Beyond the Sea--An Event Group Thriller Page 2
Men, sailors—at least three hundred of them—were burned and buried in the battle cruiser’s superstructure. Contorted in agony and frozen into many misshapen forms and all burned beyond recognition, everywhere. Parts of the ship were melted, others pristine. Men were melted into her decking as if nothing more than long-dead candles. The teak deck had been burned away in most areas, leaving charred steel plating, but held firm in other parts of the ship. The stern of the large vessel was scorched and actually bent ten degrees lower than the rest of her hull. Lee ran his fingers through his hair and then looked up at Wentz.
“That is not all of it, Colonel,” the German said as he pushed a second picture into Lee’s view.
Vegetation of some sort permeated the ship. Small trees, vines, flowers, unimaginable vegetation of varying variety.
“The plant life on board, as you can see, is not burned as the rest of the ship. The material is very much alive.”
“How?” Hamilton asked as he looked at the amazing photo.
“That’s not the question here, young man. The right question is why. Why is this material not burned like the rest? And why did the ship that vanished in front of a thousand eyewitnesses return at all? And how, since there was no one left alive to initiate that return?”
“Well?” Lee asked.
“Even those points are not the real story, Colonel.”
Lee was becoming frustrated and showed it with his glare.
“Many renowned botanists in Germany have come to the same conclusion—none of this plant life is found anywhere on this planet.”
Lee continued to stare at the man who had clearly seen better days in the sanity department. “You mean to tell me that while attempting to electromagnetically hide a vessel with rather dubious science, you made that ship vanish into another world?”
“That is precisely what I am saying. Perhaps another world is not the proper term that should be applied here, Colonel Lee. Maybe another plane of existence is a better theory.”
Lee examined the other photos. “This one?” he asked as he turned the photo around for Wentz’s viewing.
“Wherever the Schoenfeld disappeared to, it happened in no more than three minutes. To us, it was two years; to the ship, only three minutes. That is a picture of the captain’s cabin. You can see the date on the calendar as circled by her captain as the exact date of the experiment, and this is a close-up of one of the disfigured and burned crewmen. Not very appealing, I admit, but crucial. See the time on his wristwatch? That and the date on the calendar coupled with the time specified on the sailor’s watch proves that the Schoenfeld was only gone for three minutes.”
The other German intelligence photos were close-ups of the damage done to the bodies of the sailors. Broken, bent, and charred, mouths open in agony. Lee pushed the photos away.
“I can get these photos to my superiors, Professor. But before I do, I want to ask how a climatologist is privy to this type of top-secret information outside of the fact they sent you to corner the market on hard-to-find blue diamonds.”
“Ah, the gist.” Wentz removed the photos and handed them to Hamilton. He again indicated the map he had previously placed on the desktop. “My duties were to study the seas surrounding the vessel during the experiment. Water temperatures, impact of electromagnetism on seagoing animal life, things such as that. During the run-up to zero hour, we conducted generator testing on the electromagnetic field. We started noticing certain disturbances when the generators were turned on. Small, hurricane-like formations started to pop up in the vicinity of the test site. Hurricanes, as you know, just don’t suddenly appear. They build up, usually around Africa, and then move west and north. We counted no less than six of these small, deadly storms appear every time the field generators ramped up. Never before or since did these storms arise in that area. It is suspected that because of power fluctuations without the steadiness of flow the blue diamonds could deliver, our current system brings together pressure variants from two differing planes of existence.”
“Your point, Professor?” Lee asked, beginning to lose what patience he had but mostly because the German was speaking in scientific terms so far beyond him it became frustrating trying to keep up.
“Here,” he said, pointing to a map of the North American eastern seaboard. This made Lee somewhat nervous. “The same storms have appeared here off Norfolk, Virginia.” His finger moved to another circled location. “And here, off Newport News, and here, just outside New York. Three different hurricanes of a weak nature and very brief in duration, and also two of which occurred during the off-season for storms such as this. They appeared in minutes and vanished just as fast.”
