On an upper floor of the large hospital, a thin, elderly man sorrowfully watched as his beloved wife breathed her last.
“She is now with God,” the young priest told him, then administered the last rites. “In the Name of the Father, and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, I absolve you of your sins.”
The old man struggled visibly to hold back his tears.

Some time later, as the old man left the hospital room, the young priest approached him from a side hallway, “Would you care to talk for a while?” he asked with a concerned look.
The old man turned to him and summoned a polite smile. “No. Not now.” His words were heavy with both a residual German accent and his grief.
“Is there someone I can call for you tonight?” persisted the priest, but the old man had turned away. “William,” he called as the old man walked down the hall without acknowledgment. “William!” Again he was ignored. He sighed as he watched the lonely old man leave.

An old white house loomed in the dark night. Inside, the old man tossed on his bed, groaning. His nightmare was back.
The sounds of the German propaganda machine grow louder: Hitler’s speeches, a background of guns and bombs, the roaring of the crowds. “Sig heil!! Sig heil!” reverberates loudly again and again. The old man tossed again, fighting it, but only managed to change the scene. There is a gruesome stone-dragon head looming over men in Nazi uniform marching down a hall. They drag the terror-stricken boy along, telling him to be brave. He is in his nightgown, white against the dark SS uniforms of men guarding the doors. Himmler stares down from a picture on the wall; the live Himmler stands on a podium overlooking a table on the back of another stone dragon. They force the boy to lie on the table and take their places around it. There is a mad glint in Himmler’s eyes as he looks down from his high perch over the boy and the five men who surround the table.
A white-coated doctor joins the men around the table. “This is a great honor for you, and for me, Mr. Boem” the doctor says. The boy’s eyes are wide with panic in his fear-sweaty face. “We have chosen you.”
The terrified boy looks from face to face staring down at him on the table; they are all impassive. “You are the bravest. … You are the strongest. … You are the youngest!” emphasizes the doctor as he takes out a large knife and begins to cut the boy’s belly open. The boy’s mouth opens on a scream “No-o-o-
-o-o-o!” The old man jerked up in bed, the old scream in his mouth echoing in the night-darkened room. He returned from the land of memories, his breath coming in gasps then sobs as he realized it’s now only a dream.

Birds sang as they flew through the wintery blue sky over the bell tower of the Cathedral. Below in the courtyard, shouts echoed as the young priest in t-shirt and jeans played football with some of the parish youth.
“And he fades back! This could clinch it for Notre Dame!” He sounded like a sports-caster as he ran backward and tossed the football to a running youth. “And the throw is up and its beautiful!” The youth jumped, missed, … and the old man caught the ball as he came up the steps. “Uh-oh! it’s been intercepted!”
“Well! … Maybe next down!” chuckled the old man.
“Hi, Mr. Helderman,” the young priest came forward. “It’s good to see you.”
“I … uh … I owe you an apology for not returning your calls,” the old man handed the ball to the priest.
“Oh, well…” the priest gave the ball to the youth. “Let’s take five.”
“Ach … I didn’t mean to interrupt your game.”
“No, no. Your wife meant a lot to all of us. I can take a couple of minutes. … How’ve you been?” he put a friendly hand on the old man’s shoulder and they began walking toward the building.
“Well, not too good. I still miss her terribly.”
“It’s only been four weeks.”
“All the same, I think I would miss her quite as much if it had been four years.” He paused slightly, then continued, “But, you know, I think the memories—and the pain—they’ve served a purpose … because they’ve helped me to make a very important decision.”
“Which is?”
The old man hesitated and then plunged ahead, “I would like you to hear my confession.”
“Your confession!” the priest was astounded. While Emma Helderman had been a faithful member of his flock, as far as he knew, Mr. Helderman had never attended church.
“Yes. Now that it can’t harm Emma, there are terrible things that I must get off my soul.”
The priest looked at the old man searchingly. Mr. Helderman looked back, simply. The priest nodded. “Just let me clean up, and then we’ll talk, all right?”
Mr. Helderman nodded.

The church was lit only by the sun coming through the magnificent stained glass windows. Now formally attired in his cassock, the priest rejoined Mr. Helderman. The old man told his tale as they walked through the corridors and out the doors, down the stairs and into the gardens.
“My real name is Erhardt Boem, and I grew up in Nazi Germany. When I was thirteen, because I tested so well, the head of the SS, Heinrich Himmler, proposed to my parents that I continue my education in Wevelsburg.”
“Wevelsburg! That was one of the camps?”
“No. … No, it was to be a center for a new Pagan religion. Just before the war ended one of Himmler’s research teams discovered something. It was a talisman. But the Allies were so close that he had half of the device placed in a metal capsule and the capsule was surgically implanted into my body. Then I smuggled it out, and one day I was to turn it over to his successors. But, instead, I changed my identity.”
“Why didn’t you come to me before?”
“Because, you see, I felt that Emma might be harmed.”
“Harmed? By vigilantes? But you were only seventeen when the war ended.”
“No, no. I’m not explaining myself very well because …” Helderman stopped, fidgeted nervously, then blurted, “…because I’m afraid!” He walked away and sat despondently on a garden bench.
The priest came over to sit beside him. “William, Himmler has been dead for fifty years. Put this all behind you. The Nazis were made to pay for their sins.”
“But you see, I still have the worst sin inside me.”
“You really believe this happened to you.”
“Yes! I have the scar … and the pain every night.”
Heaving a big sigh, the priest thought for a moment, then said hesitantly, “Perhaps I can help you.” Helderman looked at him enquiringly. “One of my parishioners works in high places and has access to very advanced medical technology. But, he’ll want to know—what is this talisman supposed to do?”
“Well, all I know is that Himmler rejoiced when he found it because he felt that if it were placed into the hands of the right scientists it would give him the power to create the New Reich. You know. One far more powerful than the old, and one that would rule over mankind forever.”
The priest looked at him, aghast.

