in the winter often reaching minus seventy-five Fahrenheit.

And here we were heading toward that same environment for reasons still unclear, even checking the map showed a flight over six thousand miles lasting days, if we flew the entire distance. Perhaps trains and other means of transportation were in the planning as thoughts more interesting of why that particular region crept through a thawing brain still fogged-over from sleep when the headset crackled with Romintov voice.

'To visit old friend of yours Tolber,' stated matter of fact as if knowing my very thoughts. Simple deduction actually, understanding many such wanted questions answered they need simply to throw a dart and couldn't miss. Not magical in the least. This arrived for example in the jumper worn. The possibilities of such material existed were limited. Though anything's possible especially now the war ended a great number derived from carnage such as in the First War, both in material and social achievements burst open a new age of industry, wealth, and secrecy, especially that in keeping such.

The new form of espionage appeared and we didn't even know how to handle its arrival except with stumbles and stupidity. In place of collaboration within this newly born era, we simply lowered our heads under cloaks and shadows, a windfall disappearing before us without warning the opportunity simply varnished, countless gains of which lost forever, with history seldom repeating itself, certainly the same moment twice in cases such as these.

If we were to make this journey together concessions had to be made, and while these two certainly weren't the ones initiating such, formed a plan simply out from desperation as under these conditions there was little else to choose declaring in Russian, their latitude and longitude were different than mine. And waited.

'So Tolber has other ball maybe,' replied almost directly from Romintov. 'Your Russian though is like old woman; dry and creaky. Inna will correct that. Before we arrive will sound like pure vodka, of which we'll need plenty of on. Good am happy to say at least you are man to speak some truth here, otherwise, I press eject and you have cold trip down.'

Like most Russians, they never really know when to stop. If alcohol is added, they simply continued endlessly their incessant talking. The best truth serum wasn't injected, it was drunk. In rather large quantities. Also, their culture of course extended from which either you shared or froze, still physical wasn't the best solution warding off the intense cold, rather enjoyable though. Good vodka was indeed like gold, the higher the quality, the better the intoxication felt and the least later when recovering from the hangover. Trying a lot of very good vodka feeling little the next day concerning illness, while drinking half of lesser quality brought bouts of vomiting coupled with nausea for hours. Common knowledge here; never go cheap.

And right now wished I'd a gallon so as to pass the time with these two who would either show me a part of myself not yet seen, or forgotten, or willful hide, or kill me off.

'I'm five kilometers north of you,' I replied.

'Inna?' Romintov simply called waiting for her.

'Small village. Narkov. Two hundred. Maybe more. Closest,' her words not forced simply her English with Russian mannerism dominate as in most cases producing mechanical overtures common of this Eastern Slovak Indo-European homogeneous language having about fourteen different dialects using a Cyrillic writing system developed during the ninth century AD.

And with these two languages, English and Russian are very different in many important situations. In particular, the grammar systems show significant variations with English expressed through the addition of words, movement of words within limited boundaries, while Russian conveys meaning largely through changes in the composition therefore very fluid. Because of these differences Russians often find learning English a serious challenge and immediately realizing we'll learn a great deal from each other, or murder on another. Perhaps that too was the mission. We were, after all, moving toward survival instincts once in Kolyma.

Without reply Romintov radioed to his contact in Kolyma passing on details from Inna, waited for confirmation, then without sign of emotion stated simply 'six days', whether meaning our arrival, how long the stay in Kolyma, till my ejection button was pushed, any or all didn't matter since there was little to do but admire the view from this high altitude, higher than ever before returning to what type of aircraft this was and why this mission.

Firstly, yes it was German Messerschmitt in model modified resembling some sort of trainer used by novice pilots. Second, it was stripped-down to essentials no bomb nor weapons, the deck not showing usual mechanisms; three seats added, possible addition of fuel tanks for longer flight time, wings extended perhaps three feet where at the ends a single antenna staff no thicker than a pencil a foot high. Above the cockpit nothing except embedded into its glass canopy a system of what appeared to be thin wire netting squared each two inches in size, either against cold for the cockpit temperature without the jumper nearly identical from outside plus wind chill constituting well below freezing, or electronics of some kind radar most likely but of a kind not heard of.

This was a high altitude surveillance aircraft prototype possible making its first long-distance flight, certainly where the pilot sat would have displays and cameras, possibly infrared. Unfortunately, due to our hasty departure little opportunity provided itself for a better study then simply a quick glance before being literally thrown through the small hatch, all of which added only to the mission's mystery; why the Zurich take off and not Russian interior? Even Moscow would have saved two days' flight.

But here and with these two without the need of oxygen, without freezing to death, without the atmospheric pressure pressing at your body and mind, at an unknown speed proved all points led to spying and something someone didn't want even the Soviets to know of.

Which comes to the point if that were true, what was offered to Inna and Romintov? Patriots of the Soviet Union Romintov highly decorated by Stalin himself proclaimed hero of all Russia, above mortals in many eyes, piloting such a craft with his co-pilot must be something beyond money. And only freedom comes to mind once monitory possessions remove themselves from societies map.

The two quite possibly were defecting aware Moscow closing off the world, knew another war not in the bright clear light, but of dark cold shadows lay on the threshold.

Five days later, we landed at the 'Kolyma Golden Ring' in the frozen Russian oblast far east.

## Chapter 12 One Minute

In the 1930s Joseph Stalin took control of the Soviet Union during which millions of Soviet citizens were taken, imprisoned in forced-labor camps known as 'GULAG' meaning Chief Administration of Corrective Labor Camps and Colonies.

Never seen a gulag camp, yet having interviewed three men released after each spending more than ten years, though communicating in great detail their arrest and imprisonment, still couldn't possibly prepare me for what I was to witness.

Not many knew of such camps till after war and even then details were vague. Rumors mostly, simply because few were ever released ordered not to speak of their incarceration. Let along escape, which being oddly enough, Stalin himself achieved six times from different gulags.

An agent in Moscow told London literally hundreds of these camps existed. Sent for verification aimed in contacting three men in Belarus; one having accomplished 'Stalin's Road' meaning escaped; two through completion of their sentences, and interview them or details, spent two days with the escapee and one day with each who'd been released, taking notes, listening to everything they could tell. Though in imagining what they could, counter-intelligence mandated agents maintain best possible partiality for mission success, nonetheless stories sent on to London would certainly raise several alarms especially Soviet intentions after the war, as no doubt those around me knew what was coming.

Afterwards only an educated guess arriving at the numbers, but from what the three stated millions were in-prisoned in camps, of which Kolyma region the worst where prisoners sent were first packed into cars with little or no food and water on the Trans-Siberian Railroad across Russia by train to a city on the Sea of Japan, Vladivostok. From here they traveled north to Magadan, a port city on the Sea of Okhotsk, the gateway to Kolyma. Inmates were transferred to ships where along the voyage starved, tortured, hosed with freezing water resulting in thousands dying before they even reached Kolyma.

Interviewing those men in 1943 the beating, tortures, random shooting of inmates for no reason, meager rations, fourteen to eighteen hour workdays, quickly became apparent this as was another system similar to that the Nazi's established as early as 1942 in Poland perhaps sooner, against the Jews reported from High Command in London of.

The three all prisoners from Kolyma region spoke of constructing a one-thousand-mile road between Magadan and the city of Yakutsk deemed the "Road of Bones" as so many died during its construction, their bodies simply added into the road material. The landscape held mostly low lying hills of which the road encompassed mines produced along with aluminum, coal, and uranium where half the world's gold claimed 'The Kolyma Golden Circle' its future, and here arriving at its heart in the small town of Kadykchan we landed.

Romintov visibly tired from the ordeal simply waved at three men greeting us as we left the aircraft exchanging a few words couldn't hear, spoken directly for their ears only, and immediately took a small hostel having three beds in two rooms where we were to rest for seven hours without interruption, afterward Romintov mentioned we eat and get the day moving, or night as it were.

Alone in the small room Inna and Romintov shared the other, my brain too tired to sleep drifted as gazing at the wooden wall the cold winter bearing down through cracks between its wooden structure, making up most of it's building material seeing we were surrounded by thousands of square miles of forest, the room's condition not much different from outside, could only imagine survival here without our suits lasting perhaps an hour as the bed near frozen brought further thoughts of conditions the gulags scattered across this vast frozen prison system holding some of Russia's finest academics and military minds, confined mostly till death. What their months and years held for them should they survive so long, seemed difficult understanding. Told by the escapees the main purpose of the camps was to 'devour' a person within three months. Afterward, they were useless. Only skeleton wrapped in skin remained.

And what was there possibly here to find?

Cold beyond cold, this you couldn't have explained even if you sat naked in the Alps of Switzerland. This was something entirely different. This wasn't of the earth but came far from another place deep, millions of years an eternal cold reached through touched, claiming a new home of itself spreading. And waited.

Only now remember in this intense world, desperately wanting sleep though, perhaps the reason when the mind truly opens, only from near total exhaustion, recalled drinking with a professor from Paris in 1940, both having too much red wine, debated the use of chemical weapons by the Germans and Russians suddenly told me a story when the age of twelve his grandfather while hunting spent the night in a remote mountain cabin along with two Czechoslovakian mountaineers who chose the same cabin as they didn't want traveling any further by night, the reason of which they told during a cold night the four spent together.

The professor explained they were climbing a dormant volcano, Mount Elbrus in the Caucasus Mountains of Southern Russia, near the border with Georgia. Having two summits, both of which are dormant volcanic domes, the taller west summit standing over 18,500 feet. These two mountaineers met another climber who told the story of hearing about two others alpinists wanting to make the climb without too much trouble from weather condition the eastern over 18,440 feet was chosen where spending the night in a refugee hut, the door opened around eleven at night and in came a backpacker asking if he was allowed to stay.

Thinking this extremely odd the two Czech's eagerly welcomed their fellow explorer thinking he must be mad and near frozen for the man had very little clothing and equipment and of what he had rather thin and gear strange in style, simple and somewhat outdated.

Sharing their food, the guest sat quietly eating answering their questions with simply a few words or occasional nod of the head. One of the Czech's recognize something in the man but didn't press the issue seeing he was exhausted and after eating fell promptly sound asleep, but not before telling them to take great care of the ice bridge, that it isn't safe.

When they woke the man was gone. Thinking he'd journeyed onward finished their climb started back from the summit stopping in the same refuge as there was only the one they'd just spent the night before reaching it in near dark.

Spent from the trek sleeping well continued the following morning congratulating themselves on their success reaching the bottom by afternoon were met by two farmers asking - who'd died? Puzzled by this the two informed the farmers there'd been no deaths, in fact, they were the only two on the mountain except another they'd spent the night in the shelter but left they believed returning yesterday.

The farmers told the Czech's no one had come down the mountain except themselves the reason enquiring about the death because the night before a man came to their farm late telling them to be careful of the ice bridge. Not knowing the man, but knowing the mountain both farmers certain there wasn't a single ice bridge on Elbrus eastern route told the man he must be mistaken at which point he turned away into the night without another word except that of being careful of the bridge.

The Czech's asked how was the man dressed of which replied well indicating he might be wealthy in nature, forced the thought from the Czech's this mustn't be the same man. Except one farmer said he had a slight scar under his left eye other than that looked perfectly well.

The two mountaineers told the farmers their man hadn't any such scare, informing them again no deaths occurred as far as on the eastern route they knew of, but of that from the west was another matter having no contact with that route since their own accent.

They parted their way thinking nothing more then a month later the police came to one of the Czech's asking if they knew a man fitting the description of the climber they'd meet so much so the Czech almost fainted from surprise realizing while talking with the police now his recognition clearer coming to light was in fact that of the man Khillar Khachirov, the first to climb Mount Elbrus's eastern route. Of Karachay decent, Khachirov was a skilled climber asked to guide for an Imperial Russian army scientific expedition shocked the Czech visible turning him pale in color, because Khachirov's climb occurred in July 1829, yet there he was in 1902, on the eastern route of Elbrus. The police standing before him alarmed why the Czech's appearance suddenly changed turning his complexion ash-gray thinking he might faint, told the man to sit while they continue inquiries.

Taking a moment after which the Czech still visibly shaken from the ordeal, informed the police giving the entire story of their climbing the mountain, of meeting the man in the photo, as well as details on his first ascent of Elbrus's eastern side.

At first, the police simply started, then scrutinize the man hearing the details further for if they were correct meant that if indeed the man, Khachirov stood over one hundred years of age.

Asked again after a moment whether he's certain this was the man he and his colleague spent the night with, the Czech simply nodded his head staring all the while blankly trying to recall sanity now slipping through his mind where presently only images of that meeting in the hut burned deeper.

Was it possibly Khachirov the police asked? Inconceivable the Czech replied. Firstly, the man they met wasn't any where near one hundred; second the Czech was certain Khachirov had died years ago, though he wasn't certain seeing Khachirov's nationality is claimed both by Kabardians and Karachay whose force independence and isolation in the mountainous Caucasus resulted in scarce information and not trustworthy to say the very least.

But the Czech was absolute in his report the man's age probably their own mid-thirties, and of good health apart from his thin cloths and sparse climbing equipment that of only a small backpack and ice ax, seemed normal. Certainly as well, wasn't the slightest hint of a scar under his left eye.

The police surprised asked what he meant with such a statement. The Czech staring off, his speech slowed, now told of the farmers he and his colleague meet at the bottom of the mountain asking, 'Who died?' seeing in late the night before, a man came to their farm clearly informing them to take great care of the 'ice bridge'.

Hearing this the two police looked at one another, then returned to the Czech stating but that's indeed the very reason why their questioning; to examine why your colleague was found dead having fallen through the ice bridge on the eastern route of Mount Elbrus the same day he claimed to have returned from the mountain, of which they questioned the two farmers you spoke of stating having 'never' spoken to the farmers only walking passed, that there was no one but yourself returning from the mountain, where clearly you were entirely 'alone'.

The Czech only stared out, mumbled 'Khan Tengri' twice, and slowly began rocking himself back and forth as a mother with her young child; back and forth soothing, quieting the soul as it were who knows if the sprite is quite, perhaps the mind will follow.

The Czech never spoke again. Not another word. Not enough evidence found in the court of justice, the possible murder of his colleague had he fallen or was he pushed will never be known.

The professor paused a moment giving me the opportunity asking about 'Khan Tengri'.

Continuing he expressed knowing little himself till research brought him where 'Khan Tengri' literally means 'King Heaven' in Kazakh and very possibly refers to the deity Tengri 'Heavenly-Father and Earth Mother' involving shamanism, animism, totemism along with ancestor worship. The mountain is located on the China-Kazakhstan-Kyrgyzstan border, over 22,900 foot, and is the world's most northern peak of such height, yet is difficult for its shorter climbing season, and more severe weather with thinner air.

The first ascent of the peak was made in 1931 by a Ukrainian through a route from the south. Horribly rugged climb the report said. Turns out the team hated Stalin and wouldn't claim it a 'Soviet Achievement' their reward ten years in a gulag, probably worst then the climb through the Tengri Tag subrange, also known as 'The Mustag'.

In shock from recalling the conversation sat bolt upright in the near darken room only a small oil lamp burning, my own shadow frozen on the ageless wooded walls. 'Christ, I'd forgotten,' came from my lips in a low whisper, fog from breath and body drifting around my head slipping through the seal around my neck. Throwing the blanket off my bed stun, immediately planting my feet on the iced floor, wanting to shock myself fully awake.

Sitting on the end of the bed ran again the last of our conversation. Recalling indeed the professor mentioned 'Mustag' just as Commander Anderson when telephoning him. Of course that's what he meant by 'blood mountain'. Khan Tengri has the shape of a massive pyramid, covered in snow and ice, at which point during sunset glows red, giving it the Kazakh and Kyrgyz name 'Кahtay Kahtoo', meaning... 'Blood Mountain'.

Blood Mountain...the Ukraine climbers....Gulag. Starting to make sense. That could be the reason we are here but 'market garden' was code name for the mission. Was there a mission on Khan Tengri? Did the Ukraine's know something and shutting them up meant simply send them to the camps in Siberia? But not mine! My coordinates were different from Inna and Romintov's. It leads to something outside the camp. 'And I had to get there before they did,' I spoke thinking the possibilities.

Dressing headed for the door thought this time during winter, light wouldn't penetrate the horizon for some time and even then the sun itself possibly only just emerge a sliver for not even an hour before dropping back down again.

Listening at the door thinking transportation would be a problem but seeing it was only five miles could make that and back before they woke. Seeing Romintov's while Inna rooming with him probably together in bed right now the thought sending just the heat from jealousy and anger required to get the heart pumping, flushed dullness having believed from fatigue both the trip and lack of information. Instructors often drilled agents for hours relentlessly not allowing us to sleep for days, and always yelling 'push the sand from your head' certainly felt as much with sleep deprived.

Just the case laying there as in training and during long missions, your brain lacks understanding. Even the simplest of situations prove near impossible comprehending, and in such a case often fatal.

Departing the camp, undetected; five miles out and back, undetected; looking for what, undetected; in the pitch darkness of Siberia. Really thinking clearly here? What other options?

If there were facts to be known, these two would certainly get them first. There would be arguments, possibly violence. Am I forgetting where I stood? How the hell to get out of here with what information seemed right now, possible. Even without a doubt, certainly could with excellent skills, plenty of mission experience.

