LEGACY
By LC Cooper
(Adult Content)
Fiction » Thriller & suspense » Action & suspense Fiction » Horror » Crime What happens to a restoration mechanic when he stumbles upon an insidious secret left hidden within the shadows of an evolutionary nightmare? "Legacy," a fast-paced adventure novel is the tale of one man’s quest to realign the natural course of history. Events rooted in the final frantic days of World War II follow a carefully orchestrated plan that heralds in a new era for humanity.
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Legacy
by
LC Cooper
Copyright LC Cooper 2004-2012
Published by LC Cooper at Smashwords
Cover design by Joleene Naylor
LC Cooper's Publicist is [email protected]
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.
* * * * *
Table of Contents
Legacy
Author's Note
Introducing Man Cave
About the Author, LC Cooper
* * * * *
Chapter 1 – A Brush with Destiny
The thick, early morning haze and chill blanketed the countryside. Tops of buildings sleepily emerged through the low fog; appearing as if ghostly villages had been built within the clouds. The fog was quickly burning off from the morning sun, but the chill lingered. The trees, their color temporarily muted by the fog, were still a vibrant green – not yet having turned from the Fall weather nor suffered from the effects of the war.
Captain Abrahams and his wingman slowly banked their P-47 Thunderbolts down out of the cloud cover and in a slow circle, ignoring the beauty before them, began searching for military targets. In particular, their mission was to attack trains and trucks, which were likely carrying supplies to support German troops in France. An unusual stream of thin clouds rose from the fog bank over their right shoulders. Maintaining radio silence, Captain Abrahams waved to his wingman and gave him a thumbs up, then pointed to the odd cloud-like strand. Luck was theirs today: If they had been further west when descending from the clouds, the sun would have blocked their view and the military train would have slipped into the protective cover of the nearby mountains.
Abrahams' face broke into a broad grin as he shoved the yoke hard right. His wingman fell in behind and slightly below him as both P-47s accelerated and dove to tree-top level, pushing to meet the train head on. Although they would only get one pass at these speeds before the train reached the mountainside, Abrahams was confident that this approach would give them both the element of surprise and maximum concentration of firepower. If they hit and disable the engine right away, they could circle back and empty their 50-calibre machine guns into the stalled freight cars.
The train's engine puffed and groaned, pulling for all she was worth. It was a nervous scramble as the train's crew, oblivious to the fate awaiting them, was frantically shoveling coal into the engine's stove box in an effort to get back into the safety of thicker fog and then the temporary solace of the distant mountains. The German soldiers aboard anxiously scanned the sky through binoculars for the tell-tale vapor trails that would signal the approach of enemy fighters.
These were uneasy times for the German military behind the front lines. With rogue bands of American and British aircraft darting about overhead, no vehicle was safe from the Allied marauders.
The Germans manning the train's anti-aircraft guns saw the approaching mountains, so they relaxed somewhat and focused their effort on scanning the sky above and behind them The train suddenly shuddered. Most of the soldiers were thrown from their positions as the train rapidly decelerated. A tremendous explosion of steam and metal then thundered across the quiet hillside. The train's engine evaporated within a scorching cloud of high-pressure vapor and steel that blasted down the line of freight cars, scouring them clean of all men standing on their roofs. What exposed soldiers weren't killed when thrown from the train or cut into pieces from shards of exploded steel, were ripped apart from the P-47s' flurry of 50-caliber bullets.
The frontal attack was a brutal success. The planes roared quickly down the full length of the train unscathed and began their turn to make another pass. Some of the freight cars were already on fire; their contents added to the chaos and effectiveness of the attack. More soldiers were dying from the shrapnel created by the detonating crated munitions and shredded freight cars. Scurrying, the survivors abandoned their positions and fled into the forest on either side of the train. The zealots who stoically tried to save the train were vaporized in the growing firestorm.
Abrahams whistled a long, slow whistle, very much in awe of the devastation before him. As he and his wingman completed their turn to make their pass from the rear of the train, most of the freight cars erupted into fireballs. Abrahams broke radio silence: "Dave, let's get out of here. The shrapnel's too thick; it's not worth another pass. Besides, with this calling card, we need to put some distance between us and the Messerschmitts that are likely on their way," Abrahams said, barely masking his disappointment. He had hoped they could get a few more passes at the train and then shoot up some troop-transport trucks before hightailing it back to the safety of the English Isles.
Even though they couldn't stick around, their attack was a magnificent win for the Allies. The P-47 pilots no doubt saved many G.I.s' lives by denying the Germans all that ammunition while temporarily derailing a major supply route. The devastation, though, was much greater than the pilots had seen during previous missions. "This train must have been loaded down with something pretty special," thought Abrahams. "The Nazis will be pissed off about losing this one," he concluded as he nudged the fighter toward a large cloud.
He was right. The Luftwaffe sent everything into the sky they could muster. The P-47s punched their way through a couple of firefights; taking advantage of the cloud cover as every German on the pathway home was alerted and gunning for them.
