Preview of my novel, The Rain.
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Atlanta, Georgia
Summer, 2135
“Before I kill you, Logan, I’m going to tell you a story.&It’s a story I haven’t told in a very… long… time.”&Denton’s black eyes flashed.&He was holding Logan against the wall by the throat with Logan’s feet dang heels bashing uselessly against the polished wood paneling of the panic room door.&&He spoke like a professor to a child.&“And forgive me if I do not tell it particularly well.&I’m tired, after all.&So very tired.”&Denton relaxed his grip and allowed Logan a thin gasp of air.&Logan’s heels touched the floor, and he quickly slumped into a pile.&He stared up at Denton as he spoke.
“Please, mister Denton.&Please, don’t,” Logan pushed the words painfully past his broken teeth, each syllable clearly an exercise in agony.
“Really now!&What I’m giving you is a gift.”
“It was a warm night, as I remember it, but the atrium was almost deserted save for one other couple sitting close together on a near-by bench.”&The last phantoms of summer were fading, and soon its relative safety would be replaced with short, dark days filled with danger.&For the Mondrian Project, which was where I worked, was built within a wondrous place called Gray T wondrous, but dangerous even then, before the accident.&The Gray Tree complex was underground, on an island, in the middle of the ocean.&Which ocean?&I’m not sure.&I don’t remember.&But if you took the elevator topside you wouldn’t see land in any direction.&I apologize, but I also can’t tell you exactly when this story takes place.&I knew once, but all I can tell you now is that it happened far, far in your future.&The island was, and is, a place that exists in all times, in all dimensions.&It’s a kind of… ground zero… where my mistakes still live on – if you can call them living.
“Why would he be here so late?&What’s going on, Richard?”&Amy Benedict tugged on the arm of his lab coat.&He was staring up at the stars again with that same blank look in his eyes.&All at once Richard Denton recoiled from her touch, as if her hands were on fire.
“What…”&Richard looked tired and dazed.&Scared, even.&She’d never seen him look scared before.&Even when the electrical storm brought down the power last summer and the trees began creeping past the barriers on the north end of the compound, he’d told her not to worry.&Even when she told him she was pregnant.
“I’m sure it’s nothing,” Richard said, but the glint of the clockspring galaxies through the glass dome overhead revealed doubt in his eyes.&“It’s probably just a surprise inspection.”
“But where is everyone?”
“If it were me, I’d be in my lab making damn sure I could show them some progress…”
“Then why are we out here?&You said you needed to show me something,” Amy said, and reached across the small table to take his hand.&This time, Richard’s daze seemed to break at her touch and he looked down at her hand, then up into her eyes.&He smiled the way he sometimes did when she caught his eye from across a crowded room.&It was radiant.
“I do have something to show you!”&Richard reached into the front pocket of his rumpled lab coat and for a moment she thought he would take out an engagement ring, but instead it was a crumpled piece of paper.&He unfolded it on the table in front of them and smoothed it out with his palms.
“What is it?”&The paper contained writing so small she could barely read it, a large diagram in the middle and notations in the corners.&It looked like the scribblings of a madman.
“It came to me i I… had to get it down.&I…” Richard looked up from the table, and the look in his eye frightened her.&It was a hungry look.&“Amy… this is it!&It’s the answer to everything!”&He spoke in bursts of whispers.&“This is the equation for the Denton-Benedict Displacement Field.”
“What do you mean?&We weren’t even close to…”
“This equation is the breakthrough we’ve been waiting for.&A way to grow food from a seed to the table in an instant, through small manipulations of time.&It could save the world, Amy!”
Amy smiled, suddenly realizing that Richard wasn’t playing a joke on her.&“Oh my God!&Richard!&We have to tell the director!&The inspectors are here today, they’ll want to see this!&We should–”&She began to get up from her seat at the table.
“No!” Richard Denton’s hand shot out and caught her wrist.&“No, Amy.&They’re shutting us down.”
“What?!”
“That’s what the inspections are about tonight.&The director told me a few hours ago… But you’re the only person I’ve told about the breakthrough.&I spent the entire night going over the science.&It’s solid.&But we have to prove that it works before the inspectors get to our lab.&They can’t shut us down if they see what we’ve accomplished!”
“I dunno, Richard.&An unauthorized experiment…”
“Amy, we’re talking about billions of lives, here!&How much longer does humanity have?&Months?&Years at best?&They’re all starving!&Our child–will die, starving.&And I can’t allow bureaucratic red tape to…”
“Okay, Richard.&You’re right.&Let’s go.”
The single remaining couple in the atrium gave them a long look as they hurried past.