The Base Lab of the elite Bio-Crisis team looked on the outside like a beautiful old red brick Romanesque mansion with a crenelated tower and cement balcony. Beneath it, however, the numerous levels of the Lab were all high-tech.
Dr. Edward Marcase, Dr. Daniel Cassian, Dr. Kimberly Shiroma and Mr. Michael Hailey stepped from the security elevator that brought them down into the depths of the complex, the heart of the Lab.
“You say this guy has been carrying around a Nazi capsule inside his body for fifty years?” asked Marcase doubtfully, stopping abruptly.
“Yes, that’s exactly what the man said,” replied Cassian firmly as he brushed past Marcase, leading the way into the lab. He headed over to a console, turned on the computer and began taping codes into it.
“Well, it could have been a false memory. … He was young and subjected to extreme trauma,” Shiroma also passed Marcase, following Cassian. “Maybe he just had a real operation and … misunderstood it.” She concluded with a shrug.
Cassian turned to her from the console, “I-I-I wouldn’t say that,” he drawled.
Marcase cavilled, “Yeah, right, then what’s inside this capsule? A list of Swiss bank accounts?”
“No, I’m sure it’s Hitler’s moustache!” Hailey said humorously as he entered the room.
“Okay. You all want to be skeptics?” Cassian was a bit pissed now. “Fine. You tell me.” He turned back to the console in front of him and began bringing up x-ray photos on the monitor.
“What! You’ve already got film on him?!” Shiroma exclaimed, surprised.
Cassian threw her a raised eyebrow look over his shoulder as he continued typing on the computer. “Well, you think you’re playing with kids here?”
As he tapped away, an MRI scan came up on the screen. A bright spot was marked out by a focus square, which zoomed in on a blob within the spot. The form of the blob was indistinct, but the colors indicated heat or … power.
“What is that?” Marcase said in a subdued voice.
“I’m betting that’s a metal capsule,” Cassian replied smugly.
“Wait a second. It’s got no shape,” objected Shiroma. “It’s got to be a scanning error.”
“Really!” Cassian’s eyebrows rose; straightening, he turned to the group and became the Senior Consultant Physician: “Okay. Pop quiz. … Dr. Marcase, if it is a scanning error, what would it have to be?”
“An independent source of energy.”
“Congratulations! I guess you didn’t skip all of Radiology.” Cassian's tone was sarcastic as he turned back to bend over the console again.
“Wait a minute,” Hailey stepped up to look at the colorful blob on the screen, too. “Are you trying to tell me this thing is radioactive?”
“No, no. What I’m saying is that if you point an x-ray at it, it comes back twice as strong. … These are false-color scans of the x-ray region of the spectrum. You can see how active the capsule is,” Cassian explained.
“That’s impossible!” Marcase was flabbergasted.
“It certainly is,” Cassian shot back. “That’s why we are going to remove the capsule ourselves. When I say ‘we’ of course, I mean you. …” Now he was on a roll. Shiroma looked as though she was going to interrupt, but caught Marcase’s warning eye and subsided—for the moment. “I’ve prepared an operating room in a safe-house. You can start prepping Helderman as soon as you get there.” Cassian turned on his heel and began to walk briskly out of the room.
“No! Wait! We can’t do that!” Shiroma exclaimed in frustration.
“Not without his consent.” Marcase added belligerently.
Cassian swung around, hand on hip, and looked at them a moment, a mocking glint in his eye. “Well, … what if I told you I believe this is in the vital interest of National Security?”
Marcase was seriously challenging now. “I’d say that sounds a hell of a lot like something the Nazis used to say.”
With a slight smile, Cassian returned lightly, “Well, this is different.”
“Yeah, they said it in German,” Shiroma was dead serious.
Cassian looked at them for a second longer. Then he shrugged. “Okay. You want to talk to Helderman? He’s waiting for you at the safe-house.” He turned again and walked out the door, shaking his head. “I told him you’d want to talk to him first, but he wouldn’t listen to me either,” he muttered as he went down the hall toward the elevator.
“Cassian!” Marcase called.
“What!” he turned back impatiently.
Marcase smiled lightly, “Someday you’re not going to have an answer.”
Cassian looked down pensively and sighed, “Yeah, … I know.” Then he looked up cockily, “’Course that’ll be the day you don’t have a question!” He smiled wickedly as he turned and strolled away.
After pausing to roll his eyes, Marcase turned back to the other two. “What do you know about the safe-house?” he asked Hailey.
“Virtually everything. Why? Does something … disturb you?”
“Call it a premonition…. Call it a warning from my guardian angel. I do have a bad feeling about this, but I get the worst hit when I look at those scans.”
Shiroma shrugged, “The man harbored the capsule inside his body for fifty years without any ill effects.”
“Are you calling my premonition … irrational, Kimberly?”
“No, Edward. I’m just trying to convince myself to ignore the shivers going down my back.” They looked at each other soberly for a moment then she added, “Michael!”
“What?”
“The sooner we can see him, the better.”
Hailey nodded in complete agreement.

In a remote office in the State Department building, a secretary picked up the ringing phone. “Investigation Division, one moment please,” she pressed the hold button as her boss entered through the door. He was a young man, slender and bearded, with wire-rim glasses. “Mr. Stennis, the activity logs printed out.” She handed him some spindle-edged computer sheets.
“Oh, thank you. … I don’t know if I can take the excitement,” they both smiled at the standing joke as he took the sheets and began to look through them.
“I’ll put you through,” she said into the phone, transferred the call and replaced the receiver.
“You ever dream of getting away to a tropical island?” he bantered.
“You offering to pay?” she shot back, then looked up as he didn’t answer. “Mr. Stennis?”
He had stiffened as he read down the list on one page. BOEM, ERHARDT AKA HELDERMAN, WILLIAM … “Mr. Stennis?” He finally looked up, glancing at her without seeing her. “Are you all right?”
“Uh, … fine,” he said as he returned from his thoughts. “I was just … hit by a crushing wave of boredom.” He smiled at her, covering his lapse with bantering. But he fidgeted with the papers in his hands. “Uh,” he pointed to some other work on the desk, “better get that down to Research right away.” She nodded and, picking them up, left him alone in the office.
He barely waited until the door was shut behind her then hitting an autodial number on his cellphone, made a call.
“Yes?”
“I need to speak to the Coordinator.”
“One moment please.”
“Immediately,” he commanded.
“Right away, sir.”
He nodded.

Not long later, Mr. Stennis leaned on the railing of a stairway landing on an office building elsewhere in the city. Two men in trenchcoats came part way down the stairs behind him, their hands in the breasts of their coats, on their guns. He didn't move.
After they were in place, an older man in an expensive suit came around the corner. He came all the way down the stairs and approached Stennis, but stayed behind him and in the shadows.
“Don’t turn around, Mr. Stennis,” he said. Stennis, on the point of doing so, subsided and returned to looking out over the busy parking lot. “Just tell me what’s so important that I had to risk meeting you.”
“A very obscure agency ran a search on a suspected ex-Nazi through our files.”
“That’s why we placed you there,” the older man replied. “You should have brought that information to your controller.”
“I couldn’t. Not this name. … It was Erhardt Boem.”
Silence. Then, “He died in Wevelsburg.”
“No. He’s been living under the name Helderman. He’s still carrying the capsule. … They’re extracting it tonight.”
Another silence. Then, “Be there when they operate. And obtain possession of that capsule and of Boem. By any means necessary.” The man in shadows turned and left while Stennis straightened with importance.
The safe-house was a beautiful Victorian home with a tower and cupola. Below it, once again, were several levels—all high-tech. A code-sealed elevator ran between five or six floors of offices,
storerooms and a labyrinth of corridors.
Helderman was upstairs examining the books in the well-stocked library when Marcase and Shiroma came to the open door. “Mr. Helderman?” Marcase knocked on the carved wood and Helderman turned. “… Is that what you like to be called?” Marcase added with a friendly smile.
Helderman looked the young man over, then smiled in response. “Yes, please. I killed off the name of Boem a long time ago.”
Shiroma stepped forward and held out her hand. “I’m Dr. Shiroma, and this is Dr. Marcase,” indicating Edward with a nod.
“Ach.” Helderman shook her hand then Marcase’s. “How do you do?”
“We’ve been asked to perform the operation on you … assuming, of course, that you’re still willing to go ahead with it?” Shiroma and Marcase watched him closely to gauge his reaction.
“Yes. Yes I am.” Helderman smiled hesitantly, but nodded firmly. He watched them for their reactions, too. Could he trust these doctors? “How long will this operation take?”
“Well, given the capsule’s position, it should take less than an hour…and we’ll just use ‘twilight sleep’. You should be up and walking by tomorrow morning.” Dr. Shiroma spoke matter of factly, but reassuringly.
“Ach, well,” Helderman smiled, relieved. “It’s very kind of you to explain the operation to me.”
Marcase wanted all the cards on the table. He smiled back reassuringly, “Mr. Helderman, you’re our patient, not an experimental subject. … Now, if you’re having any second thoughts at all, we want to know. Okay?”
“No, no. I have only one thought…” Helderman said.
“What’s that?” Shiroma asked gently.
“That no matter what happens, I do not want to die with this capsule inside me.” Helderman was very serious.

Night had fallen and the big white mansion was brightly lit.
In the makeshift operating room on the lowest level, equipment and meds were piled on metal shelves within an O.R. tent of plastic sheeting. As a nurse in surgical scrubs moved from the equipment to the surgical trays; Shiroma, also gowned and masked, asked, “How are his vitals?”
“BP 138 over 90, pulse 95,” Marcase, also in theater gear, rapped off. Noting the statistics were slightly higher than normal, Shiroma said, “Yeah, I guess I’d be anxious, too, … Okay, let’s start.”
“Mr. Helderman,” Marcase gently placed the anesthesia mask over Helderman’s nose and mouth. “Just breathe normally. … That’s it. … Okay.”

Hailey and Mitchell came around a corner from one hallway to the next. They passed numerous closed doors on either side, their eyes roving, checking the facility’s security. They reached the end of the corridor where Tregennis stepped through the elevator door to meet them.
“Anything?” Hailey asked him.
“No. Although Dr. Cassian did enter with an unexpected guest.” The three security agents exchanged concerned glances.
“Maybe that’s why he wants to see me,” said Hailey. “Stay here Frosty,” he ordered Tregennis, who immediately assumed guard position as Hailey continued to Mitchell, “Come on, … let’s check the monitor.”
“You got it,” Mitchell replied crisply as they moved back down the corridor.