That is, except for three U-boat officers and their drivers, who, during the melee, were converging on a bistro in downtown Rastenberg, Germany.
In the last car to reach the town, Klt. Johann Heinrich Fehler, the commanding officer of U-234, from under the cover of a row of trees, watched the P-47s roar barely 50 feet over his car and then disappear above the tree line. If it weren't for the distraction of the train's demise, the P-47 pilots would have been watching the ground for targets instead of watching the skies for German fighters. No doubt they would have been looking for military vehicles sporting the Nazi swastika…like his.
Hearing the not-so-distant explosions and seeing the P-47s rush for cloud cover, Klt. Fehler muttered, "There but for the grace of God go I."
* * * * *
Chapter 2 – Wolf's Lair, 01 August 1944
It was an uncharacteristically cool and very humid day in Rastenberg, Germany. The two men, clad in their formal naval officer's uniforms, fidgeted uncomfortably in their seats at the outside café. The table's umbrella offered little reprieve from the bright sunlight burning through the morning haze.
The men knew better than to order anything as refreshing as a beer. Their upcoming meeting would require all their faculties. So, they drank coffee, which naturally added to their nervous agitation. At this uncertain time, anything less than the appearance of Nordic confidence and professionalism would be viewed as disrespectful to der Fuehrer.
They whispered between tight lips and hid their anxiety behind arrogant posturing. "I wish he'd hurry up," hissed one of the men through clenched teeth. "That damn attack on the train, this close to…," the officer paused for a moment to look around for any eavesdroppers, and then proceeded more cautiously, "…our destination today, will undoubtedly ruin our host's mood. I'm not eager to bear the brunt of one of his infamous tirades."
It had not been a good summer for the German military. The Allies were pushing toward the outskirts of Paris; their bombers were pounding targets deep in the heart of Germany; the Russians had shoved in from the East; and most recently, the attempt on Hitler's life within the last two weeks here in Rastenberg led to a purge within the very core of Hitler's most trusted ranks. These facts added to the officers' distress – particularly the last.
Five more minutes passed before a non-descript, black military sedan pulled alongside the officers' table. Klt. Johann Heinrich Fehler slowly climbed out of the back seat of his car, determined to retain his composure.
Thinking back to the very moment his alarm clock woke him, he felt certain that this was going to be a very difficult day. The attack on the train certainly supported his fears. Yet even after that, he still had to face the most feared man in all of Europe.
The driver kept his eyes skyward, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel; hoping Fehler would get out of his car faster so he could find cover. Since the American fighters now roamed the skies almost at will, any vehicle became a target. No sooner than Fehler closed the sedan's door, did the driver mash the gas pedal, tearing off with a startling screech of tires and smoke.
Unfazed by his driver's panicked antics, Klt. Fehler greeted the men before him with a casual, "Hello, Gentlemen," instead of the obligatory "Heil Hitler," as he approached the table where the two junior officers sat. They did not rise as he approached nor did they offer a "Heil Hitler" themselves, an unofficial change in policy designed to reduce the targeting of officers by snipers.
"Good God," Fehler thought, "they look scared to death. They weren't anywhere near the strafed train, nor do they know yet the mission before them." Calmly, Fehler took the seat opposite them and studied their faces for a moment. "Relax, relax, relax. I thought I was perfectly clear to you two that this meeting is not part of the conspiracy investigation. If you go into this mission acting as nervous as you look, you could jeopardize our success," said Fehler to the two men.
"I know, Johann," said Stefan Groesser, the junior commander seated directly across from Fehler. "Who wouldn't be extremely concerned about the breadth of that witch-hunt. And, we've been stalled in port for a year being refurbished for an assignment that appears to admit the defeat of the Fatherland. How could I possibly be anything but irritated and nervous right now? We should be at least given the opportunity to fight and die with honor."
For a brief moment, Fehler reflected remorsefully on the loss of his friends aboard the U-235 and U-238; sunk and heavily damaged, respectively, within the last ten months. "I cannot comment, at this time, on this latest mission and I strongly urge you two not to say any more of it. Continue to trust me, as you two have done so admirably these last two years. Pragmatically, we should be focused on surviving – and if we do that well, we should live long enough to see our grandchildren grow up," stated Fehler with such conviction that both men briefly relaxed – seemingly at peace for the moment. This wasn't the time to mention that he barely avoided becoming a casualty in the attack on the train or the likelihood that the train's classified cargo was destined for the U-234. "Let's go. We dare not keep der Fuehrer waiting," said Fehler, as he motioned to the waiter to call for his car.
~~**~~
Klt. Fehler briefed his men on the next steps of the U-234's re-fitting project during their drive to Hitler's stronghold, Wolf's Lair.
Within that same timeframe, Heinrich Himmler sat solemn and alone in one of the musty libraries within his mystical fortress of Wewelsburg Castle. All that could be heard were the ticking of the tired old wall clock and the scratching sound of an irritated pen filling out forms.
Taking off his glasses and rubbing his bleary eyes with his pale and aged hands, he sat back and mused on the super-race myth he created and the evolution that was about to begin.