Another rush came thinking of Inna with Romintov. Bastard. He could have anyone and often certain of it, so much so thinking hadn't heard the steps behind me till the voice came softly telling me she was directly behind me.

'I've been waiting to see what you had in plan. And this is it?' Inna stated without flair simply a matter of fact.

There was that fraction of a second one has acknowledging when one is caught. The next fraction depends on living or dying at least in the situation such as espionage. Thinking was she here alone in the room somewhere, for the corners were dark, of which hadn't been fully explored when the guard set a match to the small oil lamp giving only a couple of foot radius of its yellow-orange light always flickering from the wind casting all shapes along walls made of wood wasn't actually certain their origin for this region was practically barren except for scrubs, and two foot high brush, insofar little wonder what could take root other than those in such an environment, except from the forest in the north, which were same as the map coordinates from the bald man.

Was there perhaps a door between both rooms she'd slipped through? Possible, but the wood creaking, wouldn't that have given her away? Or suffering from so much fatigue I'd thrown myself down a dark dank pit, believing there were wings to fly out with, being invincible. Truly, one of the first signs of deprivation; your imagination operating between that of shadow, and the dimmest light, realizing there is little distinction between the two.

'Wanted some air was all. Cooped up in that plane for days and now here,' I said calmly without turning, allowing her to believe I'd known she was there all along. 'Didn't want to wake you. Thought it would...'

'You really are imbecile Tobler. How you survived this long is wonder. Certainly great credit for instructors though.'

I turned slowly. Inna shape was no more than a foot from me could smell the scent of her body not having washed for days filling my brain. She was erotic and I wanted her to know that. Wanted her to realize sitting behind had its insane unobtainable lustful drive which now flamed.

About to speak supporting myself she was simply misinformed, Inna took both hands swiftly grabbed my head, pulling toward her in that second kissed while stepping together our bodies pressed tightly, her arms wrapped around my head. My hands instinctual went to her thin waist immediately pulling her feeling the softness of her breasts and strong hips pushing against me. Her tongue was firm yet somehow soft searching mine as she moved, forcing me against the door where lifting, slowly inching her thigh between my legs.

Moving a hand down to her buttock cupping one side perfectly fitting the palm while the other moved around toward her breast which she immediately pushed back stepping away.

Her heavy breathing watching her silhouette against the flame there was only a second pause when she lunged against me both falling against the door creaking from the pressure, her feet pushing off using body weight pinning me. This time grabbing my throat with one hand with a surprising clasp in a flash brought a knife its point at my jugular.

Whatever passion there was fell away; the resounding snap circled my brain. She could easily press not more than a fraction, my pulse hammering brought from desire accompanying our short but physical wrestling would certainly allow me to bleed-out in two to three minutes.

There was no way seeing her eyes in the darkness; at least a point of reference for what ran through her mind. The darkness near unbearable in the wonder and stupidity having inflamed, permitted upon me, fallen as a child teased in the playground of yearning. How instructors would cherish this lesson taught for years to come, how not to be taken in, and where lays the most promising of exits, that being of the second lesson.

Yet always time had its way champion of all. I'd run out and she'd taken the opportunity advancing till my acknowledgment appearing in two simple words uttered almost inaudible their softness causing her a moment of reflection their meaning, and wondering had she heard correctly the curiosity forcing her to tilt her head slightly at which my fist drove into her armpit striking nerves, forcing her arm outward and up as turning my head gave another inch of distance between the blade's point, though exposed my neck even further had she the energy and inclination would certainly take this moment driving the knife into my throat. It was a calculated chance with little option, but success also managed to bring a light for she hesitated not knowing also the pain induced from her arm, immediately with my right hand jabbed her in the side just at the kidney where she nearly crumbled, catching herself slightly stepping back permitting the unfortunate opportunity where came up with my knee into her stomach hearing the instant gush of air rushing from her lungs as I grabbed her wrist holding the knife, twisting outwards away from the both of us at which point her defense compromised could have struck any vital part of her body inducing paralyses or even death.

Applying further pressure on the twisting till the knife struck the floor a second later, still holding the wrist, still applying pressure, her athletic agile body slowly bending toward the floor, near the axis wherein a moment she would fall over, when suddenly the force sticking my back shoved us together where we both fell to the floor as the room burst with a flood of bright white light.

Shouting and cursing accompanied by many footsteps felt many hands on me dragged several feet then an immediate sharp pain in the back of the skull arrived with another in the back followed by more yell which stopped when Romintov's voice somewhere off in the distance calling out.

'I leave you two alone for one minute and see what happens.'

Ordered I be put in a chair and everyone to leave, rough hands picked me up, dropped me in a wooden stool without a back was certain would collapse under my weight for the shear creaking it gave off, tired as all wood seemed to be in the place, either tired or wanting to be shot, it's having been put out of its misery considerably better than enduring another moment here, but the gulag needed wood in temptress such as this anything else would simply crumble underneath the sheer insanity of the place for they wouldn't even use it as warmth the burning of such wasn't even worth the bullet to kill you under such an act as wood had more wealth than life. No. Here they simply left you tied outside then cast dice betting on how long you'd survive. And who knew how long you'd endure, was the best game of chance around.

The door closed. The lights faded to one, placed on the small table. Rubbing my head, the stars having shattered senses, the lower back burning from either rifle or boot, trying to look past the soft yellowish glare where someone but who and with what intent became another gamble played bolstering positioning thinking, that last opportunity of adrenaline used rafting through dire straits, for if you got to that point where you relied on positive thoughts to get you through, chances are good you're already dead.

Chapter 13 Double

'There's nothing to do with positive thinking. It's about what you know. What you've learned that will save you and countless other lives, so pay bloody well attentions you daft bastards or I'll skin the lot of you'. Flexibility. They told us, drilled into our brains relentlessly, if you weren't psychologically responsive, bugger off. Most of my advanced training extended from the British seeing their close proximity of the war and its buildup since the mid-1930s, their knowledge and contact base of 'what lays beyond the Channel' prolific offered the insight American training could only manage to a certain point.

Because we're phycological animals, we should tap into that wide spectrum of emotions not simply positive required to accomplish the task given. Trained continually improving our abilities utilizing conventional ones, in fitting situations, when best using pessimism, and when implementing optimism rather than focusing always on positive emotions, That and positive expectation was a form of manipulative control used to manage the masses, maintaining a happy outlook in the face of less than ideal conditions where in reality things were considered profoundly worst. Also, it's a lie. If you actually face difficult situations best get ready for the reality of them, where the positive view would certainly prove disastrous once you actually do see the truth of the matter.

Searching beyond the glow from the oil lamp on the table not more than three feet might have believed, wishfully, Romintov waited there against the wall with Inna. That they'd explain everything and we'd be on our way. That would have been positive of me, but knew something else was there waiting. Probably 'things' seeing the elements in play and at stake here with now Romintov knowing my intentions of scouting around on my own, certainly Inna having by now alerted him of.

Instinct quickly forced clarity, imagining what the room held not moving my head which obviously would cause alarm against whatever was in the shadows, of how defense set and what could be a weapon with a near crumbling stool in which I sat; this small table; the lamp; a bed with one blanket for nothing more the small room held. Not even a window only the one door. Or was there another? One which Inna slipped through. Or was she here all along simply waiting for my move then attack. But why attack? What was the point? I told them the coordinates. There was nothing more I had. Then remembered; the pills.

Taking DonaX in the hallway from the 'ghost' which not thought too much of thankfully since wasn't sure he existed. Maybe I took the pills from the bald man subconsciously but didn't recollect, then in the hall 'played' a game with myself, producing such a figure maybe the wound from the injuries in combat finally caught me. The blast from the last conflict three weeks before the end of the war threw me against the tank which then practically ran over me and would have if the Ukraine resistance weren't there firing their weapons distracting where the turret swiveled searching them from their firing position in the thick forest, gave a moment bringing out the explosives attached to the undercarriage of the German Tiger probably the last of its kind all others having been abandoned or surrendered knowing their war effort was at its end.

Causing the most damage came from my own explosives that which under the tank detonated within five-seconds after the bomb fixed, myself only a few feet away, hurled ten feet as it was in the air landing ten yards from the explosion, ending up luckily with only sever concussion, laceration on the hands and face of which extremely fortunate a two-inch cut just under scarcely missing my left eye, and light blindness from the intense flash from the phosphorus secondary explosion which practically burned the Tiger in-half.

Why such a short detonation timer set High Command asked, my report stated rather clear in a sentence the Tiger would have fired on the Ukrainians killing most certainly, or at the least, severely wounding the majority. Not in the report, the distance at which the Tiger fired nearly point blank, and the fire-power of the tanks capacity would have blown the hill which not only the resistance fired from, but housed a bunker full of weapons they could use furthering their efforts, which everyone knew at this point meant defending against the next onslaught; the Russians. Ukraine would fall just as Eastern Europe under the hands of the Soviets just as the Nazis with ruthless consequences and needed as much help as possible.

What also wasn't, besides the weapons, over five million in gold ingots without the German swastica brand, instead Swiss stamped with sequential numbering recorded kept in my small notebook.

My last memory seeing faces of those hovering over me, senses severally confused unable understanding what happened, couldn't hear, practically blind till a moment when someone handed me one of the ingots and then the silence rolled over. Waking the following day to nothing more than just another battle scene of a broken world, made my way finding the bunker empty, and not another soul. It was deathly quiet from the explosion only constant ringing heard and the serenity with only smoke passing through the forest as the sun high, cast unsettling orange darkness everywhere.

In the back of my mind saw them carrying off the gold and weapons. Happy for them as their land ravaged from war, faced the starved Soviet 'empire' hungry for anything it could grab aware having to re-build itself, while staving off threats from the rest of the world, predominately American and Britain whom they now saw as the 'New Nazis', and Ukraine with its oil reserves and geographical situation having ports on the Black Sea, extremely important holding onto. It was something Stalin never told his people not even his generals but only a few knew the West had already given Eastern Europe to Moscow, and so the suffering from the Germans would continue with the Soviets. Learned of this in 1944, from that point did everything possible enabling Eastern Europe a chance at least, not avoiding, for the inevitability of Soviet rule was imminent from the depiction of the battle for Stalingrad coming clear with their first major victory since the Nazi invasion. And at that very moment, the cold war began with the Germans pulling back their forces at which point was only a matter of time before the Russian flag flew in Berlin, and further if possible.

D-Day wasn't just about helping Europe; it was stopping the Soviets from taking everything. The Allies knew if Russia could hold off the Germans, it meant they could beat them. And Stalingrad was the moment it all became clear. But my missions as well as others trained along with me were to infiltrate and inform High Command what exactly occurred deep in either Russia or German held occupied lands, not so much offensive action against the Nazis rather quietly monitoring events, of which upon return to London after each mission the debriefing complete most agents simply craved dissolving into the landscape till the next mission. Stayed at High Command during leave reviewing documents permitted with my clearance enabling a greater understanding what and how Europe and the world itself was changing.

Working alongside MI5 British Secret Service mainly reported to the American attache, but not the Counter Intelligence Corp (CIC) who despite the consequences housed together, knew both branches well. Having only a 'Confidential' clearance, primarily dealing with reporting, though coded as they happened, weren't in the eyes of MI5 nor CIC, it was for another branch, the Army Signal Corp, where within had its own counterintelligence office overseeing all signal traffic within the European theater, including without their knowledge, the Soviet Union. In fact, most branches never knew the Signal Corp established 'their own' counterintelligence branch reporting directly to Allied heads-of-state without intervention from others to that degree not even the Counter Intelligence Corp working closest with MI5 were aware.

Even though my clearance with CIC that of only 'Confidential' level, was simply a cover allowing me certain areas of access within their own framework which combined with the Signal Corp proved invaluable. Through cross-referencing mission details with sophisticated electronics only we had, gained details which otherwise had 'Eyes Only' top secret clearance. Established in 1940 with Signal Corp asking MI5 counterintelligence first combined field training for their operatives which of course they obliged for the twelve of us. When CIC entered in 1941 they'd no idea we had such training for the simple reason MI5 never told them, believing we had.

From the twelve others were trained, within nine months Signal Corp had one-hundred and seven highly skilled operatives in counterintelligence, electronics, and languages. Of those directly recruited from, able to understand mentality and behavior more efficiently than British or American agents thirty-six were of Eastern European descent with seventeen Russians. In all, after training, I met one other agent while in the field while interrogating a prisoner of possible German-Byelorussia ancestry, the main reason my interest in the man peaked reviewing the case. As directed our mission was not to be seen and if seen, you acted as per the local inhabitant. But recognized him standing in line filling a water container along with twenty or so others. There was of course absolutely no sign of recognition between us, but we knew from the eyes and his stature that of slightly hunched, for which he was naturally since the Germans tortured him almost to death beating him to the state unable straightening himself. He played the part perfect as I simply walked on past.

Maybe I should've done that as well; continue without notice, but did want more than carrying a gun across Europe hunting Germans when seeing the notice Signal Corp sought positions figured it could be interesting. Only after the first three missions believing made the wrong decision there stood little to all this, listening and reporting back what you heard from desks in London, approached my commanding officer stating such at which time closing the door told me the true story wanting me to ask CIC for full training in their counterintelligence, after which return to the field for 'practical work' as they called it, of deep behind the lines, reporting on the populace from Eastern Europe or Russia.

Agreeing on the condition not dealing with the bureaucratic procedure of which detested, that rather report to just one or two was excepted, returning six months later as CIC agent, holding a 'Top Secret' clearance. Two weeks later in Romania gathering intelligence where conducted research for a new 'tank destroyer' effectively would counter-attack the Soviet T-34 and KV-1 tanks of which if in production, and on the battlefields, might very well collapse entire Soviet armored divisions.

But now the breakdown neared, creeping here alongside the corners of this small room, felt a cold pushing through deeper into my consciousness where positive thinking held out in last defense, foolish as it was, something beyond the light stirred, slightest darkness lightens under which a moaning wooden floor gave way. Instantly though why hadn't that been the case with Inna? Why wasn't her footfall noticed with such floor as this? Or had, simply not enough attention paid wanting to get about my expedition for the north where coordinates reviled quite another matter.

But was wrong. What were my defenses? Where to move when the attack came raced through as adrenaline caused drowsiness taking hold often the scenario with it burning inside for such a time when through the shadows stepped the hunched agent reflection a moment earlier.

The disbelief first seized; hallucinating must be. Very possible. Lack of sleep. Food. Very common. Certainly expectable now remembering the last week were possible a few hours sleep if that, permitted the effort my sitting here upright, and not in a state of complete dilution. Then struck as odd as what might, wondering what was his name seemingly the most pronounced, logical action possible. A proper greeting for Christ sakes! After all, you were colleagues and did instruct him. But what's in a name in this bloody game...

'You're Ukrainian,' my mind babbled out the mouth. 'That's certain.'

'But do you?' he said watching me closely.

'Yes. Of course, I saw your paperwork.'

'What did you see exactly?'

Then knew; he's a double.

'Easy Tolber. You are a very long way from home.'

And he knows my 'real' name. 'A double operative,' I mumbled.

'If so, what am I doing here?' his voice lowered asking a question rather than raise, often he did when making a point.

'You were the double. In Byelorussia!' Anger built toward myself in not obtaining him. Sent what Command marked as 'High Kill' mission, - termination on sight without bias - for confirmed double-agent code-named 'Byrus', assassinated three Allied army colonels, a Soviet general, two British attaches from their embassy in New York, passing secret information to both Russian and German counteragents in Moscow and Hamburg, significant destruction in further development of long-range 'return' encryption housed at 'I Stations' of which there were six in Eastern Europe, and one on Scotland. Byrus passed details of each station along with security codes whereby allowing access into encrypted interception stations banks. The banks themselves measured wireless signal bearings source, returning what was called a 'Tick', along the same frequency attaching itself insofar any coded message from that source was sent to the 'I Station' whose content altered, then forwarded on to recipients of the initial coded message without knowledge of any change, or interception.

Disinformation, its correct management, became the new bomb.

'Getting paid Byrus. Always the money,' my voiced slightly raised not caring or perhaps did but wasn't sure, fatigue slowly closing, stalking searching, waiting for the weakness to appear, then without prejudice, attack as any well-conditioned predator would.

'Naturally,' smiling widely, then suddenly dropped the smile continuing briskly for it was his nature, a weakness; impatience. 'Finances. Most important. Especially these days. Of which I'm here to discuss with you a considerable amount. An amount you yourself know the whereabouts of.'

His sputtering speech both excited and stressed drew my attention firstly in not noticing the words so much so, as for how they were presented - hallmarks of going's on behind the eyes.

'Yes. You know what I'm talking about Tolber. It's written across your stupid face. Look at yourself. So easily captured and brought here without a single question asked. How typical.'

Captured would explain Inna reaction in my leaving. Stupid yes. The bald man fucked me. He's probably in on it how else could the document contrary to-fact so well be obtained with all official stamps and signatures. My flight perfectly in order of which High Command knew nothing of. How could they? I didn't want anything of the over five million sterling pounds Britain, a close yet rough estimated gold ingot amount supposedly given to Russian partisans fighting the Germans, which as far they knew well received spent wisely blowing up various targets listed.

But that wasn't such the case at all. Placed a 'Tick' on High Command itself, stole the five million gave it to the Ukrainians, who used the gold and weapons from the bunker attack provided by the Tiger tank against the pending Soviet invasion, 'not' carrying out the list of countermeasures London requested in their exchange for the money.