The clear plastic sheets surrounded the operating theater, all its equipment, the nurse, the patient and the two doctors. It was a bit cramped, but they were working steadily. “Okay, he’s looking good,” Marcase moved from inspecting the patient to looking at the equipment. “EEG is holding.”

Hailey came down the stairs into the room outside the plastic sheets. An assortment of cabinets and shelves were pushed against the walls. In one corner a monitor station held a console not unlike the one at Base Lab. Michael stopped by a cabinet with Plexiglas doors housing more medical supplies and looked over to Cassian.
“You wanted to see me?”
Cassian was watching the op from the open room. “That,” he said bleakly, glancing up through the plastic tent to the wall behind it, “is Associate Director Robert Stennis.”
The wall had a window looking down into the operating theater, much like an observation room in a hospital’s Operating Theater. Stennis was standing there motionless, eyes glued to the busy doctors. Cassian crossed his arms. Resting his right elbow on his left hand, his right hand rubbed his chin while covering his mouth from Stennis’ view. “He’s from the State Department’s Nazi-Hunting office.”
“How’d he get involved?” Hailey turned back to Cassian after taking a quick but thorough look at Stennis.
“The Chief-of-Staff ran Helderman’s name through an all-agency databank.”
“Then he expressed an interest.”
“Yes. … And against my advice they gave him access.” Cassian looked grim.
Hailey turned back to look at Stennis again. Stennis looked up and caught his eye. Michael smiled nicely then turned back to Cassian.
“Well, maybe I ought to get to know him better.”
Cassian’s stern mouth tilted up at one corner.

Inside the plastic operating theater Marcase straightened for a moment, stretching his back while announcing, “He’s under.”
“Let’s go then,” Shiroma replied. Their eyes connected. “Laser scalpel to standby,” she called to the nurse.
Cassian glanced at Stennis, then turned his attention to the monitor console where Jones, another security man, was seated. The console had screens showing the compound’s security grid as well as duplicates of the screens on the monitor in the O.R. tent. Cassian could observe the entire complex and view the doctors’ progress on the console while watching them working in the tent—all without taking up valuable space in the cramped theater.
“We’re online. Vitals are steady,” Marcase said, looking at his monitor; the screen showed vital sign levels and an ultrasound image of the area they would be operating on.
Shiroma took the laser scalpel handed by the O.R. nurse. “Okay, I’m making a test incision. … And yes, the bleeding is controlled.”
Stennis watched impassively from the booth.
“We’re looking good. Check the gases.”
“They’re nominal,” replied Marcase, glancing at the monitor.

As the operation continued, Hailey entered the observation room and walked toward Stennis.
“Hi! Michael Hailey,” he introduced himself, holding out his hand with an affable smile.
Stennis took it briefly, barely looking up. “Robert Stennis, office of War Crimes Intelligence.”
“So I hear. …” Michael turned to view the O.R. briefly, then back to scrutinize Stennis. “How come you’re so interested in this guy?”
Stennis was concentrating on the operation. He gritted his teeth, then answered mildly, “It’s not so unusual.” He finally turned and looked Hailey in the face. “His name is on a watch list going all the way back to World War II.”
“Oh-h-h.” Hailey was still watching him, but with an innocent—almost dumb—look on his face. Stennis dismissed him from his mind, turning back to the operation. They watched as Shiroma continued talking her way through the op. The incision was made; they were close to the capsule.
“So you’re really going after him, huh?” Hailey added, carefully observing Stennis again without appearing to do so.
Stennis, trying to focus on the operation, gritted his teeth again. This smiling fool was distracting him from his important job. “Just making an inquiry,” he bit out. “If he didn’t do anything, we won’t do anything.”
Hailey turned back to the operation, his smile still in place, if slightly frozen. His mild affability had gotten the reaction he was half-expecting—more information than was necessary offered in a hostile tone. Something was definitely up.
Stennis looked over at him again, tired of being disturbed, and broadly hinted, “If you’ll excuse me?”
Hailey took a moment to re-pin his smile, then turned to Stennis, “Oh. You bet!” Smiling cheerfully, he moved away. As Stennis turned back to focus on the operation once more, Hailey went behind him to the door, his eyes still on Stennis, his smile fading into a calculating look.

The monitor showed the vitals remaining steady. Shiroma glanced up at it then back down. “We should be right on it.”
“Right. … I’m thinking two more centimeters,” replied Marcase.

Hailey inspected the lower levels, going through hallways where the pipes and wiring for the compound lined the ceiling and dribbled part way down the walls. He used a flashlight to check all around, under and through the wiring and pipes for anything not supposed to be there. He had a bad feeling in his gut. He didn’t trust Stennis; the man was an anomaly. … But he didn’t know what he was looking for, either. It could be anything.

In the operating room, Marcase turned to the monitor. “His temperature is fluctuating here,” he said anxiously, adding, “How are you doing?”
“We’re good. I’m about to make contact with the capsule.”
The x-ray and ultrasound screens on the monitor showed the probe approaching the blob of the capsule. As it touched the spot there was a spitting noise and a warning beeper went off. A red rectangle flashed on the monitor: POWER OVERLOAD—SURGE PROTECTION ENGAGED.
“That doesn’t make any sense!” Marcase exclaimed urgently. The monitor was now randomly flipping through various screens.
“What’s going on?” inquired Shiroma.
“We’re getting power spikes.”
“You mean we got a ground off the capsule?” she asked incredulously.
“No, it’s more like the spikes are coming from the capsule,” said Marcase worriedly. “How could that be?”

Hailey continued looking for whatever it was that was wrong. His flashlight beamed from side to side as he scanned the corridors on another floor.

Cassian watched the doctors operate with a worried expression. What was causing the equipment to fluctuate?

“All right, I’ll spread it. … Come on, Kim, you can do it. Come on, dig for it!” Marcase urged.
“You don’t think I’m trying?! … What are his vitals?”
Helderman’s head was restlessly moving back and forth on the operating table. Now the monitor was showing erratic rhythms.
“BP is 225 over 105, and it’s climbing,” Marcase replied forcibly.
“I’m working as fast as I can,” Shiroma’s consternation was reflected in her voice.

Above, Hailey searched yet another level.

The monitor showed the heart rate speeding and irregular. A warning beeper went off.
“Come on, Kim. He’s developing arrhythmia!” Marcase said urgently.
“I’m almost there. Start bringing him out of it,” she answered.

Hailey moved down to the next level, still looking carefully at the walls, ceiling, floor and in and around the paraphernalia stacked along the corridor.

“Flushing him,” Marcase turned a gas knob up.

Hailey approached an electrical box on the wall of a corridor.

“Come on, Kim! Get it out!” Marcase ordered.
“I’m trying!” Shiroma replied, “but it feels … anchored.”
“Let me try.” Marcase leaned over the patient and reached in.
A red light flashed on the monitor over the picture of the probe in contact with the capsule: RADIATION WARNING! A beeping went off on the monitor, red lights flashed on the walls throughout the complex and a siren began to blare.
“What’s that?!” Shiroma asked, still laboring to get the capsule out.
“Damned if I know,” replied Marcase, also proceeding with the extraction.

Stennis continued to stare down impassively from the observation room. He glanced up briefly when the red light began flashing on the wall then turned back to watching the operation.

Jones, watching the console monitor, jumped up shouting, “Red warning! Red warning! We’ve got radiation in the operating room!”
Cassian, straightening over the console, let out an explosive “What?!” and looked around the room and over to the plastic tent with a baffled expression. He could see nothing that would indicate a radiation leak.

Stennis momentarily glanced over at Cassian then turned back to the operation.

Hailey looked at the electrical box. “What’s this doing open?” he breathed. He opened it wider. There were short wires connecting things that shouldn’t be connected, and a circuit board that certainly didn’t belong there. Someone had hot-wired the system.
“This is cute!” he muttered as he disconnected them and pulled out the errant board. He used his cellphone, “Mitchell, Tregennis! Seal the corridors and kill anyone who enters on sight!” Then he set off at a run down the corridor.
The two security men were guarding the access door from the elevator to the lower levels. It was heavy, riveted steel. “Shut it!” ordered Mitchell. Tregennis shut the door as Mitchell tapped a security code into the electronic lock.