Dame Hedwig Potthast, his ever-faithful secretary and mistress, pregnant with their illegitimate baby, shuffled into the library. "Herr Becker to see you, sir," she puffed with a slight groan in her voice. The baby had been shifting around that day, making the memory of their fateful illicit encounter less appealing than it had been before she began lugging around their unborn child. What kept Hedwig going was the reassurance from the astrologists that the baby would grow up to become a leader of a global empire.
Himmler smugly interpreted the astrologist's revelation to support his conviction that his lineage was destined to rule the world. Furthering his belief, they named their illegitimate son Arminius Gewählte – "Arminius" for the great Germanic tribal leader who handed the Roman Empire a resounding defeat in the forests of ancient Germany and "Gewählte"; meaning, "The Chosen One."
Though Heinrich Himmler would not survive World War II, he did leave explicit instructions for Arminius' upbringing with his mistress Dame Potthast. Himmler's plan would be drilled into Arminius. He would later lead a career that would have made his father proud. Arminius remained equally focused to ensure that the pathway to that destiny remained uncluttered and on target. Although Armin, as he became known, would never be a world leader, he would one day drive the efforts of a prominent and powerful division within a multinational agency. This was a deviation from the original plan, but it was a change that had to be made to ensure long-term success. Armin would inherit this adaptive skill from his father. He, also, could rapidly change jobs and manipulate relationships to keep him moving toward the goals. Just as his son would be taught, Heinrich would make adjustments to his plans. The meeting Himmler was about to have would be one of those adjustments. "Thank you, Hess (German for Bunny)," said Himmler, slowly drawing in his breath, "send him in." This was the moment Himmler had been rehearsing ever since the Americans joined the war. Himmler felt that every successful plan, no matter how good it appears to be going, must be ever-evolving and must be fortified with a contingency plan.
Maybe it was a sign of paranoia, but lately, der Fuehrer began dismissing many of Himmler's recommendations as costly musings, especially those dedicated to the evolution of the Reich and its Master Race.
Only a few years earlier, late 1941 to be exact, the Third Reich was winning on every front and in every campaign. All of Germany was abuzz with the heady reality of a unified Europe under Hitler and the Third Reich. No one, especially not Adolf Hitler, would entertain thoughts of backup plans at that time.
However, these were now challenging times, and the Third Reich was operating under different circumstances. The special commission known as the "Marine Sonder Dienst Auslands" (Naval Foreign Country Separate Services), headed by K.K. Becker, was one of the "new circumstances." Becker was in charge of all details around secret project plans; even determining what cargo was to be carried by specific U-boats.
Becker had, through his convoluted ties with German senior officers, wormed his way into a consulting position very close to Hitler's inner circle. He had Hitler's ear…and Himmler knew it. However, "every man has his price," Himmler thought, patting the briefcase before him.
Becker, unimpressed by the imposing nature of the castle, slowly opened the massive library door, covered with gothic carvings, and peered in. "Welcome, Herr Becker," said Himmler as he enthusiastically rose from his chair to shake hands with his guest. It was an awkward pause as both supposedly-loyal men hesitated, wondering why the other hadn't begun their conversation with the greeting "Heil Hitler."
Breaking the silence, Himmler continued, "I hope you had a comfortable ride. Please sit. We have a lot to talk about."
Becker said nothing in response but slowly approached Himmler's desk and nonchalantly dropped into one of Himmler's more extravagant leather chairs. With this action, Becker dismissed the usual formality and pleasantries Himmler was accustomed to receiving. Inside, Himmler seethed at the insolent display, yet hid his anger behind a thin smile. He needed Becker and Becker knew it.
"What can you do for me, Herr Himmler?" asked Becker with a sly grin. Himmler noted the play on words, but refused to be drawn in. Although Himmler hadn't expected Becker's arrogance, he really wasn't surprised by it. As he had experienced, history showed that those close to Adolph Hitler were nearly as powerful as the dictator.
"I can offer you a long and healthy future in anonymity," Himmler cryptically proposed.
Curious to learn the reason for Himmler's choice of words, Becker sat upright in the chair and leaned forward to prop his elbows on Himmler's desk. Rubbing his hands together, Becker said, "I'm intrigued, Herr Himmler. What can you possibly offer me that I can't get for myself? Need I remind you that you are no longer in a position of power…and yet I am," sneered Becker.
Again, Himmler ignored the taunts and kept his eyes locked on Becker's. After another uncomfortable pause, Himmler continued unfazed. "A contingency plan, Herr Becker…a way out when conditions get too hot…and they will," Himmler positioned, ignoring Becker's attempt at derailing him from this chess game. "In exchange for a small favor, when the time is right, I will assure you safe passage to a land far away where you can retire a very rich man. In addition, to accomplish this, I will provide you with a new identity and travel papers," Himmler stated, matter-of-factly.