When falsified as far as MI5 knew all targets confirmed successfully destroyed, which in fact they were, but with stolen German explosives and weaponry Byrus himself stockpiled intended selling on the black market I tipped the Ukrainians too, the discovery of which stemmed from Byrus in a communiqué with another agent in MI5, another double working together with Byrus. One even London hadn't known of.

The communiqué between both Byrus and his connection passed along the 'Tick', which when altered stated the shipment discovered by the Russians, promptly confiscated, and used against the Germans. But now Byrus is here meaning he is trying to trace his stolen goods which during the war Europe moved over eighty-billion dollars' worth through vast networks globally.

Only partial messages received confirming receipt of the money and they'd all have a good drink of whiskey in my honor their last from the Ukrainians, what happened to his millions anybody knew, but certainly. I'd no idea the full scale of their whereabouts, and Byrus in not knowing meant he didn't either. But he was going to try. With any means possible.

## Chapter 14 Something As Company

'I told you he knew. They think they are clever but stupid as rat in shit house,' Romintov his voice low in the background rolled around somewhere not able to find, the sting and dullness ebbing from neck and shoulders once laying on the reddened iced cement floor. With no heating, their interrogation room wasn't much different with that of the frozen wind blasting against the cinder blocks built from those facing what I'd endured only an hour, maybe longer, difficult understanding specific periods in a situation as this. Wasting little of anything, Russians weren't interested much in light talk, hauled me from the small room a few moments before where feeling, tasting Inna her sweetness still on me, possibly what held me somewhat away from their work as they stripped my clothes chained my wrists hoisted me a few inches just enough from the ground, commenced using soaked thicken ropes having small knots tied representing their cat o' nine tails from not so long ago it era as here not much change in the past thousand years.

They whipped paused asking the same question about the millions when no answer came continued occasionally pausing to pour warm water with salt used of such not so much burning from the salt into open wounds, but the warm water created better reactions the body already heated. They weren't stupid the Russians knew what to do and for how long to get the result. Not like the Gestapo simply sawing and slicing pieces off a person, the Soviets had a very distinct skill with torture. They didn't want to cause critical damage nor incapacitate me too much. They wanted a person that could walk at least, otherwise, I'd have to have help and here, no one did anything they didn't absolutely have to.

After a while everyone talks. You hold out but they get what they want. In this case, the information given wasn't much they hadn't already known. Two men beat. Byrus talked with Romintov smoking in the corner pausing their discussion stopped only went screams became louder hoping like dogs something was going to be thrown their way. Inna stood apart. Expressionless.

Nearly passing out thinking of Inna's body, what it was like naked on the bed of white sheets, her firm sensuous shape wanting. Remembering the kiss. Mumbled something, they stopped coming closer could have bit the ear of one but then they'd probably beat me to death not even Romintov could hold these two back for they loved their task. It was after all the sport. Nothing much to do than beat prisoners and there were thousands to choose from. Wagers were made how long the prisoner would survive, how many blows from which implement directed at which part of the body. And once they got the taste of the sport they wouldn't let up till the blood letting of which the floor showed considerable awareness of.

And this wasn't the only room of its kind. With a camp as big as this must have been twenty, maybe more. It just happened to be the closest since the light broke from the frozen horizon slightly as we all walked out the room about to scout from, was surprised by the hundreds of long blocks holding all the prisoners and was glad for not having ventured out for certainly difficult returning to this one. Then again if scouting, wouldn't be in the situation now.

Instructors told us in this situation being treated as now, you need only think of one particular thought. And hold on at all costs. Focus solely with all your effort and with luck you just might survive. Only the thought of Inna, being with her. Dancing. Dinners Walk along a beach. Getting drunk with. Christ anything to remove from the beating. But suddenly it stopped dead silence for a moment then abrupt laughter from the four men. Slowly opening one swollen eye, the other wouldn't move to enlarged from the whipping, through a haze of reddish-pink mist the eye damaged bleeding inside, two guards pointing down at my groin laughing fully. Looking at Byrus and Romintov they simply smiled Byrus nodding his head toward Inna. Slowly following the wall found she'd reddened in color; blushing.

More at wondering how long could endure this then what they were laughing thinking might as well take the opportune pause with the interrogation, looked down to see what the joke was.

There, so engrossed with Inna my penis stood erect, not fully but noticeable causing the humor as they'd no idea the reason of. Except Inna for every possible moment, my eyes found her standing against the wall, casting imagination around her. She knew I was looking at her probably though from spite. But now realized the truth. She'd been through these types of questionings, trained how to suppress all information if you yourself in the same situation, using the only weapon possessed, tactfully; your own mind.

Hearing Byrus's voice, suddenly the frozen floor slammed into me. It seemed that way, not able to understand direction, balance affected probably through ruptured eardrums, the cold shot inward curling somewhere inside my stomach. Trying to fend against pulling legs up, thighs closer against the chest, the salt having done its work my body not only aflame from the whipping but unresponsive, except one leg desperately wanting to close the gap inching toward my chest, abruptly stopped, a boot stepping down with weight on the ankle held there against iced cement.

'Still got your dick up Tolber? Jesus that was ripe wasn't it?' The voice lowered with his question. The smell of vodka, tobacco, and garlic on Byrus was all too much. Vomited on his pants leg intentionally laying on my right side using the right elbow as a lever against the body weight, pushed off the floor with what strength remained sending a jet of salt water forced down earlier on the knee he'd knelt arms distance from my face.

Immediately he rose cursing sending his winter metal studded boot into my chest a sort quick jab of a kick learned in training. Better though as such not linger around the body of someone you've beaten with any of your own body parts they could get at because that's really all the wanted; getting a piece of you to hang onto. He'd perfected the kick through many usages no doubt but made the mistake getting too close where the puke worked its way into his pants all he could do was stand there filling with rage. The only reason they hadn't killed me yet, besides not divulging the monies whereabouts, needed something to release their inadequate lives upon. Why else does one treat another in such a way?

'You fuckin rot bastard,' through clenched teeth Byrus hissed. 'Aren't you the clever one. Still got some piss in ya? I like that. Take longer that way. What else have we got to do?' The voice dropping off, signaling to lift me up again when another voice came from behind me, calm yet with seniority over the situation speaking a single word.

Immediately chains removed, the guards picked me up under each arm a blanket thrown over my shoulders dragged outside where the iced winter tore away any feeling which remained.

I woke shaking. Perhaps from the cold or infections, both probably in near darkness. The floor was replaced with the mattress. The yellow glow against the pitch black revealed a table and chair recognizing as my quarters of earlier certain beyond the shadow something waited though. Not wanting to risk another beating dozed off hoping to get more sleep of which both mind and body desperately wanted. But the shaking rebounded again, this time opening my swollen eye more from the scent rather than saw, Inna near her hand gently rocking my shoulder.

'Drink this,' the soft voice whispered close to my face, the difference astonishing between that of hers and Byrus. The aroma of what must be soup lashed at me. Starved used again trying my elbow, forced the body up almost pulled the bowl from her. My arms shaking badly would certainly have made a mess but felt good holding her incredibly warm hand, in turn, held the bowl.

'No. You'll spill. Let me.'

'Let me'. The same two words I wanted to say to her before the knife reached my throat. In throws-of-passion anything is possible.

Smiling my mouth thick from the beating must appear grotesque, barely opened for the spoon gently placed between cracked lips, tilted slightly allowed soothing warm broth slowly trickling down my throat. It was the first warm food in what seemed days, which apart from Inna's kiss the second most precious.

Slowly, each spoon she gave wasn't simply reviving, it came as a surge my body immediately felt a return with the power. How odd just warm water mixed with fat from most likely pig could rejuvenate so quickly.

'Now...last spoon and rest,' she slowly pulled back taking the empty bowl, then with a quick movement returned and kissed the side of my face, at the same whispering ever so quietly, 'Let it take you,' then rose and was gone footsteps fading as the door open then closed, left me alone in the lamplight as company feeling warmth from the soup and her scent hanging in the chilled still air settling over me.

Laying on my right side the mattress seemed soft and perfect, the light from the small oil lantern flickered slightly. There was sound outside of which meant little. Only interested in the light and how things had changed from just what may have been near death to here in the warmth. Then realized wearing the jumpsuit excitedly felt the material being inside having saved me. That and Inna bringing the soup, unable seeing anything other than her shape so close though with the lamp provided the mystery, calling of who was this woman along with the most profound feeling anew, almost wanting no longer to lay but felt well enough to sit up even...then movement in the shadow caught me.

Three large men sat still watching. They were in the shadow, yet could see the outlines of their bodies taking shape. The light hadn't increased yet their form grew clearer by the second. Blinked the good eye, suddenly the other opened. Placing a finger touching gently the swelling greatly reduced wasn't so painful as before. My hands weren't shacking either when holding Inna's and the bowl. The suit warming; chill slowly in retreat. The shapes in the shadow growing ever so clear could see the color of their eyes. Felt their...

Inna's whisper, 'the soup take you...'

Blood pulsing, throbbed both temples, oxygen raced through muscles. Voices outside heard without effort understanding conversations. I'd been here before, knowing the signs. Inna put DonaX in the soup.

## Chapter 15 Life Itself Departed

Hadn't moved. Except...their eyes. Waiting.

Professional. Deadly. Not from the gulags.

Broken wrist, right hand, healed poorly; one in the middle.

Left knee, knife wound, old healed well, though torn cartilage; on the right.

Left, eardrum ruptured greatly demoted hearing.

Each with their particular weakness, exploration planned, lying in the bed with one quick motion bolted upright, twisting the thin blanket at both ended creating a whip, holding one end firmly pulled the other taunt, held a moment, then releasing with a snap hitting the small oil lamp directed at the man in the middle who'd moved first of the three, directly impacting upon the chest where immediately burst, sent flaming oil across the front of him lashing out upon his bare throat and face.

The two on either side rose together, moving quickly apart readying their attack on my flanks, ignored the middles screams hands beating wildly, flames licked across face and ears. Light from the fire showed the rooms size, in two-seconds they would be with their combat knives removed from boots at the ready. Though the blanket snapping flames startled they'd recovered, now quickly moving. The right was there first planting his left leg forward in front of the body both stabilizing and pivoted under its weight, readying the knife for a quick jab, left arm extended bracing for my attack he knew would come. The left, slightly slower, biggest of the three, took time rounding the table the lamp hurled from, more cautious studying the situation before committing. He would be more dangerous.

Preparing till both moved from the table, then sprang from the bed flung the thin mattress in my left hand at the left, using it as a shield against his knife, at the same took one step towards, then front-kicked his face over top of the mattress feeling the bulk of his body knowing the forced dealt sufficiently, dropped to the floor on my right side felt the air of the jabbing knife pass near, spun, with my left leg kicked the side of the rights extended leg just at the knee hearing the bone soundly crack.

The left fell back from the kick, the right crumbled, shrieked once, grunted deeply holding the knee with one hand dropped his knife the blade sticking into the floor, stood almost vertical of which grabbed drove into the right's exposed neck sending a jet of dark red blood splashing onto the wooden wall, remaining firelight caught the contrast against dull aged wood.

The middle beating the last of the flames stood just over the table, with my left kicked the table's underside squarely hitting the chest and face forcing him hard against the bloodied wall.

Left recovered, took the mattress trying the same against me, lurched forward holding the bedding before where foot to shin exposed pitching the blade from right to left hand, jabbed twice in both calfs where immediately he dropped on one knee his large body weight against him, thudding heavily upon the floor, immediately attempting to raise his left foot out in front as leverage, drove the massive knife through his foot till the hilt pinning the boot to the wood, abruptly fell cracking the ankle bone, slammed directly on the face nose popping that of a thick shelled walnut, blood gushing. Pulling the knife free of the floor the blade slit easily leaving the gash along lefts throat wide and deep leaving the faint scream drowned in an ever-widening thickness of red and black.

The middle pushing the table aside nearly blind from pain and sight fire having seared both eyeballs, desperately lashed hoping the knife find its mark, crouched low moving toward me using quick side steps as a drunken crab, where flipping the knife holding the blade, with a quick snap, sent it into his right eye where standing a moment swayed slightly, dropped first to the knees then fell face first onto the hilt where a crack resonated through the room as the blade pushed through the back of the skull its tip sticking out five inches, softly glowed the last of the light waned finally dying with the three.

Seven-seconds sitting upright, until now. But longer with the drug. You rehearsed all the actions you wished, in advance of your opponent, your command. Your lover. The door creaked Inna stood silhouetted against the dark sky bright stars behind her, not moving only clear without interruption knowing within the room something she'd not wanting confrontation roamed.

True DonaX pronounced the environment around the user greatly amplifying their own 'self' interaction within and not yet happened provided as much as several seconds before the event occurred, an advanced warning preceded movements while heightened perceptive state, brain calculating faster predicted logical outcomes over short duration in time conjoined increased strength, considerable lower pain threshold, amounted to what High Command referred as, 'perfect servant' inasmuch remembering orders clearly without fault including excessive enthusiasm completing, proof being the knife passed Inna's head less than a seconds from the door opening by an inch striking the solder having stepped around the corner an instant later in the throat nearly severing the entire head as it sliced easily through both flesh and bone.

Before falling to the ground a light shined past Inna into the room displaying results of years' experimentation on both animal and man, for here little shown any difference of the two, bright red blood pooled in pockets while partially soaked into the ageless dry floor and rotten lice filled bedding, along half the wall splattered hadn't time forming any runs, simply froze already pallid, whitening moving from its outer inward. Three bodies, the overturned table with its own broken leg, shattered oil lamp, the unmovable bed still bolted to the floor finished the scene.

Had time allowed closer inspection revealed knives the three possessed, placed in my boot, the other in hand clasped Inna's upper right shoulder with my right, pressing firmly down while pulling her slightly forward where immediately released the knife from my left hand aiming twelve inches left from the light's, and heard the recognizable 'thud' from having struck the target in the chest. The bright beam jerked violently upward then tumbled onto the frozen hardened ground where instantly darkness returning everything as before, into the arctic's near-complete obscurity.

Four seconds from the time Inna opened the door till the moment retrieving the guards PPSh-41 submachine gun with four extra ammunition drums held altogether in small kip bag along with a flask of vodka of course yet a rather good quality for a guard, dried bread constituting a rock, a total of three hundred and fifty-five rounds if the drum attached is full. Nothing more in the bag or body the knife twenty feet away wasn't worth retrieving due to the approach of more guards. And dogs.

If at all possible rather shoot human than an animal especially canine whom more often a far better company, however, under these conditions it might be unavoidable seeing their mixed with their handlers who hadn't released them but would within the next fifteen-seconds closing the gap making certain in locating their purpose; us.

Without a word grabbing Inna's wrist running together, the iced paths treacherous several times caught her slipping wary a fall would break bones even at the speed we moved, unfortunately, we'd not achieve our goal intended of reaching the motor pool before the dogs arrived, yet now the camp waking from the entire situation, alarms with searchlights joined this frozen circus, turning from the path sharp right into the hardened snow cracking underfoot, passed parallel between two long buildings when hearing the handlers calls noted their unleashing six certainly starved, beaten animals upon us would take how long...

German Shepard's the fastest guard dogs and these although thick-coated from the cold, were no doubt ravenous bringing the true animal out, would cover the thirty yards in only ten to twelve-seconds their lust driving them from fear of not achieving their master's command, therefore, suffer severe punishment with further starvation from. They would certainly eat us alive.

I could stop, turn, lay down fire killing them all but the choice being as it was, rather their humans needed dispatching than those who were innocent only born into a breed generally misunderstood being vicious, when in fact we ourselves trained them so, they in turn extremely intelligent, diligent noble animal obeyed without question. The perfect soldiers as it were.

But we had to get out of the camp and into the surrounding thick ancient forest. We needed also mobility. On foot wasn't the way. The alarm ou, we had barely a few moments before it all closed upon us. And my fear rose thinking what they'd do to Inna once caught. Continues rape, beatings till she died, simply dumped with the guards where she'd last maybe a week.

Between the two long buildings, we ran heading toward the fence yet knew we wouldn't make. Hope laid pushing myself faster pumping as much of the drug through and out my system our only chance. Inna grew heavy from the exertion, though well physical in stature her muscle tone at their prime, was rather the shock of the entire episode drawing her; she wasn't used to being chased by starved dogs in darkness, cold air burning your throat and lungs both aflame, with results uncertain. That was it; she didn't know the outcome and for most, it's enough to collapse the spirit.

Knowing what had to be done yet with the situation was certain we hadn't time. Calculating when the drug took hold till now, indicated there was still substantial in the system needed burning-off if we were going to survive.

Nearing the end of both building the dogs only yards behind, Inna almost spent, letting go of her arm veering to the right sprinting full out dove shouldering into the wooden side of the building, crashed through its two-inch planking, immediately spun reached back through the hole grabbing Inna as she passed pulling her off the ground into the darken room just as the dogs sprang on the point of clamping their jaws about her legs.

Instantly the hounds leaped for the hole as expected this time lifting the PPSh firing three rounds well above the Shepherd's into the wall where they immediately withdrew, but only a moment as well trained they were rounds exploded their sensitive hearing comprising more of a stun than frightening effect. Men on foot would arrive soon but the vehicle I hoped for indeed led the way directly behind the dogs nearly running them over in their momentary chaotic retreat, with light from the search beams sporadic jerking, headlamps from the jeep caused night blindness for both men and animals producing further confusion.

