The Omega Sanction by Andrew Scorah (urban books to read TXT) 📖

turning on the engine.

He looked at her.

“Don’t worry. We’ll have a chat with this Kammler guy, see what he knows then we’ll go to ground, it’ll be a walk in the park.”

She gave him a thin smile.

“I hope you’re right, I really do.”

They set off along Reservoir Road, heading towards Roanoke.

 

“Professor, get in here,” Bane called out.

He went over to the man, forced him to his knees. Trotsky stood looking up at the bell device, shock and awe written all over his face.

“Who are you, and Whatever you've done, you need to stop it now,” Bane prodded the man with the muzzle of his weapon.

“My names Hoffman. It’s impossible. I cannot. I’m saying nothing else.”

Professor Guyler and Jennifer came into the room. He took one look at the device, then ran over to the control panel.

“He said he’s overloaded the device,” Bane told him.

“I know, I can tell by the sound it’s emitting.”

He looked at the computer screen, shook his head.

“It can’t be undone, when it blows it will take out the whole base. The only way out is...No, it’s impossible...”

His voice drifted off, as he came back to stand with Bane.

“What,Professor? What is the only way out?”

He was looking at Bane with fear filled his eyes.

“Into the past, we follow them.”

Bane looked up at the device. A pulsating blue mist swirled around it. Pinpricks of light sparkled within it, like fireflies on a stormy night.

“I do not like the sound of that,” Trotsky said.

“Me neither, ” Bane said, as he looked at each of them in turn, “But I don’t think we have a choice.”

“The connection to 1945 is holding for now, so if we’re going it’ll have to be now,” the professor said.

"Yeah, but we’ll be trapped, I think I’d rather die here, than through there,” Trotsky said, using his gun muzzle to indicate the swirling mist.

“And, I’m a Jew, how do you think that’ll go down in Hitlers bunker?”

“Koenig must know of a way back here, I don’t think he would risk his neck on a one way trip,” the professor pointed out.

“Enough talking,” Bane said, “We have no choice, we go now.”

He looked at the pulsating mists, swirling around the device, the last thing Bane wanted was to enter that maelstrom, but anything was better than staying here. And if they made it through they still had time to prevent Koenig from whatever he was up to.

Jennifer moved to stand next to Bane.

“I’m with Adam, everyone here is going to die, but if we have a chance to stop Koenig, then we have to take it.”

Their minds focussed on the problem at hand. They had forgotten about Hoffman. While they were talking, they did not see him pick up the AK-47 which lay on a nearby table.

He swung it towards them, and opened fire.

 

The house they were looking for lay at the end of a long driveway off Williamson Road. A Colonial two story house surrounded by dense woodland. Rogan pulled the van off the road, got out, and lifted the hood. This made it appear that they had engine trouble. Webb joined him. Traffic was sparse, and no one paid them any attention.

“What’s the plan?” She asked.

Rogan grabbed a clipboard off the dash and handed it to her.

“Take a walk up to the house, don’t worry I’ll be nearby. knock on the door, tell whoever answers you're from the Water Authority doing a survey of householders, get their names.”

She retrieved the Glock from the van, and stuffed it inside her coveralls, then waited for a break in traffic before walking across to the drive.

Webb looked back over her shoulder. Rogan had vanished.

The day was a hot one, so she was grateful for the cooling shadows cast by the trees bordering the drive. Her stomach was doing somersaults as her feet carried her up the winding drive to the house.

Through the trees, she could see the house. A dark coloured SUV was parked out front, but there were no other signs of life. The sounds of birds twittering in the trees announced her approach to the front of the house. She rounded the last curve, and now anyone in the house would see her. There was no movement. Webb stopped, and made a pretence of looking at the clipboard, then back at the house.

She started walking again when the rustle of bushes to her right drew her attention.

A man dressed in camouflaged combats stepped into view. He was aiming a snub-nosed machine gun at her.

“Don’t move, miss.”

Webb’s mouth went dry, and her heart thumped, she slowly raised her hands.

The man spoke into a microphone secured in his right hand cuff.

“I’ve got her.”

Another, similarly attired and armed, man emerged from the tree line off to her left.

“What’s going on, I’m from the Water Authority, doing a...”

“Sure you are Miss Webb, get on your knees, hands on your head.”

“She complied with the mans instructions, and wondered where the hell, Rogan was, or had they got him too.

The front door to the house opened. A man in a black suit stepped out, followed by an older man in a wheel chair.

"Go back in the house, Mr Kemp, we’ve got the situation under control,” the man to her left said.

So this was father and son, Webb thought.

She looked intently at the man in the wheel chair, General Dr Hans Friedrich Karl Franz Kammler, he was thin, his bald head had a few sparse hairs, and liver spots. There was also an arrogant air to his bearing, and a thin sneer curled the edge of his mouth.

His eyes bored into her, a predator examining its prey.

“You should have left well alone Miss Webb.”

The two shots almost sounded as one. Webb flinched.

The armed men were knocked off their feet. Rogan appeared from around the corner of the house, armed with his own Glock, the MP5 secured by a strap over his shoulder. He put two more bullets into them, making sure they were dead.