“It can’t be the capsule, or we’d see tissue damage,” Shiroma was still bent over her patient along with Marcase.
“You’re right,” Marcase responded; he turned his head, “Cassian, what the hell’s going on?” No answer. Cassian was busy with the console.
“One, two, pull!” grunted Shiroma. They both pulled hard.
“Umph! Got it!” Marcase pulled out a silver capsule, about an inch in diameter and between one and two inches in length. It was dripping red with Helderman’s blood. “I’ll decontaminate and contain it. You cauterize him and close.”
As Marcase rinsed off the capsule, Stennis finally turned away from the window. He ran up a short flight of stairs and out of the observation room.

Jones scanned the safe-house security blueprints on the console. The O.R. showed completely red with its Radiation Warning flashing. But there was another blip!
“South side perimeter has been compromised!” he exclaimed. Four intruders were shown as blue dots moving along the entry corridor on the first level, with more approaching. “We’ve got unidentified troops entering. Red hazard team is responding!”
“I didn’t put a team on standby,” said Cassian thoughtfully. He looked at Jones.
“Well, someone did,” the security man replied.

Marcase sterilized the capsule.

Hailey ran down the corridor heading for the O.R.

Marcase enclosed the capsule in a containment tube, screwing on the lid. “All right. We’re ready to go.”

On the lowest floor, Hailey ran down another corridor and through the door into the O.R. “It’s a scam! Someone rigged the monitors!” He threw the circuit board to Cassian who caught it in one hand, inspected it briefly, and looked up to the (empty) observation room.
“Where’s Stennis?!” Cassian ground out.

Stennis was approaching Mitchell and Tregennis in the upper corridor. He held a gun behind his back.
“Mr. Stennis,” Mitchell said firmly, “we have an emergency situation here. Please go back to the operating room.”

Hailey looked angrily at Cassian, “You let him leave alone?” He snarled at Jones, “Seal the Lab!” and called into his cellphone, “Mitchell! Tregennis! … Mitchell!!”
Mitchell didn’t respond. He and Tregennis were lying in the hallway, splotches of blood spreading from the centers of their white shirts. Hailey’s voice echoed over the open line of the cell phone that had fallen from Mitchell’s hand. “Mitchell! Tregennis! … Respond! Do you read me?! … Any security team! Respond!!” Stennis stepped over their fallen bodies and punched the security code into the electronic lock. The entrance door opened wide.
In the O.R., Hailey, while still trying to reach the security team on the phone, opened another case on the wall. This one was filled with weaponry. He handed a wicked-looking assault rifle to Jones, another to Cassian, and got one for himself. “No one’s answering!”
“The doors are unsealing!” added Jones.
“Stennis must have cut the lines,” replied Hailey. “Come on!”
Cassian, looking oddly at ease with the firearm, checked the rounds in his rifle and smacked the cartridge down with a tightened jaw and resolved look.
Hailey continued to try to contact his teams. “This is a Code Four alert! … Anyone that can hear me … Respond!”
But there was no response. The invading troops were entering the facility. Heading for the lab, they jumped over the bodies of Tregennis and Mitchell. No one else was in sight.

In the O.R., Shiroma stepped back from her patient. “He’s closed.”
Cassian, firearm in hand, opened the plastic tent. “Bring him out of it. Now!” he snapped.
Marcase, his cap and mask off, leaned over Helderman to remove the anesthesia apparatus.

The invaders ran down the lower corridors, now only three floors above the O.R.

Hailey grabbed Shiroma’s arm to get her attention. “The lab van is at the end of the tunnel. A map to the holding point is under the seat. You’ve got to move now!”
“But he’s unstable!” she protested.
“Do you think that they’ll care?”
Knowing they wouldn’t, she turned to do was what needed while Hailey went out to meet the intruders.
Marcase had been removing operating paraphernalia from Helderman. Lastly, he took off the cap covering the old man’s white hair. “Mr. Helderman, I need you to wake up. Mr. Helderman!” he said in a low, urgent voice. Kimberly helped him to sit the old man up.
Helderman, barely conscious, grunted. “Okay,” Marcase encouraged, “yeah, that’s it.”

The troops were down another floor; now only two levels above the lab.

Cassian moved one of the cabinets, sliding it 90 degrees from the wall to reveal a hidden corridor behind it. “Okay, come on! Let’s go!” He beckoned them toward the tunnel. Shiroma was shedding her theater gear. “We’re out of time! Get him out of here!” Cassian snapped sharply.
Marcase bundled old Mr. Helderman down the tunnel followed closely by Shiroma carrying the containment tube housing the capsule.

The troops were on the floor above, almost at the lab.

As Marcase and Shiroma rushed Mr. Helderman down the hall, one on either side of him, Helderman struggled a bit. Shiroma gasped, “It’s going to be okay…but we’ve got to hurry. We’ve got to get you out of here!”

Hailey and Cassian left the lab through the main door, entering the lower corridor. As they rounded the corner, a gas-masked trooper fired on them. Hailey returned fire then ducked back behind the corner shouting to Cassian, “Get out of here! I’ll hold them off as long as I can!”
“No,” replied Cassian, setting up to return fire, “you’re more valuable on the loose!”
Although he looked competent with a firearm, Cassian’s first two shots hit the pipes and water began to spray into the tunnel veiling them. The invaders fired again, and Cassian shot again in their direction, spraying the corridor walls with bullets. As he ducked back he turned to Hailey and barked, “Get to the rendezvous point and wait there for an hour. If I’m not there, you find out who compromised us!”
“What are you talking about?!” Hailey asked furiously.
“Mr. Hailey,” Cassian returned, only semi-patiently. “This may not be my area of expertise, but I do have a plan.” He became biting in his assertion of authority; he was out of patience. “Now … you have sixty seconds to leave the building…Go!”
“What have you done?!” Hailey was both angry and troubled.
Cassian half-laughed and raised his eyebrow, “I’m going to blow up the house to cover our escape.” Then frowning, he once more became the Authority, “This is a direct order! You go.” And when Hailey still hesitated, “Go on!!” Cassian snarled.
“One hour!” conceded Hailey as he fired off a burst to cover his retreat through a side corridor.

Shiroma, Helderman, and Marcase could hear the gunfire as they rushed down a blank corridor towards the outside. “We’re almost there!” Shiroma encouraged the old man. “Just hold on!”

Cassian and Jones, guns in hand, headed down a side corridor lined with pipes on both sides. Suddenly, a gas-masked trooper leaped out in front of them shouting, “Freeze! Drop your weapons.” Another trooper yelled from behind them, “Now!”
Cassian looked at the trooper behind them. He looked ahead at the trooper there. They were surrounded.
“We-e-ell …” he drawled consideringly, looking down at the rifle in his hand as if seeing it for the first time, then lifting his head to lock eyes with the trooper in front of him, and he shrugged, “… why not?”
His stare became fierce as, he lifted and ostentatiously threw the weapon down to the right, while his left hand squeezed two buttons on the detonator he held in it.

Shiroma and Marcase got outside the house with their patient and were running to the van when the beautiful old mansion exploded with a roar and great billows of fire and smoke. The concussion staggered them and they huddled against the side of the van staring at the conflagration in horror. “Oh, my god! No!” gasped Shiroma. Marcase bowed his head over that of the old man he was hugging to his chest.