“Your people are testing this device in American waters?” Lee asked as he straightened with a look of apprehension on his tanned face.
“No, Colonel Lee. The German government has curtailed all experiments in the area of bending light for stealth purposes.”
“Are you saying American theorists are possibly following the same science?” Hamilton asked incredulously.
“That is exactly what it is I am saying, young man. This experiment must be stopped. We also have information that the Russians may also be experimenting with the same technology in the Black Sea. As a matter of fact, my government has recently discovered they may have already achieved success to a certain degree. If this is true, and if you Americans are trying the same thing, we could see a major catastrophe in the next year. We could lose everything, or anything that is close to the experimental platform—that includes entire cities.”
Lee sat back into his chair.
“Our intelligence says that the probable location for the testing of the unified field theory is happening somewhere in and around your Philadelphia Naval Shipyard. Colonel, you must warn your superiors that this cannot happen. We have agents in the Soviet Union attempting to explain this in a roundabout way to the Russians through diplomatic channels, but as you may know, the Russians don’t particularly like Germans that much. This must stop. Even our fair-minded Herr Hitler has seen the dangers this scientific path may lead us down.”
The professor pushed the last photo over so Lee could see it clearly.
“Another German ship?” he asked.
“No, this is the Simbirsk. This is the vessel believed used in the Russian experiment. Our agents now report she cannot be located anywhere in the world.”
Without warning, Hamilton, with just an acknowledgment through the dip of Garrison Lee’s head, reached over and pulled the map and the photos from the desktop.
“I believe, at least, that you believe this is a viable threat. So I hope you have your bags packed, Professor. I’ll get you to Washington, and once there, you can explain your theory to my boss. If you’re lying to us in any way, you’ll soon learn that we backward Americans aren’t as backward as you might think. Now if you’ll—”
The bullets smashed through the closed window and sprayed the far wall. Lee immediately dove over his desk and knocked Wentz from his chair. Hamilton slammed his body against the far wall and allowed the map depicting the sudden storm positions and the black-and-white photos of the two warships to fall to the floor. He pulled a Colt .45 from the back of his trousers and went into a prone position.
In the main office area, an explosion sounded as a grenade detonated. The interior windows exploded outward and into Lee’s private office, showering them with tinted glass. He heard the reports of several .45s explode as the team inside the office laid down a covering fire. Lee had his full weight on the professor as he kicked out to get Hamilton’s attention.
“It’s time to move operations; I think our secret is out!” Just as the words came out of his mouth, another potato-masher-style hand grenade burst through the already shattered window. Lee ducked his head as the grenade went off, the concussive force sending his body off the professor to slam into the far wall. Then another detonation went off, and then all went silent.
* * *
Thirty minu
tes later, Lee’s eyes fluttered open, and he realized he was in a cool place. He automatically reached for his hat but found his head bare as he sat up. The cot was hard and far too short for his body. He rubbed his head and felt the bandage that partially covered his left ear. But all he knew or cared about at that moment was the fact that he was missing his hat. He looked around the bare room and saw young Hamilton getting treated by a man in a filthy white lab coat.
“What in the hell happened?”
Hamilton looked over as the doctor applied the last piece of tape to the gauze that was wrapped around his left forearm.
“Well, Colonel, let’s just say we got evicted in no uncertain terms. We’re at the safe house in Santiago.”
“You all right?” Lee asked as he placed his bare feet on the cool floor. Again, he reached for his fedora before he remembered he didn’t have it.
“The hat didn’t survive. Neither did the good Professor Wentz. That second grenade landed right on top of him. What’s left was on the shirt you were wearing.”
“Who’d we lose?”
“Three. Nancy Chalmers, Peggy Grace, and Will Nelson. The new kid from Rhode Island.” Hamilton lowered his eyes as Lee stood on shaky feet.