“Time travel?”&Logan croaked.&“What are you talking about?&Why are you telling me this?&Please just let me go!”
“Be careful what you wish for, Logan.&They are coming.&They’re right down the street, in enormous numbers!”&Denton chuckled and pretended to bite his nails. His teeth were filed to points.&“And… if I’m not mistaken, all your guards are dead.”&
Logan looked at the ground for a moment.&“So what happened?”
“We did the experiment.”
“And…?”
“And it was catastrophic.&It killed her.&It killed them all, except me.&Well, not killed.”&Denton’s smile exploded.&“Changed.&It changed them.&They’re all still there, as I mentioned.&On an island that’s both here and everywhere.”&Denton’s smile began to fade, and when he spoke again it was without his normal good humor.&“And it made me what you see today.”
“What are you?”
“I am old.&And so very tired.”&
And for a moment, it seemed to Logan that the man in the slim black suit was human again.&But only for a moment.
7:13 p.m. January 17th, 1941 — Nazi Germany
Thunder cracked overhead and a blue flash of lightning tore through the fabric of the night sky.&He looked up through the glass of the limousine’s side window and for a brief moment caught a glimpse of the castle’s silhouette high above him on the hill, where it sat brooding over the village of Wewelsburg.&Then the velvet black curtain of the driving rain closed again the castle’s outline was lost in the gloom.&
His German army superiors had been vague about what awaited him there, inside the headquarters of the SS.&Whether torture, a dinner party, or both—he had little to go on.&Given the intelligence he’d smuggled to the Americans the day before, either were equally possible.&Doctor Garion Rasmussen wondered if they knew already—if they had an ambush planned—and what the torture would feel like as they tried to extract the name of his contact within the American military.&He didn’t even know the name, but that wouldn’t matter.&The SS loved to torture.&In the dead of last winter he remembered hearing the inhuman screams, when the wind blew just the right way and the night was still.&He heard them while walking back to his lab from the pub, down in the valley, where the locals refused to speak of the castle on the hill and the horror inside.&His countrymen were getting good at ignoring the atrocities, but not Garion R he could not look the other way anymore.&The people they sent to his lab…&The experiments they demanded.
Garion turned his attention back to the limo driver in the front seat, who was cranking the engine with one hand and hammering his other on the steering wheel.&He was an SS cocky and very young.
“Not a problem you can’t solve by pounding on it, is there?” Garion said.&The driver glanced back over his shoulder and gave him a look that could’ve withered dandelions in the peak of spring.&Garion smiled back and then found something to study out the side window.&If I’m going to die tonight I’m not going to let them know I’m scared, Garion thought.&I can do that, at least.&I can…
From the sound of the starter motor, the battery would soon be completely flat.&When the final turn of the key produced nothing but a loud click the driver clutched the steering wheel and shouted something in German.&Garion couldn’t make it out very well over the drumming of the rain on the car’s steel roof, but it sounded like “we’re screwed.”
Garion jammed his hat down on his head and opened the car door.&He didn’t have an umbrella so he turned up the collar bone of his trench coat and cinched the tie around his waist.&The brim of his hat barely kept the rain off his face.&The driver got out of the car after him with his hand on the butt of his sidearm.&“YOU!&Wait here!”&The soldier gave him one more withering look, then jogged off into the night.&“Wait!” Garion shouted, but it was too late.&The driver’s form swam into the rain and disappeared.&
G he waited for the shout that would signal the ambush, but for the moment none came.&He touched the bulge of the small pistol he wore on his hip, concealed u perhaps to make sure it was still there, perhaps to slow the pounding in his chest.&It was a small piece of insurance.&He’d take a few of them with him, if they came.&The thoughts rolled slowly through his mind like the thunder overhead.&
When he was sure that no one was lurking beyond the tree line Garion splashed his way across the narrow cobblestone street to the little row of shops on the opposite side.&A single street light threw an amber glare from a pole a few feet above his head, coloring a cloud of steam that was rising from a sewer grate near the curb.&The shops were all closed for the night.&Their windows stared back at him like the vacant eyes of the dead.&He stepped over the grate and up onto the curb, then stood beneath the streetlight and looked around.&Maybe one of the shops has a phone, he thought, and tried the doorknobs of the closest two.&They were cold and unyielding.
I’m going to be late, and the meatheads up at the castle will take it as an insult.&&The wind suddenly whipped at his pant legs and he had to clamp his hand down on his hat to keep it from flying away.&
Garion, he imagined them saying, you’re late for your torture dinner!&The three minutes I scheduled to make love to my wife are now completely ruined!&Garion barked laughter up at the streetlight and then looked around nervously.&The Nazis had spies everywhere.