"I will not leave Hitler during his time of need," shouted Becker, adding to his theatrics by jumping up out of the chair and slamming his fist down on Himmler's desktop. This came across to Himmler as a poorly rehearsed, yet well thought out, response; perhaps one created to protect Becker in case this was a trap and the room was bugged.
Nonplussed, Himmler slightly adjusted the reading glasses balanced on the tip of his nose and said, "Please sit down, Herr Becker. I am aware of your access and loyalty to der Fuehrer and I would never ask you to jeopardize that relationship. I am merely offering you a future opportunity to grow old – a rich man in a country where no one will ever track you down. Never having to look over your shoulder can be a wonderful thing. Think about it, Herr Becker. You know how the war is proceeding. You are, no doubt, an intelligent man and a strong supporter of the Reich…and that is all good. But…," Himmler paused for effect, "…all good things come to an end. I am offering you a foolproof exit plan in exchange for a small favor."
After a longer-than-necessary delay, to further add to the drama, Becker said, "Go on, Herr Himmler," with a softer tone and less arrogant attitude.
"Good," thought Himmler, "I've got you." Then he purred, "Shall we move to the courtyard and discuss details over some cocktails, Herr Becker?" Himmler picked up the heavy black briefcase he had next to his desk and motioned Becker toward the library door.
~~**~~
The guards at the gates of Hitler's "Wolf's Lair" were expecting Klt. Fehler and the other officers but still required the men to exit the car for inspection. "This is no better than a prison camp," thought Fehler. "I don't remember all the barbed wire, guard dogs, and all the sentries. No doubt things have changed…things have certainly changed," his thought trailed off when one of the guards began forcefully searching through Fehler's coat.
"Place your weapons, including service knives, in this box. You will get them back before you leave the premises," grumbled the thick-necked guard. Another guard was overly concerned about the locks on Klt. Fehler's briefcase.
"Unlock this at once," barked the guard to Fehler when it was obvious that his rough handling wasn't going to make the bag open on its own.
Rather than argue about the sensitivity of the documents within his briefcase, Fehler calmed down with the reminder of the assassination attempt two weeks prior on Hitler. Instead of pulling rank and shouting back, Fehler did as instructed. "It's not as if you could read most of this anyway, you stupid asshole," thought Fehler, particularly of the documents written in Japanese.
Instead of being led through the main entrance into the building, the three men were directed into a concrete bunker that took them deep into the heart of the complex. "Yes, things have certainly changed," thought Fehler sadly. This was not the lavish estate he had visited the previous year.
At the initial project launch in 1943, Hitler had welcomed each guest and treated them all to a lavish lunch. It was an electric and exciting meeting with a lot of strategy and vision around furthering the expansion of the Reich.
The plan that was eventually shared with the meeting's participants was for teams to take over and set up puppet governments in poor, but resource-rich countries around the world. Similar to the technique Hitler utilized to gain power in pre-war Germany, the teams would ensure the local population had food, shelter, and employment in a localized division of the German military. In this manner, the indigenous population becomes the mass of an army, which is led by a smaller group of highly-trained Germans faithful to Hitler. Centralized control of a global army becomes the key objective.
Once mobilized, these armies would blitzkrieg neighboring countries. The Allies, particularly the United States, with its forces already spread across North Africa and Europe, would have to pull most troops back to the U.S. to protect the very vulnerable borders with Mexico and Canada. The resultant vacuum in Europe would give Germany the opportunity to unite all of Europe under one ruler.
Of course, this plan was conceived when the war was still proceeding well for Germany, and time was on their side. Yet, times had indeed changed. With the specter of their humiliating defeat in WWI overshadowing current events and morale, it was far from certain that Germany, as a country, would survive this war intact.
So, the plan was modified. Gone were the days of stratospheric group planning sessions and heady goals. The purpose of today's meeting was to take specific direction from Hitler for a stripped-down plan that would ensure the survival of the core group of Nazis and their most effective war machines. After listening to the original briefing from the prior month, Klt. Fehler was fairly certain that as a result of this desperate plan, he would suffer the same fate as his mates in most U-boats.
The S.S. guard led the three naval officers into a dimly lit vault no larger than a modestly sized bedroom. Certainly a departure from what he was expecting, Fehler wasn't at all surprised when a nervous and very gaunt man, claiming to be one of Hitler's aids, opened the door, stuck his head into the room and blandly announced that der Fuehrer would not be meeting with them after all. The man abruptly departed, slamming the metal door loudly behind him, and offering no further information or instruction.
The three officers and their guard looked at each other puzzled, but before any of them uttered a word, KK Becker quickly threw the door open strode into the room toward the head of the conference table with all the arrogance of a high-ranking general. Shoving aside the guard, an action that would have gotten a lesser man shot instantly, Becker slid into the large chair at the head of the table and dropped his briefcase with an echoing thud.
Hitler was in an awful state and refused to meet with anyone that day. He desperately wanted the contents of that train to make it safely out of Germany. It had contained most of the advanced weaponry, resources and funding necessary to support his last-ditch plan to attack the United States from within Mexico. More importantly, it contained materials promised to ensure Hitler's survival.