“Potato mashers. Goddamn Germans. Should have seen it coming.”
Hamilton nodded that the doctor should leave. When they were alone, young Hamilton tossed Lee a new, clean shirt after securing the door. “Potato mashers, yes; Germans, no. The professor covered his tracks pretty well. No one knew his intentions. I went through his valise and found maps and communication supplements. He had dates and times of where we were. He had been planning on approaching us for quite some time, Colonel.”
“Then who?” Lee asked as he buttoned up his new shirt. His countenance was troublesome to Hamilton as he turned and opened the thick door.
“Bring the bastard in, Jerry,” Hamilton said as he stepped aside as Lee tucked in his shirt.
The man was small, gruff, and hadn’t shaved in weeks. The heavy flannel shirt he wore was stained in blood, and the dark-haired man looked as if his treatment by Lee’s team hadn’t been too gentle. This man had only met the soft side of the OSS. Lee’s eyes fixed threateningly on the man who was being held upright by Jerry Lester, a second lieutenant from the army also on detached service. Lee sat and slipped on socks and shoes as the small man struggled arrogantly against the larger man holding him. Hamilton tossed a folder onto the bunk where Lee sat tying his shoes.
“We have more on this guy than Photoplay has on Rita Hayworth. This is Ivan Nevalov, Stalin’s number-two man in Argentina, also number one on our elimination list.”
The small, filthy-looking man looked up at the mention of his name and then spit blood onto the floor, which elicited a nice slap on the side of his head from the angry agent holding him. “He and his hit team tried to make it look like German agents by using their equipment. Even the bullets and weapons were German made.”
Lee didn’t have to look at the folder containing the intelligence on Nevalov. The KGB operative was quite well known in these parts and had been suspected in the disappearances of at least three Americans operating in South America. Allies or not, Lee hated the Russians.
“Why eliminate the good professor, Ivan?” Lee asked as he tied off the last shoestring.
The man smiled through bloody teeth but said nothing.
“We know you’re concerned about the spread of certain technology about this theory on the bending of light. Do you want to discuss it?” Lee finished and then stood. He walked over to a chair and removed a Colt .45 from a holster and charged it. He turned and he wasn’t smiling.
“I think we can make a deal here, I mean being allied nations such as we are,” Nevalov said in very good English, and then the man spit blood once more from his mouth.
“Actually, Ivan, I just wanted to know if that was the reason for your assault on my place of business. Unlike my superiors, I don’t deal well with cold-blooded murderers. And I am sure as hell not sitting down to talk with a man who killed three of my people. Step away, Lester.”
“You Americans and your bluffing. This is not your Wild West and the RKO Corral. This is not a poker game; this is not—”
The .45-caliber bullet caught Nevalov in the top of his forehead, and his brains went all over the wall. Jerry Lester and young Hamilton only stared at the body of the Russian agent as his limp frame finally slid to the floor. Lee tossed the still-smoking weapon on the bunk and then fastened his belt buckle. He looked up and saw his two men staring at him in shock.
“We didn’t have time to deal with this guy. We already know what he knows.” Lee grimaced as he stepped toward his two men. “And I am sure as hell not into the habit of sitting down and exchanging pleasantries with a man who just killed three of my people.” Garrison tore off the bandage covering his right ear. “Write it up in your reports if you see fault in my actions. Now gather up what work we have from Wentz.”
“What are we going to do, Colonel?” Hamilton asked as he watched Lee nonchalantly step over Nevalov’s unmoving body.
“You, Mr. Hamilton, are going to establish another cover inside Buenos Aires and set up a new shop. As for me, I’m flying out to go have a talk with our boss and the Department of the Navy.”
Hamilton and Lester watched as Lee left. They exchanged looks of unease.
“Jesus, have you ever seen anything like that?” Lester asked.
“The man really does not like Nazis or Commies, does he?”