With his head uplifted he caught sight of another thin spike of lightning as it struck somewhere nearby, much closer this time.&Thunder exploded directly overhead and he threw his hands up as if in surrender, then darted across the sidewalk and checked each door in the sad little row of shops.&No luck.&Crawling through one of the broken windows was out of the question, even if it meant he might find shelter or a phone.&So with another look back toward town he decided to hike the rest of the way up to the castle.&It would be a miserable journey but he was glad to put the creepy little street behind him.&
The narrow cobbled road was slippery and it was an uphill climb toward the castle, but his army boots relentlessly found traction.&Underneath his trench coat he was in full uniform—although his pants were rumpled and their crease had long since given up the ghost.&He’d been walking in almost total darkness for close to ten minutes when a jagged flash of lightning lit up the road and the line of tall, dark pines beside it.&A moment later thunder rolled overhead.
He shivered, partly because of the cold and partly because the long walk was giving him the creeps.&Alone with the trees pressing in on both sides he began to wonder what was lurking beyond the range of his night vision—in the darkness between the trees.&Stop it, you idiot.&Get your mind off it.&
The pounding of the rain on the brim of his hat reminded him of the clattery rumble the tanks had made as they rolled through Berlin a day earlier.&What a stupid parade, he thought.&A nonsensical show of might which accomplished nothing and wasted resources.&But, of course, burning fuel and shouting is what the Nazis do best.&Meanwhile, though, Americans are saving rubber bands and tin cans while we’re burning fuel just for show and marching soldiers down a street instead of into London to put an end to this barbaric war.
When he finally reached the tall iron gates that guarded the castle grounds he was soaked all the way through, and freezing.&The soldiers were fa at least they had umbrellas.&Garion approached a severe-looking SS officer and addressed him in the harshest, most authoritarian German he could muster after a long day of travel.&He had to shout to make himself heard over the din of the rain.
“Oberstleutnant Garion Rasmussen, Kommando Spezialkr?fte.”
Hung on the castle’s outer wall behind the officer were several bright oil lanterns.&The officer’s black brimmed SS cap hid his eyes in shadow.&“Herr Doktor!&You’re late!&We were beginning to think you’d defected,” the officer said and his teeth flashed in the orange lamplight.&It was a hard smile, and Garion did not smile back.&“Your driver said he thought you were right behind him,” the officer said, and his smile faded.&“But perhaps the jog up the driveway was too tiring for you, a man of such intellect has little time to train his body, am I right?”
Garion stared at the black place where the officer’s eyes would’ve been and made a conscious point to not drop his gaze, although the hair on the back of his neck would’ve been standing at attention had it not been for the rain.
The officer seemed to be waiting for something, but after a moment he continued.&“And where are my manners?&My name is Wilhelm Albert.”
Garion finally dropped his gaze, aware that another soldier had emerged from the blackness of the tree line and was creeping toward them with his hand on his gun belt.&Shit!&Shit Shit!&Shit!&What do I do?&Do I run?&For God’s Sake they brought me up here just to…
“The engineers of your limousines should be brought up on charges,” Garion turned his head and yelled at the approaching soldier, then turned his face back to Herr Albert and looked him square in the eye again.&“If these are the best engineers Germany can muster then perhaps their talents would be better suited to the SS, smashing shop windows and clubbing people in the street!”
The second soldier freed one of the oil lanterns from its perch on the castle wall and handed it to Wilhelm, who lifted it so that it illuminated his face.&For a moment Garion thought he was going to hit him, but then he flashed another terrible smile.&“We were going to send out a search and rescue team, you know—we were worried you’d gotten yourself into trouble and were shivering out there somewhere in the woods.&You should be glad that the SS considers you an asset and wants to keep you safe.”
Garion barked a lunatic laugh and for the first time Wilhelm’s smile faltered.&“Safe?&Last I checked it was the SS considering war with the Soviets, not the scientists!&Who will keep you safe, Wilhelm?”&This time it was Garion who smiled wide.&
“You have a great many controversial ideas, Herr Doktor.&Some would say that you should be brought up on charges.”
Garion spoke at a tremendous clip.&“If it’s controversial to believe that all men should prosper under the Reich, not just the Arian, and that our scientific prowess should be used to benefit mankind, then perhaps I am in the wrong company tonight—”
The officer cut him off with a raised hand.&“Don’t say something you will regret.”
“Hitler has thousands of you—but only one of me.&Which one of us do you think should be careful?!”