The holding point was a ranch barn at the edge of town, almost country. Morning light streamed through the cracks in the weathered siding. Inside was a large area with loose straw on the floor and bales stacked to the side and rear. The van was parked behind a grey sedan; there were cots and piles of supplies against the walls and on the bales of straw.
“Food, clothing, communication gear, car…looks like Hailey thought of everything.” Marcase put on his comfortable old plaid flannel shirt over his t-shirt, while Shiroma, already changed into denims, bent over Helderman who was lying bundled up on one of the cots.
“Everything except an operating suite. We ought to get him to a hospital,” Shiroma worried over Helderman’s condition.
Marcase was worried, too, and exhausted as well. His voice cracked, and he ran a hand over his face. “Whoever got those people access to the compound must have had a lot of clout…as much as Michael and Cassian have—or had.”
“No.” Kimberly denied that thought. “Michael and Cassian are always prepared. They had to survive.”
“There’s one way to find out,” Marcase took the communication equipment over to a bale of straw to set it up.
Helderman looked concerned. “Can they trace that?”
“A trace will only lead to our relay transmitter but not to us,” Shiroma replied. “As long as we don’t use the same channel again. At least, that’s what Hailey said.”
“One way to be sure of that, too,” remarked Marcase, working at getting a connection on the laptop.
The video screen blinked, then Cassian’s tired face appeared. The connection was established. Cassian glanced up off screen to his left then back.
“It’s us,” Marcase stated baldly.
“You don’t know how happy I am you’re alive,” replied the somewhat worse for wear Cassian, then he added, “’Course your parents are going to be even happier.”
There was a very slight pause as Marcase and Shiroma exchanged glances.
Shiroma asked, “How’s Hailey?”
“He stayed in the tunnel to cover my escape,” Cassian was somber. “There’s no way he could have escaped.”
Shiroma looked down, swallowing. Marcase, after glancing away and rubbing his cheek then the back of his neck, took a deep breath, “So. What are we supposed to do now?” he asked.
“An all-agency alert is out for your arrest for his death and that of our staff. I’ve told them that’s a … that that’s foolish, but my superiors…” Cassian gave a slight grimace and another quick glance to his left, “…think that it’s a clever cover story.” He paused, flinched then hurriedly added, “All the same you won’t be safe unless you come to me.”
Marcase rubbed his neck tiredly again, trying to think: there was something not right …
Shiroma put in quickly, “We can’t. We’re way outside of town.”
“We’ll come to you, then.”
“No.” Marcase broke in. “Nuh-uh. We’re not safe here. We’ll head back into town tonight and call you to arrange for a pick up.”
“What are you…wait! …Edward!” Cassian was losing the connection—because Marcase was closing it down. Just before his picture dissolved, Cassian looked up to the left once more.

“Why did you lie?” asked Helderman.
Straightening, Shiroma answered, “He started out the call by mentioning our parents. All of them are dead.” Helderman nodded his understanding.
Marcase thought a bit. “What’s inside that capsule that makes it worth so many lives?” he pondered aloud.
Helderman, remembering, heard in his mind, “We have chosen you. You are the bravest. … You are the strongest. … You are the youngest!”

Inside the van—the mobile lab van—Shiroma stood before a bank of monitor displays. “Okay, for what it’s worth, the monitors are online.”
Marcase, his hands inside the rubber gloves of acontainment chamber on the table, worked to open the capsule. “Heinrich Himmler thought that what’s in this capsule could win the war?” he asked.
Helderman lay on a cot at the back of the van. His voice was pain-filled and getting slower. “No. Not World War II. He knew it was too late for that. … It was the next war, the war that would establish the Reich that was to last forever.”
“So what’s inside?” asked Shiroma, prowling around the table where Marcase was working.
“I don’t know,” replied Helderman.
Marcase remarked for a third time, “Well, there’s one way to find that out. Kimberly, are you getting any readings?”
She turned to look at the monitors. “No. No radiation, no heat, no life signs.” She turned back again to watch over Marcase’s shoulder.
“Okay, then.” Marcase had been manipulating the capsule the whole time. “Let’s see what Stennis thought was so valuable. … I’m opening up the capsule.” He finally got the capsule open. Inside it showed a deep red color, like blood. He tipped it over, and two large ruby-like stones dropped out into his rubber-gloved hand. They had rough edges on them, as though they’d been mounted in something then forcefully removed. He sighed. “Just these.”
“Gemstones?” asked Shiroma incredulously.
“They’re not like any I’ve ever seen,” replied Marcase. Pulling his hands out of the gloves, he stood up. “Do you know what these are?” he asked Helderman.
“No,” replied Helderman, “but … I wish you wouldn’t touch them!” he fretted.
Marcase opened the top of the containment box, and with his bare hand reached in and test-touched the stones. He picked them up and jiggled them together in his hand. Then he held one up to the light and looked through it. “If we don’t figure out what these are, we won’t have a clue to who’s hunting us.” He handed them to Shiroma, who took them gingerly.
“Well, … perhaps there is someone you can speak to,” said Helderman slowly. “He’s a professor at the University.”
“Who?” asked Shiroma.
“Well, he came to see my cousin—oh—ten years ago. He said that he had come across a very important reference to me in the old SS archives. … My cousin said that I had not been seen since the last days of the war, and that I was dead. But she took his name … and she warned me.”
Shiroma handed the stones back to Marcase after a cursory examination.
“Do you remember it?” asked Marcase.
“Yes, I think so. Uh, it was … um … Herbert Tobler,” Helderman replied hesitantly.

At the University, students walked back and forth to classes. In an upper hallway, Shiroma and Marcase approached a tall, thin man thumbtacking papers to a bulletin board.
“Professor Tobler?” Marcase inquired.
The Professor was surprised, but affable. He was a “nerd” type of professor, with plaid sports shirt under his tweed jacket, and a shy manner. “Yes?” he answered non-committally.
“I’m Dr. Marcase, this is Dr. Shiroma. We were wondering if we could speak to you?”
“Me? Why?” the professor replied self-deprecatingly.
“We understand that you may have come across some documents at one time that mentioned an Erhardt Boem?” Shiroma said.
The professor brightened, “You share an interest in that field? Well, my god! Please. Come in!” he pointed toward the door to his office, leading the way.
“Thank you,” replied Marcase as they followed him in.
On the professor’s desk was a framed picture of Himmler—like a family photo. Shiroma picked it up from among the war memorabilia and ancient pottery also displayed on the desk.
The professor said, “Heinrich Himmler was a very peculiar man. He believed in mixing science and the occult.”
“The occult!” Shiroma distastefully set the picture down and turned to face Tobler. “You mean Satanism?”
“Well, more like ancient German paganism.” Tobler said seriously, astounding them both. “Including the belief that giants once ruled the earth.”
Shiroma looked down and away, trying to cover her aversion to such an unscientific belief.
“Himmler sent a number of expeditions to Tibet trying to prove their existence,” added the Professor defensively.
“Aside from frostbite, did they get anything?” Marcase asked tongue-in-cheek. He had been listening while pacing about the room, alternately watching the professor and looking at things on the walls and shelves. The professor was a history teacher and had lots of memorabilia and artifacts on display.
Tobler blinked as he registered their negative attitude toward his information. Then he began taking papers and books from his briefcase. Unnoticed, he also took out a cellphone and pressed the autodial button on it before placing it on his desk. It quietly bleeped and dialed a number.
“Well, just in the last few days before the end of the war, Hitler kept claiming that a new ‘super-weapon’ would appear and save the Third Reich.” Tobler continued his story, sitting in the chair behind his desk. “Allied Intelligence never found any scientific evidence of such a weapon.”
“You’re not saying you think it may be something—occult?” Shiroma asked with a slight wrinkle of her nose.
“Well not literally, but … who knows what an archaeological expedition might have turned up?” Tobler replied. “So I searched the archives very carefully—archives that nobody else was interested in.”
“And?” prompted Shiroma. Marcase walked past a bookcase, paused and turned around to inspect its contents.
“And I found a mention of something!” At Tobler’s declaration, Shiroma looked interested. “Just a few months before the war ended, an expedition returned from the Himalayas with an artifact they called the ‘Eyes of Odin’.”
“Odin. The ancient god of the Northmen.” Shiroma clarified.
Nodding, Tobler continued, “It was a gold mask with crystalline lenses where its eyes should have been. And there was evidence that at some point it had had a source of electrical power—a very primitive battery.”
Marcase turned away from the bookcase. “Where does Boem fit into this?”
“Well, the Nazis were trying to develop a device that would energize the crystals just as the mask would have done. When they realized they couldn’t develop it in time, they chose Boem as the carrier to get the crystals out of Germany.”
Marcase turned back to the bookcase. “Do you mind?” he asked and, without waiting for an answer, moved a mantle clock aside on one of the shelves bringing out a contraption looking somewhat like night-vision goggles. “Is this it? … Is this the device?” he turned and asked Tobler.
Tobler looked very much surprised and also quite annoyed. Then he recovered and smiled again self-deprecatingly. “I rescued it from the storerooms of Wevelsburg and put in a modern power supply.” He had risen from the desk and moved in front of it toward Marcase. Now he stopped and leaned against it. “Of course, it’s useless without the original crystals. … “ He shook his head, “How did you know?”
“Every time I walked past this cabinet, the crystals were giving off an … an energy,” Marcase smiled.
“Are you saying that you’ve actually found Boem and the original crystals?” Tobler asked incredulously as he straightened.
“Yes,” answered Marcase deeply.
“Well, let me … let me see them!” Tobler was intense.
“Better yet,” replied Marcase quickly, “let’s try them out.” He fitted the crystals into the lenses. Shiroma shifted a bit, uneasily.
Tobler nervously said, “Wait! This is far too dangerous!”
As the crystals went in, a hum came from the apparatus; it was warming up. “That’s why I have to do it,” replied Marcase matter-of-factly.
“Edward!” Shiroma warned.
Marcase put the apparatus on his head. Through the lenses the two people in the room glowed—Kimberly with a warm, golden light, and Tobler with a dark, mottled glimmer.
“Whoa! This is strange,” Marcase looked around. “I’m seeing … I don’t know … energy fields?!”
“Take it off!” Tobler spoke sharply, moving toward Marcase.
“Wait!” protested Shiroma. As Tobler moved away from the desk, Shiroma glanced toward him—and saw the cellphone. “Why is your cellphone on?” she asked sharply.
Tobler stopped. “What?” he asked bemusedly, looking back at the desk.
“You have a call in progress,” Shiroma insisted. “Did you hit the speed-dial button when we came in?” she added suspiciously.
“Oh,” Tobler brushed it off with a laugh. “I must have accidentally bumped it.”
“No! You have to hold the button down. … Are you just telling us what you know to buy time?” Shiroma was seriously accusing now.
“Give me the Eyes!” Tobler snapped at Marcase, grabbing at the device on Edward’s head.
Marcase whipped them off, and jumped back. “Wait! Wait a minute! You tell me something first. Why is your energy field so frightening?”
Tobler looked down at himself as if he could see his aura with his naked eyes.
“Watch him!” Marcase ordered Shiroma, and went to the window putting the device back on to look out.
“I can promise you a great deal of money—anything you want!” bargained Tobler desperately.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah! Talk your heart out. If this thing can pick up a difference in your energy field, what will we see out there?” Marcase looked out the window. There were a lot of golden glowing energy fields – students going about their business. But there were also two dark energy fields… no… three coming toward the building.
“I can see two more fields just like his coming towards the building. There’s a third one. I can see it as clear as day.” Marcase turned from the window toward Shiroma, taking off the device again. “His friends are closing in. We’ve got to get out of here!”
They ran out of the room while Tobler leaped for the phone on his desk. “They’re trying to escape!” he shouted into it urgently.
Marcase and Shiroma ran down the hallway and stairs and out the front door.
“Do you have the keys?” Marcase shouted as they dashed for the car.
“Yeah!” she gasped out; they reached the car and jumped in. Shiroma took off, pulling a U-turn in the middle of the campus, thereby avoiding the three men who ran out the door, missing them only by a few yards.
“Damn!” ejaculated Tobler coming out the door a few seconds later and seeing that his associates had been left, literally, in the dust.