Amplifying the body sprinting plunging through the wall, heart rate greatly increased pushing the drug, moving it on; into a second stage.

While the initial effects of DonaX that of speed, agility, perception something else developed in its second; the release of muons.

In 1937 a Swiss team of scientists knowing muons, an unstable subatomic particle being similar to electrons contained an electrical charge, realized it was here in this charge time could be hastened either by increasing the voltages slightly or slowed through decreasing. As the human body produces electricity itself, simply altering this flow was sufficient in which the subject's environment shifted, both mental and physical.

High Command researched together with the Swiss furthering their studies added a compound into DonaX whereby the user modified time through a coded single-worded message each pill contained revealing itself as stage one expired. Depending on each user's anatomy the problem currently existed inasmuch there wasn't a known timeframe when stage two began both could collapse on one another rendering the user unconscious possibly days, seeing if stage one wasn't complete when stage two commenced the electrical output produce simply short-circuited the brain. It was the primal risk all agents understood and their over-riding unwillingness administering the drug, something Inna probably wasn't even aware of.

Once induced though can affect the adrenal gland supplying the user with profound strength, agility and foresight, along with altering time to that extent the user's environment either slowed - delayed, or speed - veered, as it were, my signal smashing into the building as stage one neared completion usually allowing ten to fifteen-seconds before the second stage commenced.

Upon striking the wooden wall the trigger word 'green' came to mind of which immediately grabbing Inna left me with a moment till the delaying, which after firing the PPSh promptly initiated, stepped back through the hole in the wall past the dogs up to the jeep pulled the service revolver from the drivers hand as he sprang from his seat shoot both he and his lieutenant also stepping from the vehicle in their right thigh, their mouths opening wide slowly preparing outcries, returned to the hole pulled Inna out, half-dragged half-walked to the jeep pushed her in the back jumping in directly behind as the first rounds fired from the soldiers weapons appeared. At the same time the lead German Shepherd closing its mouth on my calf not yet in the vehicle, felt the sharpness yet wrenching free from the bit, finally fell over the back nearly dropping on Inna who showed understandable shock through widen eyes looking up at me from her prone position sprawled on the jeeps floor laying flat on her back. Naturally that split second raced through me, 'if only another time' would've gladly fallen, instead sprang into the drivers seat, popped the clutch, pushed hard on the gas, the jeep slowly moved, recalling the word 'green' in my mind instantly the Soviet-built 'iron tank', literally they were, bucked and we shot forward with such force Inna not expecting such, nearly thrown out of the back, but with quick reflex grasp the handrail held tight as we bolted headlamps off into darkness, when the round struck my left upper arm causing the jeep instantly to jerk left smashing into the fence several feet from where intended, regardless thankfully put us outside the camps perimeter, racing faster now quickly turned the steering wheel to the right, the jeep streaking parallel with the fence cleared for twenty yards of trees, the intended 'kill zone' tower shooters fire upon should anyone foolish enough wish to escape, giving us wide berth of maneuverability.

Another round struck the windscreen shattering the thick glass. At our increased speed the shards became needles and daggers easily shredding yet suddenly with a jerk, halting, in so doing, Inna flew over the passenger seat landing half in the seat the rest on the floor, holding her down with my hand, there simply wasn't time for remarks, dropping on top of her, in a flash again we shot forward.

With all in that two-seconds, the glass literally stalled in mid-air permitting Inna and myself taking cover in the front seat, then resumed continuing over except two larger pieces cutting deep into my left side along the ribs slicing the flesh wide open, compromising the jumper, immediately allowing frigid air in replacing the warm.

Searchlights danced pinning us down then stalled, our moments too quick to follow. Within seconds we'd be in the trees have to slow or risk crashing into, immediately yanked the wheel sending the jeep back into the fence, back into the camp which now was on full alert as in 'that' pandemonium, appeared the best chance reaching a road heading north to the given coordinates of my orders, then locate an aircraft and the rest had to wait. Usually, things work themselves out and right now focusing on this beast of a vehicle without sending it into another building would be best...or not.

Seeing the largest amount of steam rising from one particular building, headed there maneuvering through convicts, guards other vehicles knowing stage two would soon run its course with limited time, pushed Inna out the jeep floored the gas peddle and jumped a moment before it literally cut the building in two, a building having driven at such speed through thin wooden walls the jeep struck a massive electrical generator exploding in a huge orange-red fire cloud sending debris and warmth in all directions.

Staying low, a moment, then turning, Inna laying on her side motionless, striking the frozen ground probably rendered her unconscious some thirty yards away. If before was chaos, now was something very different. The camp except for the fireball reaching into the chilled night sky, fell immediately dark. And once that ball dies, things are going to really swell to a point of mass insanity with electricity completely cut, for the moment at least.

Imagined there was a backup system somewhere they'd start, but right now only the sound of the huge flaming ball crackling sucking air to its death, first deep orange and red, purple and grey. Finally, nothing.

A stillness descended on the camp, only that of approaching death knows. The same, a moment before battle. Calm as life itself departed, replaced with maddening inhuman screams.

Inna still motionless, picked her up making way back toward the hole in the fence we'd come through a moment before. Suddenly the sky illuminated from flairs guards launched, casting eerie shadows, while masses of convicts running, stumbling, killing one another besides any authority having imprisoned them. Quickly weapon fire sporadically erupted in pockets then scattered throughout the camp as inmates now armed took revenge or simply sport, randomly selecting and willfully hunting.

Vehicles were driven madly both with guards firing semi-automatic weapons, inmates throwing Molotov cocktails at anything. Swiftly numerous dry buildings ignited, their wooden structures exploding lighting up more of the camp not seen before now while running understood why this was the end of all worlds for those entering once seeing the gulags size immense territory.

Hundreds of buildings far into the horizon were now catching fire, ablaze cinders drifting to another within seconds flashed bright orange flames reaching high above the roofs. Constantly noting our running path, only a few carrying lamps could see, others mindlessly bolted free and full of fury turned raged on anything. Twice dropping Inna defending with both knives one in each hand bands attacked numbering in their fours and fives, some though as much as twenty praying on the weak literally tearing limbs, slicing off body parts, scalping, torching, hangings. Cannibalism. Anything imagined was here. A war unto itself where thousands of men against one another releasing incarnated sins.

Practically at the fence screaming the crescendo of which had yet been reached rose steadily neared deafening, then suddenly a German light staff car skidded twenty feet on the right coming to an abrupt stop almost flipping itself over. Windows rolled up their glass giving a reflection of the hell around them nearly every build on fire, slowly the driver's side lowered with Romintov's head appeared his widening smile broadened looking directly at us, while Inna still limp in my arms both hands clutching knives, he slowly rose a pistol pointed directly at us.

'Green' having left unable recalling when contemplated dropping Inna he'd fire surely hitting us for Romintov was an expert shot read with his .45 and at this range wouldn't miss.

'Again! Leaving you alone and look what happens,' he shouted over the shrieks adding, 'Did you start all this Tolber?'

Inna groaned. Glancing down her hair covered most of the face. Then noticed the hand on her lap held a Russian service pistol she must have taken from the jeep, but hidden where for the weapon wasn't small in size. Looking back at the hair barely visible through, a single eye watching wide not with horror but of something else when the eye slowly rolled over at Romintov.

'It doesn't matter Tolber what you're planning. Look all you want. She's quite a woman. Probably too much for you though,' without waiting continued, 'You know what I want.' His voice serious changed a typical Russian measure; friendly then not. Amplification their seniority over whomever they spoke at. Dictated to.

'Don't have it. Taken during my exercise period. Your friend probably there now.' I answered.

The change came I wanted. His expression faltered the pistol dipped slightly.

In one move pivoted giving him a smaller target, my right side, dropped Inna and the knives grabbed the pistol with my right hand, having anticipating action removed her's from, raised and fired.

His wondering whether Byrus had indeed stolen the report changed the course of thinking from that of predator to contemplation. The change-up severe in some, mild in others; similar asking to write notes then immediately begin speaking of them, even though they're penned a moment earlier, the brain must switch, using another part of itself.

Romintov calculated three different scenarios normally a person would allow several seconds, but he wasn't normal. Highly trained. Deduct the equation one or maximum two-seconds. He'd been drinking. Deduct another second. Rather heavily his face showing signs. Another second. He was very tired. One second; total four seconds. But he's Romintov, ego driven; back to two.

Aimed at body mass, the round struck the convict having stood beside the passenger's door readying his knife to throw on the driver, having first passed through the car with the allowed space missing Romintov's head by only inches.

The service pistol was light. One, perhaps two rounds remained in the clip. Another shadow appeared moving low around the front of the vehicle. Waiting, if they had weapons they would have fired, but couldn't take the chance with the first seeing the proximity to Romintov, knowing he was needed if we were going to fly out of here, trained the pistol at the second though needn't worry the moment doing so Romintov stepped on the gas pedal driving over the man, who still alive under the car, wailed in both fear and pain, Romintov then reversed crushing the man where instantly fell silent, all the while never removing his eyes from me.

Perhaps he knew the man was there, but what did it matter. One more death in this place was of little consequence in the scheme of its purpose, where thousands had before, long and slower than this arrived at their ends; physical and mental.

Perhaps it was a test. One Romintov found amusing the smile growing on his face might dictate.

'Get in. Before they eat our livers,' he called reaching back with his left hand opening the rear door. If I wanted to kill him he permitted the perfect opportunity doing so. And he knew it.

Inna trying to stand, switching the pistol into my left hand, grasping her suit from behind at the waist picked her up, making my way toward the car when Romintov fired at my left twice. Two convicts fell, certainly could have killed us their sharpen knives both ready and huge probably from the kitchen, gleamed through smeared blood would cut a head off easily.

Inna somewhat coherent half under her own power reached for the back seat pulling herself in. Romintov fired again another fell approach from his right. Inna turned in the seat facing me immediately screamed. Instinctively I dropped to one knee as the knife cut through the air just above my head. Romintov was about to fire when suddenly the passenger door jerked open two sprang in grasping at Romintov who fired point blank into their chests, the impact at such close range blew the two back spraying blood throughout the front interior of the car.

At the moment of her scream abruptly a whistling and flush of air passed my head, Inna having picked up one of the knives I'd dropped releasing it sticking the attacker who from behind as he raised his own ready to drive through my exposed back, in the chest immediately fell away stumbling back into the half-light night.

Without further hesitation sprang into the back Romintov pressed the gas, the car still in reverse lurched backward its rear-end lifting no doubt having run over another, the car's wheels spun momentarily searching traction churning the body into the undercarriage, when finally spent caught the ground and we bolted forward the car's rear whipping from the engine thrust.

With the action our doors, both the passengers and my own closed with a slap and for a moment relaxed, Inna under me looking at one another faces covered in filth our lips met with both desire and exhaustion, searched for release from a hell which seemed impossible in this one instant, being together wanting, touching one another, her hand grasped my back pulled me tight, driving hips into mine moaning. For the briefest, there was nothing but her.

## Chapter 16 Extra Drums and The Second

The staff car swerved, rising then lowering ridden over men those unwillingly ran into, and Romintov after all saving ammunition instead used the vehicle as a ram produced a wake of bodies too many worth counting before reaching an area in which he drove at full speed for its condition confiscated most probably from senior gulag staff witness better days once catering high ranking Nazi Germans, broke through the fence of the largest forced-labour camp in the Soviet Union in the dead of winter, no doubt serviced with fresh oils and maintained years ago, taking us further north, on believing now its last adventure.

Once Romintov cleared the fence he also drove along the 'kill zone' as fast as the car could stand. Without headlights. For those close enough to witness, we'd assumed a dark shadow, a ghost passing in great haste compared to themselves on foot, its engine only audible between weapons fire now from higher caliber their more audible profound that well above smaller arms, followed by screams from unimaginable horrors. Should they be so near to the fence, even take care watching for, in place of survival, making way into the black forest thought once as safety, served only to become another prison of which escape unknowingly worse than where they'd run from with much more scampering across our path.

There was no escape unless you had transportation and those brave enough tried stopping us with anything, including their own bodies. Romintov exchanged his fighter for this dyeing relict of the Third Retch maneuvering through bodies seen when nearly upon us, from the side nearest the fence, to where the trees made their stance warning civilization, opposing entrance.

Many he passed only inches from, they themselves shocked with hollowed sunken eyes, cheekbones near piercing through the skin, not hearing our approach stood sunken mouths agape from near starvation, beatings, labor itself crushing most within a few months. They ran to the forest believing it safe constantly since arriving telling one another 'that's where I'm going!' but there was nothing for hundreds of miles but old-growth dense forests in some areas hadn't been stepped upon for countless years. Their salvation an illusion the guards and themselves placed the unyielding belief they could find their way home through. The gulag authority pressed upon the convict here there is no escape from, even they themselves wouldn't enter the forests but only a few yards for fear of not finding a return. The nearest small village over one hundred miles never encountered an escapee, though there were attempts, none ever reached the hamlet. Eaten alive or dead by wild animals, worse though rumored something else lived among the trees having a great desire for human meat, always great hunger waiting to devour any who stumbled along.

Another explosion probably housing ammunition sent massive bellowing sphere of bright flame into the night, illuminating the entire area its blast rocking our car bring with it a view of what true battle, a war of men implied.

The view mantic, groups fighting, pitch battles from those held out in buildings ablaze knowing those wanting in after them would rather see them burn alive, possibly a better end then torn limb from limb, or gutted alive watching entrails pulled from their own bowel, hacked to pieces, burned, all of which witnessed through the car frightened itself perhaps not wishing to see any longer, gave a mad burst of speed enabling us over an ancient wooden bridge near collapsing directly behind as we passed, its timbers screeched in agony echoing the many we left behind.

Turning from that view Inna's eyes mirrored my own searching them through an aftermath glow night still held from the explosion, found horror and disbelief. It was war she'd been spared, the Nazis only witness from afar or in their passing atrocities, never in battle itself flew high above such, recording the scene with camera and notebook. Romintov and I, having survived Stalingrad's emersion from a place in the pit of what witnessed here, swiftly falling behind us on a road the staff car raced against fearing it might get sucked back into.

Now almost in pitch darkness surrounded by something even the blind couldn't dismiss as eternal, the headlights sprang suddenly pushing back evils grappling the vehicle and its occupants we watched doomed men aimlessly wander adrift the forest and the old road where two Romintov struck, their grotesque doll-like bodies flung against trees having themselves turned vile growing twisted, the burden concealing what lay beyond their line, depths far too hideous in its absorption.

'Here...your compass,' Romintov spoke quickly pitching a small bag over his right shoulder landing on the seat next to Inna swiftly grabbing before a chance of falling onto the dark floor which seemed to drop forever looked upon wondering would she too hate searching a hand through that blackness had the bag fallen. What if something there touched you?

Nonsense. I'm tired and... 'Your arm Tolber,' Romintov continued. Glancing in the small rearview mirror watched me then returned his eyes to the road avoiding holes and men though fewer now seemed to emerge out from the forest. Inna quickly tore open the upper part of the sleeve then seeing my side muttered, 'Your side from the glass. Deep but not threatening. Losing blood. Especially the arm.'

As if by queue blinding lights flashed onto the back window. Inna using a small penknife cut the back of the front seat reached pulling out some of the soft cushion, cut thin strips of the leather seat used for tying a bandage.

'Byrus,' Romintov stated calmly. Then raising his voice, 'Another exercise Tolber? The little shit is hard to kill. His kind you only have one chance.'

Inna securing the bandage on my arm slowed the bleeding but she was right, there'd been some loss. While looking down quickly noticed the sleeve completely soaked, the left hand dripped blood steadily into the abyss possibly waking something, the imagination playing again, lightheadedness throwing stars at my eyes. The onset of blood depletion. By the looks, if she didn't stop it soon will have difficulty managing anything at all. But they could just drop me into the dark below, couldn't they...

'He's hallucinating,' Inna spoke loudly over the staff cars engine screaming from fear of both the forest and what approached at great speed from behind easily overtaking us in a moment.

'Check the compass,' Romintov again simply stated brought me back wondering what would upset the man bringing him to point of yelling.

'You have the coordinates.' Another statement.

'Yes,' Inna said took the bag reached in, pulled out the compass, flicking it open and waited very still, though rather difficult in such situation for the spinning to stop indicating north.

Suddenly a tapping sound, where immediately the back window of the staff car exploded glass flying hitting both Inna and me covering the back seat. Again the taping rounds fired from the car, this time impacted the trunk two through our seat, passing into the front perhaps even the engine. At that range, they were good marksman if you calculated our erratic driving and distance. Maybe if they get close enough I can throw Byrus down there, into the darkness...

Romintov took further defensive measures jerking the steering, the car swerving, both tossed about in the back glass everywhere, grabbed my neck pulled me close, then yelled, 'Direction good!' the wind and noise of our car in its last throes of death, the engine indeed must have been hit began smoking, steam pouring from its front, choked, and sputtering.

More tapping, Romintov swung the wheel this time the round went wide one caught the drivers mirror blowing it completely off.

'Defiantly high caliber,' Romintov this time his voice little higher gave warning. Glancing over my shoulder at Romintov saw why Inna held so tightly, acting together as an anchor steadying her hand for she still held the compass in order obtaining north.