Wilhelm lowered the lantern and his eyes disappeared again beneath the shadow of his brimmed hat.&His silver skull-and-crossbones Totenkopf glinted faintly above his visor.&He held up one gloved hand and gestured to a waiting car, then smiled.&This time he saw genuine hatred in it.&“Yes.&Only one Doctor Garion Rasmussen,” Wilhelm said.&“And they’re waiting for him at the castle.”
Garion turned his back on the man and slogged his way over to the car.&Two more SS guards stood beside it, their faces illuminated only by the greasy yellow light of the kerosene lanterns they carried.&The light threw terrifying shadows that made their faces look like monsters.&For what he knew of the SS, maybe they were.
"Sieg heil," one of them cried and saluted.&He had a huge scar that corkscrewed its way down his face from above his eyebrow to the middle of his chin.&One of his eyes stared white and dead.
“We’ll see,” Garion replied softly without thinking, and then cringed.&It was the wrong thing to say.&He opened the heavy rear door and slid into the blissfully warm and dry back seat.&His trench coat squawked against the leather when he slid toward the other side of the car and opened the lid of the cooler built into its side.&He caught the driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror and the look of disapproval the man gave him.&Three ice cubes clinked as he introduced them to a crystal glass.&He poured the drink and drank it in one gulp.&The whiskey went scorching its way down his throat, making him cringe, but he relished the way it loosened up the barbed wire of fear that had tightened around his midsection.
When the car reached the top of the driveway thunder cracked again, louder this time, as if he were ascending into the storm clouds themselves.&In the courtyard lurked at least a dozen other limos, parked in a line so straight that even Hitler would’ve found no fault.&The driving rain hammered at his hat again as he stepped out of the car and sloshed his way across the courtyard, his boots splashing in the little lakes between the islands of the cobbles.&Although water poured off their faces, the two SS soldiers who stood outside the tall wooden door moved barely an inch as he approached.&Their discipline and devotion to Hitler was like a religion, but their religion was death.&Behind the masks of humanity they wore, they really were monsters.&Would they remove those masks tonight or continue the charade?&His Wehrmacht superiors had utterly refused to tell him why he’d been invited to the castle that night, but he couldn’t stop thinking about the rumors of the bloody, satanic rituals held in the castle’s basement crypt.
He saluted the guards and they heaved open the door.&The grand entrance hall of the castle was dimly lit by flickering fire light, and his eyes fell first on a tall red swastika banner on the wall to his left.&It was hung high above a large stone fireplace and flanked by burning torches.&He removed his hat and trench coat and handed them to t a pale, thin man with more hair growing from his ears than on his head.&Garion ran his hands through his own long, dark hair, and they came out wet.&It had grown out in the months he’d spent practically locked away in his lab.&The Führer would not approve, he thought and smirked.
“Right this way, Oberstleutnant,” the attendant said and gestured down a drab hallway.&His voice echoed off the stone walls.&Garion followed him past portraits of stern-looking men dressed in military uniform and thick, stout doorways flanked by moth-eaten tapestries.&He wondered again why his army superiors had chosen the headquarters of the SS for a meeting and why they’d chosen to do it on the day he’d returned from his long-awaited and well earned vacation.&What could possibly rise to this level of importance?&His footfalls echoed off of the stone walls as they climbed a narrow, winding stairway that dumped him into another hall.&The attendant led him past three small wooden doors before they came upon one that towered above them.&The man pushed in on the center of the door, bowed, and stood aside.
The door swung wide with the screech of a rusty hinge and he stepped into an expansive drawing room of smooth stone walls and leaded-glass windows which, in better weather he assumed, would’ve looked out over the village in the valley below.&Water poured off the outside of the glass in sheets, and when the lightning flashed the droplets threw a thousand points of light around the room, bright and hard as diamonds.&
He smelled the food before he saw it—a roasted pig in the center of the table served on a gleaming silver platter.&Its skin was black and crinkled, and stuffed in its snout was a cooked pineapple.&The blank sockets of its eyes seemed to stare at him as he entered the room, like the windows of the little row of shops back in the village.
Here we go, he thought, and brushed his hand against the butt of his gun for the second time that night.
“Good evening gentlemen.”&He saluted to the men seated around the huge rectangular table, then swallowed—hard.&Every one of them was a Waffen SS General.
“Have a seat, Oberstleutnant,” said a grim-looking general with a gaunt face.&He gestured to a high-backed chair at the short end of the rectangular table.&The chair opposite him was the only one empty.&
“Is that an order?&I didn’t know the SS were allowed to do that,” Garion said, and the moment the joke left his lips he realized it had been a serious mistake.&The room fell into a long, uncomfortable silence—poking fun at the power-struggle between the Army and the SS had apparently touched a nerve.&
“I was unaware that the Army was giving away Oberstleutnant ranks like candy,” said a man wearing an eye-patch.&His hair was so blond it looked almost white.&“Why not just complete the abomination and give them to children?”