"Sit down. Let's get this over with," seethed Becker, not even raising his eyes to acknowledge Fehler and the other officers as he dug out a blueprint, a stack of papers, and a packet from his briefcase. Becker gave the packet an unceremonious shove, and it slid to a wobbly rest in front of Klt. Fehler.
"Becker…again," thought Fehler. A quick glance at his two junior officers told him they were thinking of Becker with the same degree of contempt. Fehler grabbed the packet and gingerly placed it in a protected and previously arranged pocket in his briefcase.
"Herr Fehler, the envelope contains the U-234's specific orders…drafted by der Fuehrer," Becker pointed at Fehler and wiggled his finger condescendingly, "I wasn't privileged to view its contents, which doesn't sit well with me. I will expect you to brief me before you act on those orders."
"I will follow der Fuehrer's explicit instructions. Since these documents are to remain confidential while in my care, I will not betray his orders to satisfy anyone else's desires," Fehler menacingly retorted, visibly tired of dealing with Becker and his whims.
Unfazed, Becker dismissed Fehler's reply with an indifferent wave of his hand. Although Becker had just made a deal with the devil, Heinrich Himmler, a short time before this meeting, he did not have an opportunity yet to act on it. For now, he had to proceed with Hitler's plan until the loading of the U-234 would commence. Then, he would take care of the additional detail Himmler paid him to carry out.
Becker, having flown in only an hour before from his meeting with Himmler, was in no mood for directing this pathetic little display of desperate and misdirected loyalty to Hitler. He had arrived at Wolf's Lair with Himmler's cash-laden briefcase, expecting to soak in a long, hot bath, down a bottle of wine, and contemplate the next steps of Himmler's offer. Instead, he was tossed this follow-up meeting because of the destruction of the train a few kilometers outside Hitler's fortress.
By design, Becker knew the details of clandestine operations since he was responsible for a number of Hitler's secret projects. So, it required no great effort for Becker to lead the day's meeting with Fehler and the others. However, this was a particularly dreadful project made even more so as a result of the train's demise. Instead of a plethora of war machines and special materials to load onto the U-234, Becker had to scramble to salvage some basic hardware and jet-fighter parts, so he could deliver to Hitler the appearance of a still-well-orchestrated plan.
Becker frequently complained, to almost anyone within earshot, about this project called "Legacy." After all, what began as a grandiose strategy for world domination, and thus an opportunity for Becker to profit even further, was now an anemic escape plan offering a slight glimmer of hope for the survival of the Reich. There was no way Becker was going to excel from leading such a cowardly effort. As such, he really wanted nothing to do with the project, yet here it was again. The latest twist that burdened Becker further was that some extremely critical components of Project Legacy had been vaporized on that train destroyed by the American fighters a few hours before.
Although this was an untimely setback, the part of the plan that really bothered Becker the most was the fact that Hitler was willing to give the Japanese top-secret military hardware, blueprints, and designs that would help the Japanese improve their defenses; possibly improving their armaments to the point of destroying the United States. This plan was as good as an admission that Hitler was defeated. To add insult to injury, Hitler had decided to have the highly modified and refitted U-234, Klt. Fehler's submarine, deliver the advanced weaponry to the parasitic Japanese. For a moment, Becker smiled when he learned of the train's destruction. It would mean that the Japanese would not get their hands on enough of the enriched uranium and other unique materials the labs had loaded into the train's freight cars.
Being a profiteer, Becker had bet almost everything on Hitler's success and had not hedged that bet. How ironic, and quite timely, then, was Himmler's offer. "Time to jump ship, it seems," thought Becker, during his flight back to Wolf's Lair. He now had to implement a plan to reduce his role and presence around Hitler, but not at a pace to raise suspicion. He hated ghouls like Heinrich Himmler, but due to the latest string of events, it was no longer safe or profitable to stay so closely tied to Adolf Hitler.
Unfortunately for Becker, this project requiring the U-234's services was the only way he could see to secure safe passage out of Europe. But then, the original plan didn't include taking Hitler with them.
* * * * *
Chapter 3 – 1991 – Collin Roggero
Hyperion, Maryland, according to its real-estate brochures, was the premiere planned community destined to establish a vibrant and charming heritage. Within five years, it became one of the many noisy 'burbs that pump lifeblood every day into Washington, D.C. The arteries, those highways and backstreets, over time, had become clogged as a result of the myriad of new planned communities identical to Hyperion.
Run by the dictatorial bishops of each community's homeowner's association, what was once chic within Hyperion would be rapidly absorbed by the other communities. The overexposure created predictably boring and diluted rows of the endlessly mundane. The highways and feeder roads weren't widened to accommodate all this exponential growth of the upper-middle-class either.
Focusing on the panorama of so many hastily built neighborhoods during one morning's commute, Collin Roggero shook his head and mumble, "A ragged bag of bricks spewed onto miniature clots of sod…a blight on the land." Fueled by the honk and finger-gesture of a passing commuter, Collin continued, "They swallowed up the beautiful, rolling hillsides I used to be able to see out my dining room." Collin grumbled as he sat in the typical 2-hour commute to his job at the Smithsonian restoration-hangar complex.