'Sorry dear,' then whispering into her ear at which she threw her head back, looking at me, pushed her down into the abyss where reaching felt beside her hip the PPSh. Quickly shouldering the weapon yelled at Romintov to bring the car about. Wind screeching as another two rounds struck shattering the front glass spraying Romintov where immediately jerked the wheel almost tipping the staff car on its side slamming the brakes, skidded on the ice, brought finally to a halt blocked the road where pursuing headlight bore down with an even wilder fury then those within.

Kicking the back door open another four rounds passed through the trunk where suddenly the strong odor of petrol filled the air, calmly stepping out dropped to one knee, raised the semi-automatic still firmly placed its wooded stock in my shoulder and waited; for the just moment.

'NOTHING LIKE THE MOMENT, EH TOBLER!' one of my instructors loved yelling at me just when the pressure almost unbearable, would sneak up, scream into my ear, then laugh as if there were no better joke in the world. And rightfully so. 'No better than the 'actual' moment Tolber boy. Everything else just noise. Block that shit out 'n it might just save ya one day cus if ya aint calm ya dead...'

For just the right blessed moment.

I wasn't waiting for them, or for something to happen. That wasn't in my control. If the marksman fired again chances are our car would explode from the fuel. Or we'd be brought down. This wasn't in my power to control entirely. Hell, maybe at that speed they'd hit a pothole loose control crashing into the trees. That wasn't in my control either. You could only work with what you had. Take all things into consideration that you could, working out the best scenarios.

For just the right moment was myself calming down. The heart racing, blood lose covering both the back seat and Inna, everything was wrong to take the right shot.

Our transportation at its end, the staff car once the pride of someone, now near death on a frozen practically abandoned road. Inna exhausted suffering from concussion pushed from the jeep, as she had from man to man until receiving what naturally deserved; honor and rank of Colonel of Aviation.

Romintov sick of having to deal with shit like Byrus loathed the gulag system wanting it all burned, at least that in part now with this camp, but that wasn't all. There was something else for the 'hero' which in fact he actually was, yet the overpowering weight of the new Soviet Empire would crush him and he knew it, most likely ending right back here. A convict.

Calm, breath slow, the PPSh relatively an accurate weapon, pulled its light trigger firing two rounds at the windshield, two at the motor. The same moment, three rounds returned, one struck the ground six feet in front of me sending up ice and stone, the second went wide, and third hit my chest lifting me off the ground, thrown brutally against trunk end the car, where dropping to the ice in sitting position my back flat against the rear wheel, still holding the PPSh the lights from the pursuing vehicle at top speed suddenly swerved wildly, struck a hole, the front right tire completely broke off dropped onto the axle plowing forward shaving ice sending showers of snow and rock ten yards before it, abruptly flipped onto its right side, curved off the road slammed into a tree where fire burst from its engine fifty yards from us.

Feeling all the wind knocked from the lungs, gasping for breath, the same hearing Inna scream, Romintov opened fire his .45, rounds dropping one man exiting the rear seat climbing out through the door, another wounded limping badly exited through the shattered front glass just as more flames leaped outward from the undercarriage.

The submachine gun felt enormous in my hands, barely able to lift, pointing in the direction of the downed animal its white eyes blinking mouth open wild orange flashed shooting into the sky, people it must have eaten jumping from its stomach. Inna was right though, they were hallucinations, more vivid with adrenaline pumping. Also, shock my body reacting with an enormous amount.

I would have passed out and died from the wound in my arm. Missing the artery though exertion and fighting before meeting Romintov, increased the blood flow. But the bandage slowed the flow, yet already the loss of four maybe five pints, no substantial food for two days, beating from Byrus's men, now shot from a large caliber in the right chest most likely collapsing the lung filling with blood, in addition shattered shoulder blade, cracked or fractured ribs and internal bleeding, wasn't the worst, for now in such a condition wouldn't see what's the map pointed to.

My coordinates varied from Romintov and Inna's, that they knew. But what I told them in the airplane, was a lie. Calculating the difference would take them further east than north by two hundred yards. It was this whispered to Inna the moment before Romintov brought the staff car about, and the firefight began.

Whatever to be found was only fifty yards away, knowing Romintov would take this particular route out of the gulag, the 'only' road, the only option heading north, calculating our time and speed of travel, telling him to turn, he himself knew this would be our last stand, unable to outrun Byrus.

Had Romintov known we were so close he might well have simply trotted off into the woods on his own but realized I had the weapon which could stop Byrus's vehicle. So he needed me to take action which of course, was inevitable, and he knew with that weapon sharpshooter qualified. It was he who after all ordered the guard to follow Inna giving him the submachine gun along with extra ammunition drums, though standard issue gulag guards often carried, for security they never took extra drums should they be overpowered by convicts. Yet here the man had four plus one with the weapon itself amount to more than three hundred and fifty-five rounds with the bread and vodka as payment, and the order, 'just keep an eye on the woman'.

'So what's in the woods', asking myself. Gold, uranium. What could be so valuable the three of us sent; an American collaborating with two Soviets? Especially these two. Or were we being set-up?

Did Romintov and Inna know something Moscow didn't want them knowing? Both had top secret clearance; both expert in reconnaissance; myself with Signal Corp. Logically nothing of monetary wealth was expected; too difficult transporting rather another map, to another location. Possibly even another 'after' that leading along till finally all clues together completed a further enigma, which we ourselves would understand, but once breathed back to High Command and Moscow, could not. Our secret was our own protection on account of the fact without their knowledge, both intended letting us live.

The war over what did the powers of east and west need with us? The final months before Germany surrendered, the air in High Command changed abruptly overnight. A shift altering espionage landscape directed at the forefront through technology, replacing antiquated methods such as fieldwork having proved itself valuable, nonetheless time-consuming and unreliable since dealing with the 'human element' always proved hazardous of which this new applied science removed.

The sounds of weapons faded. Not felt earlier, suddenly cold talons gripped piercing my chest as the wound sucked air, its lung collapsing. Romintov grabbed the submachine gun, fired at shapes moving about the stricken car now engulfed in flame. Ghosts along the side of the road drifted, convicts vying, wanting anything achieved from combat waited hungrily ready to attack the spoils of both victors and conquered, both undistinguishable in their nightmare.

Inna suddenly appeared grabbing my shoulder yelling something, looking down at my front permitted all emotions she'd so carefully composed, possibly her entire life, their due arrival. Shock and anger mostly, taken quickly by sadness as the whitened icy ground around us grew a steady deepening red.

## Chapter 17 The Whole Survived

Still as three in the morning. Not a soul. San Diego at what time, checking my wristwatch again, forgotten was broke wondered when. Where the body was kept? In the hallway? A minute ago...? Christ, it's hot here. All this glass cooking anyone standing too long, probably the reason keeps people working. Working? Turning back, none stood at the reception as before where an attractive woman mid-twenties blond large breasts, a practical State Bird there were so many, busied herself behind the large desk. Now not a soul. Three in the morning. Three in the morning...why that...? Suddenly movement. Turning to the glass wall expecting weapons fire, explosions screams why wouldn't there.

Why would anything change since the accident, since almost getting killed? Jesus, it's getting hotter!

The beating in my temples rushed.

Who's blood is that? How come these doors aren't steel!?

Nothing. Nothing moving. Only the sweat poured soaking shirt and pants. That was the only thing moving here in San Diego. Christ what a place.

Too judgmental. You're being too judgmental. Relax. The heat's getting to you.

Keep watch, left, right up and down, keep a look out on the goddamn street, crouch low, you know their going to come, stay low! Three in the morning. Back and forth. Yes. At three. Three. Three buttons. Hours. Morning.

Fever. Gunshot wound upper left arm. Just missing the artery. That's the problem.

Just like...three buttons. Why is my weapon holstered? Why don't I have my weapon at the ready? What's in my pocket? Of course... keys to...to...three.

Shut up. You'll lose it and here isn't a good place to get...

FUCKIN' LOST!!!? HAHAHAHA....I NEVER CAME BACK...SO HOW CAN I GET LOST!!!???

You've forgotten your medication.

BUTTONS...THREE...MORNINNINNININ...HAHAHA I'M BACK...HAHAHAHA

Wake up.

I see something. I SEEEE SOMETHING...

There's nothing...

THERE...RIGHT THERE...DON'T YA SEE?...YA SEE? Shhhh...they'll hear...stay the fuck down. Get on the ground. Quick they'll fuckin' see yoooouuu....

There's nothing out there, it's all...

THEM...THEEEMMMMMM OOOOHHHH GOD THEEEMMM!!!! LOOK LOOK LOOOOK...I'LL SHOOT I SWEAR COMME AND I'LL...I'LLL nananaa, three three buububtttnnnnzzzzz...

We'll lose him.

The second dose too soon.

No choice.

Brain convulsion.

We know the outcome.

His readings changed.

Make the call.

Drink a whiskey.

Leave you two a minute.

Let me.

Memories.

My blood on the floor. Pedestrians passed before the large thick glass window shading themselves with large hats. An occasional automobile. The world left returned without the pills prescribed for those 'reminders' by the doctor in....?; fallen from my coat pocket during the murder attempt in the car, rolled under the seat. Probably there.

Looking back the men lay dead without change. At the reception, no one. Alone in the entrance checking my black-faced Bulova wristwatch the hour, minute, and second hands their military radium appears on a sub-dial fully obscuring the '6' also unchanged except the hour and minute hands fell laying together at the bottom masking both '7' and '5' slightly, the seconds hand too, brought from vibration and movement surely.

Nearly identical when having entered, except for the receptionist and the two dead, people and traffic the same, only narratives from the war passing through etching deeper. We all had them. Anyone there returned with the same, some more so than others, dealt with any way possible. There were the dreams waking from, unaware they were even such, believing never left. These worsen, having sought a doctor understanding the situation having himself survived the Pacific with the Japanese arranged a soporific taken each night, during the day if there were too many distractions, 'a quick-acting shock absorber,' as he referred, might be required, now in someone's hands, calling the very doctor somewhere, asking what these were and for whom, 'simply wanted a better picture is all,' they'd tell the doctor, 'making sure he's safe...not hurt himself or anyone else...the public at large had to be warned.'

If the public knew, what people do to one another during war, they'd lineup themselves screaming for the same medication so as not wanting what we all carried from having been there, of having turned savage. Not wanting any of that in their lives because 'that' was something you couldn't very well manage everyday without desperately wanting to reclaim what you'd left over there strewn, shredded parts of your sanity, forever lost, of which even if you could have returned, wouldn't, because they'd convert to something else, something surpassing description for there wasn't a way in which the human man apprehend such long enough, before it consumed.

Shouldn't complain. Those from the First War, little was known what happens and why the brain refuses to acknowledge anything after ordeals from those trenches. It simply stops operating in certain areas; suicide of itself, or cutting off parts so the 'whole' survived.

Hell, people did that anyway and they weren't even near a thing so traumatic as combat, barely able opening doors for themselves, selfish with desires once unable fulfilling, found any means on account of the fact that numbing often, and as long as possible was the drug itself, not of getting high, but in knowing you could through your own will of self-pity, just at that very moment.

Then they came.

Around the car parked this side of the street not more than twenty feet from the door two; one stepped quickly another directly behind, held themselves low, weapons at the ready; shotgun for the lead, Thompson submachine gun for the second box two magazines taped once one spent the other simply flipped, inserted, producing sixty rounds total.

Across the street three flanking from the left one with Thompson, two the M3 'Grease Gun's' assumed the same positions moving forward quickly, crouched, neither looking left or right.

Obviously, this wasn't a mission of taking prisoners. Their manner of movement, the way they lightly stepped told they weren't police; civilian possibly, military likely, nonetheless from which... American, British, Russian all worked within the war could easily send a team but why? And so armed! Jesus. What were they expecting, apart from wasn't the right question; rather 'who'.

At the end read twenty-two subjects underwent DonaX trials of which thirteen actually used the drug in the field, where nine killed of the four remained, two defecting to the East, leaving myself and Marine Corps captain who was lost along with his entire company of elite rapid response unit in the Pacific on mission against the Japanese. Hearing their mission remained so secret not even CIC or the Signal Corp knew all the details only that of a hospital ship filled with wounded Marines had run aground of which had to secure, provide support for and eventual extraction the ship itself, crew, and wounded off the island. Last communique being they found the ship but were under heavy enemy fire sent by Robert Watson in command, but nothing more was every found of their company nor the ship itself when eventual recon fly-by proved the island deserted. Two weeks later a team land inspecting the island found nothing but jungle though both the ship's captain and Watson reported having engaged the enemy.

Finally reports stated both ships captain and Watson confused, were on another island, overwhelmed from enemy forces, eventually either captured or killed. The ship and all aboard faced similar fate since no trace of them ever being on the island, reported running aground after having taken direct kamikaze strike followed by explosions, left her critically damaged. Ordered to leave the destroyer convoy steered with, find her own best refuge, able managing only five knots placed her a particular target from attacking airplane. Though all possible wounded transferred to other ships in the convoy, time critical for the task force had their own mission one of which not delivered, could very well change the war. When reported by the captain nearly all wounded removed, with the exception of the entire crew, remaining aboard the hospital ship 'Grace' as the convoy sailed.

So I and one other, are all remains at least in the west, from DonaX, yet what made me believe they were here because of that? They might simply be responding from reports of shots fired in city office under State authority, meaning government property. So there tactical approach of the building standard, correct, the five, their commando style advance, without warning, without calling out... 'look here Tolber, there's been a simple misunderstanding...why don't you just come on out and we'll...'

But the back of my head shivered...this wasn't that at all.

The heat's unbearable got to get outside in the cool air. Just open the door...let that fresh sweet...

The door behind the reception desk opened. Turing saw no one. They'd wait then come in tactical...always tactical.

Heat choked my thinking. How many rounds remained? Seven? Eight? Five at the front door, two possibly three at the reception plus whatever more waited outside.

Possible actions; lay down the weapon surrender? Commence firing using all the rounds? Escape through the door a moment before entered where two slumped over dead played in front of, down the hall past the door and the first two, the door into the room where the body was of the girl and her green dress without labels showing no cause of death other than simply that she might not be dead,...this might not be a morgue rather a stage...an exercise prompting actors through their dialogue, information as it were unobtainable by way of normal means, started when exactly, after the drivers murder attempt? Viewing the body of the deceased woman on the beach? Before entering this building? Was any of 'that' part of normality? Or am I still...where? And this what a dream of sorts...? HA even better...I'm still in Russia undergoing experiments by deranged German scientists having escaped the American dragnet aimed in collecting all for our own usage.

Why else would my wristwatch have broken only worn during the war? Have I remained between consciousness and imagination as now, where the door behind the reception is really that where Inna and the soldier I hurled my knife killing him, that same door we escaped through, while the two dead here, nothing more than the guards after having drunk her soup with DonaX also killed or this L.A. mumbled before shooting himself through his own shoulder hoping the round would kill me? That's crazy shooting yourself to shoot someone else...But why two and not three? Were there only two guards? And the two in the cold storage with the woman's body what of them? Were there other bodies...? The commandos ready to storm the door? The driver from where? Did I even speak to Anderson? And what of the buttons in my pocket? WHERE'S THE GATE...OUT THE GULAG !!?

From intense heat, loose of blood, shot by a mad bastard...who called me this morning? Which desk sergeant? Never gave a name. Called me 'Lieutenant Tolber' not lieutenant detective, made no reference to...Melli suffered from the genetic defect hypodontia, scars on wrists. Tortured, restrained with wire \- held captive - seen same POW's, the green bottle, drink whiskey for you...mustag. Market garden....blood mountain. 583...B871...B871...No! It's... its B871583...coordinates....map! SWEET JESUS!!

Looking through the window watching their final steps thinking through the clues, nearly shouted startled by the reflection, myself in the glass, left arm darkened dripping with blood, black hair matted, strands stuck to the forehead...but the scar...I'd not before had under my left eye... impossible. Can't be. The heat. Poor reflection from the glass was all, looking from a well light room through a now...'bustling' street of pedestrian's automobile traffic, inexplicably enough before hadn't either! No risk your life attempting to cross. Remember? Don't you?

Map. The map's latitude, longitude and sometimes elevation. B871583. GOOD GOD MAN, PICK YOUR RIGHT MOMENT...THIIIIINK.... how many maps read during the war, poured over, memorized details? Unthinkable to count, essential never without one or two say the least how many in my brain. All agents had them, the majority memorized, but actual paper, only during active mission requiring third-party intervention from resistance or liaison were we ever with the 'real' paper map.

But B871583 wasn't one remembered. Must be coded. Reference to another. Hell, this could take time, one of which there wasn't any more of. They were at the glass door with immediate effect, ready to push through and froze, the eyes stared at my bloodied hand clutching the bag and three buttons.

The bag...I'd forgotten. He'd given me a small satchel,...thought imagined, yet in following their gaze indeed found the bag, having weight now something solid inside, while closure inspection the buttons with their design caught my mind sending it along the path neither fear nor bewilderment but recognition finally come to an end of some internal search laid years before printed on the buttons shown clear symbols of an old script each of the three containing one character which seen some where earlier, of 'Tengri' the ruling deity controlling the celestial sphere worshiped through Central Asian shamanism.

Having no knowledge prior of 'Tengri' without hesitation, hastily cupping the buttons with my right hand quickly pulled open the top of the bag, shoving my bloodied hand instantly felt a cold flat jagged object where grasping at once pulled from the bag in the palm, a stone the diameter of a coffee cup held an image etched deeply illustrating a mountain peak with clouds passing below the summit.