“Now, now, Herr Kleinheisterkamp, Doctor Rasmussen is our guest.&Now, please, have a seat, Oberstleutnant,” said the gaunt-faced general.
Garion wondered wildly what general eye-patch would look like with a grilled pineapple stuffed in his mouth and lost a b it crept into the corners of his mouth and bloomed there.&In a moment he would laugh.&My God, this is it.&I’m about to be murdered, and I’m going to my grave smiling like an idiot.&Crap crap crap crap cra…
“Something funny, Rasmussen?” another general asked quietly, interrupting his train of thought.&He was a bulging, beast of a man.
“No, Herr General,” Garion said, and quickly banished the traitorous smile from his face.
He could feel their eyes crawling upon his rumpled army uniform while he sat down at the head of the table.&The eleven men seated on either side of him turned their heads and regarded him coldly.&Despite the iron chandelier burning brightly above the table, their faces were shrouded in the shadows of their brimmed caps.&
The gaunt, humorless SS general spoke first.&“Oberstleutnant Rasmussen, I am Gruppenführer Hausser and we are all very pleased to have you here today.&Your loyalty to the Reich is utterly without question and your service has been invaluable to the war effort.&We’ve gathered here to commend you, and present you with the Deutscher Nationalpreis für Kunst und Wissenschaft.”
Garion stood and saluted automatically—he was stunned.&The National Prize for Art and Science hadn’t been awarded since the beginning of the war and was the highest honor a German scientist could ever hope to receive.&So rare was the commendation, that for a moment he wondered whether the general was playing a cruel joke on him.&It was an honor, but not when given by these men.
“The Führer had planned to present the medal to you himself,” the general gestured to the empty chair, “but he was delayed, and sends his regrets that he cannot congratulate you in person for your tremendous scientific breakthrough.&He has promised to personally preside over a parade in your honor at a later date, in Berlin!”
&&&&&&&&&&&Another cocking parade? Garion thought, but kept his face neutral.&“What has delayed him?”
&&&&&&&&&&&“I appreciate your concern, Herr Rasmussen, but all I will say is that the Führer has contracted an extremely rare condition, and the best of our medical staff is attending to him.”
“What do you mean?&Perhaps I can help?”
“The Reich has need of you elsewhere.&You’ll forgive me for moving on to other pressing business, but our schedule is tight and we have little time for much else this evening.&There will, of course, be a reception in the main ballroom downstairs after our discussion,” General Hausser said.&“I spoke about your breakthrough, and that discovery has already born fruit.&The Führer has charged me with these orders directly.”&He bent to retrieve a file folder hidden under the table.&“You are our foremost expert on theoretical physics, Herr Rasmussen, so the Reich must ask of you a great task, one that will not end with a parade and a commendation, but one which may end with German tanks rolling over the bones of the West.&What I am about to share with you is classified at the very highest levels, the details of which can never leave this room.&Are we clear?”&Garion nodded and the general slid the folder across the table to him.&Garion removed the clasp and opened it.&Inside was a handwritten letter from Hitler himself.&“What you see before you is the location of an anomaly, an incongruity of science, which you are ordered to explore,” the general said.&At this he smiled for the first time since Garion had entered the room.
&&&&&&&&&&&Garion caught the not-so-subtle dig and ignored it.&He was too intrigued.&“What kind of anomaly?”
&&&&&&&&&&&“We detected it with your invention.&It is a deviation, Doctor.&A deviation in all that you and I know about the world.&Underground, a few thousand miles from here.&On an island that appeared a few weeks ago in the middle of the Atlantic.”
“Appeared, sir?&I don’t understand.”
“You will.”
December 23, 2135 - Baqubah, Iraq
“The case is at the airport.&You’ll find your instructions in the envelope I gave you.&Good luck Mr. Hargrave,” Denton said.&His sharp, handsome face floated semitransparent in the center of Justin Hargrave’s vision, blue and flickering.&The reception inside the hotel room was horrible.&Hargrave jabbed a button on the collar of his clunky power-armor to hang up the call.&The button was sticking again, and the dial tone squelched in his ear.&He stabbed at the button again and it quieted.&Hargrave rummaged through his bag and pulled out a button-down shirt and a suit jacket that would cover the armor, and the Mark of the Guard on his chest plate.&The majority of the country was still under German governance following the Great War, and despite the truce, Knights of the Guard were seen as symbols of the West.
