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November 5, 1939
A secret bunker somewhere in Germany
“So, the operation was more or less a success?”
“Yes, Oberführer Richter. Things proceeded according to plan, even if some assets were lost.”
Richter’s brows knitted in frustration. Those lost assets were irreplaceable, and the Schutzstaffel spent years simply to locate those three. “What went wrong, herr Braun?”
“It was the American and Englishman sent by our operative to recover the artifact in Peru. As expected, they delivered it into the hands of Marchand; but they pursued the matter further from there.”
“And they still live?” Richter asked. The silver oak leaves denoting his rank on the tight collar stood out from his all-black uniform, along with other insignia and an assortment of awards which marked him as a hero of the Reich.
“Yes, Oberführer,” Braun said. “Marchand barely escaped, and his fellows did not fare as well.” His uniform matched that of the senior officer, although it bore much less ornamentation.
The single light hanging from the ceiling cast an eerie glow over the scene. A wood table sat below it, topped with a pile of maps and documents and flanked by the two men. Atop the piles of papers, spread out for them to consider, was a world map. Atop this, various-colored wooden blocks denoted the distribution of the Reich’s military assets. The walls were bare concrete block, and the floor was likewise unadorned. The corners of the room were lost in shadows, and only a single heavy metal door provided an exit from the underground space.
“And where are they now?”
“England, we presume. We can have operatives searching for them upon your command.”
“No. We must tread carefully. There is an order to things, and it is our place simply to maintain the order. The distraction is sufficient, I presume?”
Braun nodded. “Yes. The Führer himself was most pleased by my preliminary report.”
“That is fortunate for you,” Richter said with no sign of mirth. “You will not wish to be in his presence when he is displeased.”
“Of course not.”
Richter traced a finger over the map as he spoke. “For now, we wait. The Soviets will deal with the Finns while we prepare to invade France. With their southern reaches in turmoil, our forces will roll into Paris with hardly a scratch.”
“And we simply wait?” Braun asked.
“Ja. As I said, we must maintain the order. Should one piece move out of place,” he pushed one of the wooden blocks toward the edge of the table and let it fall to the floor, “the machine breaks down.”
“I have some other news, herr Richter,” Braun said as he pulled a smaller map from beneath the pile on the table and spread it out.
“Very well, let us hear this news.”
“We have found a potential location for another idol.”
Richter’s thin eyebrows raised, and he leaned over the map. He turned it toward himself and traced the lines of the northern African coastline. “And where is this potential location?”
“Near Cairo, in Egypt.”
Richter smiled. Their Italian allies already controlled much of the surrounding territory, and they would have the ideal environment to send their own men after the artifact this time. “Then instruct herr Marchand and herr Santos to join us in Africa.”
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The end of the beginning,
or the beginning of the end?
More of what lies Beyond the Veil will be revealed in
The Curse in Cairo.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
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B.K. Bass is the author of over a dozen works of science fiction, fantasy, and horror inspired by the pulp fiction magazines of the early twentieth century and classic speculative fiction. He is also a freelance editor with experience both as a publisher and editor-in-chief of a literary journal. When B.K. isn’t dreaming up new worlds to explore, he spends his time as a lifelong student of history, bookworm, and film buff.
Find out more and connect with B.K. at https://bkbass.com