Mesmerizing immediately captivated losing all thought of surrounding never witnessed what occurred on the street the very moment the stone passed out of the bag into the lighted reception with a full sun now pouring through having broken through morning clouds, straightaway felt vibration through the stone directed into my arm and shoulder though having been shot, felt absolutely no pain of, instead sensed a warming sensation extending from the stone pass suddenly along the entire arm then shot throughout chest, moving down around the waist extending along the right arm ending with my right hand holding the buttons.

But there weren't...any...clouds that morning...

'No. There were not,' a voice carrying a slight accent, low and clear spoke somewhere from behind.

## Chapter 18 A Second Afterwards

None whatsoever. Temperature reaching mid-eighties, slight breeze. Sunny day. Same as any other. Not a cloud. Perfect. Could be anywhere along the Southern California 'Gold Coast'.

'Far from Siberia Russell?' His voice always in these moments one can never judge clearly. Neither quite grey from the white.

Here was very different of something that seemed yesterday. Was there a difference? Had all that moved on?

The dark cold of that forest closing in. Byrus loose. Romintov firing in all directions at shadows drawn from a deeper place we shouldn't have crossed into. My body racked with convulsions suffering from wounds, lack of blood about to die. Inna kneeling beside, yelled through the noise of returning fire result of which our shattered staff car without windows, engine smoking, tires flat, an ever more pronounced smell of gasoline running along the side a few inches from my left leg spread into the iced road.

How long time lapse in such moments; untruthful. Inna's speech slowed casings from the submachine gun twirling, sprinkled rebounding from the road, their slight clink evaporated while thudding from rounds impacting the car noted a deeper deadening hollow, a slight echo building from each, continued screams from men of pain, fear, anger floated endlessly heard for what...all of twenty minutes since leaving the small room behind with the three dead guards...or...only...?

All beginning some time since, but who knew in a place as this watch broken, surprisingly not stolen with the beating, indicating since making our escape from that dilapidated shack, and meeting Romintov, no more than fifteen minutes, where the span of measuring such remained outside the forest, though when handed us this other world inside the woods, we'd yet to comprehend.

The present, our only marker, anything from the past produced vague impressions, unreliability drifting off collected in some part of the woodlands, breeding as Inna holding my face with both hands, inches distance, yelled, emitting only whispers. Reading her lips, filled missing gaps of the past chasing us, devoured near moments of its own occurrence, as if a second after, never happened, insofar as possible the very duration of past's signature removed, noticed firstly by the casings ejected from the PPsH. They disappeared moments after striking the icy road. Secondly, as Inna knelt the car Byrus rode shimmered and vanished.

With Inna close, recognizing her fragrance watching her lips declaring something which of great importance noting the change from her hazel colored eyes to that of the deepest dark brown, felt the forest press inward, surround us, yet quickly fleeted, yanked from Inna by a strong hand grasping under my right arm, dragged around the staff car where immediately dropped behind the right front wheel laying on my right side.

'Nice!' the voice yelled inches from my left ear, adding '...now stay down or we're done.' More of the PPsH fired, more returned from the forest hitting the car. A large explosion near rumbled through both air and ground. Hurriedly rolled onto my back looking upward the stars fell toward the ground like rain. Suddenly screaming of a different kind came out from the forest, high then guttural as if first panic being caught, next fraught with disbelief being captured facing an inconceivable unknown torment soon arriving.

Inna paused before looking down through changed eyes toward the howl wondered what else would greet us in the forest tonight when more rounds struck the car brought her attention back, dropping next to me pulled from a bag a large dressing of light blue material, placing it directly on my chest and pressed while leaning forward as if to compress all of what little air remained in my lungs.

The pain shot up through the back of my brain shutting the world into a frightening darken room. Then as if a large hot nail drove itself deep into the chest burning to the point where unable to scream for all the oxygen was somewhere locked away could only open my mouth in reaction, my arms wanting to reach, push off the agony, yet Inna sat on my hips her knees firmly pinning both to the ground.

Another explosion, much closure sent the star's array, sliding about, marbles in a glass jar owned during youth as frozen ground erupted reaching into the blackened dark sky, fell back in large chunks along with portions of trees from small braces to whole trunks raining down.

'BREATHE!!!!' the world thrashed, darkness faded eyes opened seeing Inna's raised hand high swiftly drop striking hard against my face, paused, raised again, dropped the second a great deal harder throwing my head to the right. 'BREATHE DAMN IT!!!' she cried her voice nearly audible over thundering explosion now ever increasing, growing nearer, finding their range on the staff car.

All at once air rushed through hissing loudly. Stars focused. Chest rose, back arched, natural reaction where without air then suddenly permitted into the lungs, eyes wide open Inna busily applying tap to the bandage, closed my now ragged suit, sat up slightly taking her weight off me, grabbing my right arm with both hands pulling rolled me onto my chest, tore open the back of the suit must have applied the same bandage for the air was again forced out and my brain felt what now amounted to a white-hot spike driven deep into the back of my brain almost unbearable where passing out the only welcome relief. And that's what pain is; anything to be rid of.

Another explosion lifted the staff car off the ground ten feet flipping over onto its side where finally flames burst immediately engulfed our protection turned the night again into bright orange and white illuminating the entire area to a point anyone closure then twenty yards being blinded, and very possibly scorched from the intense heat given off.

Lucky the three of us hadn't to face such, the blast threw us back into the tree line landing on near frozen thicket growing dense throughout the north side of the forest road cushioning our fall. Unfortunately, grew with inch long thorns of which tore through our jumpers allowing the freezing cold reaching in. Both Inna and Romintov where quick on their feet simply pulled the twisting finger-thick branches of underbrush from their bodies came alongside picking me under both arms and made way deeper into almost pitch black of what certainly must be an ancient-growth forest bringing forth all the fairytales of youth where beasts best not spoken roamed freely wanting only bad children. Right now thought would that be the same for bad men, and beasts know the difference between us, and them? Or had we already crossed that line?

'Keep moving Tolber. Step high...like training,' Romintov this time only spoke not in a whisper but not screaming either, something between, also with a tinge of fear as if he too felt it best be cautious not making any more noise than absolutely necessary for fear of alerting not simply those chasing us, but those yet awake before us.

Then spoke quickly in Russian what the direction and time of the bandage. Without hesitation Inna already holding the compass she on my left, stated the direction about seventy-five yards needing only slight course alteration, pausing a moment checking her watch replied was broken but estimates less than two minutes.

Romintov with his left hand held firmly under my right the PPsH out before us felt the man's power, without equality never met such a person as he. All during the flight from Zurich he talked of things done and not. And why. And how they could. But lacked. Sometimes he was deathly quiet in deep contemplation.

A person not wanting to do what he did, but had because he knew no other way around, protected by something greater allowing no harm to come to the mission whether that be going to the shower or aerial combat against far superior forces while low on fuel and ammunition where the stake should you fail meant losses uncountable, in this life and afterward for he stated once on the flight, 'Not right here...right then,' told more simply about destiny, but what lays beyond if you don't work things out when you should.

The truth of his magnitude would be printed till after the war. Much of what he did classified, took time putting into understandable context. Reading some of his mission reports, firstly thought impossible, but seeing the after-fact details proved he was every bit of what they called him, 'The Deed'...for which in many ways Romintov functioned from his own agenda, causing many grey hairs in the Kremlin. And many enemies.

Once cleared of the thicket, snow slowed us, and the darkness held back as light from our cars explosion dwindled from its initial flash, only a small glow with cascading yells accompanied by small arms and large caliber weapons struck, some as close as ten feet randomly aimed wishfully finding a worthy target, sent puffs of snow upon their impact, but nothing more.

With each breath, the sound of air escaping my lungs grew less, along with the sharp stabbing pain from the exit wound and left arm all slowly residing. Thankfully Inna took care supporting me firmly under the left armpit while bracing the lower arm pressing it lightly against my abdomen with her left hand thereby relieving the arms weight. But nothing could suppress the unbearable cold. Perhaps Romintov endured best his jumper seemed intact sustaining his warmth. Inna had a tear in her right side and while dressing my injuries easily exposed her white skin along the ribs, which for the most seemed not to bother much if any at all, then again under the circumstances only extreme severity registered in the brain, anything besides, carried on in some redundant obscure form preserving the mind focused with survival.

With the staff cars flames nearly extinguished, prospects running from its own light, surroundings took a darker appearance reflecting mildly off the snow giving a slight moonlight glow permitting us from running directly into a tree, while the pain subsided feeling of strength returned first in the legs then slowly upper body in such a way strides taking now my full body weight lengthen, surpassing both Inna and Romintov within a matter of seconds pulled from their grasp.

In my mind seeing what lay ahead, immediately snatched the submachine gun from Romintov while pushing faster gained easily ten feet from the two raised the weapon fired three rounds two directly ahead and on sixty degrees on the right. Immediately return fire erupted going high striking branches well above us, rounds from my PPsH struck intended targets, throwing them backwards trigger fingers automatically contracted, wild shots raising into the trees.

Romintov asking direction and time, Inna replying twenty yards at thirty-seconds. Halting turned the weapon still held firmly in the small of my shoulder fired two rounds just as both Inna and Romintov passed eyeing me wondering whether the rounds intended for them or something worse from both expressions. Certainly, it would have been the optimal time killing both, but something more ran through me in addition to behind, hearing amplified caught enemy sounds, turning again fired once directly over Inna's left shoulder the round of which tore through twisting him about into the thick snow.

Listening before moving forward wanting to locate dangers, counted twelve ahead of us, scattered, all with submachine guns, two with sniper scoped night vision on a hunting platform twenty feet up in the tree line both at flanks, weapons raised waiting for the clear shot.

Luckily with the forest's density constantly forced us into near unpredictable weaving patterns, unfortunately, drove us further, widened our positions from one another. For Inna and Romintov where soon the snipers find their targets, forced a decision as to which shooter must be taken first, time allowing only the one.

Then even colder chill raced through as shock racking the whole of me shuttering wild with cramps, sweat pouring.

Dropping into knee-deep snow heat building inside flamed outward not feeling the icy weather certainly twenty degrees below zero, the body in a kettle boiled, my mind certainly at its very edge blazed hearing something from behind far, then close often with hallucinations never exact in its substance, pushed the shadow ever nearer, eclipse starlight, consuming even the snows radiance sucked before my eyes, as all the blackness in the world descended.

Inna, perhaps unaware the compress bandage containing an absorbent version of DonaX, with its application amounted to an overdose, of which studies concluded both animals and human mind simply burning itself to death, the body quickly following, expiring within minutes firstly through extensive muscle contraction, seizure. A few cases ending in comma usually a day up to one week, however a recorded case lasted longer than six months though unverifiable seeing they were German researchers having taken the pills from a captured agent who after sufficient torture informed the scientists they were only vitamins, were unable ascertaining medical compounds correctly didn't believe the agent, therefore conducted their own experiment whereby had both forcibly taken, one immediately followed the other.

Being German, exceptional notes and film constituted a near perfect collection of how a person can tear themselves apart using simply their own hands and teeth. The documented case noted after failed interrogation, two pills induced where within twenty minutes necessary restraining the agent otherwise would have torn his throat open having done so with tearing his lips off, after gouging out both eyes with his thumbs, ripped large chunks of flesh from both arms and legs. Convulsion followed by unconscious, finally succumb to a coma lasting more than one hundred and seventy-seven days after which the agent died.

Once details of the experiment reached High Command alerts were issued to all agents afield cautioning them in taking the second pill should be at least forty-eight hours after ingesting the first.

Dropping in the ice-crusted snow stopped under the cushion a foot below not yet frozen, knew the drug was administered, wondering not only how and where obtained, but in the present form of a medical compress Inna applied on both entry and exits of the sucking chest wounds.

Had the Russians also DonaX, either engineered their own having altered the pill form into a bandage? In any case clearly near death when something 'else' took hold. When the final burn ended.

So did it really matter? Laying here near frozen on fire mortally wounded, eyes boiling along with the brain turning to pools of once collective conscious the last of which considered, did it really signify all that much of anything?

'You remember,' his voice returned, 'far unlike those crudely designed substances. Yes? Far indeed. More with...'surroundings'. Evolved. Emerged, yet in this arrival, both the East and West aren't at all prepared.'

He stood where earlier handed me the small satchel, still calm, impeccably dressed in the tailored three-piece pristine white suit. His pitch black cane itself, impressive with its brightly polished silver tipped end absorbing as if in an eternal battle with its darker self, yet touching the floor strangely never made a sound as he walked along the hallway years before outside the bald man's office. Held in front, both hands resting upon its ivory handle, whispered once vertebrate of some animal never having touched this earth, gazed through the gold-rimmed glasses, seemed without a single trace of life in those piercing blue eyes.

## Chapter 19 No Quarter

As the glass door opening inward, first two entered immediately stepping on either side, allowing two more follow directly behind knelt, weapons raised. No more than ten feet from having stood a moment before, moving along the glass observing their advancement, evaluating possible outcomes, well encountering similar scenarios in the field.

At least that's what these men wanted.

But what happened was something very similar, nearly identical with Hitlers 6th Army fighting Russian troops in the city of Stalingrad, a battle lasting five months commencing the end of August 1942, in particular, the winter of that year, where temperatures dropped to minus thirty degrees Fahrenheit. Toward the end of the battle, over one thousand German soldiers died each day, fighting for control of a city themselves ordered Luftwaffe to droop over 16,000 bombs turning the predominantly wooden structured buildings to an inferno where a newspaper could be read from the lighted blaze some forty miles away. The city Nazis turned to rubble were now themselves trapped with Russian troops adopting a manner of fighting referred to as 'Hugging the Enemy'.

Charged with defending Stalingrad the Soviet general instructed his men stay as close to the enemy as possible using handheld weapons, insomuch greatly reduced the use of German artillery and mortar fire against the Russians. This close-quarters combat lasted months, fought house-to-house over buildings even floors in which on one, the Germans would occupy while another below or above the Russians many times listening through walls hearing the others conversation, even whispering.

It became ruthless without shelter, retreat, or surrender, no mercy whatsoever shown on either side with both armies sustaining massive losses. Unable to resupply their once-over three-hundred thousand force, now only sixteen thousand remained, surrounded with more than one million Russians, the German's finally surrendered.

The battle changed the war for Germany against Russia. Once out mastered and out materialized by superior resources and tactics, now the Soviet Red Army began an offensive drive for Berlin, one of which opted myself against those attacking the glass wall. Moving in three quick strides pressed flat against the glass till connected with an adjoining cement wall just as the combatants entered through the door, their backs now to the glass having easily entered, adopting the standard tactical approach, their objective capturing achieved with ease, actually fell into the same overconfidence situation as the Germans.

With this, three elements occurred; one, having surprised the commandos thinking I'd retreat into the room allowing clear shooting just as the Germans being excellent in open-field warfare, lacked a total understanding of close-arms combat so too were the commandos stunned, while second, if they did shoot through the glass wall it would most likely create a shower of broken glass raining upon them and myself, which another element forced them instantly rethink their attack plan, thereby permitting the moment required for my own offensive, thirdly, raised my own weapon, and fired at the floor to ceiling glass, point blank still holding the blood mountain stone and three buttons.

As the round struck the glass snow warmed, melting a hole deep through the reddened packed snow, as body temperature steeply rose, generated wispy clouds of fog slowly drifting off into the windless night. Laying, listening, an eternal deafening roamed devouring the world with it's wandering suddenly towered above me pressing great weight amassed from eons traveled in and out of one form or another disguised by persuasions, yet having known better, where reality nothing more than altering perception agreed, madness lures upon its insurmountable vantage point, commanding without prejudice dictated my life. A fool my entire existence since birth believing in self-guided rule meaning importance, became nothing more than complete fabrication in order sustaining my prime order of simple survival, proving fact, of the very lie.

And of what point served a governing rule but that of time itself where manipulated, contorted even fulfilling my own needs provided that pinnacle downfall ego had so cleverly disguised, as to save face, never heed warnings of its own pending suicide for half of all errors came from not listening but believing otherwise.

On mission, reading reports derived from Azerbaijani language translated to me by a Russian black marketeer, learned some of its basic, realized the key element here provided the last clue into the woman's death; the buttons on her dress spelt 'Tengri' in the Old Turkic script written from right to left meaning the Khan Tengri; 'Blood Mountain'.

However, as the professor told the story over drinks in London, still hadn't understood her link with the lone man returning from his climb without his colleague, which both had become new business partners, later discovered dead on the ice bridge. It wasn't until the moment before firing my round into the glass, felt vibration surging, clasping my hand with such force around the etched stone the man with his gold-rimmed glasses gave of indeed the Khan Tengri, snapped the stone in two.

At the point there was no accident in Commander Anderson's related message of 'Market Garden' being that not of the failed World War 2 mission of Allied forces their objective to capture a series of nine bridges that could have provided an invasion route into Germany, instead referred to those taking reconnaissance photographs know as 'Snappers' having 'snapped' such photos, '583 Snap Squad' meaning the 583rd German Flight Signal Corp responsible for taking ariel photos of the 'Market Garden' mission, had also taken photos of Mount Elbrus depicted by Anderson's quoting 432118N. Moreover, reports related with L.A. police hadn't any case reference system of such numbering.

Instead, Anderson referred to what he knew I'd understand, where military service being with the Signal Corp and CIC, majority of cases numbers related to coordinates; latitude and longitude.