Denton’s raw, metallic voice hadn't told him what was inside the suitcase he was going to pick up from Baghdad International, but his payment had been in cash, and that was the default answer for someone in his line of work.
The freakish December heat shimmered off the pavement like an inverted waterfall, and every inch of his body broke out in sweat the instant he set foot outside his hotel.&But in Iraq, on this Wednesday morning, it was 119 in the shade and no one but Justin Hargrave seemed to mind.&The rusty cab he climbed into didn't have air-conditioning, which didn't help with the smell.&He thought the interior of the orange on white Volkswagen smelled like a fucking camel.&
“Where to, my friend?” the cabbie asked in a strange accent that sounded like a mixture of German and Arabic.&
“Baghdad International.&Arrivals concourse.&There’s suitcase I need to pickup,” Hargrave said.&The car’s electric motor made an alarming squealing noise as it pulled away from the hotel and shoved its way into the seemingly-random traffic patterns of Baqubah.&Hargrave removed his suit jacket and wiped the sweat from his brow, then leaned on the door and closed his eyes for a moment.&He thought back to his meeting with Denton, and shivered despite the heat.
Denton had been waiting in the middle of the crowded airport terminal when Hargrave arrived to meet him three days ago in Atlanta.&His first thought was that Denton was a phantom or a demon, as such had been known (or so his teacher, Paladin Meryna had said when he was a boy) to appear to men in that manner, like sentinels, guarding those secret holes in the tattered fabric of the universe, beyond which lie monsters and madness.&But Denton wasn’t a phantom or a figment of his imagination.&He had the appearance of a man, dressed in a slim cut suit and an overcoat.&Tall and slender with an abnormally long neck, his head sailed above those of the other travelers.&But the detail that was seared into his mind more than any other was Denton’s unblinking, rolling black eyes.
Anyone else would’ve been pulverized by the throngs of travelers rushing by, but not Denton—he parted them like Moses and they flowed around him like water.&Hargrave watched him for a moment before making his presence known, watched him standing motionless, like an island in a sea of people, his black eyes shining like a lighthouse beacon.&Travelers walked toward Denton, looking down at their phones or chatting with their children, pulling their suitcases or fiddling with their ties, but at the last moment they turned, ever so slightly, as if to avoid a puddle on the floor.&All this happened automatically as if he gave off a bad smell or an unpleasant vibration, which flipped an unconscious switch in their minds.&
Denton’s overcoat hung off him like flaps of skin, and hadn’t even fluttered when Hargrave struggled against the flow of traffic to meet his strange new employer.&He extended his hand and Denton shook it—his grip was like cold granite.&There was no warmth in his greeting, and when Denton smiled it did nothing to lighten the blackness of his eyes.&His smile was the widest and whitest Hargrave had ever seen—his teeth perfectly straight and square.&It reminded him of a horrifying fact he’d learned about snakes back in his early years of schooling in the Guard: that they could unhinge their jaw and swallow their prey without chewing.&According to his teacher, some monster snakes in the deepest jungles could even swallow a child alive.
“The passport is a perfect fake, but do yourself a favor and keep it hidden.&Knights of the Guard are not popular in Iraq,” Denton said and handed Hargrave a manila envelope containing his instructions and his payment.&
“This isn’t my first rodeo,” Hargrave said.&Overhead, a tinkling of bells sounded a warning that a computer voice was about to announce the flight cancellations.&Someone staring at a boarding pass bumped into Hargrave and dropped his ticket on the floor.&He mumbled “excuse me,” but never even glanced at Denton, who was rooted like a tree in the center of the isle between the little row of airport shops and a seating area.
"Of course.&The Guard said you are one of their best.&A man of absolute integrity!”&Denton chuckled for a moment.&“You are booked on the 3:30 into Baghdad and staying in Baqubah.&I will call you with your instructions once you get settled in,” Denton said, and smiled.&When Denton’s lips parted this time it took every bit of Hargrave’s will to stop himself from drawing his guns.&Denton’s gleaming white teeth were filed to long, needle-sharp points—points that would strip the flesh from his bones and leave behind little grooves.&They hadn’t been that way a few moments before, he was sure of it.&His teeth had somehow changed.&Hargrave blinked, and now they were crooked and leaned inward, like a prehistoric horror from the darkest depths of the ocean.&Did Denton know?&He showed no sign, only continued smiling, as if waiting for him to react.&Hargrave kept his face slack and said a silent prayer, and the smile died slowly.
“Look, I appreciate the need for discretion but you need to give me a little more to work with here.&What are the risks?&Will there be any resistance?”