"Nothing more than plaque, artery-clogging plaque," he fumed, as yet another displaced Bostonian cut him off.
Collin's attempts during the early 1990s to sell his home in Hyperion were diluted by the incessant glut of available newer homes in the dozens of carbon-copy communities. Collin felt he would forever remain stuck in limbo as this section near the Beltway continued to be a buyer's market. Bringing his attention back to the snarled commute, Collin dismissed the endless rows of the ordinary and overpriced with a casual wave of his hand.
Unfortunately, the snail-like urban crawl kept these cancerous apparitions within sight for another forty minutes - effectively castrating Collin's brooding dismissal. It certainly would have been much more dramatic if the offensive developments actually had disappeared in Collin's rear-view mirror when he waved his hand in disgust - if only he could have built up any kind of respectable speed. He sighed.
As it was, because of all the traffic congestion, Collin was woefully late for a meeting on what would become the most important day of his life
~~**~~
A tidy man, Collin was quite meticulous, out of necessity, due to the demands of his job. He felt most comfortable when able to categorize objects out of the chaos around him. His casual dismissal of the other planned communities, for example, grew from observations of the cars flying in and out of their uninspired neighborhoods.
Over time, Collin developed a game to help glide him through the mind-numbing tedium of the daily commute. Building on his need to categorize his life, Collin was a trivia buff. Capitalizing on the commuting down time, Collin generated a mental list of driver behaviors and categorized the driving styles by the car models and license plates he'd see every day. It became very easy, almost comfortable, to stereotype people then, based upon their perceived appearances. Although a seemingly innocent game, future events would forever cast this distraction into the mental file where similar crap is buried and never thought of again.
~~**~~
"I'll bet money that our new Director, Mr. Bradford drives a black Jaguar with New York tags – the snotty little putz," Collin smirked It's not as if Collin had ever met Mr. Bradford; the man never made himself available unless doing so would suit his own purposes. So, Collin's assumptions were built upon rumor and examples of Mr. Bradford's inaccessibility.
For example, Mr. Bradford called his first staff meeting. Set for 8:00 AM sharp on a Monday. The emphasis on "sharp" was a laughable demand in light of the inhospitable nature of Beltway traffic around Washington. Yet, Collin thought he left his home that day early enough – factoring in extra time for the usual melee of idiotic fender-benders.
"9:15," Collin told Betty, his boss' administrative assistant, from the gas station's phone. "appears to be the earliest I'll be able to be there. I'm sorry, Betty, but it's not my fault. I'm still stuck in this miserable traffic," he shouted above the angry din of idling engines and blaring horns in the background.
"O.K," Collin could hear the casual indifference in Betty's voice, "I'll tell Mr. Bradford, but he won't be happy," Betty said in her best veiled-threat voice. "Not a good first impression, Collin," Betty chided, "you'll have to arrange a face-to-face with Mr. Bradford, pending his availability, of course. And of course, he's a very busy man," Betty sniffed. And with that, she hung up on him.
Slightly in shock by Betty's open contempt, Collin gingerly set the handset back into the payphone's cradle. His focus moved to the gravity of Betty's message. In Collin's line of work, funding for new projects came primarily from estate windfalls, charitable donations, and grants. Years ago, Collin had pretty much exhausted all the grants he could secure for his World War II restoration projects. As such, he had to shift tactics to rely more on the inner politics of project funding. Aligning with those who become project Champions was difficult. Most saw a leadership role within the Smithsonian network as a temporary reprieve from the insanity of federal politics. The "Director of Archives" position had not escaped this transformation. It had become quite the revolving door – a springboard for self-serving leeches bent on securing funding for inane projects within their political districts. They were usually expensive high profile projects designed to curry political favor from the bevy of up-and-coming Congressmen and their constituents.
In essence, these "bureau-rats," Collin called them, would drain a budget and then jump ship; leaving the tenured and dedicated staff to clean up the mess and beg for funds so that the museums could roll out the planned displays to the public.
By being late to work that morning, of all days, Collin blew what was likely to be his sole opportunity to make that positive impression, that initial pitch to Mr. Bradford. Collin had dedicated several weekends to producing his presentation. He always put on a good show, and under the previous funding infrastructure, was quite successful at securing the commitment of those who would champion Collin's efforts.
Betty made it perfectly clear, however, that Mr. Bradford would not be made available to the "grunts," Betty called the blue-collar workers at the hangars, like Collin, again for quite some time. "Damnit!" Collin hissed in further frustration as he pounded the steering wheel with his rough and heavily calloused left hand. "Damnit!" Collin yelled with extra adrenalin-charged emphasis as he swerved again to avoid colliding with yet another BMW that barely missed clipping his front bumper.