Of Anderson's, 432118N became Mount Elbrus at 43 degrees 21 minutes 18 seconds North. Khan Tengri of the Tian Shan mountain range located on the China and Kirghiz Soviet Socialist Republic border, reference 421239N report 80 of which due by 10:30 Eastern, actual coordinates 42 degrees 12 minutes 39 seconds North, by 80 degrees 10 minutes 30 seconds East.

The murdered woman found on the beach in her green dress with three buttons illustrating Khan Tengri, must have taken photos through the 583rd of 'Market Garden', Mount Elbrus, and Khan Tengri itself and was somehow connected with the lone man returning from the climb of Elbrus who himself questioned by police several weeks afterward returning from the climb, yet couldn't remember later ever having even attempted the summit with his colleague then once business partner, nor a man having stayed one night in the hut as per his earlier statement. Local farmers interviewed by police stated they'ed indeed saw only one mountaineer fitting the description of the businessman that day. They had not seen a 'lone' climber at any other time, either before the two ascended Elbrus, or afterward for they always tended their livestock near the trailhead and would have noticed any passing through.

But how was the woman connected?

Unless it was 582585N another reference from Anderson; 58 degrees, 25 minutes, 85 seconds North the location of which being northern Scotland above Inverness, where exactly hadn't studied deeply, could only guess.

Was 'try that good glass of scotch whiskey' Anderson told me on the radio, and to 'inspect the bottle properly with the dark green label well certain it's from the correct brewery' famous for its Scotch the lady in green another reference stressing the facts?

Possibly. And why hadn't any of this come to me sooner? Why the rush of details with plausible conclusions?

Because it's often the way a mind works. Preoccupied, only enough information processed at any given moment doesn't permit free-flowing details for the most, rather in chunks assimilated, then more 'filling the gaps'. After all the mind wasn't much more than Swiss cheese, which until the holes laden, made little or no sense.

Never remembered Anderson mentioning scotch whiskey and green bottles in any of our conversations, over work or drinks though the latter very few for he was certainly business as usual. Yet here he spoke clearly, with meaning he knew I'd understand, though coded able resolving the clues of which he was certain others wished knowing. Yet Anderson himself was an enigma during and after the war. High-security clearance, quite, very observant, only met his wife once and that was by accident taking into account our past military service and he my superior at the Los Angeles Police Department while leaving the office stopped in the hall where a woman of plain yet holding a simple attractive nature stood waiting. Asking there any assistance she required, calmly replied no, sizing me thoroughly. Afterward commenting on her to Anderson who, without any sign of acknowledgment or disturbance of paperwork mumbled simply, 'my wife'.

And here he'd given clues some of which now clear left others dull as spent gold...Gold. Gold. Ukraine...the Ukrainian resistance said they'd 'have a drink of whiskey for me'. But they hated whiskey, drank only vodka unless...they were going to a place that had a considerable amount of. Scotland. Anderson trained there a year during the war with British Intelligence, breaking security systems, accessing contents from encrypted messages. Was he connected with the Ukrainians?

Did the lady in green taking photos, very possibly a double-agent passing the photos?

The Ukrainians were either physically in Scotland, and had they dealt with someone from there?

What of the man with the gold-rimmed eyeglasses? Was he a simple fantasy?

Were pills taken from the bald man?

Had I brought the satchel with the 'Blood Mountain' stone all along, having simply not taken notice?

Imagined even calling Anderson turning what believed into simple map coordinates?

Was I even here, in...?

Or as so pointed out by the now dead man, rather than risk losing precious time, promptly shot himself through his own shoulder...screaming all the while, 'THIS IS L.A.!'.

All of which passes my mind the moment the glass wall fractured began to fall. But not all of what goes through a mind concerns 'now' rather 'then' when laying in melted snow, overdose taking hold, brain and body scorched, as seizures began.

## Chapter 20 Posted In The Position

Drenched from my own sweat, rose slowly from the snow, flames moving across the front of my chest and back down along my legs, a million ants crawled on bare skin without warning began tearing into, hungry pincers injecting toxin causing an even greater reaction. The fire spread quickly over arms and thighs my face and lips even the closed eyelids felt an incredible sting, but at least the pain from both chest and back where the round struck only a few minutes before felt numb, cool, refreshed.

The head wasn't as heavy as before, resting lightly on my shoulders, opened my eyes witnessed a change in the snow and forest around me, slightly, but regardless present. The trees seemed more pronounced stronger in color, their blackness filled with a thickened volume, where the snow though white, showed the ground though not entirely transparent, yet clear enough as if gazing into a swiftly moving stream observing the river bed below.

Raising my eyes viewing the landscape Inna and Romintov were as they had remained when I fell, despite that they too appeared as the ground below the snow; a watery mirage yet not completely motionless they moved with quick gestures as if viewed had parts missing from a film, skipping through frames of which removed the two appeared every few seconds in another position; still running. But the time between their moments changed, altering the duration of which were several seconds till the next movement.

Move. Stop. Change. The change was hardest to watch for the two simple 'appeared' a few feet from where they'd stopped, though tracks in the snow showed they in fact stepped. At first thought while running they suddenly sprang several feet. Then stopped. Then ran. Sprang. Stopped.

But that wasn't the case at all. They simply 'arrived' every few feet.

Sound too changed following suit with action, when the two were motionless lasting anywhere but a few seconds, no sound could be heard of their running through thick knee-deep snow, which before although hadn't frozen, never-the-less topped with an inch of hardened icy crust.

Quickly scanning for others, starved, beaten men roaming free from their cruel imprisonment wanted revenge on anything, especially gulag guards of which we three would in their eyes surmount too, unable or very possibly unwilling denoting between either.

And they were there in the forest with us, a large number steadily growing, surrounding, moving in groups as large as thirty to those single scurrying about, possessed one purpose other than survival; revenge.

And which of those Byrus? Surviving the explosion of his own car was certain he was somewhere very close waiting, but now another element was in play, that of defense for we'd run into another group who acts as a protecting branch either military or private now the war's over, otherwise why post snipers in the middle of the woods? A group which Byrus part of would've opened fire on us well before now, more likely when we stood up from our wrecked staff car snipers would have fired.

And how many men did Byrus have? Two maybe three perhaps in this mayhem where they might easily all be picked-off by convicts, but what point in that mattered, desiring that bastard for myself, feeling what now coursing through, nothing would stop me from carving his liver while he stood watching.

But now those two snipers were going to act as they were trained; wait until reaching a certain distance then fire. Once having crossed the line into their territory they protected, anything was possible certainly shoot and kill both Inna and Romintov easily at this distance, their weapons specialized high-caliber rifles for just the act, and trained withstanding these temperatures for their cover was simply a single floor unit without walls or roof placing them within full exposure from elements; for hours. Not normal soldiers.

Obviously they were alerted to the camp's disintegration, though if they were guarding something, most likely always posted in the position, but with strict order not to shoot until surpassing the perimeter, otherwise their cover would be more pronounced having at least a roof, but with only the bare minimum illustrated they didn't want to be noticed too easily. And if they didn't want to be noticed in the least, we'd all be dead.

Then again who the hell comes out here? There's only the gulag with nothing but forest for hundreds of miles. Yet here 'they' are.

The seizures slowed while observing Inna and Romintov. By the time understanding possibilities each sniper held, they ceased entirely. Still holding the submachine gun, though studying how long laying in the snow took more effort as logically a person couldn't simply melt their way, as the outline of my body indicated, through nearly two feet of thick snow. At least a week. Seeing the position of both Romintov and Inna hardly moved, meant simply a duration no more than a couple of seconds elapsed from the time I fell, till now, yet here a large hole proved otherwise.

Besides the issue of the hole, why hadn't I died, or at the very least passed out into a coma as doctors instructed would should DonaX reach an excessive and dangerous dosage?

Only the basics doctors informed us; DonaX amplifies the output of the adrenal gland, pushing more adrenaline into the body. A great deal more in fact, and in so doing opens neuromuscular junctions, the contact between a motor neuron and a muscle fiber allowing unrestricted signals transmitted from the neuron to the fiber delivering quicker reactions and greater speed both physical and mental, while an excessive dosage further intensifies those conditions.

If you stayed within its limits the drug was extremely useful. Only we were never told of its side effects, even within those limits every moment spent damaged the users' nervous system especially the synapse structure used to pass electrical or chemical signals throughout the body. More in particular, that in the role of forming memories through neurotransmitters which while DonaX induced, breaks down resulting in misinformation given to the brain which then stores as a misinformed memory.

Developing synthetic biological agent to which no natural immunity exists was one of DonaX's greater aim. Whether that was achieved is classified, along with its compounds none of which any subject taking the drug knew, even myself with top security clearance, except one; 'Ipomoea tricolor' commonly known as morning glories. In all cases, doctors assured us there were no ill side effects and if any unpleasant similarities to that of our mission occurred, they would only be short-lived.

But the Russians had something else. The large blue compress Inna placed on both chest and back suffering from the round fired either from one of Byrus's men, or himself, would certainly have killed me. The high caliber weapon used broke ribs tore muscles and lung possible damaging the heart, which even more profound through Inna's brave and quick action administering the compress, staved the bleeding under such conditions, of course with Romintov's cover fire, of which if we survive will never hear the end of his 'Deed.'

Yet here dripping with sweat in minus twenty degrees Fahrenheit knew where all parties within a one-hundred-yard radius and how to kill each and everyone without firing a weapon.

That's with an overdose.

But there was more; locate what the coordinates pointed at, alone. Dragging those two with me would result in nothing but a burden constantly having to protect them, which wasn't part of the mission, thankfully though in their efforts saving my life it was after all 'me' they needed to save so how much of an effort over and above was it really on their part? Retrospect showed nothing out of the ordinary, of which under normal conditions wouldn't hesitate to let me die, at any given time.

We couldn't be any further than twenty yards from the exact mark on my map, yet there were no buildings of any kind, nor even a hunter's thatch. The modern sniper roost being the only point of recent development meaning either the coordinates were wrong, we read them wrong, or it was under the snow, but with time loosened Inna was the chosen one simply because she had the knife, possibly two, where using them against the snipers, leaving Romintov the victim.

There were also the three roaming convicts, one with a wooden staff probably used as a weapon when not leaned upon, the others with simple clubs not even two feet long resembling more tree branches than anything. They were all but eight yards closing on both our flanks.

But what of Byrus? Quickly turning, over my left shoulder the first shot rang one of his men stood weapon raised, rifle high caliber probably the very one who shot me hugging the tree for cover. He too must have seen the snipers but how their cover being so complete? Or was it simply to steady his aim with exhaustion and cold working at him.

Just then the tree he'd used as cover or brace, sent a light puff outward then the man's head exploded. Someone shot through the tree the round continuing on into the head near completely blown off leaving only the back of the skull from the eyes down. Interesting enough the impact so precise and the high energy round left him standing without movement in the slightest. If it wasn't seen the only evidence anything happened was the wide red spray pattern upon the snow produced from heads near denigration.

If he stayed much longer the cold would freeze solid, leaving him a statue till the next thawing, then another round sounded. Without hope, either Inna or Romintov would be next, turning back in their direction witnessed one of the convicts closest to Romintov simply fall over in mid-stride. Again without the slightest impact change from the round striking the body as normal one would either twisting or throwing the person, the man simply dropped.

From behind me came returning fire. Three rounds quickly fired from three weapons, one sending its puff of snow up into the freezing night air, not even a foot where now jumped out of the impression from a moment earlier laid a steamed form, the second further towards Inna another three feet behind her, while the third at the snipers; all amiss.

Deciding whether to go for the high-caliber weapon held in nearly frozen hands of the headless shooter, or Inna wasn't even the slightest possible moment permitted as instinct took hold. Moving for her all parties viewable with their jerk-stop-motion seemed almost ludicrous if it wasn't for the drug yet grateful for that was next to her when both snipers fired their infrared mounted Carbine over both our heads allowing me with great surprise as who were they and why aren't they aiming at us, but the real shock came looking into the face of Inna noticing it wasn't her, but of 'another' woman entirely different!

Pushing through the horror screaming at myself, IT'S THE DRUG!...IT'S THE DRUG!, desperately trying to break free of this disbelief the weight of which took all my energy, for a fraction our eyes meet, as certainty ran along my brain the overdose complete, brought me almost to a point of collapse for it was Anderson's wife that same woman met, yet couldn't possibly in a place I hadn't yet been.

Her lips moving freely whispered, not that of Inna's voice, the other, yet unable hearing so faint leaned in closer.

'Watch out for...' the voice almost undiscernable spoke.

Another two rounds fired from the snipers, but dare not remove my eyes from hers thinking if so would surely tumble down some long passage toward total insanity.

'WHAT?!' yelling though only barely ten inches from her more from the nearing panic grappling me with the only noise being the snipers.

Her lips moving again, eyes rolling back into her head spoke, '...the glass ice bridge.'

## Chapter 21 LEAVE!

And step back as if pulled by something having reached through from behind grabbing my chest, nearly stumbled over my own feet as the glass wall collapsed turning the massive sheet into spearheads and daggers. Crystal once crashing on the floor exploded into shards slicing anything caught within half the size of the reception in the same manner following out to the sidewalk and street. Fortunate though only the five armed entering were caught, which was just the same they the intended target, nearly decapitating two, while the third brought down from the sheer weight of the glass itself crushed between what lay already on the floor, and of that falling.

Two fired their weapons from reflex, rounds smashing into the reception desk, swept right striking the already two dead men spraying further dark red blood upon the white walls and floor. One round passed through the back of the 'L.A.' man's head tearing the face off splashing it along the base of the wall and door leading to cold storage.

Taking cover next to the adjoining wall catching only fine shard, prepared moving back toward the reception desk away from the continued sheets along with several blocks fell, shattering with loud bursts. Few pedestrians having witnessed the collapse stood oblivious to the fact allowing only their awestruck gapping mouths fallen open remain so, yet logic commanded they should take flight. But with most animals this act, completely normal, even the briefest of such hesitations permitted danger advancing within the background, in a way most commonly became victims of their own incessant curiosity, their full attention focused within that arena of interest where the louder, the more captivating, entrapped most.

At least on this level.

While also, at another, the contrary applied on account of the fact stillness bewitched, held fast the attention as one in viewing something new, utterly focused without prejudges that first moment for want of lack in understanding.

So was the case with the buttons from the woman now recognized, that same having flown with, having saved my life, having fallen fearfully close in love with, they found dead on the beach. Inna and the woman in the green dress were the same; Anderson's wife.

Familiar but vague, leaning against the wall in the hallway outside Anderson's office merely shrugged 'my wife'. As casual as ever though a look in her eyes knew, yet with work and problems of my own, problems from the war and living with what happened, the look faded believed illusion, filtered into the working day contrasted with staying a sweat-filled relentless horrible nightmare. As most nights where over the past two months plagued losing grasp between reality and fabrication its grey landscape taking more each night when finally, Anderson said it appeared increasingly as if death passed over looking at me over his glasses.

Confiding in him Anderson spoke of a doctor which might be of use, and in consultations with given a prescription to ease the nerve allowing at least some rest. Three weeks later was when she appeared, a phantasm; Inna. How could I mistake her? The hair was different and something about the jaw-line nonetheless certain now she was there.

But why hadn't she come forward? Not even a reflection, and married to Anderson! Why? Did he know who she was? He must. He researched her of course. Or was she on a mission? Marrying him simply for access of...classified material? But then she was in the field running with Romintov, running for both her life and to find the coordinates, what from my map lay in the middle of some vile ancient forest devouring life, pulling it apart...of course not, we had a mission...stop at nothing. Professionals. She never cared only used me...Romintov...Anderson.

Except why hadn't we listen to our gut feelings screaming to us run the other way, that whatever not to enter the forest? What good was instinct being chased by rogue bands of starved beaten convicts mostly innocent of any crime other than not wanting to participate in Stalin's regime, by Byrus and his thugs wanting what we wanted, probably didn't know what we knew because we didn't ourselves, all rushing headlong into a darkness many never returned from, yet those that did weren't simply changed, oh no that was expected you see wandering around, trees so thick you couldn't look around, twisted grotesquely resembling nothing from this world...in fact...now...recall...

'What!?' screaming at Inna having caught alongside her unable hearing what she said sounding only as whispers.

'DROP!' she yelled throwing herself at me pulled us both into the hardening snow when eruption from a tree, not more than five yards hit by mortar exploded sending chucks and branches in all directions intensifying screams from those struck, including Inna who instinctually raised both arms protecting the face and neck which were met with shrapnel and wood lacerating the forearms and wrists.

Laying on top arms bleeding, snow drifting through her loosened hair gave radiance the only white source in this ever barren blackened world struggling to rid ourselves from, for the snow alighted a faint glow around her enough where the eyes told the same what was felt; it wasn't Byrus or anyone else, it was 'this place' that we should fear most.

And it was those eyes seen again in the hallway, the same exact telling me, screaming at me, 'LEAVE!' Even so, didn't consume with trouble, walked past without a second thought.

The barrage followed. Light artillery, mortar rounds landed decimating the area, if what the gulag held as insanity, this surpassed with limitless easy the ground mixed with snow and ice ejected into the star-filled night sky with round after round exploding. Entire trees shattered sending wooden and mental shrapnel outward almost horizontal laying waste anything standing.

Even so, the sounds of which seemed deadened, heard safely well underground only that of a rumble as shelling moved along its pattern, first behind us, then moving forward rounds pushing us further into the pitch dark forest.