“That will depend on how careful you are to avoid being seen.”&Hargrave began to turn away to leave, but Denton stopped him with a hand on his bicep.&“One more thing.&I hope we have an understanding about what you’re to do when the mission is complete?&This mission is of the utmost secrecy.”&Denton’s voice did a passable imitation of genuine concern, but there was no concern in his smile.&It told quite a different story.
“Look, I’ve been doing this a long time,” Hargrave said, keeping his voice carefully measured.&“I know how to keep this on the rails.”
“I am well aware of your qualifications, Mr. Hargrave.&I have been following your… career… for quite some time.&That is why I chose—”&
“Well then let me do my job,” Hargrave interrupted.&“I’ve got a plane to catch.”
“Careful, Mr. Hargrave.&Rudeness will not be tolerated.”&He tittered laughter that was raw and metallic—like rock salt in a coffee can.&Just below the surface was a low, dangerous rumble, more of a feeling than a sound, like a garbage truck one street out of sight.&
“Listen, Denton, you want me to do this or not?”&
“Goodbye Mr. Hargrave.”&Denton smiled and stared with his black eyes as Hargrave turned and walked away toward the concourse at Hartsfield Jackson Airport.&Looking back through the obfuscation of heads, shoulders and faces passing between them, Hargrave caught Denton’s eyes again.&Like a lighthouse, a sailor could've navigated his ship by them in a storm.&Then, Denton’s smile erupted as they made eye contact across the room, beckoning him back, as if to say: “Don’t be afraid, I’m not really that dangerous right now.&But I could show you my real face... if you’d like.&I could pull back the curtain, just a bit, and if you don’t die screaming, well, maybe I will show you just how sharp my teeth really are!&I’ve been growing awfully hungry you know?&But don’t worry.&I’m still sleeping...&For now.”
After about an hour, the cab squealed to a stop outside the arrivals concourse and a well-dressed man opened the door, pulled Hargrave out by the hand and yelled something in Arabic that he couldn’t quite make out.&A sleek twin-engine jump jet screamed overhead and began to hover, blotting out the rest of what the man was saying.&
“I don’t understand” Hargrave shouted, but before the yelling man could reply there came a loud whistle off to his right, near the dusty automatic doors that led to the terminal.&
“STOP THERE” a German guard bellowed at a young father who was frantically trying to talk to people who were rushing by.&Hargrave’s Arabic was rusty, but the man seemed to be asking if anyone had seen his daughter.
Two Germans with rifles slung on their backs marched toward the man from their places on either side of the long bank of automatic doors.
“What’s the hold-up?” the larger of the two guards barked in the direction of the man Hargrave as a brown-skinned man wearing a tattered white linen suit.&The large officer was inexplicably dressed in black and sweating profusely in the blaring sun.&The word ‘SECURITY’ was painted on his vest, although the U and R were obscured by the leather rifle sling that crossed his chest.&The father had just been joined by a haggard looking young woman and a small boy, who’d come out of the same dusty doors as the father.&The man tugged on his son’s arm, pulling him behind his dirty suit-pant leg.&He spoke in rapid Arabic, staring at the ground, avoiding the guard’s eyes.&His young wife’s arm crept to his elbow and lodged there.&The second guard took over at this point as he seemed to be the one who spoke the language.&The Arabic, angry and sharp-sounding at the best of times, was turning more frantic on the part of the linen-suited father.&His sentences were coming in short spurts accompanied by increasingly expressive hand gestures.&
At this point, the rest of the current crop of arrivals had planted themselves on the curb well away from the scene unfolding at the mouth of the doorway.&Hargrave’s well-dressed yelling-man had resorted to yelling obscenities at the father and suggesting the guards haul him away.&Hargrave joined them in their staring until suddenly there was a sharp crack—the sound made as the larger of the two guards unslung his rifle and swatted the father across the mouth with it in one fluid, practiced motion.&The father cried out and blood exploded from his broken nose, showering his white linen suit.&He grabbed for his son as both guards grabbed for his jacket, pulling him closer and locking their arms under his armpits.&
Before he was even aware he was doing it, Hargrave was in motion and unbuttoning his collar.&He grasped the sacred symbol he wore around his neck on a silver chain between his shirt and his thick armor, then pulled it out so it lay openly on his chest.&“Hail!”&He strode forward, elbowing his way through the crowd of onlookers until he reached the security officers.&They turned around to face him.&“What charge is this man facing?”