WASHINGTON, D.C.
Lee sat and fumed inside the office of William “Wild Bill” Donovan, the head of the Office of Strategic Services. The large and burly former attorney slammed his phone back down into the cradle. He cursed as he fixed Lee with a stern look.
“The goddamn Department of the Navy insists that we don’t know what we are talking about. Three weeks and all we get is the runaround, even with President Roosevelt screaming bloody murder about what his navy is doing behind his back.”
“Did we get verification from the National Weather Service on any freak storms in the Atlantic?”
“They tracked two of them just three days ago. One minute, a full-blown hurricane; the next, calm seas. The damn phenomenon was witnessed by half of the damn eastern seaboard. We brought that evidence from that Nazzy bastard Wentz to the navy brass, and all they did was stare at us like we were insane. My boys in weather say another is now forming around Atlantic City, New Jersey, and spreading to Philadelphia.”
“Look, Bill, I lost three good people on this. I would like an answer as to why. Let me go to the navy and ask questions my way. It sounds like they are going to attempt this crazy experiment. They may not have this information from naval intelligence.”
“Or they have just chosen to ignore it.” Donovan looked at Lee and shook his head. “The people you lost were my people, Lee, not yours. And as much as I would like to set you loose on the damn navy brass, I have another way of doing things. You need to curb that famous temper of yours.”
The phone rang. Donovan held eye contact with Garrison and then snatched the phone up. “Donovan,” he answered harshly. Lee saw Wild Bill straighten just a little as he listened to the voice on the other end.
“Are you kidding me?” he screamed into the phone. Garrison saw Donovan’s shoulders sag momentarily. “Yes, I am sorry, Mr. President. It’s just a little frustrating not knowing what it is your other damn hand is doing. When is this supposed to happen?” The room went quiet as Donovan listened. “Can you order it stopped?”
Lee stood and paced. From Wild Bill’s tone, they may have been too late. Or delayed enough that the testing had already commenced.
“Can you get me and Colonel Lee inside?” Again, he listened. “Can we expect full cooperation from the navy and Chicago University?” Another frown. “Thank you, Mr. President,” he answered and then placed the phone down. William H. Donovan stood and grabbed his coat. “Come on, Lee. We have some people to meet.”
PHILADELPHIA, PENNSYLVANIA
It had taken Donovan and Lee an hour and fifty-five minutes by small plane to get from Washington to the shipyard in Philadelphia. The official naval car that met them had ensconced in the backseat no less than the former chief of naval operations, Harold R. Stark, a man Wild Bill Donovan had no love for. It was the portly Harold Stark who had been in charge the night of December 6, 1941. He could have changed history, if, as in Donovan’s biased opinion, “he had been up to the task.” The former naval chief was dressed in a black suit and was not at all happy to see Lee or Donovan.
“I should have known, Harold. This was your project, wasn’t it?” Donovan said as he took the seat next to Stark while Garrison Lee folded his long frame into the front seat with the driver.
“I am not here to answer your questions, Donovan. You are here to observe the experiment firsthand. You are not to report on what it is you witness nor comment on the same.” Stark smiled at Donovan, and it was meant as an insult to the man. “You understand the penalties involved. Both you and your watchdog up there.”
Donovan smirked and then saw the back of Lee’s shoulders tense.
The rest of the ride went in silence. They passed through no less than six more security checkpoints. With each stop, Garrison noticed the weaponry of the attending shore patrolmen became far more serious. The last checkpoint was manned by a fire team that included one .30-caliber machine gun with a crew of six.
The Chevrolet pulled up to a small sandbagged bunker fronting an area of dock that was ringed with large tarps spreading around the dock area like the sides of a great circus tent. The bunker was placed dead center and all blocked the view of the small bay in front of them.
A naval lieutenant commander stepped forward and pulled Stark’s door open with a salute, and the same was done for Donovan and Lee without the military greeting that they both had earned.