With unusual flashes, the night broke into a bright orange and white daylight, trees aflame, along with men stumbled running ablaze before dropping to the snow. Inna pushed off trying to stand but held her close knowing the bombardment will easily sherd her once she rose more than a foot. Hoping Romintov was the same, a man of his character was difficult understanding outside military actions, left me with only a wondering thought seeing right here and now was predominantly survival, that the war was over. Yet those as Romintov, such an idea proved profoundly ludicrous in ones of lowered intelligence as war raged anywhere with peace waiting only at the end.

Arms firmly around Inna's back struggling to hold her, her strength surprising. But with each shell, grew calmer aware movement meant certain death, though a round might land close wounding or killing us both, was an added risk. Several times did, in fact, sending showers of blackening dirt against a brilliant whitened snow down upon us to such an extent she pressed her head against my neck and shoulder the scent of which overpowered that from the world trying to kill us.

And it was that walking past her in the hall no more than a foot apart for all, hadn't noticed. How much in that brief time outside Anderson's office was missed? The eyes...her natural fragrance...shape of her body...the voice...in all that of no more than five-seconds together formed an indefinite causality of events lead meeting Inna in 1945, which lead meeting her now just a month ago, yet as time explained in the rate of change measured, an 'alteration' occurred in the Russian forest, the moment rising from the slush-filled hole seeing both their jerking-stop-motion shapes.

But as time defined in the measurement of change, then must always something change in order that time exist?

With the alteration in the forest, when both she and Romintov in their jerking-stop movements, at that precise moment of 'stopping' so to had time itself.

Determined through a combination of an unbroken chain of prior occurrences meet Inna again in the hall outside Anderson's office, then here in San Diego on the beach and morgue, where both situations she was dead.

But it couldn't be Inna. Not the same as in Russia.

For two reasons, one; when holding her tight opening my eyes seeing from the ground upwards through the trees the answer came; the variation in the dark woods wasn't something magical or strange phenomenon in so much as a signal, of which working in Signal Corp understood what it was looked through the trees, were in fact, the trees themselves. They way they had grown, or more to the point, the way they'd been 'planted'.

And two; though the body similar to Inna, Inna had a faint scar under the left eye only illuminate from a downward angle light, which is what I noticed when checking with my penlight having turned the lights off in the examination room, light held above her head, shown down across the face examining the eyes and face closely. Yet the woman on the beach and morgue had scaring on the arms as Inna too from shrapnel and fragments from bursting trees during the bombardment.

Body shape of the woman on the beach held striking facsimiles to that of Inna's, including those scars and extremely close facial resembles, yet to what avail and by whom? What was the connection? Why Inna? A double agent? Again the only answer appeared; very possible.

High-pitch whistles of descending rounds, bursting white lights of blazing orange and red, shot across the darkly frozen night, exploding shells shattered, barrage increasing obliterated the terrain, all this for only the three of us, the escapes? Or something more?

Again my attention turned toward the trees and their pattern of growth. Wasn't natural. Intentional. Man-made. Circular. Moving outwards from a center point. Row after row. Then with an enormous flash saw what appeared as cables strung high among trees connecting one to another in a particular shape instantly recognized; that of an antenna. Radar. And huge.

Now it made sense, the radar antenna was the targeted bombardment, not just ourselves, but the entire area, the coordinates Anderson referred too; a radar station. In the center of nowhere. Linked with what? Scotland? Ukrainians? Who else? Who else in this but of course...written on the buttons. held broken in my hand; Khan Tengri.

The Russians built a radar station the size of a forest able to track anything moving from Scotland to China, literally covering all of Europe along with its own borders. It fits the coordinates Anderson spoke of, Ukraine's 'whiskey' their involvement, 'green bottle' girls figure - the buttons. But what of the 'lone' climber at Mount Elbrus? With the scar under the left eye, just as Inna....and...myself!

Absurd. I'm not Khillar Khachirov of 1902 the two Czech's met. Besides Khachirov's climb occurred in July 1829! Not the lone climber just because I have a scar under the same eye. Simply a tale one made having thrown his partner from the ice bridge because of financial problems or some such reason; at no time proven though, went insane... never spoke again.

'Are you sure it was indeed a tale?'

Turning Anderson stood behind the reception desk, his weapon drawn pointing directly at me a Sauer 38H, the preferred weapon of the Nazis in, particular, the Luftwaffe.

Seeing I'd noticed the weapon Anderson remarked, 'Indeed. A memento. Gift from a partnered surrendering general as it were, not so much submitting vanquish, rather a changing of the sides. Naturally, you're well aware of such.'

He paused but saying nothing watched him intently, listening.

'You've by now established the situation. The coordinates? Radar right where you trained at Kinbrace, Scotland to China overseeing all of Europe thanks to your efforts at CIC and Signal Corp running around you did with your resistance contacts, rather bandits actually. Undisciplined they were though had their day just as you. Collecting all that gold. The blast rattled your brain. Lucky they didn't slit your throat. Can't trust a one. But that you know.'

True what he said the explosion from the tank did give trouble the rest of the war and even now making a full night sleep impossible headaches throbbing, nausea. But the medication did help because...

'Of course, it did Tolber that's why you needed it so. Helped you just as with the others. Mild sedative was all any of you required. Sleep. Most important. Not enough and things begin slipping. Not knowing what's real or not.'

'The others...?' I replied.

'Naturally, you're not the only investment. Did you think that? Christ son, they buried you so deep you don't know what you're doing. Here you've nearly bleed yourself to death, shot out a glass wall killing several agents, wounding the rest severely, not to mention those in the basement and these two here,' gesturing with his weapon toward the door.

Admitted 'hadn't' in my not answering, Anderson was correct. I was aware, and not, of the bleeding. Remembered the gulag and Inna. Romintov too. And Byrus. But my mind wandered some. There was the broken stone in my hand now gazed down at completely covered in blood, buttons in a pocket from a woman whose death I wasn't sure staged for my benefit, or someone else's. Thinking now was it Inna or not? Had this entire episode mistakenly seen without prejudice? Hell, was I above all else actually in L.A.? Had it gone that far?

'You need rest, Russell. Come with me and well get you to a hospital before you fall over.'

Forcing false friendship was a clear indication of adverse action. The instructors told us this. If someone you don't trust wants to get close it means they're going to act. Using first-name basis was that clear signal Anderson was lying and had all along, probably during the war and ever since and quite possibly a double agent.

But the elaborate scheme sending me here, coded message of coordinates and the rest; why?

What did it prove if a woman was dead, some look-alike of Inna, with a stone and...yes...a test. If nothing makes sense, it's because there isn't any. One of the first things they teach you. If there's nothing right, then right is usually not what should be questioned, but rather 'why' and if why entered the equation it meant you're being tested.

Why so then? The past, its constant encroachment left me little sleep, with which brought dementia Anderson noted directing me toward...medication. His doctor. A doctor 'he' knew. But not a sedative. Something else. Something from the past similar to DonaX, not as potent, yet aided long-term control something during the war the doctors hadn't perfected. But now had, able to 'manage the assets'.

Few knew what DonaX might actually produce, physically and mentally in their subjects. Predominantly Swiss scientists, only able to work with field reports of how agents reacted, during and after administration of the drug, but now the war over, other parties became involved; the Germans.

Of course with their assistance the Americans and probably British surpassed wartime effects the drug-induced with something very different. Taylor designed.

They experimented on those having taken the drug in the war, manufactured in Scotland, a laboratory having a latitude and longitude matching that of '584'.

'You do realize you're talking all this through...aloud,' Anderson spoke calmly watching closely my hands, his eyes moving upwards followed along with my body finally stopping looking as if through me, himself recalling everything 'said'.

'You were the mole at MI5,' I spoke softly wanting him relaxed. 'Releasing ash from the RAF 'Button Squadron' based in Scotland supposedly interfering with communication the Germans, when in fact, was a complete ruse. Simple a system exchanging information in the form of photos taken by the 'snappers', in particular, the woman found dead on the beach. Threatening you, that's why she was killed. She'd taken recon photos for the new radar station in Siberia, Mount Elbrus, and Khan Tengri.'

'Yes Tolber exactly,' Anderson spoke easily, almost bored.

'But you didn't know of her buttons having the old script pattern. Knowing she was going to die added a clue.'

There was a slight change, Anderson's expression shifted slightly showing he didn't know of the buttons.

'And you needed money, or rather the Russians needed for their new radar so you hooked with Ukrainians having broken their coded security systems, accessing contents from encrypted messages between them and British Intelligence in order to make deals with them which of course you never did. It was you behind the Nazi atrocities during all their villages. You were hunting for the gold ingots.'

Pausing a moment reading Anderson's blank expression, continued.

'But something changed. You told me when radioed about the accident with the driver, 'time being most important, but not to trust it or anyone, that traitors were cutoff, and something related to a red eye'. Are you meaning the Soviets have a giant 'red eye' watching everything with its radar? But it was destroyed in the barrage along with half the forest set ablaze, hell the fire's probably still burning.'

Anderson simply stood saying nothing.

'It wasn't an accident assigned to your office. You wanted me there in order to start your plan of searching again for the gold the Ukrainians had. You worked together with Byrus sending him to monitor and when the time was correct extract the information; the beatings in the gulag. But that didn't work well. After the mission was sent stateside ending in L.A. And here we are.'

'You've done well Tolber. Surprisingly so. But you've no proof,' he finished with a growing smile.

'You said it best,' reassuring him, 'trust no one' so I placed a 'Tick' on British Intelligence transmissions, altered messages where need be.'

'Yes, I know that. No evidence there. I was very careful reading anything.'

'I didn't know what Inna meant in the forest when she said, 'Watch out for the ice bridge'. That's the second time I've heard of ice bridges, and the coincidence is unbelievable. While drinking with a professor he told me the story of an ice bridge which made no sense at the time, afterward told him we make a bridge as well in our relay transmission slowing at times, before passing them on in order to monitor the message. 'So...' the professor says, 'you make an ice bridge too,' metaphorically meaning, of course, ice freezing the relay.'

'So...?' Anderson questioned a puzzled look forming.

'So, you read only the first altered transmission. I sent a second later...with the correct intelligence.'

## Chapter 22 You Should Come

Even then well trained can't betray hatred and shock; two emotions very difficult composing. Anderson showed both though slightly, made a difference in his thinking, the aim of disclosing my own secret, his mind calculating, wasn't focused as it should be; on my hands.

A fraction was all required, which he allowed going thinking through transcripts and messages sent, how incriminating they would be for him, while my hand raised hurling the broken stone pieces of Blood Mountain toward him.

They weren't meant for damaging anything other than distraction, again the act of something flying toward you, which you weren't exactly sure what takes huge amounts of mental calculations understanding. Again Anderson's mind shifted from his past to the present forced to grasp what just happened and how to deal best in the situation.

Reflex said he would fire his weapon, the stones simply decoy altered his aiming just enough where sliding to the ground my back against the wall landing in a sitting position, the same moment drew the Browning.

We both fired. His round struck five inches above my head which would have been the lower abdomen if I'd stayed standing. My round struck the reception desk just in front of Anderson. Suddenly a burst of fire rang out from my right. Two agents still capable, opened with theirs, one peppering the front of the reception desk causing Anderson either to fall wounded or taking cover, while the others aim worst, in the fact half is face sliced off, using only one eye, blasted the floor three feet before me.

Unaware of Anderson's condition and location behind the large desk, not wanting to fire blindly, trained my weapon on the two agents being the most immediate threat and fired, at the same moving along the wall away from them, should Anderson raise would have to take another second relocating me.

Both rounds struck the agents who immediately laid still. A quietness fell upon the room with distant sirens approaching giving me only a few minutes either escape onto the street or go after Anderson.

Surveying the surroundings both weren't good options. The heat now almost unbearable most on my mind was water, the thirst extreme to the point thinking of it took more mental energy than desired. Needing to focus, slow down. Calm. Though the amount of blood loss seeing the once white floor covered in smeared blood both my own and those from the five dead agents...FIVE? But there were only four that entered. Five outside approached, but absolutely positive on four cut to pieces from the glass. Yet now five laying in the glass.

My mind trying to work this when suddenly the fifth rose, pointed, fired once.

You can tell who are the professionals, using only necessities. The single round struck forcing me in a whiplash effect against the wall left me again sitting, weapon on my lap, head dropped watching the blood slowly trail from the stomach.

Knowing the body reacts to shock based on the minds current condition, felt little if anything only a more intense burning from the wound then the rest of my body. A person could live with a wound as such but would have to have medical care quickly. Here in this situation that was ruled out knowing I'd die before getting to any hospital, the arm wound nearly depleted the required amount of blood the body needs for staying conscious, with the second wound, resulted in maybe four to five minutes before passing out.

Freeing the mind from all the clutter of survival, abled me to take care with the shooter who could easily fire again but waited. Why?

And of course Anderson, probably alive choosing his moment carefully knowing he had only the one should he miss would result in an even worst situation then he had now.

But the fifth guard, who was that? A regular agent would have finished using more rounds, especially with their weapons, would have taken no chances nearly emptying the clip. He simply stood watching. From the corner of my eye could see the man had terrible scars on his face and arms wearing a low cap hiding its full extent under.

'Had enough?' the man questioned, ending with a low tone.

Byrus.

Sirens neared, keeping his weapon level walked toward me from the side knowing I'd have to turn to fire, and in this condition was near impossible raising the now heavy Browning my energy spent.

'We've waited long enough with this silly game now tell me were the ingots are or your last moments will be beyond even your ability understanding,' he spoke differently with a lisp, from the burns seeing now as he approached seriously disfigured his face and neck.

'Yes... you see what you did. If only we had the time, I'd like to give you taste of what this was like recovering in that slaughter-house you left behind without even something for the pain. But they tried their best.'

Now almost three feet away but no closure having learned the time they almost beat me to death, keeping well away from your 'asset'. Indeed, it was horrible. Deep scar tissue fused together stretching across part of his face gave him not only an inhuman look but with his eyes almost red, became a monster. Another clue from Anderson; 'beware of the red-eye' he spoke on the radio. Anderson knew Byrus was searching for me, and the gold. It seems they weren't working together as thought. No...of course not...his Sauer 38H weapon predominantly used by Luftwaffe, because Anderson was Nazi, and Byrus, Soviet.

'One chance, then I cut,' Byrus taking along start knife from his boot, gleamed hungrily to get operating, as they say; some knife just needs to be worked. This was one and knowing Byrus he could in a matter of seconds, inflict pain beyond anything, especially with a knife of such significance.

'Now, my friend...TELL MEEE WHEREZZZZZZ MYYYY GOOOOLD !!!'

What options were there? I'd now idea, which was the truth. And told him so.

The next was difficult to understand, probably from the pain.

In a flash, Byrus slashed out cutting off my left with one single movement. He'd obviously had plenty of practice, working together with Anderson posing as a Nazi cutting his way through anything stopping at nothing.

He moved a step closer, reached out took my hand still holding the Browning from my lap, moved both onto the floor which then stepped on, not hard as it were, simply keeping them in place, not wanting any trouble from either. The left arm useless from the wound which he took little notice of, but the stomach wound...that's the one he wanted, and we both knew it. Wounds in that area are painful anyway, more so than other, so he placed the tip of his knife into the bullet hole and slowly turned the blade.

At this point, he probably realized had I known anything I'd have talked. It doesn't take much in a situation such as this. If you wanted information quickly, you acted delivering quick intense pain. It's both from the shock and agony you get information.

If you had time you simply hung and beat them.

But in all he made one mistake; his back was to the street.

Pushing and turning, the screaming left him in a state of euphoria, people like this simply love. But with love comes blindness.

A popping sound came from the left. Sensing more than witnessed, eyes closed from the severity of his knife cutting through intestines, stomach, Byrus suddenly disappeared.

Almost immediately my eyes opened, vision blurred gasping for air, faintly saw from the right a figure approach holding something blue, followed by two or three more difficult to say my attention on the first almost nearest somehow seemed familiar. The next moment placed on my back looking upwards into the perfectly white ceiling, though still unable to focus a face appeared, just as the familiar smell.

###

# Epilogue

Four months later.

Romintov and Inna at the small circular table filled with empty dinner plates and wine glasses talked gazing toward the sea.

Stopped when sitting down next to Inna, they both looked at me with no expression. Then Romintov spoke. 'So Byrus escaped. Anderson too. Inna wants to stay in London. I must go back to Moscow...you know Tolber Moscow is very nice you should come. We'd have big party make new friends, tell how we escaped woods, about 'two' Inna's HA! Impossible!! But some might not like you. Think you destroyed radar they could use. But also they're embarrassed such thing happened. Gulag camp commander using convicts to build such a station with Nazi gold! Anderson's gold. HA! Yes? Incredible. I thought we Russians built it, apart from those convicts. But no. Anderson stole Byrus's gold using that. All for 'The New Reich'. And you knew this. All the time, placing your little 'ice bridges', really you must come and we'll have lots of time to talk.'

'And vodka?' I asked.

'You know everything, of course, dear friend. LOTS!', smiled wide with great honesty. 'The Deed' and his deals.

'You don't know everything dear,' Inna spoke taking my hand looking at the ocean.

I'm glad wondering though when the shivering begins. Or was that too finished?

Thank you for reading my story. If you have any questions or comments, please leave a message at the website.

Lucus Anthony Ren

Please visit <https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/LucusRen> for more stories.

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