“What’s it to you, scum?”&The large man spat on the ground an inch from Hargrave’s boot.&It was the second man, the smaller and brighter of the two it seemed, who first noticed the Cross of the Guard that Hargrave wore around his neck.&He elbowed the larger man in the ribs, and a loud oomph flew from his lips.&The smaller of the two pointed at Hargrave’s neck and then knelt, dragging the larger man down with him.&
“I apologize for my colleague's rudeness, Sir, he meant no harm.”&His tone became something that he probably thought sounded like reverence, but was really closer to contempt.&“The charge is obstruction of order, he was impeding traffic.”
Hargrave’s face was hard as stone.&“I saw no crime.&He was looking for his daughter.&I recommend leniency, gentlemen.”
With a quickness that betrayed his size, the larger of the two guards’ hands flew to the butt of his sidearm.&But before his hand had even closed on it he was dead and falling, and the young wife was shrieking, covered in splatters of fresh blood.&Hargrave’s twin .45s were out, both barrels smoking.
The smaller guard’s eyes were wide.&“Leniency!&Yes!&I…&Of course, Sir,” the guard spun to the father.&“You!&Collect your things and get the hell out of here.&GO!&NOW!”
The father approached Hargrave and began to kneel, but before the first word of the old ritual escaped his lips Hargrave hauled him up by the lapels of his suitcoat and shoved him backwards toward his family.&“Didn’t you hear him?&Get the hell outta here!”&The father looked wounded but did as he was bid.
Hargrave put the necklace back under his shirt and buttoned his collar, then gestured to the crowds who were already beginning
slack jawed in the sun.
The loud man who had hauled him out of the taxi wasted no time in returning to his task of shouting at Hargrave, but his tone had softened considerably.&The man seemed to know who he was and gestured to a black plastic case sitting on the pavement a few feet away.&It looked like it could’ve survived being dropped out of an airplane.&He wondered why Denton hadn't done just that and saved himself the fifty-five grand he’d been paid for this assignment.&With the telescoping handle on the case extended he quickly wheeled it toward the sweltering taxi, relishing the indignant look the yelling man gave him when it became clear that he wasn't getting a tip.
Hargrave hoped the cab driver hadn’t seen the melee, but he couldn’t hide the crowds that followed behind as the taxi pulled slowly into traffic.&As the driver stopped at a red light a dust-covered child hiked up his robes and ran from the curb to Hargrave’s window.&
“Please, please,” the boy yelled while holding up his brown hands as if expecting Hargrave to fill them with water.&He had no water, but he had a feeling that wasn’t what the kid was after, so he pressed a five dollar bill into the boy's hand and rolled up his window just as the others noted his generosity and made for the taxi like a tide.&
He stared straight ahead and avoided their eyes while his taxi pulled away and then rolled down the window again when they’d gone about a block.&&&
The ride back to Baqubah was hot and uncomfortable but it gave him the time to reflect on what an ugly country Iraq was, and wonder why the former American government had battled so fiercely with Germany to control it.&It seemed they'd built almost every building out of that same beige dust that covered the roads and the desert hard-pan.&
Brown... Squat... Ugly, he thought.
Then, as if by accident, they’d built glass skyscrapers that jutted from between the ancient little buildings.&Their tips soared so high that they were lost in the clouds, but even they were covered in a thin coating of the beige dust.&
By the time they were half-way back to the hotel he was sweating so fiercely under his thick chestplate power-armor that he decided to brave the dust and stick his head out of the window like a dog.&It felt like being in front of the world’s largest hair dryer.&When he reentered the cab he caught the driver’s eyes in the rear-view mirror.
“You’re not American, are you?”&The cab driver spoke in a heavy accent from the front seat of the Volkswagen.&It was the second full sentence he’d spoken to Hargrave since they’d left the hotel.
“American?&Why do you ask?”
“Nobody gives to the beggars, my friend.&Nobody but Americans and the Guard.&And nobody carries cash anymore.&Not here.&Nobody but people with something to hide.”
“Nobody gives charity, huh?&Can’t imagine why this place is such a shithole, then,” Hargrave said.
“Charity?!&You really are a fucking American aren’t you?” the cabbie said and chuckled.&“It’s charity that put them in the state they’re in, my friend.&They should get a job!&Give to them, they’ll spend it, and then they want more.”
“You’re a real Socrates.”
“You misunderstand.&A man is only worth what he can produce in this world.&You get a job, the corporation has to pay for your housing, your security, your food.&You decide to be lazy, you get nothing.&I am feeding five children with my cab.&The child you fed with your charity will die alongside hundreds of others.&It is inevitable.&Five dollars will not fix the world, my friend, it belongs in your pocket, feeding your family.”
“I don’t have a family anymore.”Looking for more of the latest headlines on LinkedIn?