Codename: Omega (feat. The Apiary Society) Read online

  ***

  Donovan kicked his feet onto his desk and leaned back to light a cigarette. He took a deep drag and said, “Get to Hillersleben and find Brevot. If Amelie can’t convince him to come home, neutralize him.”

  Price picked up the glass of Scotch from Donovan’s desk and sipped it. It was late, and the moon was directly over the OSS building, reflecting off of the marble benches in the courtyard. “Why is the girl even involved?”

  “She gave us the location of the facility and insisted on being part of the package.”

  “What about the Antichrist?”

  “He’s a fraud. Still, with him around, those kraut scientists are developing weapons of the Apocalypse, and we can’t let those SS maniacs get their hands on them. I want you to infiltrate Hillersleben and do what you do best.”

  Price grinned and said, “What is that, exactly?”

  “Make it real messy.”

  ***

  Their plane landed in France’s zone libre two days later.

  “Hillersleben is nearly 100 miles from Berlin,” Amelie said quietly. Their taxi driver kept glancing back at them in the rearview mirror, and she slid her hand inside Price’s and intertwined their fingers. “Darling,” she said loudly, “will you please roll down your window a little? It is so stuffy in here.”

  The engine’s whine and the sound of the car’s tires grinding against the rough road was loud enough to drown out her voice. “How is your German?”

  “Vollkommen.”

  “Excellent.” Amelie opened her bag and removed an envelope containing identification papers for a man named Hans Vogel and his wife Lena. “Here you go, Herr Vogel. I think you look nice in that photograph.” She pointed to the small black and white picture of herself in the corner of her papers and said, “Do you think I look pretty in my picture? I am your wife, after all.”

  Price withdrew his hand and turned to look through the window at the passing countryside.

  ***

  There were no other vehicles on the road except an occasional German military transport. Families trudged through the cold, even the youngest children’s faces sallow and sunken from hunger. “What has happened here?” Amelie whispered.

  “The only way Hitler would agree to accept France’s surrender was if she footed the bill for housing three hundred thousand German troops. He set up a twenty to one currency exchange rate in Germany’s favor and requisitioned all of France’s food and fuel.”

  Their car drove past a building with a humongous poster stretched across its side, nearly as wide and tall as the building itself. Price looked up and read the vulgar anti-Jewish slogans printed on it. Amelie pressed her hand against her mouth when she saw the numerous signs forbidding Jews to enter any of the shops along the road. “My father used to bring me this way to Paris when I was a child. It was so beautiful then. Now look at what this bastard Hitler has done to it. I want to kill him.”

  Price leaned back in his seat and said, “Welcome to the war, Miss Brevot.”

  ***

  Price shook Amelie and told her, “Wake up. Get ready to go.”

  The car was still moving, and they were driving in the darkness. Amelie looked through her window and saw nothing but trees and the night sky above. “What are you doing?”

  Price leaned forward against the back of the driver’s seat and said, “Stop the car. We’re getting out.”

  The cab driver looked back at him, “But there is nothing out here, monsieur.”

  Price put several francs in the driver’s hand and said, “Do it now.”

  The driver muttered to himself but he braked and brought the car to a stop, shaking his head while his passengers disembarked. “You are in the middle of nowhere, my friend.”

  Price grabbed Amelie’s hand and pulled her out of the backseat. He shut the door quietly and patted the rear fender, signaling the driver to get going. Amelie wrapped her arms around herself and said, “It’s freezing out here. What are you doing?”

  “Be quiet and listen,” he whispered.

  The taxi’s brake lights came on ahead in the darkness, less than a hundred yards away. Amelie heard a car’s doors open and saw the silhouettes of two German soldiers crossing the beams from the taxi’s headlights. One of the Germans spoke sharply, saying, “Why are you out so late? What are you doing out here?”

  The driver’s response was quick and nervous, “A man and woman. Very suspicious! They can’t have gotten far.”

  The Germans looked at one another and one said, “Keep moving.”

  The driver threw his car into gear and said, “Au revoir and Sieg Heil!” as he drove off.

  One of the soldiers activated high-power spotlight, suddenly bathing the woods in harsh white light, scanning the area as they walked toward Price and Amelie.

  Price pulled her behind a tree and pushed her to the ground, waiting for the spotlight to move before he peeked around the side of the trunk. The soldiers were coming directly toward them. “Stay here. I will handle this.”

  She grabbed his sleeve, but he pushed her hand away and slid into the darkness. Amelie rolled onto her belly, trying to keep sight of him, but the light passed over her and she dropped her face into her hands and tried not to breathe.

  There was a long, terrifying silence that broke when one of the guards yelped in fear and the spotlight went out.

  “Stop playing around!” the other guard shouted.

  The spotlight came back on, sweeping the woods in the direction of the guard. The guard shielded his eyes and said, “Get that off of me. This is no time for games.”