At the old barn, Marcase fiddled with the vid-com. Nothing was coming through but static. He slammed his hands down on either side of it. “Damn!” He exclaimed as he stood up and turned away.
“Anything from your friend?” inquired Helderman gently. Shiroma was hovering over him, testing his blood pressure, checking his heart rate.
“Nothing on e-mail, nothing at the phone drop,” Marcase bit out.
“It doesn’t mean that Hailey didn’t survive,” Shiroma said. “Cassian could have been lying to protect him.”
Marcase’s attention was captured once again by the Eyes. He picked them up, looking them over consideringly, then sighed. “What do you think?” he asked her, gesturing with the goggles to indicate them.
“Well,” Kimberly got up and came over to handle them, “these crystals aren’t that much different from the ones used in lasers.”
“Then how do you explain what I saw?” asked Marcase.
“When you hit laser crystals with certain frequencies of energy, they intensify it and re-admit it. Maybe these are…” she shrugged, “…sensitive to wavelengths of neurological activity.”
“I earned my living as an electrical engineer for forty years,” put in Helderman. “Those crystals are doing much more than amplifying energy!” he stated positively.
“Then what are they?” Shiroma questioned.
“They … they are something fashioned out of evil.”
“Look,” interjected Marcase, “you’re not going to have any trouble convincing me that evil exists; but I have a hard time believing that these little crystals are evil.”
Helderman looked skeptically at Marcase. “What did you feel when you wore them?”
“Feel? I didn’t feel anything,” Marcase replied hardly.
Helderman nodded, not believing it. “You,” he turned to Shiroma. “You were there. What did you see?”
Shiroma hesitated, observed Marcase’s cold expression and retreated, “I … I was keeping an eye on Tobler.”
“Except …?” Marcase questioned, knowing that she was holding back.
Pinned down, Kimberly admitted, “Except … you did seem less concerned about the danger.”
“Oh, Kimberly!” sputtered Marcase shaking his head.
“That device gave you a feeling of power, didn’t it?” Helderman persisted. Marcase turned to glare at him as he continued, “Of invincibility. Being above normal humans, huh?”
“Hey!” snapped Marcase. “Let’s not start telling me how I feel, okay?” he continued angrily.
Helderman backed down a bit, “I’m sorry. Truly. I didn’t mean to …”
Shiroma interrupted him, “Edward, are you all right?” Marcase was pacing and rubbing his eyes.
“I’m fine,” he grated out, then changed the subject. “He needs further procedure to stabilize his condition?”
“Yes,” answered Shiroma, accepting the turn in conversation. “Sometime in the next few hours.”
Marcase considered, frowning. Then, “I have a plan. We have two clean channels left on that vid-link,” he nodded at the laptop. “I’m calling Cassian.”
“Edward, do you think that’s a good idea?” Shiroma protested.
“Yes. I do!” he responded immediately and implacably.
“Edward, wait a second!” But he had taken the laptop outside the building.
He punched in the codes to connect with Cassian as she followed him out.
Cassian answered. “Marcase.”
“We’re in town,” Edward told Cassian. “We want to arrange a meeting.”
“Edward!” began Cassian urgently, leaning into the video.
“No,” Marcase interrupted. “Don’t tell me it’s too late, Cassian. We know what we’re doing. Just pick a public place where we can be sure you’re coming alone.”
Cassian didn’t like it, but after quick consideration and a glance aside he replied, “Bryant Park. One hour.”
“We’ll be there,” Marcase cut the connection.
“Are you crazy?” Shiroma asked as Marcase moved to go back inside.
He turned back to her. “No,” he replied flatly. “I’m going to spring him.”
Shiroma didn’t like it and followed him in. “Edward! You’re being irrational!” she called after him. “Slow down and explain it to me. How?”
Marcase was already putting things into a backpack. “I can pick these gunmen out of the crowd.” He put a walkie-talkie into the bag and handed another to Shiroma. “Who knows, turn up the power on these crystals and maybe I’ll even be able to read their minds.” He picked up a small gas cylinder and waved it under her nose. “Spray them with halothane and they’ll be out for an hour.” He popped it into the bag and turned to get the Eyes.
“That thing really did get to you,” Shiroma was against the whole idea.
“I don’t have a choice,” returned Marcase. “We need a hospital to treat him, but we can’t go to one until this thing is settled.” He walked purposefully away. “Only Cassian and Hailey have the contacts to do that,” he added as he opened the sliding barn door.
Kimberly argued, “Edward! Wait a second.”
“I’ll call you on channel 9, all right?” Marcase opened the car door.
“Edward! Wait a second!” she said again, and moved to stop him. “Let’s just talk about this for a minute, okay?” Too late! He got in and started the car. “Edward. … Edward! Roll down this window!” she shouted. But Marcase drove out of the barn. As the car passed her, almost running over her foot, she thumped it on the roof in disgust.