Kemp whirled, going for something in his jacket.

Rogan swung around to point the gun at him.

“You’ll be dead before that gun clears its holster.”

Kemp froze, looked defeated.

“Two fingers, take it out, slowly, and toss it to my partner.”

The man did as requested.

Webb jumped to her feet, and retrieved the pistol before joining Rogan at the house.

“Cover them while I hide the bodies.”

Webb took out her Glock, and pointed both pistols at them. They silently stared back at her.

Rogan made short work of loading the bodies in the SUV, before returning.

“Okay, everyone in the house.”

Without a word, Kammler wheeled himself through the door followed by his son, Rogan, and Webb came behind them. She closed the door.

They were in an airy foyer. Stairs in front of them led to the upper floor. A short hall adjacent the stairs led to a closed door. Off to the left and right of them were closed doors.

“Anyone else here? ” Rogan asked.

“No,” Kemp said, like a sullen child.

Rogan indicated the door to the right.

“Inside if you please.”

Kemp opened the door and led them into a creamy walled, pleasantly furnished living room. French doors at the far end led out to a sunlit glass conservatory.

Kammler wheeled himself into the centre of the room. Kemp sat on a leather sofa, next to a large open fireplace.

“What do you want with us? My dad’s sick, we have money in a safe upstairs.”

“Yeah, your dads sick all right, just like the rest of the Nazi Party was,” Rogan said.

“I don’t know what...” Kemp began.

Kammler held up his hand.

“Enough, they know who I am,” he said, his voice held a slight trace of his German accent.

Webb moved to a chair behind Rogan.

“Good, we can cut the crap, what do you know about Geheime Staat, and a creep called Koenig?”

“I’ve never heard of either name,” Kammler said, after a brief pause.

The pause before answering told Rogan the man was lying. He strolled around the room, stopping every now and again to look at the numerous framed photos that dotted the room. Each one showed Kammler and his son. What Rogan gained from this was a picture of a man proud of his off-spring. This was a convenient hook for Rogan. He turned around to the two men.

“You’ve come a long way, Dr Kammler. Made a nice life for yourself here in America.”

“I’ve done what I had to do, pah, your country has benefited from the knowledge I brought with me.”

“Indeed, now, we don’t have much time, and I need answers to my questions. I know, and you know, you’re telling me lies.”

“I cannot tell you what I don’t know.”

Rogan was a blur, despite his limp. He smashed his pistol into Kemp’s face. The man’s nose exploded in a cloud of red. He cried out, and fell back, his hands going to his face.

Kammler looked aghast at what Rogan had just done.

“Now,” Rogan continued in an even tone, “Answer my question, or I will continue to hurt your son.”

He looked at Rogan with hate in his eyes.

Webb studied the man who had been part of one of the most infamous regimes the world had ever known. It was hard to believe the man before her was the architect of the Nazi death camps, and responsible for the demolition of the Warsaw Ghetto. Now all that was left was a sad derelict husk of a man, a man who should not be here in this time and place. She could almost smell the poison that infected men like him. To think that he had made his place amongst normal people made her shudder with revulsion. Part of her wanted to reach out and strangle the man with her bare hands, to see the life go out of his eyes, but even that would be too good a death.

Kammler sighed. Appeared to sink into himself.

“We discovered the time travel aspects of die glocke quite by accident, you know.”

“Okay, tell us all of it,” Rogan perched himself on the arm of Webb’s chair.

“And it was shortly after that we found out we were going to lose the war.”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

CHAPTER TEN

Chapter 25

 

Bane saw the man move at the last moment. He pushed the professor out of the line of fire before diving in the opposite direction. The man had not aimed before firing, so his bullets scorched through empty air before hitting the wall.

Trotsky returned fire. His weapon on full auto. Hoffman was dead before he hit the floor.

The noise of the device was rising up the scale, and beginning to vibrate.

Bane grabbed the professor and Jennifer by the hand.

He looked at Trotsky.

“C’mon, now, before it’s too late.”

They all paused for a second, each lost in thoughts of what they were about to do. The mist was swirling faster, the pin pricks of light increasing. Blue lightning crackled within.

As one, they all ran into the mist.

Bane thought there would be pain. There was not. Instead everything froze. He felt as if a velvet blanket had been wrapped around him. His breathing stopped, the misty swirls before him froze. There was no sound. No feeling. No anything. Light faded to darkness.

Then the tugging started. Gentle at first, seeming to come from all directions at once. The intensity increased, pulling him towards whenever, and away at the same time.

He was rushing forwards, backwards, and sideways. All at the same time.

And then, just like that it was all over.

Bane felt pins and needles all over his body. His breath came back to him in short raspy gasps, like a new-born tasting the air for the first time.

He opened his eyes, and for a few seconds it was hard to focus. His vision swam with dark motes. His head whirled with a strange kind of vertigo. Someone nearby was retching.

Bane lay on a cold stone floor. A rumble like thunder came from somewhere above him. He sat up rubbing his eyes. His vision cleared, and he could see they were in a