What really made Collin's blood boil about missing the initial meeting with Mr. Bradford, though, was that Collin absolutely hated to be late for anything – it was against his very tidy nature. Since his work was not generally time-sensitive, his projects measured in years instead of days, Collin had a very flexible work schedule. So he was never late for work, per se. If a meeting was important enough to Collin, he would sometimes rent a hotel room near the meeting place the night before to ensure he wouldn't be late.
Perhaps it was because he was confident about his well-rehearsed presentation, but Collin had not been particularly concerned about this meeting with Mr. Bradford. Maybe the gravity of his project's scope hadn't really sunk in yet. Confident, but not cocky, he believed he had planned in enough of a buffer to allow for traffic, so a night's stay at a hotel wasn't necessary.
Mrs. Roggero would have approved of his plan to stay the night at home, that is, if there had been a Mrs. Roggero. "I gladly remain a confirmed bachelor," Collin would profess to friends and colleagues, "much too engrossed in my work to dedicate time to frivolous relationships." He didn't fool anyone. It wasn't difficult to surmise that Collin was single because he never developed the social skills needed to attract and retain a girlfriend, let alone a wife. For the most part, Collin didn't have the personality to attract many friends either. Through training he received in the U.S. Air Force and correspondence courses, he became an excellent mechanic and pitchman; but these were skills developed for job survival. It never crossed his mind that he should take similar actions to develop a sociable personality.
Collin wasn't wooden and unapproachable. He and his close circle of friends weren't social outcasts. They were actually envied by a number of folks because they were able to do the work they loved to do; in this case, restore war machines for museums and private collections.
~~**~~
Shaking off the hypnotic fog of the commute, Collin realized he had finally arrived at work, and the reality of his missed appointment with Mr. Bradford hit him in the gut like a boxer's punch. "If I had a time machine…." Collin's voice trailed off as he steered his minivan through the hangar parking lot.
~~**~~
That fateful day began exactly like every other work day for Collin. "Ugh," he sighed before rolling out of bed. However, unlike the usual damp and muggy winter weather, the sun was expected to break through the gloom and start drying up the curbside winter sludge. This news helped brighten Collin's disposition. Unaware of the pending misfortune to be caused by rush-hour delays, Collin whistled a cheery tune as he padded his way through the routines that would eventually bring him to his favorite part of the morning – breakfast.
It wasn't so much the food that Collin looked forward to, it was eating while perusing the morning papers for stories of historic discoveries and unusual trivia. Often, he would arrive at work ready to burst; excited to share his version of a story he read about some discovery or invention. His opinionated discourses led his friends to call him a brilliant blow-hard at times. Behind his back, some of his less-loyal friends would call him "Cliff" after the loudmouthed character in that popular comedy show, "Cheers." He wasn't a lout and never intended to bend the will of his listeners to his opinion though. He would simply get worked up into an excited, rarefied state and theorize a topic to death.
Two articles caught his eye that morning. One was a rather long press release announcing the joint NASA and ESA Cassini-Huygens space mission to Saturn's moon, Titan. At first, Collin gave the article a passing glance, but felt compelled to read it after a cold-chill rippled down his back. Although he preferred stories of historic inventions of the past; those that he could actually put his hands on, and not the cerebral futurists' "space stuff", he couldn't rationalize why he cared so much about this story. Perhaps, he thought, the cold-chill was a sign that he was tied somehow to this distant moon.
Collin completed reading the very brief clipping, but was disappointed that the story didn't provide any details. He wasn't intrigued enough to research the project further.
The second story was barely a blurb buried within a trivia page found toward the back of the front-page section. Collin almost overlooked it while trying to speed up his scan of the paper. Reading the Titan article and musing on its meaning cut precious minutes from Collin's drive-time buffer. But this tiny condensed article had something eerily in common with his latest project proposal and he couldn't set the paper down.
The little article told of the supposed, but unsubstantiated, discovery of a small band of trees living in a remote area within Arizona's petrified Forest. The author speculated that they had been planted within the last 30 years. What didn't make sense was why they had been planted there, and by whom, and how they were able to survive. In disbelief, Collin rolled his eyes and shook off the image that some of the trees had, according to the reporter, "human-like" features. "Cub reporters always looking for opportunities to make something out of nothing," Collin grumped at what he surmised to be the ramblings of an overzealous reporter.
The final line of the article sent yet another cold chill coursing through his body and caused him to sit slack jawed for a good fifteen minutes as he contemplated the likelihood of the coincidence. The statement was that one of the trees had a metal band around its trunk. Into that band had been stamped the characters "HA234." These were the very same characters he had seen on a cylinder he found two weeks ago within an old crate at the NASM hangar's warehouse.
* * * * *
Chapter 4 – Collin's project
The cylinder Collin found appeared to be nothing more than a drab hunk of unremarkable metals and shapes; he didn't really give it a second thought. He happened upon the cylinder within one of six large crates he came across while searching for a section of cowling for the P-47 Thunderbolt he was half-heartedly restoring for a museum display.