  Amelie raised her head in time to see the guard raise his weapon and shout, “Who are you?” The light went out then, and all she heard was the sickening crunch of human bones snapping and the guard squealing in pain. It went quiet then, and Amelie got to her feet, staying behind the tree until she heard someone rummaging through the leaves. “Omega?” she whispered. “Is that you?”

  “Stay put for a minute, Miss Brevot,” Price said in the darkness. “The spotlight’s broken and I can’t find my clothes.”

  ***

  They drove the soldiers black Mercedes along the Moselle River until they reached the French German border. Two bored looking men in uniform stood guard near a small gatehouse. Price admired the Zundapp motorcycle propped against the wall by the gate as he pulled the car in front of the men and rolled down his window. “Guten tag, parteigenosse. Thank you for keeping these horrid snail-eaters out of the Fatherland.”

  The gatehouse door burst open and an angry looking Leutnant emerged with a chart in his hand. He looked at the Mercedes and said, “Get out of that car.”

  “Of course,” Price said amicably. “Forgive me, kamerad, but is it all right if my wife stays inside? She is not feeling well.”

  “No. Both of you, out.” The Leutnant watched Amelie and Price get out of the car and rested his hand on the butt end of the stick grenade thrust in his belt, tapping his fingers impatiently on its long wooden handle. “What is your name?”

  “Hans Vogel and this is my wife, Lena.”

  “And where did you get this vehicle, Herr Vogel?”

  “Actually, it is a funny story,” Price said with a grin, stopping to look at where all of the men were standing. There was a soldier to his right holding a submachine gun. The guard closest to Amelie had a rifle pointed directly at her. She looked at Price with eyes so wide he could see white around the circumference of each iris.

  The Leutnant slammed the clipboard against his leg and shouted, “I do not think it will be a funny story and I do not think your name is Hans Vogel. One last time, how did you get this vehicle?”

  Price shrugged and said, “If you must know, I took it from two Nazi schwanzlutschers who were sodomizing their grateful commanding officers.” The Leutnant’s eyes widened as Price waved goodbye and vanished from sight, only to reappear behind the guard closest to him and grab him by the neck.

  “Shoot! Shoot!” the Leutnant screamed.

  Amelie cried out as the second guard opened fire, seeing the flash of his rifle’s muzzle, but as she lifted her hands to her face, Price appeared. Both he and his prisoner were naked now, and Price wrenched the man backwards, using him to block the bullets.

  Price picked up the soldier’s bullet-ridden body and hurled it at the gunman, sending both of them flying into the woods like bowling pins.

  The Leutnant cried out for help, but Price snatched him by the front of his shirt and ripped the stick grenade from his belt. Price twisted the grenade’s metal cap to arm it, and smiled as the Leutnant struggled to get away. “What’s the matter, kamerad. Afraid to die?”

  “You’ll kill us both, you maniac! Get rid of it!”

  Price held the Leutnant in one hand the grenade in the other, letting it sizzle and rain sparks on the man’s head. “How many seconds is it again before this thing blows up? Stop screaming, Leutnant. You’re making me lose count.”

  “Omega?” Amelie called out. “Omega! Throw the goddamn grenade!” She stuck her fingers in her ears and ran away from them as fast as she could.

  The Leutnant opened his mouth to shout “Throw it!” just as Price rammed the grenade into it and pitched the man headfirst at the gatehouse.

  Amelie dropped to the ground and covered her head at the deafening explosion. Glass and wood shot in every direction, filling the air with black smoke. She covered her ears and waited for them to stop ringing before she dared lift her head again.

  Price walked over to the pile of clothing from the German soldier and picked up a shirt to clean himself off. “Hand me my pants,” he said over his shoulder. There was a fine trail of blood trickling from Price’s nostrils. He turned to where Amelie was cowering and said, “My pants, Amelie. I’m gettin
g cold.”

  “Were you injured in the fight?” she said, pointing to the blood. She pulled a white embroidered handkerchief from her pocket and pressed it to his nose.

  He took it from her and pressed it against his face. “It’s nothing.” He waited until the bleeding stopped and balled up the cloth to stuff it in his pocket.

  Amelie held out her hand. “It was my mother’s. Please understand. I cannot lose it.”

  Price handed it to her and went over to the Zundapp. He gunned its engine, feeling it rumble powerfully between his legs. “Come on! We have to hurry!”

  “Coming!” Amelie went the long way around the Mercedes and bent just enough to drop the bloody handkerchief behind its wheel well. “You were magnificent,” she said. He handed her a pair of motorcycle goggles and their eyes met for a moment. She climbed behind him and wrapped her arms around his waist. “Wait!” she shouted.

  “What?”

  She leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek, then said, “Go! Go!”