Bryant Park was a long and narrow ravine, with wide paved paths on either side of a shallow unfinished central area. On the outside of the paths, the park sloped upwards, clad in occasional trees and bushes. There were quite a few people out enjoying the park, walking or jogging in couples and small groups, or by themselves.
Marcase came down the hillside, pushing through the underbrush, looking for a good spot to wait for Cassian. He crouched down in a nest of bushes and adjusted the wireless phone set on his head.
“Shiroma, can you hear me?” He asked quietly into the mouthpiece while scanning the area.
“Yes … and I wish I couldn’t,” she replied, still mad at him.
“How’s our patient?” Marcase asked.
Back at the barn, Kimberly was also wearing a hands-free headset. “Fever’s up,” she answered; on the cot Helderman was only semi-conscious, his head moving restlessly from side to side, “… and his wound just isn’t closing properly.”
“Well, with any luck we’ll have him in a bed by nightfall.” Marcase continued to visually scan the park as he got out the Eyes. “I’m at the meeting place. It looks safe … at least there’s a lot of people here.” He watched people playing Frisbee in the center of the park. “… But I’ve got to know for sure. I’m putting on the Eyes.”
“Edward! No!” Shiroma said urgently. “Don’t!”
“Too late!” Edward replied, already wearing them. “I’m turning up the power.” The goggles hummed. He looked about. So many bright gold energy fields. He was amazed. “Oh, man! Talk about a light show!” he exclaimed. “I can see everything!”
“Edward! Take it off! Now!” Shiroma ordered.
“I can’t,” said Edward as a white mini-van drove up on the far side of the center strip. “It’s the only way I can spot them. … Whoa! I’m getting a huge negative flow from that van. Hold on. … ” The sliding door on the van opened on the passenger side, and a dark energy field got out. A door on the opposite side opened and another dark aura got out. Two more negative fields walked up to the van as a single golden field stepped out of the back seat.
“Cassian’s coming,” Marcase commented; he was beginning to breathe heavily. “They’re letting him out of the car.” Cassian had, indeed, stepped out of the van looking rumpled and unshaven. At the same time the front passenger door opened to emit Stennis.
Cassian’s golden aura flickered and Marcase continued his commentary, “His field is strange. He’s being overpowered by Stennis and his men’s negative energy.”
Suddenly Marcase gripped his head in both hands, grunting in pain as the goggles’ hum turned into a whine. “Oh, God!” he ground out. “Don’t …”
“Edward!” called Shiroma, “what’s happening?!”
Edward kept groaning as the Eyes continued to give off a rising clamor that turned into a squeal just as he ripped them off and stood up. Gasping and grunting in agony, he also ripped off his headset, and covered his eyes with his hands.
The noise and movement attracted attention. Cassian, and Stennis and his men looked over to see Marcase stumbling out of the bushes. The men took out their guns.
Stennis said, “He’s there!” pointing, and into a walkie-talkie “Take him. Take him!”
Cassian shouted, “Run!! Edward! … oof!” He was cut off by Stennis’ elbow jabbing him hard in his gut, leaving him gasping for air and doubled over in pain.
Stennis’ men crossed the center strip running toward Marcase. Edward blundered toward them down the slope, one hand to his head the other trailing the Eyes; he was moving slowly, unsurely. Just as he reached the near side road, a black Mustang convertible zipped in and screeched to a halt in front of him.
Hailey called out, “Marcase! What are you doing?” Marcase stumbled into the side of the car, half falling in, and Hailey grabbed him, dragging him in the rest of the way while stepping on the gas pedal. The Neo-Nazis were once again left behind in the dust.

Not long afterward, Marcase had righted himself in the car and the Mustang was moving slowly down an alleyway. Hailey stopped the car and picked up a walkie-talkie. “Shiroma.”
“Yes?” She answered cautiously.
“It’s Hailey. We’re okay, we’re coming in.” Putting down the walkie-talkie, he turned to Marcase. “How are you doing?”
Marcase’s face was pale, his eyes reddened. He said stoically, “I’m okay. Just get us back to the ranch, all right?”
“No, really.” Hailey was very concerned. “Tell me how you’re doing.” He wouldn’t budge until Marcase told him.
Marcase was subdued. He leaned his head back on the headrest. “My eyes feel like they’re on fire. … and … I’m blind.” He dropped the bombshell with a slightly apologetic air. He was back in his right mind, now that he was paying the price of his folly.
Hailey looked at him in shock, then turned away somberly and started the car.

At the ranch, Marcase, with his head tilted back while Shiroma put drops in his eyes, asked Hailey, “So, how did you guys survive the explosion?”
“We blew up the house to cover our retreat, then came down the tunnel after you’d left.” Hailey went over for another cup of coffee.
“So what happened to Cassian?”
“We split up. You know, double our chances of someone escaping, … confuse the pursuers, … see you in an hour—and all that hogwash.” Shiroma placed a cold pack compress on Marcase’s eyes as Hailey continued, “But he never made it to the rendezvous. So I laid low and went looking for him. I never thought that you would go gallivanting around town getting shot at … ’til I locked onto your call to Cassian.”
“How did you do that?” Marcase’s voice is still weak.
“I set up those channels, remember? … How are your eyes?” Shiroma took the cold pack away and Marcase straightened up, opening his eyes gingerly.
“Better. The light’s a little painful, but …” Marcase dribbled off and shook his head. “I don’t know. It was like that thing was boring into my brain.”
“Yah!” interjected Helderman who had been half-sitting up listening to the conversation. “Maybe it was.” He was still very sick and weak, but his mind was sharp.
Marcase asked him, “How are you doing?”
“Oh, as well as can be expected. I carried those crystals inside my body for fifty years.”
“You aren’t having a reaction to the crystals,” Shiroma stated positively. “… it’s a post-operative infection.” Turning to the guys, she continued, “We’ve got to get him to a hospital.”
Hailey returned patiently, “They’re all being watched.”
“That’s a risk we’ll have to take,” Marcase said. “He’ll die if we don’t.”
“And he’ll die if you do.” Hailey snapped out. “They’ll snatch him right out of that hospital.” He got up. “Look. Now that I’ve seen who’s holding Cassian, I think I know what we’re up against.”
“Who were they?” asked Marcase.
Hailey sighed, wondering how much he could say without compromising his security oaths. Then he replied, “Operatives from Defense Intelligence. … Domestic operations are way outside their sphere of influence—which makes me think I know someone I can trust.” He turned away. “I’ll be back with help as soon as I can.” Grabbing his jacket, he left to put his plan in action.

Shiroma had been making Helderman more comfortable with a blanket around his shoulders.
“Mr. Helderman, can you stand?” she asked him. He muttered a subdued, “Yes, … I think so.”
“Hey, what do you think you’re doing?” Marcase asked her.
“I’m going to take him to Base Lab. I can treat him there.”
“No. You’re not.” Marcase replied flatly.
“Think about it! … When we’re gone, the Lab is sealed against contamination. No one will even know we’re there.”
“And if they find you, they’ll have you trapped.” Marcase retorted logically.
“I’m a doctor; he’s my patient!” Shiroma shouted then controlled herself again. “You’re eyes are injured anyway. You can just wait here until Hailey gets back, and tell him where we went.”
Marcase gave her a dirty look and stood up, turning away.
“Edward!” Her sharp tone caused him to look back toward her, “where’re you going?”
He gave her a steady look. “I’m leaving Hailey a note. … I’m a doctor, too. … remember?”