True to his nature, Collin grumbled that he wouldn't have been wasting his time on this ridiculous junk-hunt if his co-workers were as organized as he was. If Collin had started this restoration from the beginning, he would have located and centrally-stored all the parts – a point he would remember to gripe about later. "After all," said Collin, "this restoration was important to some fool politician" – and he was having to work longer hours against an artificial deadline imposed on him to ensure the politician could use the restored fighter in a photo op.
This was Collin's fourth P-47 in the last 15 years, and it was found in fairly decent shape; not much of a challenge. He longed for the heart-pounding adrenaline rush that comes from the restoration of a very rare bird, like the German Luftwaffe's Dornier Arrow. Exotic aircraft and machines thrummed his heart like a kid's on Christmas morning. This wasn't one of those times.
Hampered by dim lighting in the musty old warehouse, Collin navigated through a maze of partially emptied crates; those that contained the worn-out and damaged remnants of past restorations. He pushed aside a large curved sheet of metal inscribed with the name "Captain Abrahams" and the painted silhouettes of two German fighters and a train. "This crap should have been pitched years ago…probably been sitting here since the end of the war," griped Collin, as he continued digging through one beat up crate after another. "All this effort wasted for a cowling for a plane I could give a rat's ass about," Collin grunted while shoving past another empty crate. Doing so revealed one more row of crates much larger than those he had already inspected. Rolling his eyes, Collin began imagining all the useless parts he'd have to dig through in these over-sized crypts.
~~**~~
NEW feature!! You can get a personal inscription from me for each of my titles (only available for my novels) by visiting my page within Authorgraph at: http://www.authorgraph.com/authors/LC_Cooper
Legacy (LC Cooper) [Kindle Edition] http://t.co/wr5dnlEYfd
#WWII #suspense #thriller #fiction #crime #ebook #kindlebook #novels
— CJD Sign (@CJDSign) September 20, 2014
Reviews:
Review by: Readin Chillin on May 20, 2011 :
Intellectual, suspenseful and a great page-turner.
(reviewed within a month of purchase)
Review by: Joleene Naylor on May 12, 2011 :
It is World War II. A group of American pilots do a routine bombing on a train loading with German weapons, never knowing what it is they're really bombing, or the Reich's true plans.
Fast forward to the 1990's. Collin Roggero works as a restoration mechanic, though his current task doesn't interest him at all. As luck would have it, while looking through the warehouse he stumbles upon something that does; a group of world war II era crates. Inside he finds the parts to a German plane and something else. A mysterious cylinder and a bunch of random parts that he knows don;t belong to the airplane.
And that's when the dreams begin.
Led to his fate by a mysterious "feeling" - call it destiny - Collin has to abandon his current life, and even his identity to unravel an age old mystery and stop a plot that's been over fifty years in the making.
Legacy was a book that was full of twists and turns. LC Cooper does a good job of giving the reader the right information at the right time and maintains a good sense of suspense as well as a conveying a sense of urgency. You want Collin to succeed. You want him to be careful. You want him to watch out behind him...
I don't want to spoil anything, but this book has one of the creepiest "monsters" (though I hesitate to use that word, as it doesn't quite fit) that I've run into in a long time! It will definitely stick with me for a long time to come!
(reviewed long after purchase)
Review by: Willie Wit on March 17, 2011 :
An absorbing story that is a good mix of science , mystery and conspiracy .
(reviewed within a month of purchase)
Review by: Lawrence Bohler on Nov. 15, 2010 :
interesting story with several neat plot twists.
(reviewed within a month of purchase)
Review by: Readin Chillin on May 20, 2011 :
Intellectual, suspenseful and a great page-turner.
(reviewed within a month of purchase)
Review by: Joleene Naylor on May 12, 2011 :
It is World War II. A group of American pilots do a routine bombing on a train loading with German weapons, never knowing what it is they're really bombing, or the Reich's true plans.
Fast forward to the 1990's. Collin Roggero works as a restoration mechanic, though his current task doesn't interest him at all. As luck would have it, while looking through the warehouse he stumbles upon something that does; a group of world war II era crates. Inside he finds the parts to a German plane and something else. A mysterious cylinder and a bunch of random parts that he knows don;t belong to the airplane.
And that's when the dreams begin.
Led to his fate by a mysterious "feeling" - call it destiny - Collin has to abandon his current life, and even his identity to unravel an age old mystery and stop a plot that's been over fifty years in the making.
Legacy was a book that was full of twists and turns. LC Cooper does a good job of giving the reader the right information at the right time and maintains a good sense of suspense as well as a conveying a sense of urgency. You want Collin to succeed. You want him to be careful. You want him to watch out behind him...
I don't want to spoil anything, but this book has one of the creepiest "monsters" (though I hesitate to use that word, as it doesn't quite fit) that I've run into in a long time! It will definitely stick with me for a long time to come!
(reviewed long after purchase)
Review by: Willie Wit on March 17, 2011 :
An absorbing story that is a good mix of science , mystery and conspiracy .
(reviewed within a month of purchase)
Review by: Lawrence Bohler on Nov. 15, 2010 :
interesting story with several neat plot twists.
(reviewed within a month of purchase)