  ***

  The gatehouse was over a quarter-mile away, but loud enough that it made the troop of SS sonderkommandos leap up from their campsite and scurry for their weapons. The troops stopped in place when Obersturmbannfuhrer Kramer raised a black gloved fist and shouted, “Halt!”

  Kramer cocked his head in the direction of the explosion, listening intently. He did not move, and neither did his men. There was nothing but silence from the woods, until a motorcycle engine roared to life and sped away into the distance. Kramer fixed his stiff uniform collar and huffed on the silver totenkopf pin on his hat, taking a moment to shine it with his jacket’s sleeve. The sonderkommandos assembled into formation behind him, one of them muttering, “How many times must we stand back like cowards and watch this Amerikaner schweinekerl kill innocent Germans?”

  Kramer took the men into the woods, walking until he saw a thirty foot scar of overturned earth that came directly from the gatehouse and stopped at the base of a large redwood tree. The men gathered around the tree, staring at the mangled German soldier wrapped around its base. Whatever had thrown the soldier had done it with enough force to pulverize his insides on impact.

  They followed the path of turfed vegetation until they came to a second German soldier, this one naked. Several of the sonderkommandos cursed at the sight, but Kramer waved them on.

  A tall column of black, acrid smoke spilled out of the destroyed gatehouse. Kramer looked around the debris and said, “Deomai was to obtain a sample of the Amerikaner’s blood and leave it here. Do not allow your German brothers to have died in vain.”

  He rolled a cigarette and took off his hat to wipe his forehead on his sleeve. The devastation was complete. Perfect. Agent Omega had done exactly what he was rumored to be capable of. Kramer grunted in admiration, then thought, how much sweeter it will be when I present you to the Fuhrer as a prisoner.

  “Obersturmbannfuhrer, over here. I have something.”

  Kramer bent over to inspect the place on the ground where one of the men located a woman’s handkerchief. He picked it up and smiled at the sight of a dark red stain on the fabric.

  ***

  Four Nazi brown-shirts patrolled Frankford train station, walking up and down the platforms, checking id cards. “There is a hotel nearby,” Amelie said. “There will not be so many in the morning.”

  “We can get on,” Price said. “There are ways to get past them.”

  “I am tired, Omega. I need to shower and change. What is one evening?” She did not wait for an answer. She put her arm through his and led him down the street.

  That night she lay next to him in bed, tossing and turning. She rolled over to face him and brushed her foot against his shin, tickling the hair on his leg with her toes. Her fingers swept across his chest and she pressed herself closer to him, putting her breasts against his side.

  “We need to stay focused.”

  “Do you know what I like best about this work? I get to be somebody else. A character in a play. Nothing matters, because it is not me doing these things, you see? It is just my character. And tonight, I want to be Lena Vogel making love to her husband Hans.”

  Price pulled away from her and rolled onto his back to stare up at the ceiling. “I can’t play make-believe with you, Amelie.”

  Amelie scowled at him, “You are just a stupid little boy who can do magic tricks that kill people. When your balls finally drop you will realize what you missed.”

  Price tucked the pillow under his head and was soon asleep.

  ***

  The next morning, Price sipped his coffee and kept his eyes fixed on the window while Amelie munched on a piece of buttered toast. She studied his face in the early daylight. “Where did you get that scar across your cheek?”

  “France.”

  “When?”

  Price emptied his cup and said, “The Hundred Day Offensive.”

  Amelie rolled her eyes. “If you are going to lie, at least get your wars correct. The Hundred Day Offensive happened before either of us was born.”

  Price set down his cup and stared out the window. “My mistake, Miss Brevot.”

  “Do you want to die?”

  He looked back at her, “What?”

  “Do you want to die? That little stunt you pulled at the gatehouse yesterday put both of our lives in jeopardy. I do not want to continue this mission with some fool who has a death wish.”

  “Listen, I’m going to Hillersleben with or without you. If you want to come help me try and rescue that traitor you call a brother, fine. If not, fine. I have no personal interest in whether he lives or dies. Just let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

  ***

  They took off their grime-covered goggles and ditched the Zundapp in the woods, walking an unmarked trail that wound between clusters of oak trees. At the edge of the tree line was a gravel parking lot for a large white building with no windows and only one door.

  Price led her through the trees around the back of the building. There was a large vehicle bay in the rear, big enough to fit a tank. Amelie frowned at the building, “I do not think this is the right one. My brother said there were guards.”

  “There are probably tons inside. They don’t want to alert the locals. Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight,” Price said.

  “I will find something for us to get away in. You will both need clothes, oui?”

  Price nodded. “There might be a squadron of SS chasing after us, so be ready to go in a hurry.”

  “I understand,” she said.

  “One more thing. About last night—”

  “Drop it,” she said. “I have already forgotten about it.”

  “Okay, then. See you in a bit.”

  “Wait. What were you going to say?”

  “I think Hans Vogel is a lucky man. That’s all.”