It was nearing midnight back at Base Lab; the mansion’s night-lights shone on the portico and in the dormer windows, but the lower floor was dark. Below the house, in the lab, all the monitors were off-line. The colorful standby patterns lit the way as Marcase and Shiroma pushed Helderman into the lab in a wheelchair. They reached the short flight of stairs down to the lab and stopped to help him out of the chair.
“Are you all right?” Shiroma asked him.
“No … but I’m praying that my discomfort will count as penance toward my sins,” the old man said.
The lights flashed on! “And what might those be?” asked Stennis spitefully.
He and two of his men were standing over the rumpled Cassian who was seated in front of them. Cassian, now with a butterfly strip over one eye, was frowning. The two men had their jackets pushed back, showing off the guns holstered under their arms.
Helderman answered Stennis mildly, “You ought to know. I don’t doubt that your training was any different than mine!”
Stennis stepped forward and looked Helderman up and down. “What a disappointment,” he sneered. “The archives say that Himmler loved you above all the rest.”
“Yes,” agreed Helderman mildly, “… and he was a sadist, and insane. I can hardly expect his judgment to be too good.” Painfully, he sat down on the step. Shiroma seated herself, too, supporting him.
“Who are they?” she asked him in an undertone.
It was Cassian who answered her. “They’re a White Supremacist group that’s infiltrated some of our intelligence agencies. They think they’re the inheritors of the Master Race … destined to rule, etc. etc.” he said sardonically.
“Oh, we will. … I think we’re proving that.” Stennis boasted.
Cassian gave him a withering glance, then leaned forward and spoke in a low, intense voice that held his audience. “They’re really foot soldiers for something far older and more secret … ” Helderman and Shiroma were as spell-bound as the others. “ … that’s fed their delusions and their paranoia and their hate. It is nourished by the fear and death they produce, while feeding them just enough to bring them this far … but no further.”
Stennis, at first undecided whether he should shut Cassian up, finally chose to ignore him and stepped over to Marcase. “Where are the Eyes?”
Marcase smiled pleasantly, “Say ‘Please’.”
Stennis slugged him in the stomach, doubling him over. “Find the device,” he ordered his men, “then kill them.”
Cassian broke in hurriedly, “Ah, one last question! Um … say you can find the device; how will you get out of here? The doors are sealed.”
Stennis smiled mockingly, “You’ll give us the exit codes … even if we have to cut off one finger at a time until you do.” The end of his threat was a snarl.
Cassian replied innocently, “I doubt if you’ll have time to inflict much pain if I give a voice command to the central computer to initiate a biohazard alert, level 5.”
Stennis shrugged it off. “We won’t let you.”
Now Cassian was the one who smiled mockingly. “Well, you’re not very bright for a leader of the Master Race, are you? … I said Voice Command.”
The computer bleeped and said, “VOICE IDENTIFIED.” Startled, Stennis looked up at the ceiling searching for the source of the voice; the computer’s announcement seemed to come from everywhere at once.
“COMMAND VERIFIED. DR. DANIEL CASSIAN.” The mechanical voice continued as Stennis looked nervously all around trying, and failing, to find the computer. Cassian watched him like a hawk zeroing in on its prey.
“COMMAND PROCESSED. INITIATING BIOHAZARD ALERT …” Marcase, Shiroma and Helderman looked at each other and around the room as red warning lights began to flash. “… LEVEL 5.”
“What?!” Stennis snapped out.
The computer continued its litany. “ALERT. THIS FACILITY WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN TWO MINUTES.”
Stennis looked at Cassian. Cassian looked smug, perhaps even a little bored.
“THIS FACILITY WILL SELF-DESTRUCT IN ONE MINUTE, FIFTY SECONDS.”
“Why do you think I brought you here?” Cassian pointed out quietly to Stennis.
As Stennis realized he’d been outmaneuvered he became enraged. “Kill her,” he ordered, pointing at Shiroma, Helderman, and Marcase in succession, “then him, then him, until he,” glaring back at Cassian, “gives us the exit codes.”
Helderman called out, “No! Wait, wait!” they all looked at him. He took the goggles from Marcase’s pack. “With the Eyes, you don’t have to kill anyone. … You can burn your way out of here.”
“How?!” asked Stennis excitedly. He moved over to Helderman’s side.
“This is not just an imager.” Helderman explained, holding up the Eyes. Everyone was watching him now. “Don’t you see? … The crystals were always meant to be so much more. You focus them from the same spot …” he focused them, “… and then you change the polarity …” he pushed a button on the side of the device and it began to emit a hum. “… and you have an energy weapon of unimaginable power.” He handed the Eyes to Stennis.
“How do you know?” Stennis took the humming device but was still suspicious.
“Because,” Helderman got to his feet and stood proudly, “I am the Carrier. I was psychologically conditioned to give this prize to the inheritors of the Reich.” He smiled at Stennis, then shrugged. “I cannot resist, you see.”

The computer continued its countdown to self-destruct. Less than a minute was left.

“… But let me warn you. There’s something that you have to be very careful of. Here. …” he reached over to the device in Stennis’ hand. Without taking it from him he pushed a few buttons on it while continuing to talk, “… Just like all amplification devices. …” A click and a high whine came from the device.
“What’s that?” asked Stennis.
“Feedback,” stated Helderman, and stepped back.
Stennis was looking into the device’s frame as the feedback loop took hold. Electricity arced across the frame, building in power. Marcase grabbed Helderman and pulled him down to the floor. The feedback loop bolted from the device and engulfed Stennis who cried out. Another bolt of energy sliced across the room towards Cassian and Stennis’ men. Cassian took a nose-dive to the floor.
Marcase hopped back up and pulled Kimberly down, covering both her and Helderman with his body. The energy sliced around the room, finding it’s targets in Stennis’ men, still standing. It engulfed them, boring into their heads and their hearts. The bolts of energy arced between the three men for several seconds before dying out suddenly. All three dropped to the floor and quiet filled the room.
Except for the computer’s voice still counting down “… SIXTEEN … FIFTEEN … FOURTEEN … THIRTEEN …”
Cassian straightened up off the floor with an alarmed expression. “Voice identifying command! Central computer, cancel alert!”
Shiroma and Marcase sat up and helped Helderman to his feet.
“VOICE IDENTIFIED. COMMAND VERIFIED. DR. DANIEL CASSIAN. …” Cassian heaved a deep sigh of relief as the computer responded. “COMMAND PROCESSED. ALERT CANCELED.”
Cassian looked over to the three men. “They’re dead!” he exclaimed. “They’re all dead!”
“They were too close to the explosion.” Marcase surmised.
“No,” corrected Helderman, “… it fed on their souls.” He added in a weaker voice, “… and … I do believe, … it swallowed some of mine.”
“Was it true?” asked Marcase, “what you told them about being conditioned?”
“No,” replied the cagey old man. Cassian sighed again. “It’s just a matter of knowing some simple physics, and … watching some wonderful old movies.” They all smiled at that. Suddenly Helderman groaned, staggered, and slumped into Kimberly’s supporting arms.
“Let’s get him on the table,” said Dr. Shiroma; she and Marcase pushed him onto the exam table nearby.
“It’s all right.” Helderman sighed.
“We’ve got to stabilize you,” Dr. Marcase was holding his hand.
“My penance is done,” wheezed Helderman. They were all very serious now. “My … my wife said she’d pray for me … but … my God … I hope … she has!” He was silent. Shiroma looked at him, unbelieving. Marcase’s expression was sorrowful, Cassian’s sympathetic.
Shiroma, still supporting his head, called, “Mr. Helderman.” No answer. “Mr. Helderman!” She called more urgently. But he was gone.
Marcase put down the old man’s hand and bent over to pick up the Eyes.

At that moment, Hailey and four elite corpsmen rushed into the lab, guns at ready. But there was no more trouble. Hailey asked, “Are you okay?” Cassian gave him a troubled glance and waved them away.
Kimberly, on the edge of tears, looked down at the old man’s body still in her arms but at peace now. She replied, “Maybe we are.”

The bell in the tower of the Cathedral was tolling for William Helderman. From the great gothic doorway, a few people emerged from the funeral service. Cassian and Hailey, Shiroma and Marcase came down the steps.
Cassian finished his quick summary, “… now we’re cleaning house all over town, and the people who put Mr. Stennis into power will be quietly fading away.”
“So, why aren’t you happy?” asked Hailey astutely as they stopped under a tree.
Cassian retreated behind insouciance, “Well, I haven’t cured the common cold!” he answered lightly, putting his hands in his pockets.
“Or really stopped the dying,” added Shiroma seriously.
“You really shouldn’t believe everything I tell you,” Cassian admonished her with an apologetic smile. “I was just trying to scare some trolls with stories about ...” he shrugged, “… bigger trolls." He shook his head ruefully at her and left them laughing, sauntering down the steps with his hands still in his pockets.
“Hey, Cassian!” called Marcase.
Cassian turned and looked at him enquiringly.
Marcase smiled, “Someday you’re not going to have an answer.”
Cassian considered it briefly, “Yeah,” he agreed soberly, then shrugged. “Someday I’m going to be dead, too!” His smile was wry as he turned and strolled, hands in pockets, down the rest of the steps.

On a bench at the end of the Washington Memorial reflecting pool Herbert Tobler sat looking dejected. A man joined him from behind, sitting out of his sight.
“You … you wanted to see me?” Tobler asked nervously without turning around.
The man put a large envelope against Tobler’s arm. Tobler took it blindly. “That’s your new identity and travel documents.”
Tobler smiled in relief. “So, the … the fight goes on?”
“How can you even ask?” The mysterious man got up and left.
Tobler sighed in relief. His insignificant life still had a purpose.